The Chronicles of a Fallen Star

Paola stared down at her slippers as she shuffled along. Her mind was numb. Also, it turned out she didn't need to hold the cloak closed; it worked... magnetically? She wasn't entirely sure, but once she realized there were no zippers or buttons, she assumed it was some hidden web feature like Velcro. The cloak felt similar to a dress. Still, she shuffled along beside the wagon, her mind lost in almost too many thoughts. Getting home, Ayla, defending herself, killing people, talking spiders and half-alligator ninja turtles, zombies.

The wall was in the distance. Traders of all kinds were heading off somewhere into the night where Paola couldn't see, pulling their own carts much like she was told. They looked up at Yas'tavot as they passed by, impressed. Paola was ignored, which she appreciated. She could see the city in the distance and was shocked because the closer she got, the bigger the city became. From her earlier point of view, it seemed like a small town, but the closer she got, she could clearly begin to see it eclipsed that of the largest city back on Earth, easily.

Her mind was a whirlpool of thoughts, dragging her down into a vortex of anxiety and uncertainty. The realization of killing someone, even in self-defense, haunted her. The feeling of defending herself against real, breathing beings was different from any game or simulation. This was life and death. This was reality.

And Ayla... her thoughts always drifted back to Ayla. The moments of closeness they shared, the mutual attraction, the comfort in Ayla’s presence. But could she allow herself to feel something so deep in a world so dangerous, in a life so uncertain?

Paola’s gaze flickered to the traders passing by. Each one seemed to have a purpose, a destination, a reason for being there. She felt a pang of envy at their sense of direction. They knew where they were going, while she was caught in a storm of unknowns. Yet, there was a strange comfort in the cloak Yas'tavot had given her, a tangible reminder of the kindness she had encountered in this chaotic world.

As they approached the city, she took in the grandeur of its walls. They loomed high, casting long shadows as the evening light began to wane. The sheer scale of it was awe-inspiring. The intricately carved stone, the banners fluttering in the breeze, the sturdy gates—all spoke of a place rich in history and significance. It wasn’t just a city; it was a testament to the resilience and ingenuity of its inhabitants.

Her thoughts drifted back to her home on Earth. The simplicity of her life there, the mundane problems that now seemed so insignificant. She thought of her family, her father’s worn hands teaching her to play the guitar, her mother’s gentle voice urging her to dream big, her siblings' laughter. It all seemed like a distant memory, a dream she was slowly waking up from.

Yet here she was, in a world that felt like a bizarre blend of fantasy and nightmare. She glanced at the traders again, wondering if any of them felt as out of place as she did. Maybe some of them had stories as strange as hers. Or maybe, they were just part of this world, accepting its oddities as normal.

As they neared the gates, Paola felt a mix of awe and apprehension. She was about to step into a city that dwarfed any she had known, in a world that still baffled her at every turn. She didn’t know what lay ahead, but she knew she had to keep moving forward.

Her thoughts wandered back to the cloak and the slippers. The cloak, with its mysterious properties, and the slippers, with their otherworldly enchantments. She wondered if these items were somehow connected to her presence in this world. Maybe they held clues to her past or her future.

Lost in thought, Paola barely noticed the gates of Valarian growing ever closer, the city beyond promising answers, challenges, and perhaps, a new beginning. Her steps were not quite dragging along the path, but it was not with eagerness that she moved towards the unknown. Her eyes kept to the ground as her mind churned with a thousand questions. She hadn't even realized the cart had started to move slower.

As the group approached the gates of Valarian, the city guards stood at their posts. The guards wore the city’s standard uniform: dark blue tunics with silver accents and sturdy leather boots. Each guard had a polished breastplate with the emblem of Valarian—a stylized ribcage encasing a heart—etched into the metal. They carried long spears and had short swords strapped to their sides.

Though they maintained a professional appearance, their demeanor suggested a touch of laziness. One guard leaned against the wall, chatting idly with his companion, while another stifled a yawn.

