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WARNING!
This chapter contains depictions of sensitive elements such as: sexual violence, incest, psychological trauma, and many more. If you are disturbed by any of the topics mentioned, skip to the next chapter immediately after the first triple asterisk (***).
You have been warned.
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"Haa... Haa... Finally... found you!"
The man doubled over, hands on his knees, his breath ragged.
"Who'd have thought... I would run into you two?"
"Who found whom?"
I stepped forward, sword half-drawn. The alley's shadows clung to him like rot.
"Who else but you two?"
"Sir, I don't know if your intentions are good or not." I hissed. "Therefore, we would appreciate it if you left us alone."
"What are you talking about, Adele!? Have you forgotten me!? Fleda too, have you forgotten!?"
My hands twitched. I remembered as hard as I could, but found nothing like him. I'd never met anyone as rough as him and not remembered it.
"He's a lost cause. Get lost before—"
"—I am your father! William! How can you not remember!?"
Crash!
Fleda moved before I could react. Her boot slammed into his gut with a force that sent him sprawling. The sound of his body hitting the wall echoed like a rotten melon splitting open. He crumpled, retching, bile splattering the cobblestones.
"ET FLOS FLORE—"
"Fleda, stop!"
I lunged, grappling her as her hands flared with the telltale shimmer of wind mana. Meanwhile, she lashed out, her elbow catching my jaw.
"LET GO! THAT BASTARD DESERVES TO DIE!"
Her scream tore through the alley, raw and guttural.
"Calm down, Fleda! Just... kick him once. Once. Then we leave."
She wrenched free, her braids whipping like angry serpents. Her boots cracked his ribs this time, a sickening sound that reverberated in my bones.
There's no way he could have survived unscathed after that. Even if he turns into a vegetable tomorrow, I will not be surprised.
Thud.
He vomited again, a thin stream of bile and blood. "Fleda... I'm... sorry..."
"Sorry?! You beat Mom senseless! Left us starving while you vanished! Sis bore scars from Mom's madness—your madness!" Her voice broke, the wind mana sputtering out as she poured out all her anger towards the pale-faced man.
"...I-I'm sorry, Fleda..." His hand trembled as he reached for her, palm upturned like a beggar's. "I... tried to come back..."
Slice.
My blade bit into his flesh before I'd fully registered moving. Blood welled, dark and thick, dripping between the cobblestones. His scream curdled the air.
"You know nothing of our suffering," I snarled, the sword trembling in my grip. Memories surged—Mom's vacant eyes staring at the void, Fleda's hollow cheeks as she scavenged moldy bread, the sting of a blazing poker in my skin. "Disappear. Or I sever your throat. No next time either."
Fleda fled, her footsteps echoing like gunshots. I turned to follow, but his whimper froze me.
"A-Adele... don't leave me here..."
"Shut up, you bastard. You're lucky you only got kicked by Fleda. If she wasn't here, your guts would be all over the street."
I sheathed my sword. The veins in my head felt like they wanted to burst out. There's nothing more maddening than having a seventeen-year-old trauma thrown in your face. It's something I want to bury deep in my heart and never tell anyone about.
I then ran to chase after Fleda who had disappeared. He continued to cry where he was, looking utterly helpless. Honestly, why should I care about him? He deserved worse.
***
"Fleda!!"
Slam!
For about three hours, I searched the city for Fleda to no avail. Darkness fell, and my worry intensified. But after deciding to return to the inn, I found her, sobbing alone in a corner of the bed. In the next room, Alruna peered, her curiosity piqued by our absence.
"Uh... Adele? What happened to Fleda?"
"...I'm sorry. Alruna, go back to your room. Fleda doesn't want to see anyone right now. I'll explain later."
"...If you say so."
The door's click echoed like a prison bar. Fleda's sobs were muffled, her face buried in a pillow stained with tears.
Lavender soap and salt smelled in the air—a cruel contrast to the rot festering in my chest. Moonlight sliced through the shutters, painting her trembling shoulders in jagged stripes.
I sat beside her, the bed sheet biting into my thighs. "Fleda..."
She flinched. "Don't."
