Gaia's Champion Ch. 62 - Teaser (Patreon)

The forge smelled of hot metal and clean oil, the air humming with the quiet aftershock of work well done. Luke stood over the anvil, hands steady as he eased the spearhead from its final tempering bath. Gaian steel always sang when it cooled, not audibly exactly, but in the way the light slid across it. It was as if the metal settled, satisfied with what it had become.

He turned it once, inspecting the edge, the balance, and the faint runic grain worked into the shaft fitting. It was perfect… or as close as mortal hands could get. Luke set it carefully beside the shield, its surface already polished, the sigil at its heart subtle rather than ostentatious. Emalia didn’t need anything flashy, as she preferred something reliable. She needed something that would answer her the instant she moved.

Behind him, steel whispered against wood, and Luke didn’t turn right away because he didn’t have to.

Emalia moved like someone who remembered violence the way others remembered music. The training spear in her hands wasn’t light, but she handled it as if it were an extension of her spine—thrust, withdraw, pivot, her shield up and shoulder angled. Centuries ago, she had learned to fight to hold a line, and it showed in every step.

Karla met her with calm precision, the tai chi blade flowing in smooth arcs, redirecting force rather than meeting it head-on. Where Emalia pressed, Karla yielded, and when Emalia advanced, Karla turned the angle just enough to make the spear slide wide. It wasn’t flashy, but damn if it wasn’t beautiful. Dominique circled them slowly, hands clasped behind her back, eyes sharp as she monitored the fight.

“Reset,” she called. “You’re favoring your right again, Emalia.”

Emalia’s mouth curved into a smile that was half amusement, half challenge. “Old habits.”

“Old habits get you killed,” Dominique replied evenly as she clapped the start of another match and they moved again.

Luke finally leaned back against the workbench, arms folding loosely as he watched. There was sweat on Emalia’s brow now, a faint flush on Karla’s cheeks, breath controlled but deeper than before. Muscle memory and intention intertwined, the dance of training layered over something far older and more dangerous. He swallowed as he watched both women fight one another, his heart thumping like mad.

It was impossible not to feel it: the pull, the admiration, and the heat that rose unbidden when watching women who knew exactly what their bodies could do. He’d loved characters like this long before he’d ever known women like them existed in the flesh. Chun-Li had been a gateway, but reality, it turned out, was far better, and Gaia help him, they were his.

The thought settled warm and heady in his chest.

Dominique paused near him as the sparring slowed, her presence felt before it was seen. The faint tracery beneath her skin, her dragon magic, burned in a restrained fashion in her body. It caught the light just enough to make him wonder if it was truly glowing or if his eyes were playing tricks on him again. For a moment, an old memory surfaced uninvited. When the two of them were younger, reckless, and convinced the world would bend if they pushed hard enough.

‘What if she hadn’t left?’ he wondered as the thought lingered.

Then he watched as Emalia disarmed Karla cleanly, shield locking the blade aside as the spear came to rest a finger’s breadth from her throat. Both women froze, breath heavy and their eyes bright.

“Good,” Dominique nodded. “That would have ended it.”

“I’m rusty,” Emalia stated as she lowered her weapon and laughed softly, rolling her shoulders.

“You’re terrifying,” Karla grinned.

“Speaking of terrifying,” Luke said as he pushed off the bench, clearing his throat as he lifted the finished spear and shield. “I’m done.”

Emalia turned, and the look she gave him, which was a mix of pride, affection, and something sharper beneath, made every hour at the forge worth it. She didn’t bother pretending restraint once the last of the heat bled from the steel. Her wings unfurled in a soft rush of air—gossamer and iridescent, catching the forge light as she lifted herself effortlessly from the ground and drifted toward Luke.