The daylight didn't just drift into the room; it was a golden intrusion, illuminating the dust motes dancing over Yuna's bed.
It was warm. Quiet. The kind of peace that felt almost suspicious after the week she'd had.
Yuna sat propped against the wooden bedframe, staring out the window. Most of the jagged souvenirs the Executioner had left on her skin were gone—erased by her mother's terrifyingly efficient healing—but her bones still felt like they were made of lead.
Outside, the summer wind stirred the trees, a soft rustle that felt a world away from the screeching of demons and the clatter of steel. Yuna let her eyes drift shut.
The journey. Andrew's constant optimism. The frantic, blood-soaked rhythm of the battle. It had been a nightmare, honestly. Painful, chaotic, and loud.
But as she sat there, a small, involuntary smile tugged at her lips.
*It was fun.*
The world was so much bigger than the four walls of this room. And then, there was the Princess.
Yuna's pulse gave a strange, rhythmic thump. She could still see Iyo's eyes—shining, hopeful, and far too honest. She remembered the heat of the girl's hands and the way her voice lost its royal composure whenever Yuna got too close.
She didn't have a word for the feeling in her chest. It was just… warm. Like sitting too close to a hearth on a winter night.
"I wonder how she's doing," Yuna murmured to the empty room.
**SLAM.**
The door didn't just open; it surrendered. Yuna nearly hit the ceiling.
Eunha stormed in, looking like she was carrying a legendary artifact. Or a very fluffy cloud.
"ANEKI!!"
Yuna blinked, her hand instinctively reaching for a blade that wasn't there. Then she saw it. A tiger cub.
Golden eyes. Paws that were clearly too big for its body. A tail that whipped around with predatory curiosity.
"Look!" Eunha hoisted the creature into the air like a trophy.
Yuna's expression melted instantly. "…A tiger cub?"
"His name is Raijin!" Eunha declared.
The cub looked at Yuna. For a second, the air in the room grew thin. A faint chill—not the biting cold of a blizzard, but a familiar, ancient frost—swept over the bedsheets. Raijin's golden eyes widened. He didn't growl. He didn't hiss.
He lunged.
"Wah—?!"
The cub landed squarely in Yuna's lap, immediately kneading her stomach before curling into a tight ball of fur. He looked like he'd been living there for years.
"TRAITOR," Eunha gasped, her voice thick with dramatic betrayal.
Yuna let out a genuine laugh—the kind that actually reached her eyes. She reached down, her fingers brushing the cub's head.
The moment she touched him, tiny, crystalline frost particles flickered around her fingertips. They were almost invisible, a side effect of her Cryo energy that usually sent animals running for cover.
But Raijin didn't run. He purred.
It wasn't the sound of a normal cat. It was deeper. A low, rhythmic rumble that felt like it was vibrating in her very soul.
"He's warm…" Yuna whispered, her head tilting in confusion.
Usually, things died or froze when she touched them with this much intent. But Raijin just pressed closer, soaking up the cold as if it were sunlight.
Eunha climbed onto the bed, looking slightly less betrayed and more smug. "Mama said we can keep him!"
"Did she now?"
Eunha nodded, leaning in close with a conspiratorial whisper. "Mama also talked to him like they already knew each other. Like, *secret handshake* level of knowing."
Yuna blinked. "…What?"
Eunha crossed her arms. "Very suspicious."
Raijin just watched them, his golden eyes half-lidded in pure contentment. Somewhere deep inside Yuna, something old and buried began to stir in response to that purr.
### 🍲 The Kitchen Disaster
Downstairs, the inn was a different kind of war zone.
Travelers were shouting for more ale. Plates were clattering. The air was a thick, savory fog of roasted meat and herb-infused broth.
At the counter, Da-li was the eye of the storm. She sat reading a book, one elbow on the wood, looking as composed as a statue in a library.
Until the screaming started.
It came from the kitchen. A loud, jagged commotion followed by the distinct sound of a grown man losing his mind.
Da-li lowered her book. "Hm?"
She stood and glided toward the kitchen door. When she pushed it open, she found a full-blown wake. The entire staff—chefs, waiters, even the dishwashers who should have been scrubbing—had formed a circle around a collapsed figure.
At the center was Rui, one of the head chefs. He was currently facedown on the floor, weeping as if he'd just watched his village burn.
"WAAAAAAAHHHH!!"
Toru, the other chef, looked like he was about five seconds away from using Rui as a chopping board. "Stop crying and stand up already! You're getting salt in the soup!"
Da-li cleared her throat. The sound wasn't loud, but the kitchen staff straightened up as if a lightning bolt had hit the room. Discipline returned instantly.
"What's happening here?" Da-li asked. Her eyes landed on the sobbing heap. "Rui. Where were you for the past three days? You didn't leave a note."
Rui looked up, his face a disaster area of tears and snot. The moment he saw his boss, his last thread of dignity snapped.
