Chapter 367
The sunlight of Orario, filtered through the high, arched windows of the manor, cast long, golden patterns across the dining table.
Time seemed to possess a liquid quality, flowing with an easy, unhurried pace as the remains of lunch sat forgotten between them.
Draco, Bahamut, and Aasterinian had lingered over the meal, the air thick with a comfortable resonance…..a tapestry woven from shared memories, jokes, and gentle teasers that only came from closeness.
When the last morsels were finally finished, Aasterinian rose with a graceful stretch.
She excused herself, citing a list of errands and plans that required her immediate attention, leaving a sudden, expectant silence to settle between Draco and Bahamut.
Bahamut began to gather the plates and clear the table.
Her voice, when it finally broke the quiet, was soft and laced with an underlying current of amusement.
“So,” she began, her silver eyes catching the light as she looked up.
“You mentioned needing new clothes?”
Her gaze swept over him, warm and knowing, lingering on the broad set of his shoulders.
“I assume your old wardrobe is now… a bit snug?”
Draco cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat.
The wood of the chair creaked ominously under his weight.
“An understatement, truly,” he admitted, his voice a low rumble.
“I suspect if I tried to force my way into anything I owned half a decade ago, It would end up as a collection of flying buttons and shredded wool.” he added, flexing his bulging muscles.
The sparkle in Bahamut’s eyes deepened, a playful glint dancing in their depths.
“Excellent! A shopping trip, then. I’ve been looking for an excuse to see how the market district has evolved. Besides, word has reached me of a several new imports near the free market….and I know a few tailors along the route.”
She lingered on the last sentence, her grin turning distinctly mischievous.
Draco feigned a heavy groan, leaning back and letting his head hit the chair’s headrest, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward in an involuntary smile.
“Right. I should have seen that coming,” he muttered.
“The chance to treat me like a giant dress-up doll? You wouldn't pass that up for all the gold in the world.”
“Never,” Bahamut confirmed with a sharp, decisive nod.
She leaned over the table, her voice dropping into a low, suggestive whisper that sent a phantom hum through the air.
Her eyes held his with an intensity that transcended mere playfulness.
“Besides, Draco, you need to be presentable for tonight, don’t you? We wouldn’t want your trousers to split at an… inopportune moment.”
A jolt of pure electricity surged down Draco’s spine.
The casual flirtation sparked a memory of earlier, more private thoughts, and he allowed a slow, predatory smile to spread across his face.
His red eyes glinted with a fire, reflecting the goddess’s own heat.
“Indeed, we wouldn’t,” he murmured, his gaze darkening.
“Though perhaps a little tearing wouldn’t be entirely… unappreciated, later.”
Bahamut’s hand shot out, swatting his creeping tail with a firm snap.
The force was enough to make the his scales tingle, but her bright, melodic laughter robbed the gesture of any real sting.
“Naughty dragon,” she chided, though her face was flushed with color.
“Come. Let’s get you properly attired before you let your imagination run entirely away with you. Then, perhaps, we can discuss the finer details of the evening.”
Stepping out from the manor was like crossing a threshold between worlds.
The quiet, curated peace of their home was instantly replaced by the vibrant, chaotic pulse of Orario.
The city was a sensory deluge….the heavy, sweet scent of roasting street meats clashing with the sharp tang of exotic spices and the metallic odor of a nearby forge.
The air was a cacophony of sound: merchants shouting their prices, the rhythmic clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestones, and the distant, echoing bellows of adventurers preparing for their descent.
Draco, with Bahamut at his side, felt a familiar thrill.
Five years had changed him, but the city’s energy was timeless.
He moved with an innate pull, his silver hair tied back still drawing curious glances despite his efforts to blend in.
Bahamut led him through the crowded market district, her smaller stature and divine presence allowing her to navigate the throngs with surprising ease.
He, on the other hand, often had to stoop and weave, his broad shoulders clearing a path as if by sheer force of presence, whispers trailing behind.
Bahamut seemed to possess an encyclopedic map of the shifting stalls.
She led him through the winding arteries of the market district with unerring confidence.
“Ah, this way, Draco!” she called out, reaching back to catch his forearm.
Her touch was light, but it anchored him amidst the swirling sea of people.
She pulled him toward a display of silks that caught the afternoon sun like liquid jewels.
“Look at these weaves. The iridescence is breathtaking; they would complement your scales perfectly.”
Draco offered a theatrical sigh, the sound lost in the din of the market, yet he followed her without resistance.
He realized, with a quiet surge of affection, that this was her way of spoiling him after his long absence.
‘Even though it’s my money being spent’ Draco mused.
As she held up bolts of deep emerald and midnight blue against his arm, her fingers occasionally brushing his skin, he found himself genuinely enjoying the spectacle.
The way her eyes lit up when she found a particular shade of colour, and the soft, satisfied hum she gave when a fabric met her approval, made the crowded heat of the marketplace feel like the only place he wanted to be.
Eventually, they reached their destination: a boutique tucked away in a quieter alley, marked by a hanging wooden sign depicting a black-furred wolf mid-howl.
“Sofia’s,” Bahamut announced, pushing open the heavy oak door.
A bell chimed softly overhead.
“She is renowned for fitting those with… challenging proportions.”
Inside, the shop smelled of cedar, high-grade leather, and expensive dyes.
A female wolf-kin with flowing black hair and sharp, intelligent red eyes looked up from a cloth she was pinning.
