The Extra's Rise

"So it's your turn now?" I asked Seraphina as she simply nodded. She was wearing a simple white t-shirt and ripped black jeans that fit her frame well. Her silver hair reflected the sunlight like a waterfall of molten silver and her ice blue eyes shone like condensed orbs of snowflakes.

She seemed to have changed after the event.

"The four of us played a game to decide the order," she said shamelessly as she stepped forward.

The two of us were alone in my room as the events for the day were over. Through the half-open window, the evening breeze carried the faint scent of night flowers blooming in the academy gardens. The soft glow of enchanted lanterns cast long shadows across the floor, shrouding the corners in comfortable darkness.

"Then, come here," I said as I got up and grabbed her. I saw her elven ears turn red as I looked down at her.

My eyes focused on her red lips before slipping below, then going back to her red lips.

"Pervert," she whispered as I leaned in to kiss her.

"And you aren't one?" I said as we both separated from each other after a deep kiss.

"For you," she said shamelessly as we kissed some more.

Her fingers threaded through my hair, pulling me closer. I could taste the sweetness of her lips, the slight hint of the berry wine we'd shared earlier. My hands found her waist, then slowly slid up her back, tracing the contours of her body as if memorizing every curve. The silken texture of her hair fell around us like a curtain, catching the fading light in strands of liquid silver.

"Arthur," she breathed against my mouth, her voice half-sigh, half-plea.

I responded by deepening the kiss, feeling her body arch against mine. The world narrowed to just this—her taste, her scent, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. Time seemed to stretch and compress all at once. The distant sounds of the academy faded away, leaving only our synchronized heartbeats and shared breaths.

When we finally broke apart, both breathless, her eyes were darker, that ice blue now stormy with desire. I traced the line of her jaw with my thumb, watched as she leaned into the touch like a cat seeking affection. The subtle shift in her expression—vulnerability beneath her usual composure—sent a rush of protectiveness through me.

"When is your birthday?" she asked suddenly, her voice still husky but her eyes sharpening with curiosity.

I just smiled, saying nothing, my fingers still tracing patterns on her skin. The question hung between us, unexpected and unwelcome, like a shadow falling across a sunlit room.

Her brows furrowed, the perfect arch of them drawing together in confusion. "Why won't you answer me?" The playfulness in her tone had hardened into something more serious, more determined.

I shrugged, trying to pull her close again, but she placed a hand against my chest, keeping a small distance between us. Her palm was warm, but firm—unyielding.

"This reminds me of the ruined island," she said, her voice quieter now. "In the Northern Sea Ice Palace. That six-star dungeon." Her gaze was steady, searching, as if trying to read a text written in invisible ink across my face.

My smile faltered slightly, but I kept it in place through sheer force of will. Memories flickered behind my eyes—frost-covered ruins, crystalline corridors, and the chamber where ancient magic had reached into my mind and pulled out nightmares dressed as truth.

"You were crying after the mental trial," she continued, her eyes never leaving mine. "You wouldn't tell me why, even though I held you." Her voice softened at the edges, not accusing but reminiscing, as if the memory of comforting me was one she treasured despite its pain.

My throat tightened at the memory—the trial, the visions, the past laid bare before me in all its ugly truth. And Seraphina afterward, not asking questions, just holding me together when I felt like I might shatter into a thousand pieces. The weight of her arms around me had been the only anchor in a sea of despair.

"Is that related to your birthday too?" she asked, her voice gentle but persistent. The question probed at wounds long scabbed over but never truly healed.

Her hand moved from my chest to my face, cupping my cheek. The touch was tender, almost reverent, and I found myself leaning into it despite the memories churning inside me. Her thumb brushed away a tension I hadn't realized was visible.

"You don't have to tell me everything," she whispered, tracing my lower lip with her thumb. "But I want to know you, Arthur. All of you. Even the parts you think are too dark to share." The earnestness in her eyes was almost painful to witness—this princess who had fought dragons and demons was now fighting to understand me.