Her voice was raw, a blade dragged over gravel. I reached for her, but she recoiled, curling tighter into herself. The sight carved a hollow in my ribs.
My little sister, who'd once fallen asleep clinging to my arm after thunderstorms, now looked at me like I was him.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. Useless words. I don't even know why I apologized.
"Why did he come back?" Her whisper trembled. "Why?"
The question hung like a noose. Again, memories surged—a wooden sword cracking against Mom's jaw, while she repeatedly apologized. Fleda, seventeen years old, can only cry helplessly in the sidelines. The stench of anger and hate on his words as he kicked me unconscious. Mom's laughter turned shrill, her eyes vacant as she burned our dinner, our clothes, our childhood in her delirium.
"...Hate..." Fleda's nails dug into the pillow, feathers spilling. " I hate that man. Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate! I wish he die as painful as possible!"
"I won't let him near you again."
"...I couldn't stop him then!" She whirled, eyes glaring. "I just... stood there! Watched you and Mom collapse, blood blooming on the floor, your bodies limp and still..."
"..."
Her words cut deeper than any blade. I tried to speak, but my mouth felt as if it were shut by an invisible lock.
"Its... Its my fault..." Her anger crumpled. She hugged her knees, shrinking. "What if... what if I'm like her? What if I'm broken too?"
The confession shattered me. I crawled, ignoring her stiff resistance, and pulled her into my arms. She smelled of sweat and fear, her heartbeat frantic against my chest.
"You're not Mom," I said, fierce. "You're Fleda. You're the girl who taught herself archery with a stick and string. Who bargained with traders for extra bread when I was too proud. Who survived with me, Manfred, and Alruna too."
She shuddered, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her skin, oozing blood.
"My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault."
It doesn't work. She has created an invisible barrier between us. Everything I say doesn't reach her.
"Fleda, I—"
Thump!
Suddenly, she pushed me onto the bed and glared at me with eyes wide open. I hadn't noticed that she was wearing nothing underneath because she was covered with a blanket. Her large breasts looked like moons since she was right on top of me.
"...Take it all off."
"...What?"
"I said, take off all your clothes!"
A familiar, unsettling wave washed over me. This... this wasn't the Fleda I knew, not the one who usually cared and nag me endlessly. This was the Fleda who emerged only in the deepest shadows of her despair, a Fleda I hadn't seen in at least six years, a Fleda who demanded a strange, unsettling intimacy to soothe her pain.
The raw vulnerability of it all left me speechless, overwhelmed by a tide of helplessness. I could only nod, a silent agreement to whatever bizarre ritual she was enacting.
"...Done, Fleda."
Now, there was nothing to protect me from the cold wind that blew through the cracks in the windows.
"Lie down on the bed!"
"Yes, yes," I murmured, trying to soothe her, though a nervous flutter persisted in my chest. It had been too long since this... this had happened.
A soft touch on my stomach broke the tense silence. A feather-light caress that somehow ignited a fire within me. The tickle was intense, a surprising jolt of sensation that escaped as a moan.
"Aah, Sis, how beautiful your body is. Your muscles are so firm. Just look at your stomach. I know exactly how hard you've worked to achieve this."
Her words, a mixture of admiration and affection, were a balm to my nerves, even as her breasts pressed against mine, a familiar weight both comforting and unsettling.
"I love you, Sis, I love you very, very much. Everything you do is like a painting in my eyes. I haven't forgotten a single moment we've shared." she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. While her fingers, tracing the contours of my body, felt both tender and predatory.
Another moan escaped my lips, a mixture of pleasure and something else... something deeper, something ancient and primal.
"Mmm! Aah...!!"
Fleda began to play with her mouth, quickly licking my nipples. The heat of her tongue on my skin was brand, and her fingers dancing over my body sent shivers down my spine.
This time the exploration was more intimate. Her fingers didn't concentrate on my upper body, but on my lower regions. The intense pleasure was a wave that washed over me, leaving me breathless and moaning uncontrollably.
"This is just the beginning, Sis. Don't come too soon," she whispered, her voice a husky murmur against my skin.
"Hnngh!"
The pleasure intensified more, a dizzying spiral of sensation. Her fingers, now exploring the most private parts of my body, ignited a fire that spread through me like wildfire.
