Suspended fifteen meters above the stream, buoyed by my own effortlessly maintained Air Strike Shield, I finally allowed myself a moment to just... hover. The breeze up here was cool, carrying the scent of the nearby forest and the fainter, slightly disturbing aroma of popped Orange Balloons. Below, the gurgling stream provided a constant, soothing backdrop. And standing on its bank, looking up at my airborne perch, were Raphtalia, Rifana, and Filo.
They looked like three figures in a particularly surreal painting. The absurdity of it all wasn't lost on me. The all-powerful Shield Hero, savior of the world (maybe, again), master of a rapidly growing, divinely guaranteed harem (of the non-romantic, deeply inconvenient variety), currently engaged in a high-altitude staring contest to avoid bath time. Truly, my legend was being forged in the fires of ridiculousness.
"Alright! Go on!" I called down again, just in case they thought I was coming down. "Seriously! I'm watching for monsters! Very important monster watching!"
They exchanged glances. Raphtalia sighed again, a sound that carried surprisingly well. Rifana nudged Filo. Filo transformed back into her smaller, still quite large, humanoid form with a flash, then poked Raphtalia.
Finally, Raphtalia seemed to make a decision. She gave another sigh – this one sounding a little more resigned, a little less dramatic – and began to undo the clasp on her brand-new, just-purchased adventurer jerkin.
Good. Crisis averted. For now.
I turned my back to them. Strictly no looking. User constraint, yes, but also pure, unadulterated self-preservation. My brain was already overloaded with the visuals of their sudden, impossible transformation. Adding spontaneous, forced voyeurism into the mix was a hard pass. My trauma-induced aversion to intimacy wasn't about to be challenged by the sounds of bathing companions, but seeing them... yeah, no. Not happening.
So I faced away, focusing on the landscape around Seyaette. The distant town walls, the rolling hills, the subtle shimmer of mana in the air (or maybe that was just my paranoia). I listened.
The sounds of disrobing were minimal – rustling fabric, soft thuds as gear hit the grass. Then, splashes. Glorious, life-affirming splashes. The simple sound of water meeting skin.
A gasp. "Oh, it's so cold!" That was Rifana.
"But it feels so good!" Raphtalia's voice, full of relief.
More splashing. Louder now. Sounds of scrubbing, of water being poured and shaken from cupped hands. Laughter. Genuine, clear laughter, bubbling up from the stream. Not the strained, fearful sounds from the mansion, or the bewildered whispers from the torn tent. Just... happy bathing sounds.
It was, I grudgingly admitted, a rather attractive sound. Not in any 'naughty' sense (my brain firmly locked that door and threw away the key), but simply in the sense of... peace. The sound of people finding a moment of simple joy and relief despite everything. Despite the marks, despite the trauma, despite the impossible growth and the airborne Master. Just the sound of young women enjoying a bath.
"Filo! Don't splash!" Rifana squealed, followed by more laughter and louder splashing.
Ah, right. Filo. Probably in humanoid form, given the sounds. Still a giant kid, even if she looked like an adult.
Their conversation, interspersed with splashes and giggles, drifted up to me. Talk of how good the new clothes felt, how weird it was to be this tall, complaints about still-aching muscles (the potions could do a lot, but not everything), and excited whispers about how strong they felt.
"I popped three Yellow Balloons with one arrow today!" Rifana boasted, sounding immensely proud.
"And I cut a Red Balloon almost in half!" Raphtalia countered. "Master's training is really working!"
"Yeah! Master is the best!" Filo declared loudly, followed by another round of energetic splashing, probably soaking both girls.
"Filo! No! You're getting soap in my eye!" Raphtalia yelped, prompting more laughter from Rifana.
I continued my 'monster watching,' listening to the symphony of their bath. Splashing, laughter, complaints about soap, boasts of battle prowess, cheerful declarations of loyalty, followed by more splashing. It was the sound of my makeshift family, finding normalcy in an impossible situation.
After a while, the splashing subsided. Sounds of drying off, quiet talk about what we should do next. Then, the rustle of clothes as they dressed in their new gear.
"Master! We're done!" Raphtalia called up.
I waited a moment longer, letting them finish completely. Then, with a subtle shift of mana, I canceled the Air Strike Shield.
I didn't fall. I landed softly on the bank, a few feet away from where they stood, looking clean, dressed, and somehow both older and still like the children I'd found.
"Alright," I said, turning back to them, allowing myself a brief glance to confirm they were properly dressed. They looked... ready. Stronger. The marks were still there, but less visible under their gear.
"Master smells now," Rifana stated, wrinkling her nose playfully.
Raphtalia giggled, the sound still carrying that new, mature tone.
Filo, back in her smaller humanoid form, nodded gravely. "Master needs a bath!"
I sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of utter defeat. "Fine," I grumbled, gesturing towards the stream. "But I'm going in alone! And no splashing!"
Their faces lit up. Raphtalia grinned. Rifana cheered quietly. Filo transformed back into her massive bird form with a joyful squawk and ran towards the stream, splashing in with enough force to send water everywhere.
My own bath was quick, perfunctory, and blessedly solitary, save for the occasional rogue splash from the giant bird happily wading nearby. As I washed off the dust and sweat, I listened to Raphtalia and Rifana talking on the bank – quiet conversations about their new strength, their worries about the future, and their unwavering trust in me.
The sounds of their voices, mature yet filled with the lingering innocence of their true age, were a constant reminder of the impossibility of our situation. But they were also the sound of survival. The sound of a bond being forged, not just through shared trauma, but through shared struggle and the grim necessity of power.
As I emerged from the stream, toweling off with a spare cloth, I looked at my three companions. Two beautiful young women and a giant bird, all bound to me by magic, money, and the universe's twisted sense of humor. They were the price of power, yes. But they were also the reason I was fighting. And maybe, just maybe, the sound of their laughter was the most amazing thing of all.