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Chapter 12 PART 1
The Moonlit Serenity
A clumsy awakening
Meanwhile, the knock blasts through the silence like a cannon shot, and she rockets upright in bed, her arms flailing like a startled chicken. "I’m up! I’m up!" she yells, her voice breaking with panic, her brain still half-asleep and convinced she’s late for… something. Anything. The sudden movement sends her heart racing like a jackrabbit, and her eyes shoot open wide — or at least, they try to.
In the same time, in the next room, Tolius and the General pause mid-conversation, blinking at each other with confusion as they hear the muffled thud and the faint snoring from beyond the door. Tolius raises an eyebrow, and the General just sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. "I swear," he mutters, "we can’t have a single night of drama without someone drooling on the floor," he says while going to her room, looming over her.
No, you know what? I need to break the fourth wall for a moment. As the narrator, I’m wrestling with a deep sense of unease here. I’m torn between pushing the scene into the realm of comedy or letting it drift into the seriousness the General''s demeanor demands. The weight of his sternness presses heavily on my own thoughts, making me reluctant to overstep. The thought of being a burden, of adding more rough times to the General’s already significant load, weighs on me. His serious energy is so palpable that I genuinely don’t want to make things worse for him. Jolted awake, exhausted and nearly incapable of standing, and it feels almost cruel to think of adding further chaos. I’m caught in this uneasy balance, unsure how to proceed without feeling like I’m imposing or creating additional difficulty.
Alright, alright. Here I gooo.
I know what you''re thinking — this was supposed to be a grand, dramatic turning point, right? The heroine wakes up, heart pounding, eyes wide, ready to face whatever danger is lurking in the shadows. But no, that’s not what we’re getting at all, is it?
Instead, here we are with our not-so-graceful heroine already face-down on the floor, her limbs flailing like a fish out of water.Let’s be honest, she didn’t rise like a phoenix from the ashes. Nope, she jolted awake like a college student who’s just realized their alarm has been going off for the past ten minutes and there’s a final exam they’re late for. And then, in a beautiful display of half-asleep coordination, promptly launched herself off the bed like it was a catapult, yelling, "I''m up! I''m up!" before gravity did its thing.
And oh, that thud — what a thud! If floors could groan, this one would be filing a complaint. She hits the ground with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, limbs splayed, eyes half-shut, and a string of incoherent mumbling that could either be an attempt to apologize to the General or a random thought about the dream she was having. Honestly, I can''t tell. All I know is, she’s not exactly winning any awards for elegance here.
Now, picture this: there she is, sprawled out on the very expensive, very pristine white sheets of the General’s bed — sheets that probably cost more than my last three paychecks combined. And what does she do? She leaves a nice, big, drool stain right in the middle, like some weird modern art project. The General looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel. His face says it all: -Really? I bring you to my most private quarters and this is how you repay me? With drool?- You can almost hear the silent scream inside his head. Meanwhile, Tolius is trying — and failing — to hide his grin. He knows how much those sheets cost, and he knows that this is, frankly, hilarious.
And I’m here, stuck in this awkward space between wanting to give her some dignity — to let her wake up properly, to feel the weight of the moment and respond with the seriousness it demands — or to just let her keep snoring away on the cold, hard floor while the General stands over her, wondering how his life has come to this.
I mean, he’s got that look on his face — you know the one. The one you get when you’re babysitting a toddler, and they’ve just decided to smear spaghetti sauce on your white sofa. It’s a look of pure, resigned horror. He glances over at Tolius, as if to say, -What did I do to deserve this?- and Tolius, bless his heart, just shrugs and tries not to burst out laughing.
And let’s be honest, the General has seen a lot in his time — but this? This might just be the thing that finally breaks him. His shoulders slump, his hands go to his temples like he’s trying to stave off the world’s worst headache. You can practically hear him sighing, his soul just… deflating. And I’m torn, wondering if I should make her life easier or harder, but really… the comedy writes itself at this point. Meanwhile, Tolius, bless his heart, has finally lost it — he’s doubled over, trying to keep it together, a hand clamped over his mouth as he shakes with silent laughter. Because really, how often do you get to see your commanding officer completely undone by a grown woman acting like a sleepy toddler?
Unexpected comedy
General''s pressure
From the other room, a soft, almost unconscious murmur drifts through the air. “Mmm…sir,” she breathes, her voice a delicate, almost inaudible whisper that seems to resonate with an intangible, dull pink energy. It’s as though she’s instinctively attuned to the lingering presence of the General, her unconscious reactions a testament to the residual effect of his forceful energy.
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~Don’t look at him~, he thinks, fighting against the pull, the invisible force that tugs at his core, threatening to drag him back into memories he can’t afford to indulge in right now. The room feels smaller with every step, the distance to the General''s desk stretching out like a chasm. His heartbeat quickens, each thud in his chest matching the soft clank of his armor. He can’t help but remember the last time — the feel of cold, hard marble against his knees, the way the General had loomed over him, his hand gripping Fereyan''s hair, forcing his gaze upward. The taste of the General’s name on his lips, whispered like a prayer or a curse.
~Focus. Just get through this~, Fereyan tells himself. He steps closer, closing the remaining distance, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. His armor feels heavier than ever, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders, making his movements feel sluggish. He can feel the General’s eyes on him, feel that intense, predatory gaze stripping him bare, layer by layer, as if searching for a chink in his armor, a moment of weakness to exploit.
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Lingering Axar
The 7th Cook Chef
yer , a bowl of intricately cut fruits arranged in a colorful mosaic, and the centerpiece—a plate with a few drops of their special sauce made from the rare Trex plant, and a finely sliced, seasoned piece of Zu meat, a delicacy from a rare flying bird, imported from far reaches of the galaxy. ~A meal even I wouldn’t earn~, Fereyan thinks, feeling a brief pang of envy.
Meanwhile, the General remains seated, his eyes following Fereyan’s retreating figure with a faint, satisfied smirk. He mutters something incoherent to Tolius before speaking clearly. “Go check on her… try to wake her up, will you?” His voice is tinged with a flicker of arousal, the remnants of his earlier dominance still simmering within him. Tolius nods sharply, stepping away with a crisp, disciplined pace. He reaches his room, finding the door already slightly ajar, and pushes it open just enough to slip inside.
yer and picking at the fruit salad. She chews thoughtfully, a familiar taste lingering on her tongue, but she cannot place it. "Mmm… my tummy," she mutters softly, a small shiver of unexpected pleasure coursing through her. She dismisses it quickly, attributing it to hunger, and continues eating, driven by a deep, inexplicable need.
Blindfolded
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