I laughed—sharp, cold, a sound that sliced through the silence of the night.
"Let you?"
My voice echoed like steel in the stillness.
"You think you can stop me?"
Seraphina stood her ground—fragile, furious, and radiant in her defiance. A storm barely contained. Her eyes burned with fear, yes, but something else simmered beneath the surface. Something bold. Dangerous.
She smelled of earth and fire.
Rebellion.
And gods, it was intoxicating.
Hunger twisted inside me—sharp, alive. It had nothing to do with duty now. It was her. The way she resisted. The way she refused to kneel. That defiance should have made her easier to break.
But it didn't.
It made her burn brighter.
And I wanted to see how far I could push her—how close to the edge I could drive her before she shattered.
I shouldn't feel this. I shouldn't want.
But that spark inside her called to something buried in me—something ancient, long silenced. Yet now, in her presence, it stirred. It reached for the light she carried, reckless and raw.
Her chest rose and fell in quick, panicked rhythm. Her heartbeat echoed through the space between us like war drums. Wild. Untamed.
I hadn't felt this in centuries.
Feelings don't serve me.
Emotion is a weakness I bled out lifetimes ago.
But here I was, feeling. Fighting not her—but myself.
I leaned closer, and the space between us went taut like a bowstring ready to snap.
"You don't get to choose, Seraphina," I said, my voice a blade—cold, but not steady. Not anymore.
The earth seemed to hold its breath. Fate loomed heavy, coiled and ready.
I stepped closer. She retreated.
But there was nowhere left to run.
"The gods have already made that decision for you."
Still, she didn't flinch. Her eyes—those defiant, blazing eyes—met mine without a flicker of doubt.
She was everything the gods should have destroyed.
And yet, here she stood.
"Not ever," she whispered.
A tremor in her voice. But it held. A single ember refusing to die.
I should've relished her resistance—should've wanted to crush it.
Instead, something shifted.
Hollow.
Wrong.
A gnawing unease curled under my ribs. Like I was the one unraveling.
She was mine. Whether she fought or not. Whether she knew or not.
I would claim her.
The gods demanded it. Their will was law.
So why… why did it feel like I was the one being pulled under?
I leaned in. The air between us burned. My instincts screamed to finish this—complete the task the gods set in motion long ago.
And yet…
For the first time in centuries, I wondered:
Was she my undoing?