The night was a velvet abyss, pierced only by the soft gleam of distant stars. They had fled the broken Empire, leaving behind a kingdom drenched in betrayal and the ashes of what could never be reclaimed.
Selene rode behind Lucien on the swift, dark stallion he had conjured from nothingness, her arms wrapped around his waist. The steady rhythm of the horse's hooves and the solid, immovable strength of Lucien beneath her palms were the only anchors she had left.
Neither spoke. Grief sat heavy between them, a thick mist of mourning and anger. The world had abandoned them both.
Hours later, they stopped near a quiet glade, the grass silvered by moonlight. Lucien dismounted first, silent as a phantom, and then helped Selene down with a tenderness that made her chest ache.
"Rest," he said simply, voice low and rough, not quite meeting her eyes.
Selene nodded numbly and sank onto the soft earth. She should have been exhausted, should have collapsed into unconsciousness. But sleep evaded her. The memories of her father's hollow eyes, his trembling hands signing her fate away, gnawed at her soul.
Across the fireless camp, Lucien stood guard. As always.
Selene watched him silently. The firelight of her heart flared as she took in his silhouette: the way his white hair shimmered under the stars, the proud line of his shoulders, the strange sadness that clung to him like mist.
She rose without thinking.
"Lucien," she called softly.
He turned, his golden eyes catching hers. For once, the indifference had cracked; a rawness lingered there, buried beneath centuries of scars.
"Why do you stay?" she whispered. "You could leave. You said yourself you would."
Lucien stared at her, something ancient and sorrowful passing through his gaze.
"Because," he said, stepping closer, "even I... am not immune to fate."
His hand brushed against her cheek, feather-light, like he feared he might shatter her. His skin was cold from the night air, but the touch burned into her.
Selene leaned into him without thought, seeking his strength, his warmth.
A tremor passed through Lucien. His hand curled under her jaw, tipping her face up.
"You are fragile," he murmured. "You shouldn't tie yourself to something like me."
"And yet," Selene said, voice trembling but fierce, "I want to."
The distance between them vanished.
Their lips met — first a hesitant brush, then deeper, desperate. Selene clutched the folds of his cloak as Lucien pressed her closer, his hand weaving into her hair.
For a heartbeat, the world disappeared. There was no war, no betrayal, no ancient curses. Only two souls, battered and bruised, finding each other in the darkness.
Lucien broke the kiss first, forehead resting against hers, breath ragged.
"Selene," he rasped, voice strained, "this path is not kind."
"Neither am I," she whispered, pulling him down to her again.
They sank into the grass together, the stars bearing silent witness. Fingers traced scars, breaths mingled, and two broken hearts knit together in trembling defiance of a world that sought to tear them apart.
It was not gentle. It was not perfect.
But it was real.
And it was theirs.
Far beyond the glade, a pair of cold, inhuman eyes watched from the shadows.
"The bond has begun," a voice hissed in the darkness.
"Then we must strike before it completes," answered another, sharper voice. "Before the King fully awakens — and the Goddess rises beside him."
The hunt was not over.
It had only just begun.