The stars were still forming, slow and curious, like children reaching for warmth. A thousand new constellations now spun in the heavens Lina had lit with her will—no longer shaped by gods, but by her own rhythm, her own breath.
For the first time in eternity, there was no war.
No divine screams.
No thrones to conquer.
Only her flame.
Only his darkness.
Only them.
—
Andra stood at the edge of the floating world they'd just birthed—a sphere of molten rivers, obsidian cliffs, and a sky that burned in twilight violet. It pulsed with her signature. It was her.
He inhaled slowly. "It's beautiful."
"She's not finished," came Lina's voice behind him, softer than the wind, rougher than velvet. She walked barefoot across the scorched earth toward him, a crownless queen wrapped in nothing but firelight.
Andra turned to look at her. His chest tightened.
It wasn't just her beauty—though that was undeniable, searing.
It was the power that leaked from her skin in soft pulses.
And the way her eyes found him like he was gravity.
"You're not wearing your crown," he said quietly.
"I don't need it right now," she replied, stepping closer. "Right now, I just want to be… yours."
—
His arms wrapped around her waist without hesitation. "You always have been," he said, voice rough.
Lina leaned into him, tilting her head up. Her lips hovered just below his. "I want to feel that. Not as a queen. Not as a goddess. Just me."
"You," he whispered, brushing his thumb across her cheek, "have never been just anything."
And then he kissed her.
—
The heat between them wasn't fire—it was familiarity. It was the ache of years spent clawing through war and blood to get here. It was the burn of obsession finally allowed to soften.
Her hands slid beneath the shadows wrapping his chest, pulling him closer, bare skin against flame-slicked skin. His mouth moved down her neck, over the pulse that beat like a war drum.
Lina gasped as he lifted her, carrying her toward the smooth surface of obsidian warmed by her flame. He laid her down with reverence—like a temple, like a wildfire that had offered him sanctuary.
"Andra," she whispered, pulling him down to her, "this is where I choose to burn."
"I'd let myself be reduced to ash in you," he said.
And he did.
—
Their bodies met in rhythm, a slow and rising crescendo. No power plays, no dominance, no chains or thrones—only hands clutching, gasps caught between open mouths, flame wrapping around them both like silk.
He worshiped every scar, every sigh.
She consumed every heartbeat, every thrust.
Time melted. There was no end. No beginning.
Only the slow, brutal beauty of two souls who had broken every rule to find each other.
And in that union—deep, messy, sacred—they created more than worlds.
They created belonging.
—
After, they lay tangled beneath a sky of their own making.
Lina traced patterns on his chest with lazy fingers. "Do you ever wonder if we were meant to destroy everything?"
Andra looked at her, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "No."
"No?"
"I think we were meant to remake it. In our image. Together."
She smiled, lips brushing his throat. "Then let's start again tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," he agreed, wrapping his arms around her. "But tonight… you're mine."
"Always."