Misunderstood Extra in a Twisted Tale

I trudged through Rivermist's muddy backstreets, the dual axes slung over my shoulder like a pair of grumpy old men. Cough, cough—ugh, my lungs were still whining from that kid-saving stunt at the south gate . I'd sent those thieves packing, sure, but now I had this snot-nosed tagalong—little brat with the loud mouth—trailing me like a lost puppy. Mya Seraphine strutted beside me, her silver hair bouncing like some smug victory flag, violet eyes glinting with that creepy love-pride mix. Her last grin, "You guard it all," was stuck in my head like a splinter. Why's she gotta turn everything into a drama?!

"Gold guy's back there!" the kid piped up—high-pitched, annoying—pointing north with a grubby finger. Cough, cough—I glared at him, then at the alley shadows. "Shut it, brat," I muttered, rubbing my temple. "Nobody asked you to play scout!"

Mya's smile flicked on like a trap—sharp, warm, way too much. "He's sharp," she said, leaning closer—too close. Her hand brushed my arm—light, fierce—and I glared, swatting it off like a pesky bug. Not quick enough—damn it!

"Hands off!" I rasped—cough, cough. Her touch—ugh, it's like a jolt of crazy, and I hate it! I shuffled away, kicking a pebble. The village hummed—vendors yelling, smoke curling from chimneys—but my head was buzzing louder. "I don't need your weird vibes!"

"It's not weird," she said, voice low, steady—like some cryptic poet. "It's destiny." Her fingers twitched near my sleeve—too close—her smile fierce. "You saved him, Kain—my hero!"

"Hero?!" I growled, hefting an axe just to wave it—cough, cough. "I'm no caped clown, got it?! I just didn't want his whining wrecking my day!" Her laugh—bright, wild—hit me, and I hated how it twisted my gut—anger, sure, but something else—ugh, stop it!

"You're mine," she whispered, stepping in—way too bold—her hand grazing my chest—warm, firm. Her lips were close—too close!

I stumbled back, heat exploding in my face—rage, obviously, but maybe… no, shut up! "Yours?!" I rasped, swinging the axe off her—slow, too slow. Cough, cough—I glared, all grit and stubbornness. "I'm me, Mya! Not your shiny toy!" Her scent—steel and roses—was scrambling my brain, and I gripped the axe tighter. "Back off already!"

She didn't. Her smile softened—creepy soft—fingers brushing my jaw, quick, clingy. "Not a toy," she said, voice dripping with that vow vibe. "My guard—my Kain—I'd die for you!"

"Die?!" I scoffed—cough, cough—turning away, glaring at the kid. "You're unhinged!" But her words sank in—Rivermist's not my gig, so why's my chest thumping like this? I squinted at the brat—big eyes, snotty nose—still yapping about "gold guy." Cough, cough—something clicked. "Oi, brat—what gold guy?!"

He froze—then pointed north again—voice dropping. "Tall, shiny—saw him grab stuff from the old well!" Cough, cough—I tensed, eyes narrowing. "The well? That's my napping spot!"

The bandit leader—big oaf—ambled up, scratching his head, grinning. "Boss! Kid's yammering—north well's got tracks! What's up?!"

"Up?" I rasped, smacking the axe on a barrel—it thudded—and coughed, steadying myself. "Check it! I'm not your damn babysitter!"

He nodded—too chipper. "Aye, boss! You're a storm—saved that kid's sis!"

"Storm?" I growled, swinging the axe—cough, cough. "She's fine! Say it straight!" But he chuckled—shuffling off, yelling orders—and I shook my head, gritting through the coughs. "Idiots piling on me again!"

The kid tugged my sleeve—ugh, sticky fingers! "You're tough! You gotta stop him!" Cough, cough—I glared down—he's like a mini-me, all loud and dumb—damn it, why's my gut flipping?!

"Stop him?" I rasped, nudging him off—gentle, kinda. "Not my circus, brat!" But he stared—stubborn little pest—and I faltered—why's this hitting me so hard?!

Mya slid closer, her smile fierce, loving—way too much. "He knows," she said, voice low. "You're Rivermist's shield, my Kain."

"Your Kain?!" I spun, axe up—cough, cough—defiant as hell. "I'm not your knight, got it?!" Her look—pride, love—smacked me, and I froze—why's she so deep in my head when I didn't ask for this?!

"Not a knight," she said, soft, fierce. "Mine." She stepped in—too close—grabbing my arm—gentle, stubborn. "You're tougher than his crew—than him!"

I stiffened—her touch burned, her pulse syncing with mine—ugh! "Tougher?" I rasped, pulling back—not far. "I'm a wreck! He's got flash, I've got guts!" Cough, cough—I stood tall, axes glinting, will blazing—nobody messes with my napping spot!

"Guts?" Her laugh rang—bright, dangerous. "I'd trade his shine for your guts any day!" She leaned in, lips hovering—fierce, tempting. "You're enough!"

"Enough?!" I growled—cough, cough—but didn't dodge—not yet. "I don't need…" The kid yanked again—"He's got a box!"—and I snapped—cough, cough—glaring north. "A box?! What's that clown digging up?!"

"North?" Mya said, smile sharp, wild. "Not his lot alone." She stepped beside me, sword out—warm, steady. "Ready?"

"Ready?" I hefted both axes—cough, cough—grinning raggedly. "Nobody swipes my junk but me!" I barked, "North! Move!"—bandits rallying, the kid darting ahead—yelling.

Shadows stretched—chaos brewed—north well loomed—a figure—gold glinting—tall, cloaked—box in hand!

I roared—charging—the axe swinging—wild, fierce. He dodged—cloak flapping—I ducked—cough, cough—the axe slashing—air whistled. The jolt hit—that surge flickered—my arm burned—and I lunged—hard—knocking the box free.

"Swipe that?!" I rasped—cough, cough—swinging again. The axe grazed his cloak—stronger now—and he hissed—eyes wide—gold mask gleaming—Leon?!

Mya's sword flashed—slashing air—her laugh wild. "Mine!" she shouted—spinning to me—pride blazing. "You're mine!"

"Mine?!" I growled—cough, cough—he lunged—I swung—the axe clipped his mask—the surge pulsed—I grinned. "I'm me!"

He bolted—mask cracked—cursing—"You'll regret this!"—box tumbling open—papers spilled—old, weird scribbles!

"Regret?!" I rasped—cough, cough—standing tall. "Run faster!" Bandits cheered—the kid grabbed a paper—"Look!"

I sank to a knee—cough, cough—axes thudding—chest heaving. "What's this junk?" I muttered—grinning—ragged—snagging a sheet. "No clowns steal my nap spot!"

Mya knelt—hand on my cheek—gentle, fierce. "You guard it all," she whispered—love raw—fingers brushing my lip.

"Guard?!" I swatted her off—cough, cough—glaring—but grinned—damn it. "Crazy!"

"Crazy," she echoed—standing—smile fierce—eyes blazing. "Yours!"

I glared—cough, cough—axes glinting—standing—staring at the scribbles. "Maybe," I muttered—smirking—turning south—village buzzing. The kid waved the paper—"It's a map!"—I tensed—cough, cough—eyes wide. "A map to what?!" I growled—Mya's sword up—her grin wild. I hefted an axe—voice low. "Guess we're treasure hunting!" She laughed