My vision swam, my breath hitched in my throat. The world narrowed, focusing solely on the exquisite torment and pleasure she was inflicting. At this point, anything less than complete surrender felt impossible.
The tenderness vanished, replaced by a fierce urgency. Her fingers, once hesitant, now moved with a sure, deliberate rhythm, invading the deepest parts of me.
A strangled cry tore from my throat, "Aa—aaah...!!!" The pleasure was overwhelming, a white-hot intensity that threatened to consume me.
"S—stop, Fleda...! I'm about to come...!!" My voice was a ragged whisper.
"Oh, okay. If you want to come now, go ahead," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the storm raging within me.
"I'm coming...! I'm coming..!!!"
The world exploded in a blinding flash of sensation.
Splat!
The release was cataclysmic, a torrent of pent-up emotion and desire unleashed. Six years of longing dissolved in a single, shattering moment of pure bliss. Even as the echoes faded, a deep, primal need lingered, a testament to the power of that shared moment.
"Haa... Haa..." I panted, gasping for every air I could breathe.
"Satisfied? Now it's your turn to pleasure me."
"Mmhm!"
In an instant, Fleda's bottom is right on top of my face. Her reddened flesh lands close to my mouth. It's a suffocating yet thrilling sensation.
"Start moving."
"...Mm."
I gave in to her command and moved my tongue frantically. It was a tense, almost overwhelming sensation, a heady mix of excitement and a strange, almost reverent awe. Every lick, every press of my lips was met with a shuddering breath from her. Some say it's a sweet nectar preserved only for the most intimate of partners—now I know exactly what that means.
"Hnngh! Yes, keep moving, Sis." she urged, her voice a low, throaty moan.
Her hips began to writhe against my face, a subtle, rhythmic movement that intensified the pleasure. The heat radiating from her body was almost unbearable, a furnace stoked by desire. My own breath hitched in my chest, the rhythm of my tongue mirroring the rising and falling of her hips.
The intensity built, a slow, agonizing crescendo. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath. I could feel the muscles in her body tense and release, a symphony of pleasure unfolding beneath my lips. My own arousal was building, a counterpoint to her own.
"Heuk!"
Then, a sudden, sharp intake of breath. Her body stiffened, then arched, and a low, guttural cry escaped her lips. Her hips stilled, her body trembling with the force of her release—wetting both the bed sheet and my face.
The heat emanating from her intensified, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washing over me. I continued my ministrations, savoring the lingering tremors in her body, the sweet aftertaste of her ecstasy. In that moment, the roles were reversed, and I was the one witnessing the raw, untamed beauty of her pleasure.
"Mmm," she sighed contentedly, her body finally relaxing against the mattress. The pressure lifted, allowing me to draw a much-needed breath.
My own arousal, however, lingered, a simmering ember beneath the surface. The intensity of the moment had left me breathless, my heart still pounding a rapid rhythm against my ribs. I watched her for a moment, her chest rising and falling slowly, her face flushed with a lingering warmth, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"Satisified?" I asked softly, my voice still slightly rough from the exertion.
"...Yes, Sis. Thank you," she whispered, her voice husky with the lingering echoes of her pleasure.
"Still willing to continue?"
"Relax. I'll keep you company until morning."
The weariness clung to me like a second skin, heavy and inescapable. Yet, I reached for Fleda, pulling her close in a hug. The warmth of her body against mine was a balm, soothing the lingering tension. And then, instinctively, my lips found hers.
Her lips were unbelievably soft, a sweet surrender against mine. I could have kissed her for hours, for days, for a lifetime, lost in the intoxicating sweetness.
A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. "...Aah... I'll make sure you don't sleep tonight," she purred, her words a promise and a challenge.
"Haha, in that case, take good care of me," I managed, a weak chuckle escaping my lips.
The rest of the night blurred into a haze of shared intimacy, a dance between exhaustion and exhilaration. My initial intention of simply calming Fleda had been utterly forgotten. By morning, I was drained, utterly spent, while she, miraculously, was vibrant and full of life. And as long as her smile remained, I knew I'd willingly surrender myself again and again.
***