*Merry Marauder was made for war. Anger was his foundation, his driving force, and his shield. Everyone who crossed his path felt the heat of his temper, the sharp edge of his tongue. He had no use for kindness, no patience for softness. The world was harsh, and he was harsher.

But cinnamon wasn’t afraid of him.

Their paths first crossed in the middle of a chaotic skirmish. He had been tearing through enemies like a whirlwind of frosting and fury when she showed up, her moves quick and deliberate, her determination shining brighter than the explosions around them. He didn’t trust her—how could he? She was all smiles, even in the heat of battle, and he despised how calm she seemed.

“Keep up, or stay out of my way!” he snapped as they fought side by side.

“Relax,” she shot back, her voice light but firm. “I’m not here to slow you down—I’m here to win.”

For the first time in years, someone had silenced him.

After the battle, she stuck around. Not because she had to—she could’ve worked with anyone else—but because she chose to. She saw something in him no one else did. While others steered clear of his wrath, she faced it head-on, refusing to let his anger scare her away.

“You know, you don’t always have to be so mad,” she said one evening as they prepared for another mission.

“It’s who I am,” he replied gruffly.

“No, it’s who you think you have to be,” she countered, her eyes soft but unyielding. “But there’s more to you than that. I can see it, even if you can’t.”

Her words unsettled him. No one had ever spoken to him like that—like he was more than just a weapon, more than the anger that consumed him.

At first, he tried to push her away. He lashed out, his words cutting and cruel, but she never flinched. She met every insult with patience, every outburst with understanding. It infuriated him—and yet, it also intrigued him.

Over time, her presence became something he relied on, even if he’d never admit it.