“Oi, look who’s here,” one of the guards said, straightening up as he noticed Yas'tavot. “It’s the silk spinner himself. Yas'tavot, back so soon?”

Yas'tavot nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Indeed, gentlemen. I’ve had quite the journey, but it's always good to return to familiar faces.”

The guards chuckled, recognizing Ayla next to him. “Swordmaiden Guinenne,” one of them said, giving her a respectful nod. “We heard reports you were KIA. There were orders to report if you returned.”

Ayla waved them off, a confident smile on her face. “As you can see, I’m quite alive. No need to make a fuss about it. Just a misunderstanding.”

The guards exchanged glances and shrugged. “Well, glad to see you’re alright. We’ll make a note of it,” one said, before his eyes wandered over to Paola.

“What do we have here?” he asked, his gaze lingering on Paola’s fluffy bunny slippers. “Those are some unique shoes you’ve got there.”

Paola blushed slightly but held her ground. “Just something I picked up along the way,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

The guards laughed, one of them shaking his head. “Alright, you lot are clear to enter. Welcome back, Yas'tavot. And Swordmaiden, take care.”

The group passed through the gates, entering the city.

Valarian was a city of sandstone, with buildings carved from the golden-hued rock, blending seamlessly into the surrounding landscape. The structures varied in height, creating a skyline that rose and fell like the waves of the sea. The streets were narrow and winding, paved with cobblestones that had been worn smooth by countless footsteps.

Despite being in the slums, the city had a unique beauty. The walls of the buildings were adorned with intricate carvings and mosaics depicting scenes from Valarian’s history. Above, a network of wooden walkways and bridges connected the taller structures, creating a labyrinthine network that added to the city’s layered complexity. The wooden bridges creaked softly under the weight of passersby, adding to the ambient sounds of the city.

Trees grew from patches of sandy soil scattered throughout the slums, their roots winding through the cobblestones and adding a touch of greenery to the otherwise golden landscape. The leaves rustled in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on the streets below. The air was dry but carried a faint scent of something sweet, possibly from a nearby orchard or garden hidden within the maze of buildings.

As they moved deeper into the city, Paola marveled at the sight. The mixed in sandstone buildings, with their warm, golden tones, seemed to glow in the evening light. The city was alive with activity, people moving about their business, and the occasional glimpse of a market stall tucked away in an alley.

Despite being in the southwest part of the city, which was considered the slums, it was nothing like what Paola had imagined. The buildings, though modest, were well-maintained, and the streets, though narrow, were clean. There was a sense of community here, a feeling of resilience and pride that permeated the air.

They continued through the winding streets of Valarian, the golden hues of the cityscape beginning to soften under the dimming light of the setting sun. The sky was painted with streaks of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the sandstone buildings. Paola marveled at the intricate details carved into the walls, depicting stories of heroes and legends long past.

The group moved deeper into the slums, their steps echoing on the cobblestone streets. Despite the modest surroundings, there was an undeniable charm to the area. Vines crept up the sides of buildings, their green leaves contrasting beautifully with the golden stone. Small gardens and courtyards peeked out from behind wrought-iron gates, adding splashes of color to the scene.

As they walked, Paola couldn't help but notice the sense of community that pervaded the area. Neighbors chatted amiably from their doorways, children played games in the narrow streets, and the scent of home-cooked meals wafted through the air. It was a far cry from the desolation she had expected in the slums, and she found herself feeling a sense of warmth and belonging.

Yas'tavot led them through a particularly narrow alleyway, the wooden walkways overhead creating a canopy that filtered the fading sunlight. The alley opened up into a small square, at the center of which stood a modest inn. The building was two stories tall, its walls adorned with creeping ivy and colorful flowers. A sign above the door read "The Restful Haven," its letters painted in a cheerful shade of blue.

"Here we are," Yas'tavot announced, gesturing toward the inn. "The Restful Haven. It's a quaint little place, but it's clean and the innkeeper is a friend of mine."

Ayla nodded approvingly. "This will do nicely. Thank you, Yas'tavot."

