ERIS
I walked the halls like a shadow, silent, barefoot, gliding past flickering torches and bowing servants who dared not meet my eye.
The wine still lingered on my tongue, tart and smoky, but the aftertaste of him was far worse.
Caelen.
My greatest weakness. My ruin wrapped in flesh and breath. My damnation in human form.
I had seen him again, for the first time since he killed me.
And strangely, I didn't feel the heat I'd expected. My heart didn't explode. My hands didn't shake. I didn't burn. Not the way I used to. That… frightened me more than anything.
I should've demanded he come to my chambers, just to see if his rejection would still shred me apart like it always had. Just to feel something again. But I knew better now. Knew that if he stood there in front of me, eyes blank as always, spitting the same cold contempt... I'd spiral. And I was tired of spiraling.
Back then, I made a hobby of chasing him. Of begging for slivers of his affection like a starving dog gnawing on bone. And when he pushed me away, as he always did, I turned my rage on Ophelia, like clockwork. Like the coward I refused to admit I was.
How utterly pathetic.
I gave him every part of me. My love. My power. My kingdom. And all he gave me in return was the edge of a blade through my chest... poetic, isn't it?
Yet here I was, walking the same halls I once ruled with fire, aware. I was aware now.
That changed things.
It had to.
Because now I remembered. I remembered who I was, and more importantly, who I used to be.
The woman who died clawing for the love of a man who only ever looked at her like a curse.
No.
It didn't have to be that way anymore.
Not this time.
...
Narrator:
Soren's chambers were in the North Wing of the palace, spacious, high-ceilinged, and draped in rich Solmiran reds and golds. Foreign dignitaries of his rank were always granted the Celestium Suites, tucked away in the quieter wing meant to honor peace and display power all at once.
His guards, however, had been directed toward the Outer Barracks, a fortified section just past the Southern courtyard, with quarters and a small armory reserved for foreign knights and visiting warriors.
Ophelia had seen to everything personally.
She moved with grace and efficiency, explaining the layout of the grounds and giving gentle instructions to the staff. And though her voice was soft, it was clear she held sway among them. She even walked Soren to his rooms before excusing herself, saying she would see to the rest of his men's accommodations.
That left him alone with Caelen.
The moment Ophelia disappeared down the corridor, Caelen sank into one of the velvet-backed chairs near the hearth and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"She's different," Soren said, finally breaking the silence.
Caelen glanced up. "Who?"
Soren didn't bother answering.
His friend scowled, already reading between the lines. "Don't let the theatrics fool you. Eris always has some new way to stir things up."
The bitterness in his tone didn't surprise Soren. But for the first time… it made him hesitate.
He had known Caelen most of his life. Had fought beside him. Bled with him. Trusted him. And he'd heard more than enough stories about the Fire Queen's cruelty to believe every word of it. But the woman he'd seen tonight... barefoot, wine-stained, calm... had not looked like a tyrant plotting her next strike.
She had looked... haunted.
"Perhaps," Soren murmured. "But still... her presence felt different. Like her very essence has shifted."
Caelen scoffed. "That's what she wants you to think. Eris is clever. She knows how to charm when she needs to. Or deceive. That's what she's best at."
Soren said nothing.
There was no point arguing. And maybe Caelen was right.
Still... he couldn't unsee the way she looked at nothing. The way she held herself. Like someone walking the edge of memory and madness.
He took a breath, turning toward the tall windows overlooking the darkened gardens. "Well, if she does finally drive you to madness," he said with a half-smirk, "you're always welcome to seek asylum in Nevareth. I could use a court jester."
Caelen snorted, the tension breaking. "As if you'd survive a week with me nagging in your ear."
"Not unless I drugged the wine."
They both chuckled quietly, old soldiers loosening their armor for just a moment.
After a beat, Caelen stood. "You should rest. I imagine the road from Nevareth wasn't gentle."
Soren nodded. "Dinner arrangements?"
"The palace will prepare something small tonight. The full welcoming banquet is tomorrow."
"Of course."
With that, they parted ways.
Soren stepped into his rooms, the heavy door closing behind him with a muffled click. The fire had already been lit, casting slow shadows along the stone walls. He removed his gloves and circled the space, fingers brushing against the silk of the curtains, the smooth cool marble of the columns.
But he was still thinking about her.
Eris Igniva.
No longer storming. No longer smiling. No longer raging like a goddess of war.
Just... there.
And it made something twist in his chest.