The forest whispered with ancient voices.
By the time the moon rose high above the canopy, casting soft silver over the bloodstained ruins, the air had stilled—like the world itself was holding its breath.
Eira sat alone at the edge of a moss-covered pillar, staring at her trembling hands. The battle was over, but the storm inside her hadn't quieted. She'd touched something ancient in that fight. Something deep. Raw. Untamed.
She hadn't just burned the enemies.
She had commanded the flame.
"I thought I'd find you here," Lucien's voice cut gently through the silence.
She didn't turn. "Couldn't sleep."
"Neither could I."
He stepped closer, cloaked in black as usual, but his expression was soft, not kingly—just Lucien. The man behind the crown. The one who had kissed her like she was oxygen.
He knelt beside her. "Are you alright?"
"I should be asking you that," she said, eyes flicking to the gash on his cheek.
Lucien touched it absently. "Already healing."
She studied him for a moment before whispering, "I saw everything. In the vision. I saw how she died. How I died."
Lucien's breath caught. "I was afraid you would."
"She chose to sacrifice herself. She burned away to keep the realms from collapsing. But I still don't understand why I was brought back. What changed?"
Lucien's jaw tightened. "Something is stirring in the Veil. Something that shouldn't be awake. You were brought back because the old magic is breaking. That seal she created… it's weakening."
Eira looked down, voice barely audible. "And if I fail again?"
He took her hands in his, steady and firm. "Then we fail together."
She looked up at him, her heart aching with unspoken things. "You always say that. Together. Even though it's clear that my presence only draws danger."
Lucien smirked faintly. "You think I fear danger?"
"No. But I think you fear losing me."
Silence stretched between them.
Then he said quietly, "More than anything."
It was enough to steal her breath.
"I thought I understood love before," she murmured. "But it's different now. With you, it's… heavier. It's not soft, it's fierce. Like a war in my chest."
Lucien reached out and touched her cheek, his thumb brushing a lock of hair from her face. "That's because love is war, Eira. A war worth choosing, every damn day."
She leaned into his touch, lips parting.
He kissed her.
Not like before—slow and sweet under the moonlight.
This kiss was desperate, deep, like he was staking a claim on her very soul. She returned it just as fiercely, threading her fingers into his silver-white hair, pressing closer as if the world might vanish the moment they parted.
When they finally broke away, she was breathless.
"I should be scared of this," she whispered.
Lucien rested his forehead against hers. "But you're not?"
She smiled. "No. Not anymore."
He reached into his coat and pulled something from a velvet pouch—an ornate ring shaped like intertwining vines of obsidian and silver. A small bloodstone shimmered in the center, pulsing faintly.
"What is this?" she asked.
"It's called a Vowring," he said, voice low. "Forged by my ancestors for sacred oaths. It binds souls in truth, not just words. No lies, no illusions."
Eira's eyes widened. "You want me to wear this?"
"I want to offer you a pact," he said seriously. "Not marriage. Not yet. But a promise. That I will protect you, stand beside you, and never betray you—no matter how dark the path becomes."
"And I?"
"You give it willingly," he said. "Only if you feel the same."
She took a breath.
Her heart thundered, but her answer was steady.
"I do."
He slipped the ring onto her finger.
A burst of light flared between their joined hands. Magic—pure, ancient—surged through her body like wildfire. For a brief moment, she saw him—not just Lucien the king, or Lucien the vampire—but Lucien the soul. Wounded, longing, loyal beyond comprehension.
And he saw her—not a girl reborn, not the Flame of legend—but Eira. Stubborn, afraid, strong in her own way.
The bond sealed.
And when the light faded, their fingers were still intertwined.
"You're stuck with me now," she teased gently.
Lucien grinned. "I've waited centuries. I think I can manage."
Footsteps approached through the brush. Ravien emerged, bruised but still sharp-eyed. "Hate to interrupt the romance, but we have movement from the south. A caravan bearing the sigil of House Thorne."
Lucien stood, instantly composed. "What's their interest here?"
"They're claiming neutrality, but Lyselle doesn't trust it. She says the sigil's off. Too old. Like a forgotten faction rising again."
Lucien looked to Eira. "You ready to face diplomacy?"
"Only if you stand next to me."
He offered his hand. "Always."
By noon, they stood before the arriving caravan. It was no ordinary diplomatic envoy. The carriages were black and gold, drawn by skeletal steeds with glowing eyes. A line of robed figures stood guard as a tall woman emerged.
She wore a crown of twisted bone and a veil that shimmered like cobwebs. Her voice was as cool as moonlight. "I come bearing a message from the Council of Dusk."
Lucien's gaze hardened. "The Council dissolved centuries ago."
The woman smiled faintly. "And yet, we return. Because the Flame has returned."
Eira stepped forward. "What do you want from me?"
"To warn you. The Order was only the beginning. Others will come. Gods. Forgotten kings. Creatures that remember your first incarnation—and wish to finish what they started."
Eira met her gaze, unflinching. "Let them come."
The woman tilted her head. "Then I leave you with this." She handed Eira a scroll sealed with molten wax. "Read it by starlight. And beware the name Valtherion. He remembers your fire."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "We'll handle it."
The envoy vanished into mist as quickly as they'd come.
Eira clutched the scroll, heart pounding.
Lucien placed a hand on her shoulder. "Valtherion. I've heard whispers. He was the first to betray the Flame. A god-king lost to the Void."
"Then we find him," she said. "Before he finds us."
Lucien nodded slowly. "Together."
She smiled. "Always."