They should've seen it coming.
The moment they stepped into the ruins of the old divine altar, the air felt wrong — stale and sweet like rotting fruit. It was quiet. Too quiet.
That's when the shadows struck.
---
Kaelith took out two with clean, practiced cuts.
Elliot burned three more — golden flame arcing like lightning from his hands, searing flesh, lighting stone. But they kept coming. Creatures made of twisted scripture and old blood — things born from the gods' forgotten mistakes.
He reached for Kaelith's hand, pulled her back as the altar floor collapsed beneath them.
They landed hard in the underchamber — coughing, bruised, but alive.
---
Down here, the heat pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Dim red light shimmered along the walls.
They could still hear movement above — and the creatures weren't far behind.
But Elliot was gasping.
The Flame had drained him. Every burn, every divine echo, every piece of Vaelion inside him was rattling against his ribs like a prison.
Kaelith knelt beside him, grabbing his face.
> "You're overheating," she said, voice tight. "Too much magic. You'll burn from the inside."
His skin was hot — too hot.
She looked around. No water. No runes. Nothing to cool him.
Just them.
---
"Strip," she said sharply.
He blinked. "What?"
"Your clothes are trapping the heat. You're sweating magic. Take them off. Now."
He obeyed — clumsy, trembling — until he was bare to the waist, breath ragged.
She slid her hands along his arms, pressing her forehead to his. "I've got you," she whispered. "Stay with me."
Her hands didn't hesitate. They moved to his chest, over the Mark, down his stomach — not with lust, but intent. To ground him. To cool him. To feel him.
He moaned softly, more from pressure release than desire.
But then he looked up — and the way she was staring at him…
Not just worried.
Wanting.
---
"Kaelith—"
She silenced him with a kiss.
Fierce. Slow. Tasting of blood and dust and everything they never said out loud.
> "You almost died," she breathed against his mouth.
"So did you."
> "I don't care anymore. I don't want to wait."
---
The passion hit like lightning.
Suddenly they were all hands — desperate, trembling, not gentle but not careless. Her cloak fell. His belt loosened. Heat met skin. Her thigh around his hip. Their backs against old altar stone. Breaths hitching. Words dissolving into moans and groans and please and more.
Not because they were young.
But because they were alive.
Because they were afraid this could be the last moment they'd have — and they didn't want to leave it unspoken.
---
Their bodies moved like they fought — in rhythm, in sync, knowing where to push and when to surrender. She arched into him. He held her tighter. There was sweat and tension and whispered names. Not just Elliot. Not just Kaelith.
But "Yours."
---
When it was over, the room was quiet again.
Her head on his chest. His fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back.
No regrets. Just relief.
And a kind of love that didn't need to be said out loud.
Because it had already been felt.
---
Elliot kissed her temple.
> "We survive," he whispered.
Kaelith smiled sleepily.
> "Together."
---