Danmachi: Exception

"Plans?" Cyrus raised an eyebrow, distracted by the path of her lips along his jaw. "You… want to talk… plans?"

"Mhm." Her teeth grazed his earlobe. "Something special."

His hands slid down her sides, mapping the curves hidden beneath black lace. "Going to tell me what they are?"

"No." She caught his wandering fingers, intertwining them with hers. "It's a surprise."

"You've been saying that since-" His words cut off as she rolled her hips again, the friction drawing a low growl from his chest.

"Patience, mi sol." She pressed a final kiss to his throat before pulling away. "Shower first."

He tightened his grip on her waist. "We could shower together."

"Nice try." She untangled herself from him with practiced ease, though her eyes darkened at the suggestion. "But then we'd never leave the house."

She had a point. Still... "Would that be so terrible?"

"Later." The promise in her tone sent heat coursing through his veins. "Get dressed. Something comfortable for walking."

Cyrus watched her disappear into the bathroom, admiring the way that damned lace hugged her curves. The door closed with a soft click, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

And a rather pressing physical situation.

Cold shower it is.

An hour later, they walked hand in hand through Orario's streets. The early morning air carried hints of autumn - crisp leaves and woodsmoke mixing with the usual city scents. Quet practically bounced with each step, reminding him of an excited child on their birthday.

"North gate?" he asked as they passed the guild building.

"You'll see." She squeezed his hand, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief.

Something wrapped in cloth hung at her hip, secured by a leather strap. She'd deflected his questions about it with kisses and cryptic smiles.

The guards nodded respectfully as they passed through the gate. Quet led them along a familiar path - one they'd traveled often during his early training.

Fields of tall grass stretched ahead, broken only by scattered trees and the occasional boulder. Their usual training ground lay just ahead - a natural clearing marked by an ancient oak.

"Here?" He glanced at her profile, studying the way sunlight played across her features.

"Here." She released his hand, moving to stand beneath the oak's spreading branches. "Do you remember our first session?"

"You knocked me on my ass within ten seconds."

Her laugh echoed across the field. "You got up though. Kept getting up, no matter how many times I put you down."

"Stubborn that way."

"Mm." She untied the cloth-wrapped bundle from her hip. "That's one of the reasons I chose you."

The air thickened with divine power - that familiar taste of summer storms that always preceded her more serious moments.

"There are others who could have been my champion." She held the bundle carefully, almost reverently. "But none of them had your fire. Your pride. Your absolute refusal to stay down."

Her fingers traced the edges of the cloth. "I knew from that first day - that you were meant for more than just being another adventurer."

"Quet..."

"Let me finish." The command held no divine compulsion, but he obeyed anyway. "I've watched you grow stronger each day. Seen you push past limits that should have been impossible. And through it all, you've remained true to yourself. Proud. Stubborn. Absolutely infuriating at times."

A smile tugged at her lips. "But also kind, in your own way. Protective of those you consider yours. Willing to risk everything to save a stranger's life."

Her hands began unwrapping the bundle. "You've more than earned this. Though honestly, it was yours from the moment I first saw you."

The cloth fell away, revealing a staff unlike anything Cyrus had seen before. Emerald and mithril twisted together in impossible patterns, forming a core that seemed to pulse with inner light. Ancient symbols decorated the surface, telling stories in a language he shouldn't have understood but somehow did.

"This is Serpiente del Sol." Quet held it out to him, power radiating from her in waves. "Forged from my essence - blood and hair bound with divine blessing. A true god's artifact, meant for my champion alone."

Cyrus's hand moved without conscious thought, drawn to the weapon like iron to a lodestone. The moment his fingers touched the surface, power surged through him.

The staff felt impossibly light, as if it weighed nothing at all. Yet it hummed with potential energy, ready to channel whatever power he poured into it. Perfect balance. Perfect resonance.

"It's..." Words failed him.

"Yours." Quet stepped closer, laying her hand over his on the staff. "As I am yours."

The declaration hit him like a physical blow. He met her gaze, finding no trace of hesitation in those emerald depths. Only absolute certainty. Complete trust.

"Quet." Her name came out rough. "I-"

She silenced him with a kiss, soft but full of promise. When she pulled back, her eyes held that dangerous gleam he'd come to associate with imminent violence.

