Chapter 256: watchful

The pile of logs was tall now, stacked neatly under Ameth’s watchful eye and Lor’s straining arms.

Bark dust clung to his shirt, gritty and damp with sweat, while his muscles throbbed in a dull, insistent rhythm that made every breath feel like a small victory.

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, smearing dirt across his forehead, and exhaled sharply before eyeing the mountain of wood they’d carved out of the forest’s reluctant embrace.

"...You know this is too much, right?" Lor said, hands planted firmly on his hips, his voice carrying a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement.

"Even if we both break our backs, it’ll take three—maybe four—round trips to drag it all back to town. And that’s assuming we don’t collapse halfway and become wolf bait."

Ameth didn’t answer right away. She planted her axe in the dirt with a solid thunk, her shoulders rising and falling in one breath, like she was resetting some internal clock.

Then she turned—sudden, fluid, her movements as graceful as a predator’s—and flicked her wrist with casual precision.

An icicle, sharp as a dagger and glinting in the dappled sunlight, whistled through the air straight for his chest.

Lor’s instincts flared to life, a primal surge that bypassed thought entirely.

His hand shot up on pure reflex, and ice surged from his fingertips—thicker, sharper, faster than hers, a reflex of the power he’d kept bottled up for far too long.

His spear of frost rocketed forward, colliding with her icicle mid-flight and splitting it clean in two.

Shards burst outward in a glittering spray of white, like shattered diamonds catching the light, pattering harmlessly to the forest floor.

His conjured spike didn’t stop there; it buried itself into the tree trunk just beside her head with a resounding crack, sinking deep enough that bark splintered and wood groaned in protest.

The forest went silent, as if holding its breath.

Steam curled lazily from the point of impact, mingling with the crisp autumn air.

Lor stood frozen in place, his chest heaving, each breath fogging in the cool air like a dragon’s exhale.

His fingers still tingled from the raw surge of mana, a electric buzz that raced up his arms and made his heart pound erratically.

"What the fuck was that?" he snapped, his voice harsher than he intended, laced with a cocktail of adrenaline, shock, and something dangerously close to anger.

Ameth didn’t even blink.

Her ponytail swayed gently as she turned her head to glance at the icicle embedded in the bark mere inches from her cheek, its tip still quivering faintly.

Her face remained blank, an impassive mask that betrayed nothing—no fear, no surprise, as if a spear of ice hadn’t just screamed past her skull at lethal speed.

Then her eyes cut back to him, sharp and unyielding.

"Stop acting like a loser," she said flatly, her words dropping like stones into a still pond.

Lor’s mouth went dry, his throat tightening as confusion warred with indignation. "What are you—"

"You hide your strength," she continued, her tone like a blade sliding smoothly into its sheath—precise, unemotional, and utterly final. "For what reason, I don’t care. But stop wasting my time."

He stared at her, his chest still rising and falling too fast, the remnants of mana humming in his veins like a low vibration. "...You knew?"

Ameth shrugged, the motion casual and dismissive, as if the revelation wasn’t worth more than a fleeting thought.

"Your mana leaks occassionally. People who pretend weakness can fool drunks, maybe your classmates. Not me."

She walked past him without another glance, kneeling to adjust a log in the stack as if their near-fatal exchange had been nothing more than a minor interruption.

Her fingers brushed over the rough bark, straightening it with methodical care, her posture relaxed even as frost still lingered on her fingertips.

Lor stood there, stunned, his mind spinning with the weight of her words crashing down like an avalanche.

Only one other person had seen through his facade before—Kiara.

And she’d probably done it out of twisted obsession, watching him like a hawk, dissecting every move because she wanted to own him, body and soul for her selfish desires.

But Ameth... she didn’t even look interested.

Her gaze held no hunger, no curiosity beyond the practical.

She didn’t care how strong he was, or why he hid it.

She just wanted the damn work finished, no strings attached.

Gods, he thought, his lips quirking into a reluctant smirk despite the chaos in his chest. Cold as a winter storm, blunt as a hammer to the face, terrifying in her indifference... and sexy as hell.

The way her tunic clung to her curves from the sweat of their labor, the subtle flex of her muscles under that pale skin—it was distracting, intoxicating, even now.

"...Fine," Lor said, forcing a veneer of casualness into his voice to mask the lingering buzz of adrenaline.

"But if we’re doing this, we’ll do it smart. I’m not just tossing logs into the air like some circus act."

Ameth straightened up, slinging her axe over her shoulder with effortless grace. "Then tell me."

"Make a cart," he said, his mind already racing ahead. "Big. Wooden wheels for traction. Bind the frame with your ice—make it sturdy, reinforced so it doesn’t shatter under the weight. Strong enough to hold all this without us babysitting it every step."

She didn’t argue.

Didn’t even hesitate, as if his words were just another command in a long line of mundane tasks.

She set the axe aside with a soft clatter and crouched down, her palms pressing flat against the cool dirt.

Magic hummed low in the air around her, a subtle vibration that raised the hairs on Lor’s arms.

Frost spread in intricate circles beneath her hands, spiderwebbing outward like living veins of ice.

She shaped the wood with close focus, thickening bark into sturdy planks, bending branches into curved forms that locked together seamlessly.