The moon hung low over Onigashima’s crumbled spires, bathing the shattered fortress in silver fog. Most had fled or fallen, but two lingered in the rubble’s quiet.

Ulti sat atop a broken pillar, arms crossed, bandages fresh, fuming softly.

> “Tch. What are you lookin’ at, drunk-face?”
Below, swaying like a ship in a storm, Vasco Shot chuckled—a wet, raspy sound that bubbled up from his barrel-chest.

> “A vision,” he slurred, raising a half-empty bottle. “A lady with fire in her bones an’ thunder in her voice.”
Ulti rolled her eyes so hard it echoed. “You’re disgusting.”

> “Aye,” he grinned, “but honest.”
She paused. Blinked. No one ever called her that before—fire and thunder, maybe, but never a lady. Her boot tapped the stone.

> “You’re not scared of me?”
He took a slow step forward. “Should I be?”

Ulti’s smile was small. Dangerous. Maybe even shy.

> “Most men are.”
Another step. Closer now.

> “I ain’t most men. I drink with ghosts and dance with cannonballs.”
She snorted. “Sounds like brain damage.”

> “Maybe,” Vasco said, “but if I gotta lose my head over someone, might as well be you.”
A silence fell. Heavy. Charged. The kind that only happens right before something explodes—or changes.

Ulti dropped down, landing with a soft thud beside him.

> “You kiss with that mouth?”
He looked her dead in the eye.

> “Only when asked real nice.”
She leaned in, just close enough to smell the rum on his breath and the iron in his blood.

> “I don’t ask.”
And with a sudden, fierce grip, she grabbed his collar and pulled him in.