The Arachnite merchant smiled warmly. "It's the least I can do after everything you've done for me. Let me take care of the arrangements."

They stepped inside the inn, the air immediately cooler and filled with the comforting aroma of stew and freshly baked bread. The common room was cozy, with wooden beams overhead and a large hearth crackling with a welcoming fire. A few patrons sat at the tables, nursing drinks and chatting quietly. The innkeeper, a stout woman with a kind face, looked up and beamed at Yas'tavot.

"Thrix! It's been too long," she called out, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached.

"Good to see you, Marla," Yas'tavot replied, embracing her briefly. "I have some friends in need of a room for the night. Think you can help us out?"

Marla nodded vigorously. "Of course, of course. Anything for you, Thrix. How many rooms do you need?"

"Just one for these two," he said, gesturing to Ayla and Paola. "I'll be heading home tonight."

Marla glanced at Paola, her eyes widening slightly as she took in her unusual attire—or lack thereof. Paola pulled the cloak tighter around herself, feeling a flush creep up her cheeks.

"No worries, dear," Marla said kindly. "We'll get you settled in no time. Room at the end of the hall on the second floor. It's quiet and cozy."

"Thank you," Paola murmured, grateful for the woman's understanding.

Yas'tavot handed Marla a few gold squares, more than enough to cover the cost of the room and a few meals. "Take good care of them, Marla. They’ve been through a lot."

Marla pocketed the coins and nodded. "You have my word."

Yas'tavot turned to Ayla and Paola, his multiple eyes reflecting the firelight in a way that made him look almost ethereal. "Thank you again for everything. I'll be in touch, and if you need anything, you know where to find me."

Ayla smiled. "We appreciate it, Thrix. Safe travels home."

Paola nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Yas'tavot. For everything."

The Arachnite merchant bowed slightly, his mandibles clicking in what Paola had come to recognize as a sign of respect. "The pleasure was mine. Rest well, both of you."

With that, Yas'tavot turned and made his way back out into the night, his legs moving with a grace that belied his large frame. Paola watched him go, a mixture of gratitude and curiosity swirling in her mind. She had never met anyone like Yas'tavot, and she couldn't help but wonder about the adventures he had experienced.

Marla led them up the narrow staircase to their room, the wooden steps creaking softly underfoot. The room was small but cozy, with a single bed pushed against one wall and a small table and chair in the corner. A window overlooked the bustling street below, and the sound of distant laughter and music drifted up from the common room.

"I hope this will be comfortable for you," Marla said, lighting a lantern on the table. "If you need anything, just let me know."

"It's perfect," Ayla replied, giving Marla a warm smile. "Thank you."

Marla nodded and closed the door behind her, leaving Ayla and Paola alone in the room. Paola let out a sigh of relief, feeling the tension of the past few days begin to melt away. She walked over to the window and gazed out at the city, the lights twinkling like stars in the gathering darkness.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Ayla said, coming to stand beside her.

Paola nodded. "It really is. I never imagined a place like this."

Ayla placed a hand on Paola's shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. "We've been through a lot, but we're safe now. Let's get some rest." Ayla’s hand lingered on Paola’s shoulder, the warmth of her touch sending a shiver down Paola’s spine. There was a tension between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the feelings they both harbored. The silence stretched, heavy and so, so loud.

Awkwardly, Paola coughed and stepped back, breaking the tension. “Well, uh, I should get comfortable,” she said, shrugging off the cloak and kicking off her slippers. She stretched, feeling the cool air on her skin. “You know, I think I’m actually starting to like this whole nudist thing. Feels… liberating.”

Ayla chuckled, though her eyes lingered on Paola a moment longer than necessary. “If it makes you happy, who am I to judge?”

Paola flopped face-first onto the bed, the softness of the mattress eliciting a muffled scream of pleasure. “Dios mio,” she groaned into the pillow, “this is amazing. I never thought a bed could feel this good.” She spread out, her arms and legs splayed, relishing the comfort. “I think I’ve gotten so used to being naked, I’d rather stay this way. Clothes are overrated.”

