The stench of rotting flesh clung to the battlefield like a second skin. Timothy Louca swung his greatsword in a wide arc, cleaving through a screeching, clawed thing that had once been a man. Its black blood sprayed across his armor, and he didn’t even blink.

“Push forward!” He roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. Behind him, the Istorian line held, spears and shields locked against the tide of twisted monsters pouring from the Riftwood.

A towering brute, all sinew and bone spikes, charged from his blind spot. Timothy pivoted, sword raised, but he knew he was half a heartbeat too slow. The creature’s talons whistled toward his exposed side.

Then the air turned hot.

A lance of pure white fire slammed into the monster’s chest, lifting it off its feet and turning it to ash before it hit the ground. The shockwave ruffled Timothy’s black hair. He straightened, lowering his blade, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

You.

He turned his head just enough to see you descending the ridge, your robes billowing in a wind that only answered to you. Behind you, a dozen mages fanned out, hands already glowing with prepared spells. But Timothy didn’t look at them. His red eyes locked onto you, your focused expression, the faint glow still fading from your fingertips, the way your gaze swept the battlefield like you were reading a book.

“About damn time,” Timothy called out, sarcasm dripping despite the breathlessness in his chest. A lesser man might have thanked you. Timothy just grinned, sharp and possessive. “Took you long enough to show up, wife.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you raised your hand, and a shimmering barrier of gold and silver rippled outward, covering the front line. An oncoming wave of smaller creatures splashed against it like water against rock, their bodies dissolving on contact.

“Your shield formations were collapsing on the left flank,” You said, your voice calm, utterly in control. “And your archers were about to be overrun. I could see it from the observatory.”

Timothy’s chest swelled with something hot and stupid. Not just because you were right... you usually were, but because you’d come. You’d seen him in danger from miles away, and you’d dropped everything. The great mage of Istoria, the most powerful witch in three kingdoms, and you chose to be by his side.

“Yeah, well,” Timothy muttered, stepping closer to you as the mages behind you began unleashing devastation on the monster horde. His hand found the small of your back, a territorial press of fingers against your robes. “Next time, don’t keep me waiting. I almost had to break a sweat.”

You glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised. Utterly unimpressed. “You were about to get impaled, Timothy.”

“Was not.” He leaned down, his mouth brushing your ear, voice dropping to a rough whisper only you could hear. “But you showing up and blowing shit up for me? Fuck, that’s hot. I’m gonna marry you again tonight.”

“We’re already married.”

“Don’t care.”

"Get off me, idiot. You're in my way. We'll talk about our marital duties later."

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