Misunderstood Extra in a Twisted Tale

Kain Rivel stood at Rivermist's western edge, the dual axes dangling from his harness, their chipped blades catching the dawn's first light. His coughs rasped, his legs wobbled from the night's ambush—Liana's taunts about Leon's harem still echoing —but he'd sent her running, her scouts dead or fled. Mya Seraphine lingered beside him, her silver hair tangled, her violet eyes glinting—love, pride, that fierce edge he couldn't shake. Her kiss—her damn "yours"—burned in his chest, and he hated how it fueled him.

"Harem," he muttered, spitting into the dirt. A cough doubled him over, but he straightened, glaring at the axes. "What a load of crap."

Mya's smile twitched—sharp, warm. "Crap," she echoed, stepping closer. Her hand brushed his shoulder—light, steady. "You don't play that game."

"Damn right!" Kain snapped, shrugging her off. The axes clanked, grounding him. "One's enough—more's just noise!" Her gaze softened—damn her—and he glared, defiance blazing. "Don't get mushy!"

"Not mushy," she said, her voice low—fierce. "True." Her fingers hovered near his harness, her smile sharp. "You're mine—only."

"Only?" He growled, yanking an axe free. It wobbled, but he swung it—coughing, pointing. "I'm me! Not your prize!" Her laugh—bright, wild—hit him, and he hated how it stirred—anger, want, tangled up.

"You're both," she whispered, closing the gap. Her hand pressed his chest—warm, firm—her lips close. "I love you, Kain Rivel—no harem could touch that."

Kain froze, heat surging—rage, something softer—damn it. "Love?" he rasped, shoving her hand off—but slow. A cough flared, but he held her gaze—gritty, unyielding. "You're still nuts!" Her closeness—her steel-and-roses scent—messed with him, and he gripped the axe tighter. "Back off!"

She didn't—her smile softened, her fingers brushing his jaw—quick, possessive. "Nuts for you," she said, her voice a vow. "You hate his harem—I love that."

"Hate it?" He scoffed, stepping back—coughing, glaring. "It's a clown parade! Leon's a fool!" But her words—her damn faith—gnawed at him, and he turned away—axes dragging, mind racing.

The square buzzed—bandits hauling loot, villagers patching walls. The bandit leader jogged up, grinning—blood on his spear. "Boss! We stripped those scouts—fancy gear! What's next?"

"Next?" Kain rasped, slamming the axe onto a barrel. It stuck—wobbling—and he coughed, steadying himself. "Rest! I'm not your warlord!"

The leader laughed, saluting. "Aye, boss! You smashed that harem girl—legend stuff!"

"Smashed?" Kain growled, yanking the axe free—coughing. "She ran! And it's not a damn legend!" But the bandits cheered—hauling swords, a dented helm—and he shook his head—gritting through the coughs. "Idiots."

Mya circled closer, her smile fierce—loving. "Legend or not," she said, her voice low, "you stood. My Kain."

"Your Kain?" He spun, axe raised—coughing, defiant. "I'm not your toy!" Her look—pride, adoration—hit him, and he faltered—damn it, why'd she get to him?

"No toy," she said, her voice soft—fierce. "Mine." She grabbed his wrist—gentle, unyielding—pulling him close. "You're better than his harem—than him."

Kain stiffened, her touch burning—her pulse under his grip syncing with his own. "Better?" he rasped, shoving her back—but not far. "I'm a wreck! He's got flash—I've got dirt!" A cough flared, but he stood tall—axes glinting, will blazing.

"Dirt?" Her laugh rang—bright, dangerous. "I'd take your dirt over his gold." She kissed him—hard, sudden—her lips fierce against his. Kain jolted—heat surging—then shoved her off, wiping his mouth—coughing, glaring.

"Warn me!" he barked, but his voice cracked—damn it, he'd felt it back—brief, raw. "Crazy!"

"Crazy," she echoed, stepping back—her smile triumphant, loving. "Yours—alone."

He glared—coughing, axes heavy—heart pounding. "Alone," he muttered, turning away—Rivermist's walls looming. "Damn right."

A shout cut through—"Kain!"—Tobin, panting, sprinting up. "Riders—south! More of 'em—gold armor!"

Kain tensed—coughing, spinning—Mya's hand on her hilt. "South?" he rasped, glaring at the horizon. "Leon's not quitting."

"His harem," Mya said, her smile sharp—amused. "They'll crawl for him." She stepped to Kain, her shoulder brushing his—warm, steady. "Ready?"

"Ready?" He hefted both axes—coughing, grinning raggedly. "Let's bury 'em!" He barked at the bandits—"South! Move!"

They saluted, grabbing spears—Kain leading, Mya beside him. Hooves echoed—three riders burst from the trees—gold glinting, a woman's voice shrieking—"For Lord Valtor!"—not Liana, another, red hair flying, bow drawn—Vera, maybe, from the novel's lineup.

Kain roared—charging, fierce—the axe swinging—wild, hard. An arrow whizzed—he ducked—coughing—the blade clashing with her bow. It snapped—something flickered in his arm, that surge (Ch. 17)—and she yelped, horse veering.

"Harem trash!" he rasped, coughing—swinging again. The axe grazed her armor—denting it—and she bolted—eyes wide.

Mya's sword flashed—another rider fell, skewered—her laugh wild. "Trash!" she shouted, turning to Kain—pride blazing. "You're enough!"

"Enough?" He growled—coughing—the third rider fleeing—axes steady. "Damn right—no clowns needed!"

The bandits cheered—"Boss! Another win!"—Kain waved them off—coughing, glaring. "Shut it!" he rasped. "Back—now!"

They saluted—Mya beside him, her smile fierce—loving. "No harem," she said, her hand hovering—warm, not touching. "Just us."

"Us?" He scoffed—coughing, smirking faintly. "My call—not yours!" But her laugh—bright, fierce—followed him, and he didn't shake it—not fully.

A horn blared—north again—Kain tensed—coughing, ready. "More?" he growled—Mya's sword glinting, her eyes locked on him.

"More," she said—her voice a vow. "Together?"

He coughed—nodding—axes raised. "My way—hit 'em!"—and charged—her at his side—gritty, alone with her, no harem in sight.