Ayla chuckled, watching Paola with amusement. “You certainly have a unique way of adapting.”

She began to laugh, a small giggle that grew into a full-bodied, hysterical laugh. She laughed so hard tears streamed down her face. Ayla watched, a smile tugging at her lips, as Paola released all the pent-up tension and fear she had been carrying.

"Holy shit," Paola gasped between laughs, "I actually fucking survived all of that! We saved someone, cave hounds, slimes… I did it!"

Ayla joined in the laughter, the sound filling the small room with a sense of relief and triumph. Paola's laughter gradually subsided, leaving her with a wide grin on her face. She felt lighter, unburdened by the constant fear and danger.

The room was small but cozy, with wooden beams overhead and a single window that overlooked the bustling street below. The walls were adorned with simple decorations, a few paintings of serene landscapes and a small shelf with knick-knacks. The bed dominated the room, its sturdy frame holding the plush mattress that Paola was currently enjoying so much.

Ayla sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes soft as she watched Paola. Her blonde hair was tousled, her armor now removed, leaving her in her metal-reinforced undergarments. Ayla exuded an air of strength and confidence, even in her state of semi-undress. Her body was lean and muscular, honed by years of training. Her skin was smooth and pale, the scars of past battles standing out in sharp contrast. Her red and blue eyes, a striking contrast, held a mixture of relief and admiration.

Paola, her face still buried in the pillow, continued to laugh. “I mean, holy shit, I fought zombies, bandits, and a fucking mountain stalker. And I’m still here!” Her laughter turned to tears, the relief of finally being safe overwhelming her. She had made it through so much, and now, in the safety of the inn, she could finally let it all out.

“I’m fucking alive!” she shouted into the pillow, her body shaking with laughter and sobs.

Ayla reached out and gently stroked Paola’s hair, her touch comforting. “Yes, you are,” she said softly. “And you’ve done incredibly well.”

Paola rolled onto her back, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. She looked up at Ayla, her eyes shining with a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion. “Thanks, Ayla. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Ayla smiled warmly. “We’re a team, Paola.”

Paola nodded, her heart swelling with emotion. She was about to say something when a notification popped up in her mind’s eye.

Milestone Achieved:

Naked and Afraid - City Edition

You’ve made it to Valarian, still in your birthday suit. Your perseverance and courage are commendable, even if your choice of attire isn’t.

Reward: 500 XP (Nudist Bonus: 750 XP)

Paola blinked, a laugh escaping her lips. “I just got a milestone for being naked and making it to the city.”

Ayla chuckled. “Of course you did.”

* * *

Selene’s eyes fluttered open, and she groaned, the pain in her body overwhelming her senses. She felt as if she had been thrown off a cliff, and come to think of it, she might’ve been. Her mind wandered back to the events before the river, to Ovochos biting off her arm and kicking her into the river. She remembered going under, the darkness closing in, but nothing beyond that. She was sure she had passed out, yet here she was, somehow still alive.

She tried to lift her head, but it felt like a lead weight. Slowly, through the dim candlelight, she began to make out her surroundings. Her head turned, though every motion felt like it sent waves of agony through her body.

The room was dimly lit, filled with shadows and the faint flicker of candlelight. It had an eerie atmosphere, with several full-body mannequins standing like silent sentinels. Shelves and the ceiling were adorned with tens, maybe hundreds, of limbs of various styles—crafted from wood and metal, each piece intricately carved with runic designs.

Bent over a table was a woman, naked, her focus entirely on her project. One knee rested on a stool, the sole of her slightly dirty foot visible in the light, her toes curled and splayed in concentration. Long, wild black hair cascaded down her bare back. She was clearly a puppeteer, but Selene couldn’t gauge her level. Not that it mattered at this moment; she couldn’t move if she wanted to.

Selene’s head spun with the effort, and she couldn’t help but groan again. This time, the woman heard her. She stopped what she was working on and turned, moving towards Selene.