"MADAM—!!"
He wailed again. The staff looked spiritually exhausted.
"He's been like this for twenty minutes," Toru said, rubbing his forehead.
Da-li sighed. "What happened to him?"
"His wife ran off with someone," Toru deadpanned.
"His wife *what*?"
For a rare, glorious second, Da-li actually looked caught off guard. Not by a demon king, but by a soap opera.
"Ran away three days ago," Toru explained. "With some traveling merchant, apparently."
Rui slammed his fist against the floor. "HE SOLD SPOONS FOR A LIVING, MADAM!! SPOONS!!"
The kitchen went dead quiet. One waitress turned her head to cough, clearly hiding a laugh.
"Rui…" Toru said, his voice weary. "Please preserve at least a little dignity."
"HOW DO I PRESERVE DIGNITY WHEN SHE LEFT ME FOR A SPOON MERCHANT!?"
"Wasn't he selling silverware?" a dishwasher whispered.
"THAT MAKES IT WORSE!!" Rui screamed.
Da-li placed a hand against her forehead. The emotional volume in the room was giving her a headache. "Did she at least leave a letter?"
Rui froze. He reached into his robe and pulled out a crumpled, tear-stained piece of parchment. Da-li took it and unfolded it.
The entire staff leaned in.
"Why are all of you leaning?" Toru snapped. Nobody moved.
Da-li read the letter. Her expression went from mild curiosity to flat disbelief.
"Madam?" Toru prompted.
Da-li looked at Rui. "She left because you apparently compared her cooking to prison food."
The kitchen exploded.
"YOU SAID WHAT!?" Toru roared.
"RUI, YOU IDIOT!!" the waitress chimed in.
Rui panicked. "I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT! It was a metaphor!"
Da-li continued reading, her voice dry as a desert. "And I quote: *'Also, stop saying Madam Da-li's cooking is better every single meal.'*"
The kitchen went silent again. This time, the silence was heavy with the weight of Rui's stupidity.
"You deserved it," Toru said flatly.
"TRAITOR!!"
Da-li folded the letter. "Rui. You are fortunate your wife only left you."
Everyone looked at her.
"If someone compared my cooking to another woman's repeatedly," Da-li said, her voice dropping into a register that made the soup pots tremble, "I would have buried them personally. Deep."
The staff nodded in unison. They believed her.
Rui looked spiritually shattered. He looked like a man who had realized he'd been the villain of his own story.
"Now get yourself together," Da-li commanded. "Stop crying and stand up."
"But I can't…" Rui sniffed. "She was my life…"
"Get yourself a new life," Da-li answered instantly.
The staff gasped.
"OOOOOHHHHHHH—!!"
"Savage!"
Toru physically turned away to hide his face. Rui looked like he'd just been stabbed.
Da-li blinked. She realized what she'd just said. "I mean—" A rare pause. "A new wife."
The kitchen descended into pure chaos.
"MADAM, WHAT KIND OF ADVICE IS THAT!?"
"SHE REPLACED HER INSTANTLY!"
Rui collapsed again. "EVEN MADAM HAS GIVEN UP ON MY MARRIAGE—!!"
"That is not what I meant," Da-li muttered, rubbing her temple. But it was too late. The damage was done.
Toru patted Rui on the shoulder. "Rui. You survived the Madam's 'Replacement Speech.' Stand proud."
"I DON'T WANT TO STAND PROUD, I WANT MY WIFE BACK!"
Even Da-li had to cover her mouth for a second. She wasn't laughing. Definitely not.
"Return to work, everyone," Da-li said, regaining her composure. The authority was back, sharp as a razor. The staff scrambled, though the giggles followed them.
She walked past the slumped figure of Rui, stopping only briefly beside him. She didn't look down.
"Rui. She left you for someone else." Her voice was calm. Honest. "Which means she was already planning this for a while. The spoon merchant was just the exit door."
Rui's fingers tightened against the floor.
"Let her go," Da-li said. "And keep your dignity. You'll be fine once you get out of this temporary emotional phase."
The kitchen grew quiet. There was something in her tone—something heavy and ancient—that made the words feel like more than just advice. It felt like a memory.
Rui stared at the floor. "…Temporary…"
"Emotions always feel permanent when they are fresh," Da-li said softly. "They rarely are."
Toru watched her. For a split second, Da-li's eyes looked distant, as if she were looking at a version of herself from a thousand years ago who had once walked away from everything.
But the look vanished.
"Now stand up and wash your face," Da-li commanded. "Customers don't pay to watch grown men collapse beside vegetables."
The kitchen erupted in laughter again. Even Rui let out a weak, broken chuckle. He reached up, grabbed Toru's hand, and hauled himself to his feet.
Heartbroken? Yes. Destroyed? Not anymore.
Da-li walked out of the kitchen, her footsteps echoing in the lively inn. Behind her, the world kept turning, and the pain of the past slowly began to simmer into something else.