LOGIN(Apollo)“Continue.” Apollo demanded.“They reached the Wilds faster than predicted. By the time our surviving forces reorganised after the battle, they had already established forward positions and begun moving toward the Ashen Dominion.” A flicker of irritation crossed Apollo's face. “Why weren't they intercepted?” The room fell briefly silent. Not from fear. From calculation. Malachar eventually answered. “Because the army spent the first day believing you might die.” The words landed harder than anything else spoken thus far. No one moved. No one spoke. Apollo simply stared at him. Malachar held the gaze. “You were unconscious. The command structure was fractured. Casualties exceeded expectations. The western divisions required immediate reinforcement. The wounded required evacuation. We did not have the numbers to pursue aggressively without risking a complete collapse of the line.” Apollo hated the explanation, mostly because it was reasonable. “The army?” “Rec
(Apollo)By the time he reached the throne room, the air itself felt thinner, stretched tight with anticipation as though the space understood what was coming before the doors even opened. They parted before him. Inside, the war council stilled. Several generals rose instinctively before realising they had already been standing. One advisor took an unconscious step backward. Another gripped the edge of the war table hard enough for his knuckles to pale beneath dark skin. None of them were looking at their king with relief. They were looking at him the way soldiers looked at an unstable siege engine that had suddenly begun moving again. The chamber stretched wide, obsidian floors reflecting fractured light from towering braziers that burned higher than they should have, reacting to the instability he carried with him. Above the central dais, projections of the battlefield hovered in layered constructs of gold and red, shifting lines of strategy suspended in magic that flickered
(Apollo) Consciousness did not return as a gentle rising, nor as any waking a mortal might recognise. It hauled him upward through a mire thick as pitch, a slow, suffocating ascent through a heaviness that clung to thought and breath alike, each stratum pressing down with the weight of centuries as awareness fought to reforge itself from fragments. Sound arrived first, not as clarity, but as a distant tolling, a hollow resonance that reverberated through bone rather than air, followed by the uneven cadence of his own breath, shallow and belated, as though his lungs had forgotten the ancient rhythm and now struggled to recall it beneath some infernal burden. Sensation followed, but it would not condescend to order. Pain did not gather itself into a single, sovereign point. Instead, it surfaced in scattered fragments across his form, a dull, dragging ache through his ribs, a deeper, tearing awareness along his leg where the blade had trespassed, and the lingering, misaligned void wher
(Adelaide & Caelum) Adelaide's tongue brushed his, light, exploratory, the contact brief but enough to carry meaning, to hold that moment between them without pushing it further than it needed to go. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she moved. Slowly at first, the shift almost imperceptible, her hands tightening slightly at his jaw as her body adjusted, her weight lifting just enough to reposition without breaking the connection between their mouths. The kiss deepened by a fraction as she did, not from urgency, but from continuity, as though neither of them was willing to let that point of contact go even for a second. Her knee slid along his side, the movement careful but deliberate, her body aligning with his in a way that felt natural rather than planned, the space between them closing further as she guided herself into his lap. The motion drew her closer, not just in proximity but in presence, the line of her body settling over his as she straddled him fully, her hips finding t
(Adelaide & Caelum) Adelaide’s breath softened just slightly against Cael’s skin, the sharp edge of her sobs easing by fractions as that unfamiliar calm threaded through the storm inside her, the frantic hammering beneath her ribs beginning at last to lose its desperate rhythm, each inhale drawing a little deeper than the one before as the cramped walls of the burrow stopped feeling like a tomb and started feeling like shelter. For a moment, she stayed there, pressed to him, her hands still gripping his shoulders as though she needed the certainty of him beneath her palms, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the quiet strength in the way he held her. The burrow around them remained hushed and close, its earthen walls holding the lingering warmth of sleep and emberlight alike, roots twisting through the ceiling overhead like the ribs of some ancient beast slumbering beneath the mountain. Faint gold light seeped through cracks in the stone in thin, uneven threads, painting soft ban
(Adelaide & Caelum) He felt her, threaded through him, her emotions moving alongside his own.It made something in his chest tighten. Not from discomfort. From recognition. “They’re…” her voice faltered, her eyes flicking between his hands and his face as though searching for confirmation. “They’re not burned.” “No,” he said quietly, watching her more than the marks themselves now. “They were,” she insisted, the memory sharp in her voice, her breath quickening again. “I saw it, I felt it, Cael I—” “I know.” He didn’t argue it. Didn’t dismiss it. Because he had felt it too. Every second of it. “It’s gone,” he said, more carefully now, his gaze dropping briefly to his own hands before returning to her. “Whatever it was… it didn’t stay like that.” Her thumbs hovered over the patterns again, her touch light, searching, afraid to press too hard as though she might still hurt him if she wasn’t careful. “Does it hurt?” she asked, the question coming out softer now, threa
(Apollo & Adelaide) The throne room did not empty. It bled out, slow and reluctant. It drained, slow as cooling blood. At Apollo’s dismissal, demons scattered like ash caught in a furnace draft. They retreated the way smoke does when cold air invades—slow, unwilling, eyes clinging to the throne,
(The Devil)No.The word wasn’t spoken aloud—it didn’t need to be. It rolled through the stone, the air, the molten rivers, swallowed instantly by the realm that understood him too well.He wasn’t taking her back. She had stabbed him. Hit him. Defied him. Bit through her own fear to curse him to hi
(The Devil)Pain.Real pain. Not the distant echo of a blade that never quite reached him, not the dull, background ache of ancient wounds long since turned to myth—this was sharp, immediate, present pain that lit up his nerves like a struck sigil.The spear tore into his back-left shoulder with a
(The Devil)He dragged his thumb across the smear of blood at the corner of her mouth. Her lips parted slightly at the touch. His jaw clenched.“Fool,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure if the word was for her or for himself.“Little Flame… you’ve ruined everything.” The accusation burned bitter o