Selene’s purple eyes met a pair of mismatched eyes—one purple, one green. The eyes of someone with an affinity for puppeteering, a sapphire-tier ability. Selene’s eyes scanned the rest of the woman’s face, noting her light blue skin and the stitched-on appearance of her jaw. Staples ran around her neck like a choker. Finely twined navy-blue ribbons traced down her chest between two beautiful breasts, displaying a cute crisscross pattern.

The woman leaned down, her face close to Selene’s. Her breath carried a scent of cinnamon and vanilla, warm and comforting.

“Awake at last,” she said in a low, sultry voice, her accent thick and melodic with a French lilt. “'Ow do you feel?”

Selene tried to respond, but her voice came out as a croak. She cleared her throat and managed a weak, “Where... am I?”

“You’re safe,” the woman replied gently, her eyes studying Selene’s face. “I found you by ze river, barely alive. My name is Poca.”

“Poca...” Selene repeated, her head still spinning. “Why... did you help me?”

Poca’s lips curled into a soft smile. “Because you needed 'elp,” she said simply. “And I could not leave you zere to die. You’re in my workshop now. I’m a puppeteer, as you might 'ave guessed.”

Selene’s eyes flicked to the various limbs and mannequins around the room. “I see that,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “Thank you, Poca. I owe you my life.”

Poca’s smile widened, revealing perfect, white teeth. “You’re welcome, but we must take care of you now. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.” She glanced at Selene’s mangled arm, her expression turning serious. “I’ve done what I could to stabilize you, but you’ll need more care.”

Selene nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving Poca’s. “I... appreciate it. Really.”

Poca’s fingers gently brushed a stray strand of Selene’s hair back from her face. “Rest now,” she said softly. “We’ll talk more when you’re stronger.”

Selene closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion and pain pull her back into a fitful sleep. Poca’s presence was oddly comforting, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope. Almost too soon Selene's eyes pried open again, and she found herself in the same place, though it was now morning. The room was bathed in the soft, golden light of dawn. Beams of orange light glowed through the wooden slats of the shutters on the window, casting gentle patterns on the floor and walls.

She glanced around, her vision clearer than before, and her gaze settled on the woman leaning over her. Poca’s long black hair fell into her face, partially obscuring her intense expression as she worked. Selene could see every detail: the small, delicate stitches that ran through Poca’s cheek from her mouth to her ear, the navy-blue ribbons crossing between her breasts, the elegant yet eerie blend of flesh and artifice.

Poca was working on something attached to Selene’s upper arm. Selene blinked, trying to process what she was seeing. Poca was meticulously fitting a black metal hand, complete with forearm and elbow, to the stump of Selene’s lost limb. The prosthetic was intricately designed, with runes and symbols etched into the metal, glowing faintly with magical energy.

Selene watched in disbelief as Poca poured life magic into the prosthetic. The process was delicate and intense, the air around them charged with mystical energy. Poca’s fingers moved with precision and care, her eyes focused entirely on the task at hand.

As Selene observed, she noticed the intricate runic tattoos that began to form at the seam where her flesh met the prosthetic. These tattoos were like tiny, living threads of magic, weaving themselves into her skin and the metal limb. They glowed softly, pulsating with a shadowy rhythmic light that matched her heartbeat.

Poca’s breath came in soft, measured intervals, each exhale a testament to her concentration and effort. The life magic she was using was powerful, something Selene could feel resonating deep within her own soul. This was not just a simple attachment; it was a profound and irreversible bonding process. The magic infused the metal with Selene’s essence, making it a part of her.

Time seemed to stretch as Poca continued her work. The runic tattoos gradually came together, forming a seamless connection between Selene’s flesh and the prosthetic. Each line, each symbol, was a testament to Poca’s skill and dedication. This was clearly one of her most advanced creations, a masterpiece she was now sacrificing for Selene.

