The castle felt colder than it should have.
Lucian had grown up with silence. A weapon sharpened in stillness. But this... this was different.
It was the silence before a god remembered how to speak.
Kyrell moved through the halls like a tether—his presence always just a breath away from Lucian's. They hadn't touched since that morning. Not because the fire had faded.
But because they both knew what was coming.
There was no room for soft hands in the storm.
Renak arrived before sunset.
His armor was scratched, his jaw set tight. He didn't bow. Just threw a parchment onto the table before Lucian.
It bore a seal neither had seen before: an open mouth of flame, biting down on a bleeding sun.
"The Council's no longer just whispering," Renak said. "They're summoning. Preparing for something. This was sent to the outer houses in secret. A call to arms."
Lucian's jaw tensed. "So it begins."
But Kyrell was already holding the parchment. He ran his thumb over the symbol, eyes narrowing.
"I've seen this in the book of Waking," he said. "The god who burns memory. The one that eats lineage."
Lucian's eyes flicked to him. "Then you know what's been set in motion."
"I do," Kyrell murmured. "But I also know who it chose."
He looked directly at Lucian.
"You weren't just made for the throne. You were made to survive its ruin."
---
In the lower chambers, where the stone walls bled old magic, Damien pressed a blade to his own palm and bled onto the circle.
Mara chanted softly behind him, her voice heavy with possession.
"Blood for truth... blood for betrayal... blood for the one you loved too late."
The blade hummed. The sigils burst into light.
In the flicker of their combined hatred, the image of Lucian and Kyrell kissing under firelit sky exploded across the floor—projected from memory.
Damien watched it in silence.
His voice cracked.
"That should've been me."
---
That night, the sky above the castle turned a bruised shade of violet.
And Lucian felt the first true tremor of the god beneath his bones. His skin blistered with heat, not of pain—but awakening.
In the mirror, his reflection glitched.
His eyes weren't just glowing. They were burning.
Kyrell stepped behind him.
Saw it.
Didn't flinch.
Instead, he cupped Lucian's jaw from behind, met his gaze through the reflection, and whispered:
"You burn, but you are not ruined."
Lucian exhaled, trembling.
Kyrell kissed the back of his neck.
"I am not afraid of what you're becoming," he said. "I'm afraid of losing you before the world knows what it tried to bury."
Lucian turned then—mouth crashing against Kyrell's, desperation bleeding into passion.
Clothes peeled away like falling skin. Nothing soft. Nothing slow. Just need.
Lucian pinned him to the edge of the bed, breath hot against his throat. "You said you'd stand with me…"
Kyrell bit his lip, hard. "Even if we're the ones who set the world on fire."
Lucian didn't smile.
He marked him again.
This time, not just with lips or teeth—but with a raw, blazing pull that came from deep within his chest.
Kyrell arched under him, crying out Lucian's name as magic surged between them—a flare of god-blood and prophecy.
A claim made by flesh, sealed by fate.
And far beneath them, the First Flame opened its mouth...
...and smiled.
---