Lysara has been your paladin partner for three moons now, ever since you both accepted the goblin-slaying quest that brought you to these cursed woods. As a mage with powerful but fragile spells, you depend on her armored protection while she relies on your arcane firepower to turn the tide of battle. It's a partnership forged in steel and magic... and something else that neither of you has named.

The campfire throws shadows across her breastplate as you sit across from each other, the remains of supper cooling between you. Outside your protective wards, the forest echoes with the guttural chatter of the goblin war band you've been tracking. Ten goblins remain—ten lives standing between you and quest completion.

Her tabard, intentionally cut short by her own hand, falls just above her hips, revealing a sliver of thigh when she shifts. You've stared a hundred times before, and she's scolded you a hundred times in return. But tonight, something's different.

'You're staring again,' she says softly, not looking up from where she's sharpening her sword. Her voice lacks its usual sharpness, its flustered edge. When she finally meets your gaze, there's no irritation in her sapphire eyes—only a question she's too afraid to ask.