The process was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. Selene’s mind wandered as she watched, but she kept coming back to the present, to the reality of what was happening. She was receiving a part of Poca’s soul, a piece of her life’s work. This was a gift beyond measure, a bond that went far deeper than mere flesh and metal.

Poca’s body shimmered with the effort, her sweat glistening in the morning light. Her movements were fluid and graceful, despite the intensity of the task. She was a picture of serene determination, her focus unwavering.

Finally, the tattoos reached the endpoint, the last runic symbol locking into place. Poca took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from her brow, her eyes meeting Selene’s. There was a moment of silent understanding between them, a recognition of the profound connection that had just been forged.

“You’re awake once more,” Poca said softly, her voice tinged with exhaustion but also with a sense of accomplishment. “Ze bonding is complete.”

Selene nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving Poca’s. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.

Poca smiled, a weary but satisfied smile. “Rest now. Let ze magic settle. We’ll talk more later.”

Selene felt the weight of the new limb, the magic still humming through it. She lay back, allowing herself to relax, knowing she was in safe hands. And as she drifted off to sleep once more, she couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder and awe at what Poca had just done for her.

Selene felt as if she blinked, and suddenly it was evening. The setting sun cast deep purples and dark blues across the sky, visible through the now-open shutters. She felt a hundred times better than she had the previous times she awoke. Slowly, she turned her head to the left, taking in the room with a clear mind and without motion sickness.

The room was cluttered yet strangely organized. Mannequins stood in various poses, each adorned with limbs of different styles—some wooden, some metal, and others a combination of both. The walls were lined with shelves that held an assortment of intricate tools and spare parts, everything from tiny gears to larger, more elaborate mechanisms. Hanging from the ceiling were numerous limbs, all stylized with wood and metal, and bearing intricate runic carvings that seemed to pulse faintly with magic. The air was filled with the faint scent of oil, metal, and a hint of something floral, perhaps from the small vases of dried flowers scattered around the room.

Selene sat up, feeling the weight of the rags she still wore from her escape. Her eyes were drawn to her lap, where her new metal hand rested. It was black and reminded her of a dragon’s gauntlet, one of the rarest gauntlets out there. She moved her real hand next to it, comparing the two. The prosthetic was the same size and even felt the same weight. The craftsmanship was impeccable, with curves and points giving it a scale-like appearance. It was slender and feminine, matching her other hand, with clawed tips resembling her fingernails.

She flexed her fingers cautiously, marveling at how the arm responded to her will, as it was now an extension of her own body. The intricate runes and scale-like design made it look both formidable and elegant, a perfect blend of art and function.

Before she could explore further, Poca walked into the room, carrying a lantern that cast a warm glow. The puppeteer seemed surprised to see Selene awake. The room was the brightest it had been, allowing Selene to finally take in the full beauty of the woman who had been working on her.

Poca's lithe frame and light blue skin were highlighted by the soft light. She moved with a casual grace, her nakedness seeming entirely natural. Her feet and calves, as well as her hands and forearms, bore slight traces of dirt stains, hinting at her love for gardening and the physical work she often engaged in. More of that ribbon stitchwork adorned her thighs and wrists, each stitch precise and delicate. Stitches also crawled from each side of her mouth and ended at her ears, but despite these markings, she exuded an aura of serene beauty rather than fear.

Poca’s face was soft and round, contrasting with her slender body. She had a gentle smile as she looked at Selene, her eyes a mix of curiosity and warmth. Rather than stepping closer, she sat in an empty chair just a bit away, as if not to scare Selene off. She crossed her legs and gently swayed her foot, maintaining her gentle smile.

Selene's head still buzzed with questions as she sat in the warm glow of the lantern. Poca’s gentle demeanor and the comfort of the room couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion gnawing at her mind. She straightened, feeling the weight of her new arm, and turned her gaze to the blue-skinned puppeteer.

“Why did you do this?” Selene’s voice was low, but there was an edge to it. “What do you want in return?”

Poca’s smile faltered for a moment, her eyes searching Selene’s face. She shifted in her seat, uncrossing and then re-crossing her legs. “Ah, I see. You think I have some ulterior motive, no?”