"Ignore it," I murmured, slipping my hand beneath her t-shirt, my fingers brushing against the taut, warm skin of her abdomen. Her breath caught, a sharp little hitch that sent a thrill through me. "It doesn't matter. The past is dead and gone." The words tasted like lies, but I'd spoken them so many times they almost felt true.

Seraphina opened her mouth to argue, but I captured her hand, weaving my fingers through hers, and silenced her with another deep, hungry kiss. My lips roamed—her soft mouth, her flushed cheeks, the delicate curve of her perfect nose—drinking in the sight of the half-elf princess pinned beneath me, her beauty almost unreal. A faint glow emanated from her skin, an ethereal light that seemed to pulse with her quickening heartbeat.

"Arthur," she breathed, her voice trembling despite its usual steadiness, her face glowing with heat as she pressed a hand to my chest. "Why are you dodging this?" There was hurt beneath the question, a subtle wound inflicted by my silence.

"Because I want to," I said simply, lifting her hand from my chest and lacing my fingers with hers once more, trapping her gently. The shadows in the room had lengthened, casting half her face in darkness while the other half remained illuminated by the dying light.

"Arthur," she tried again, but I kissed her harder, tasting her, feeling the weight of her body beneath mine. My hand slid to the back of her head, cradling her, guiding her as our tongues tangled in a slow, intoxicating dance. The scent of her—winter frost and summer flowers, impossibly combined—filled my senses.

"You'd go this far to avoid it?" Seraphina's voice was a whisper now, her eyes searching mine. Somewhere in their depths, understanding began to dawn—not of what I was hiding, but of how desperately I needed to hide it.

"I'm not avoiding it," I countered, my tone firm as I held her gaze. "I just don't care about it anymore." Even to my own ears, the defiance sounded hollow.

"I beg to differ," she said, her voice a soft challenge. "If this isn't avoid—" Her words faltered as I kissed her again, cutting her off with the press of my lips.

She didn't truly fight me, though her mouth moved as if to speak. Instead, her body softened beneath mine, yielding as I deepened the kiss. Her tongue met mine, tentative but eager, fumbling in a way that was entirely her own. The contrast between the fierce warrior who had stood back-to-back with me against hordes of frost wraiths and this hesitant, gentle creature in my arms never ceased to fascinate me.

She wasn't like the others—Cecilia, Rachel, or Rose. Cecilia wielded precision like a weapon, Rachel burned with wild enthusiasm, and Rose flowed in perfect sync with me. Seraphina was different—calmer, laced with a quiet hesitation, as though some hidden fear held her back. Yet she didn't pull away. Her quickening breaths, the subtle shift of her body beneath me, and the flush creeping over her face told me everything: she wanted this as much as I did.

The light filtering through the window had shifted, painting her silver hair with hues of gold and amber. I traced one finger along the edge of her pointed ear, watching as she shivered at the touch.

"Arthur," she gasped when we finally parted, both of us breathless. Her arms had slipped beneath mine, her hands finding my shoulders, clinging there as if to anchor herself.

Her tongue darted out, tracing her lips, and those steady ice-blue eyes flickered with uncertainty. Her voice—usually smooth and firm, like silk spun tight—trembled now, woven through with the raw emotions spilling out of her. The confident princess of the Eastern Continent had dissolved, leaving only Seraphina, vulnerable and wanting.

"I can feel your heartbeat," I whispered, my fingers brushing her chest as her pale cheeks flared a deeper red, brighter than I'd ever seen. The rapid flutter beneath my touch matched the tempo of my own racing pulse.

"I can feel yours," she murmured back, her voice barely audible, a fragile thread between us. Her hand reached up, palm flat against my chest, feeling the rhythm that had accelerated at her touch.

A moment of understanding passed between us—wordless but profound. She would not press further today, but this wasn't surrender. It was a tactical retreat. Seraphina, master strategist that she was, knew when to wait for a better opening.

"I don't want to go further," I said, steady but gentle. The words carried more meaning than their surface—not just about our physical intimacy, but about the questions she'd been asking, the walls she'd been trying to scale.

"I know," she replied with a small nod, though a fleeting shadow of disappointment crossed her face. "If you did, we'd already be there. Don't worry. My heart—it only beats like this for you."