Her ears twitched cutely, and her eyes widened as they traveled from Bahamut to the towering figure of Draco.
“Lady Bahamut,” she said, her voice a smooth, professional alto.
“And… a very charming gentleman you’ve brought. Truly, a pleasure. I am Sofia; how may I serve you?”
Draco offered a polite nod, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Charming is one word for it. My current wardrobe has decided it no longer wishes to associate with my frame. I need a complete overhaul, Sofia. Everything from daily wear to something… a bit more formal.”
The fitting that followed was a surprisingly intimate affair.
Sofia was a master of her craft; she moved around Draco, her calloused fingers measuring the span of his chest and the thickness of his thighs with expert speed.
Bahamut didn't merely wait; she presided over the process like a queen, her gaze appreciative as she watched the tailor’s hands navigate Draco’s powerful physique.
She offered suggestions with a jeweler’s eye for detail, selecting cuts that would allow for movement without sacrificing the sharp silhouette of his form.
Every so often, she would step in herself, running a hand over the swell of his bicep or tracing the line of his shoulder to "check the drape" of a fabric, her touch lingering just a second too long to be purely functional.
“Perhaps a high collar for the formal pieces,” she mused, her fingers trailing lightly over the base of his neck, a surprising weak spot even he wasn’t aware about.
“It would accentuate your… regal bearing. Don't you agree?”
Draco felt a shiver race down his spine…..a heady cocktail of physical pleasure and the mounting anticipation of the night to come.
“Whatever you think best, my lady,” he replied, his voice dropping an octave.
By the time they emerged from Sofia’s shop, several orders were placed and a deposit paid that would have made a mid-tier adventurer weep.
The clock tower in the distance began to chime, the three deep tolls echoing across the rooftops. The afternoon was waning, and a lighthearted, mellow mood settled over them as they began the trek back toward the western district.
Bahamut leaned slightly into his side, her shoulder brushing his arm with a comfortable weight. Their hands weren't linked, yet their fingers found frequent, rhythmic contact as they walked. They moved down the western main streets, largely ignoring the stares of the locals who were beginning to realize that the silver-haired monster was back in the city.
Suddenly, Draco’s hand shot out, capturing Bahamut’s.
He came to a dead halt.
A cold, prickling sensation erupted at the base of his tail, crawling up his spine like a trail of ice. It was a familiar, haunting sensation….the feeling of being observed by something…..predatory.
Slowly, Draco turned his head.
His gaze swept upward, bypassing the bustling crowds and the low-slung buildings, until it settled on the soaring height of Babel.
His eyes narrowed, his vision sharpening, piercing through the mid-afternoon haze.
High above, on the topmost balcony of the tower, a silhouette stood.
It was a mere speck to any normal eye, but Draco could see the elegance of the posture, the way the figure leaned against the stone.
A slow, knowing smile blossomed on Draco’s face.
Bahamut frowned, her brow furrowed in confusion as she followed his line of sight.
“Draco? What is it?”
‘I was wondering when she would show up’ Draco thought.
He knew that presence.
He knew that specific, chilling weight of a gaze that could strip a soul bare.
It was Freya.
It was the goddess of Beauty, indulging in her favorite pastime.
There was no way he could walk through Orario without her noticing.
However, a flicker of perplexity crossed his mind.
From what he knew, Freya should have been entirely preoccupied with Bell Cranel, obsessed with the boy’s pure soul.
‘No matter. Common courtesy dictates a reply’ Draco decided.
Intertwining his fingers firmly with Bahamut’s, Draco raised their joined hands high, waving them toward the distant peak of Babel.
To the pedestrians around them, it was an act of madness….a man waving at a literal skyscraper.
High above, the silhouette seemed to shift, a faint movement of an arm suggesting a wave in return, though the distance made it impossible to be certain.
Draco turned back, his smile lingering as he began walking again, gently pulling a bewildered Bahamut along with him.
“What in the heavens was that about?” Bahamut demanded, her expression turning uncharacteristically serious.
Her eyes searched his.
“Since when did you and Freya have a… thing?”
Draco let out a dry, short laugh.
“Ugh, it’s not what you think. If I had to define it, our relationship is strictly one between a stalker and the stalked. She has a penchant for watching things she finds… interesting.”
“That is a remarkably dangerous relationship to have with her,” Bahamut cautioned, her voice losing its playful edge.
She looked at him with a gaze that reminded him she was a goddess who had seen everything. “Be careful, Draco. Her beauty is a thing that brings ruin to the strongest of men. If you feel even a tremor in your resolve against her charm, don't bother with her. Walk away.”
Seeing the genuine concern etched into her features, Draco squeezed her hand.
“There’s no need to worry. I’m currently content with the goddess I have. Besides…..” Draco’s words trailed.
He had barely finished speaking when the atmosphere of the street shifted.
As if summoned by the thought of his name, a figure erupted from a side street ahead of them. The crowds scattered with cries of alarm.
It was a boy….the white hair unmistakable even through the layers of crimson that coated him. He was completely dyed in blood, his breathing a series of ragged, desperate gasps.
But it wasn't the blood that made the scene bizarre.
It was the boy’s face.
Despite the visceral gore and the evident exhaustion, his expression was one of manic, ecstatic excitement.
He ran like a man possessed, his boots slapping rhythmically against the stone, a scarlet streak of lightning cutting through the mundane afternoon of the city.
Draco blinked, his grip on Bahamut’s hand slightly loosening as he watched the boy vanish into the distance.
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