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.