Darkness hung thick in the endless corridor, the scent of brimstone and old blood etched into its every stone. Shadows crawled, not with fear, but in reverence—as if the walls themselves recognized the footsteps that echoed down their ancient length.
He walked alone.
Not because he had to. But because no one dared walk beside him.
Riven—the Prince of Ash, the Son of the Abyss, the name forbidden even in whispers—moved like silence incarnate. But within, his mind was not still.
It hadn't been for days.
Not since her.
His jaw clenched.
He'd warned the Temple not because he cared, but because he saw it—what was coming. A rupture so vast it would split the sky and drag heaven screaming into the pit. And at its center...
Her.
He hadn't expected that.
You weren't supposed to matter, he thought. You were supposed to kneel.
Riven had seen high priestesses before. Prophets. Queens. Kings. Emperors who wept under the weight of his presence.
He never needed to try. Never needed to touch. Never needed to Kiss.
Power bent to him.
But not Arielle Voss.
The holy priestess who bore the light like a sword—not as purity, but defiance.
She summoned him.
He Kissed her.
And still, she remained herself.
Even in the pull of his aura, even in the intoxicating dark of his power, she had not broken. Her soul had flared back in his presence, raw and untamed, not pure—but true.
That alone should have intrigued him.
But it was worse than that.
It bound him.
He stopped in the hallway, letting that word settle on his tongue like ash.
A bond.
That only happened among demons—soul-bound markings between high bloodlines of darkness.
But he had felt it.
The moment her lips touched his. The way it echoed in his core. The way her flame recognized his name before she even spoke it.
Who are you, Arielle Voss?
What made you immune to the appeal of the Devil?
He closed his eyes for a moment.
His plan had been simple: gain control over her light, bend her faith into something useful. A weapon. A pawn.
He didn't expect desire.
He didn't expect resistance.
And now he couldn't stop seeing her. Hearing her. Smelling the faint hint of sacred ash that clung to her skin.
It infuriated him.
It fascinated him.
It was the first time in a very long time that anything had.
Behind him, he felt the flicker of another presence. He didn't need to look.
"You can come out now," Riven muttered, his voice calm but sharp.
A figure melted from the shadows, leaning casually against the crimson-veined wall. He was beautiful in a way that drew stares and screams alike. His golden hair glowed faintly, his eyes like carved rubies.
"Took you long enough to notice me," the newcomer said with a smirk.
"I noticed you three halls back. I was hoping you'd lose interest."
"Come now, brother," the man laughed lightly. "Don't be like that."
Riven rolled his eyes and kept walking. The other prince followed, his steps unnervingly graceful.
"You're never around these days," the younger prince continued, tone teasing. "What have you been up to? Or should I say... who have you been up to?"
Riven gave no answer.
The prince grinned wider. "Ah. Silence. That means something is going on."
He spun dramatically in step, placing a hand to his chest. "I thought you'd finally found another soul worth tormenting. But if this sudden disappearance is something else, well... I'm impressed. Someone finally pierced the icicle you call a heart."
Still nothing from Riven.
"You used to be so... terrifying," the other mused, clearly enjoying himself. "Now you're brooding."
Riven finally turned, gaze glinting with warning. "Keep talking, Lior, and I will remind you why they buried your name beneath six layers of silence."
Lior chuckled, unaffected. "Oh, Riven. You wound me. I'm merely pleased something—someone —has finally caught your interest. It's exhausting watching you be so... dreadful. You might be colder than Father himself."
"Then pray I stay that way," Riven muttered, voice low.
Lior leaned in closer, mischief dancing in his crimson eyes. "Just tell me this: is she holy?"
Riven's stare didn't waver. "Painfully."
"Delicious."
The older prince turned away once more, walking into the shadows ahead.
But his thoughts were far from gone.
She wasn't supposed to matter.
And now...
She just might be the only thing that does.
Riven stood at the edge of the Abyss.
A place older than hell itself. Where time didn't flow, only waited. He'd come here for silence, to extinguish the noise that was beginning to consume him.
But there was no silence in his mind.
Only her name.
Arielle.
He clenched his jaw, breathing through his nose, exhaling slowly as he stared into the black. Even now, he could feel the echo of her magic under his skin. A low burn beneath his ribs. It wasn't fading. It was rooting deeper.
He didn't like it.
He didn't understand it.
He had kissed many humans—broken them, remade them, turned priests into heretics and queens into monsters with only a whisper. But this? This wasn't a soul corrupted. This was a bond.
A binding.
He touched his chest where it pulsed faintly. A thread.
He hadn't told Lior.
Wouldn't tell the others. Not yet. Not until he had answers.
Riven turned, walking through the corridor of screaming marble faces carved in the walls. The place had no name. Only the eldest of demons came here when they needed truth. And even they paid a price for it.
He stepped into a black chamber, eyes narrowing.
"I need answers."
The shadows stirred.
And in their center, an old voice rasped, "You should not be here, Riven of Ash."
He ignored it. "Is it possible... for a bond to form between a demon and a human?"
Silence.
Then a slow creaking laugh, like a blade being drawn across bone.
"Only once."
Riven stiffened. "When?"
"Long before the veil was torn. Long before your father rose to claim dominion."
"And what happened to them?"
"They burned."
Riven's eyes narrowed. "Because of the bond?"
"Because they dared to challenge the nature of creation. You were never meant to belong to them. And they... were never meant to survive you."
The flicker under his skin grew stronger.
"What does that mean for me?"
"You are not meant to feel, Riven. You were made to devour. If you begin to feel—" the shadows hissed, "—you will fall."
His hands curled at his sides.
No. He would not fall. He would not burn for her. He was not weak.
But still...
Her name rang in his mind.
He turned away from the voice, cloak trailing smoke.
As he left the chamber, Lior stepped from the gloom, arms folded, eyebrows raised.
"So," Lior said lightly, "you are bound to her."
Riven stopped.
His silence was answer enough.
Lior gave a low whistle. "Damn. That explains the brooding. Father will lose his mind."
Riven turned his head, voice flat. "No one tells him."
"What, you don't think he'll notice when your power starts unraveling and attaching itself to a human soul?"
"She is not just a human."
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Lior smiled like he had just won something.
Riven disappeared in a plume of black ash, leaving only the heat of something ancient—and something terribly new—behind.
And still, the echo of a question haunted him:
Who are you, Arielle Voss? And what the hell have you done to me?