"Now then." She stepped away, dropping into a familiar fighting stance with her own staff. "Let's see what you can do with it."

The staff thrummed in his hands, power coiling through his muscles like a serpent waiting to strike. His magic felt different - sharper, clearer, as if someone had wiped fog from a window. The flames that usually simmered beneath his skin now sang, begging for release.

"Ready?" Quet twirled her own staff, sunlight catching the golden accents of her headdress.

Cyrus's lips curved into that familiar battle-smile, the one that made most opponents take an instinctive step back. "Always."

"Then show me what you can do, mi sol." She shifted her weight, bare feet finding purchase in the grass. "No holding back."

"Tch. When do I ever?"

He struck first, staff whistling through the air in a diagonal slash. Quet deflected it with practiced ease, countering with a thrust toward his midsection.

"Too slow." Her eyes sparked with challenge. "Where's that speed I know you have?"

"Just warming up." He spun the staff in a complex pattern, testing its balance. Perfect. Like it had been made for his hands. Which, he supposed, it had been.

Their weapons clashed again, wood meeting divine metal in a dance they'd performed countless times. But something felt different. His movements came easier, faster. Each strike carried more force than he expected.

"Better." Quet's approval carried over the sound of their exchange. "But still not enough."

She blurred forward, staff becoming a golden arc aimed at his head. Cyrus dropped into a low sweep, trying to take her legs. She leapt over it, bringing her weapon down in an overhead strike that would have crushed his skull.

Time to test this thing properly.

"Fuego."

Flames erupted along Serpiente del Sol's length, but not the usual orange-red. These burned blue-white, hot enough to distort the air. The staff didn't even warm in his hands.

"Oh?" Quet's grin turned predatory. "Finally getting serious?"

"You did say no holding back." He launched into a series of strikes, each one trailing fire. The staff moved like an extension of his arm, responding to his thoughts almost before he formed them.

Quet matched him blow for blow, her own divine power manifesting as golden light. Their weapons sparked and crackled where they met, neither yielding ground.

"Ascenso."

Flames erupted from his feet, catapulting him skyward. He brought the staff down in an overhead strike that would have split a lesser opponent in half. Quet caught it on her own weapon, the impact sending shockwaves through the clearing.

"Using both already?" She pushed back, forcing him to disengage. "Careful with that mind of yours."

"Worried about me?" He landed in a crouch, flames still wreathing his body. "That's new."

"Always." She closed the distance again, her strikes coming faster now. "But I know you can take it."

They fell into a rhythm of attack and counter, neither able to land a solid hit. Cyrus felt his mind draining faster than usual - the price of maintaining both spells. But the power flowing through him made it worth it.

Their dance grew more intense with each exchange, power building in the air until it crackled between them like bottled lightning.

"Is that all?" Quet's voice carried a hint of disappointment. "I expected more from my champion."

The taunt struck home, as she'd known it would. Pride - his greatest strength and most exploitable weakness. His eyes narrowed, flames burning hotter.

"Corona."

The blue-white flames turned gold, then white, then something beyond color. Heat rolled off him in waves, grass withering at his feet. The staff's symbols blazed like captured stars.

"There it is." Quet's smile held equal parts pride and challenge. "Show me everything."

He did.

The world became fire and motion, strikes flowing into counters flowing into combinations he'd never attempted before. The staff sang in his hands, channeling power that should have been beyond him. His mind screamed warnings he ignored.

Their weapons met in a final clash, power against power, neither willing to yield. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

Then darkness claimed him.

He came to with his head in Quet's lap, her fingers combing through his hair. The grass felt cool against his back.

"Mind zero?" His voice came out rough.

"Mhm." She didn't stop the gentle motion of her hand. "But you lasted longer than I expected. And that last combination..."

"Would have worked on anyone else?"

"Maybe." She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "We'll work on your control. But for now, rest."

He closed his eyes, feeling the staff's residual warmth against his palm. "Still got my ass kicked."

"Always do." Her laugh carried none of the battle's earlier intensity. "But you keep getting up. That's what matters."

"Stubborn that way."

"I know." Another kiss, this one to his lips. "It's one of the things I love about you."

They stayed like that as the sun climbed higher, neither feeling the need to move. The staff cooled slowly beside them, its symbols still glowing faintly with inner fire.

Next time, Cyrus thought closing his eyes. Next time I'll last longer.