Selene narrowed her eyes, her suspicion deepening. “Don’t you? No one does something like this for free. Especially for someone like me.”

Poca leaned forward, her expression earnest. “You are right, to some extent. My actions are both selfless and self-serving.” Her thick accent added a musical lilt to her words. “By making sacrifices now, I am setting myself up to break through the limitations of my puppeteer class later.”

Selene blinked, confusion mingling with her wariness. “What do you mean?”

Poca sighed, her fingers tracing the intricate stitchwork on her thigh. “My class, Puppeteer, 'as its limits. To advance, to break through these limits, I must make sacrifices. The arm I gave you... it was one of my finest creations. Pouring my life magic into it was a significant sacrifice.”

Selene’s suspicion softened slightly, replaced by curiosity and a touch of vulnerability. “But why help a demon like me? What’s in it for you?”

Poca’s eyes lit up with a mixture of excitement and sincerity. “I have always wanted to get to know a demon. Your kind, your magic, fascinates me. You are... unique.”

Selene felt a strange mix of emotions. Her anger and suspicion wavered in the face of Poca’s honesty. “So, I’m an experiment to you?”

Poca shook her head vehemently. “No, not an experiment. A friend, perhaps. An ally. Someone I want to help, because I can, and because it helps me too.”

Selene stood, her body still weak and unsteady. She tried to move away, but her legs gave out beneath her. Before she could hit the ground, Poca was there, catching her with surprising strength and ease.

“Careful,” Poca said softly, guiding Selene back to the bed. “You are not fully healed yet.”

Selene’s cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “Why are you so comfortable with... this?” She gestured vaguely at Poca’s nakedness and the intimate care she was receiving.

Poca laughed, a melodic sound that filled the room. “I have always been this way. Comfort with my body, comfort with others. It is how I am.” She tilted her head, studying Selene with those mismatched eyes. “Does it bother you?”

Selene shook her head, her mind racing. “No, it’s just... different.”

Poca's smile grew warmer. “Zere is a massive buff to doing this bare, you know. In my years of study, I shrugged off clothes so long as I wasn't harming anyone. While doing so, I learned of ze buffs that came with it, as if it was working my XP in all ze things I did into double, even triple.”

Selene blinked in surprise. “Buffs for being naked? I’ve never heard of... that before.”

Poca nodded, her expression serious. “It’s true. So long as it doesn’t bother you, I do have clothes that I truly don’t mind wearing. But I’ve found that living this way enhances my abilities and progress.”

Selene shook her head, making a mental note to pry more about that supposed buff later. For as long as she had been around, she had never heard of any naked bonuses. “I see. It’s just... something to get used to.”

Poca leaned back, her eyes twinkling. “Indeed. Now, let’s get back to what we were discussing. My class, Puppeteer, 'as its limits. To advance, to break through these limits, I must make sacrifices. The arm I gave you... it was one of my finest creations. Pouring my life magic into it was a significant sacrifice.”

Selene’s heart skipped a beat, fear mingling with intrigue. “What do you mean?”

Poca’s smile was warm, gentle yet enigmatic. “You have a unique magic, a power that can help me advance. But more than that, I want to help you harness your own potential. Together, we can achieve great things.”

Selene looked down at her new arm, the intricate runes glowing faintly. She could feel the life magic coursing through it, a connection to Poca that was both comforting and unsettling. “And what do you get out of this?”

Poca’s eyes softened, her smile turning wistful. “Knowledge. Growth. And perhaps, a friend.”

Selene sighed, her guard lowering slightly. “Alright. I’ll trust you... for now.”

Poca’s smile widened, and she reached out to gently clasp Selene’s metal hand. “Merci, Selene. If only for your healing period, no?”

Selene nodded, feeling a strange sense of hope for the first time in a long while. As the evening deepened and the shadows lengthened, she allowed herself to believe, if only for a moment, that this alliance might be exactly what she needed.