The forest was restless that night. The trees swayed against a whispering wind, carrying with it the scent of rain that never fell. Ezagone sat cross-legged near the crackling campfire, gnawing on a strip of half-burnt rabbit. Zethra, quiet as ever, sat opposite him, staring into the flames as though they could answer the thousand questions clawing at his insides.
For hours, silence hung between them—broken only by the popping firewood and Ezagone's chewing. Finally, Ezagone spat a bone into the dirt and narrowed his eyes.
"Alright," he said. "I've had enough of this cryptic brooding act. Zethra—what the hell happened back there? With your wings, the power, the way you almost turned that angel-hunting freak into ash. You're hiding something, and I'm not letting it slide this time."
Zethra's gaze didn't shift from the flames. "It's better if you don't know."
Ezagone threw his hands up. "That's what you always say. Better for who? You? Me? Or the next psycho that wants to turn us into feather-and-horn soup?"
Zethra's jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to reply—
And then the fire shifted.
The flames twisted unnaturally, glowing deep crimson, as though drinking in something unseen. A woman stepped forward from the blaze, her silhouette forming first, then her body—curves carved like temptation itself, her skin pale as moonlight, and her gown the very essence of sin: a flowing crimson dress that left little to the imagination, clinging and daring, catching firelight in ways no cloth should.
Her lips curled into a knowing smile, her amethyst eyes glimmering with playful cruelty.
Amethyst.
Zethra almost said her name aloud, but then—
"Zethra…" Ezagone's voice cracked.
Zethra whipped his head around. His brother's eyes were wide, jaw slack, his rabbit meat forgotten in the dirt.
"Tell me I'm not the only one seeing her."
Time stopped.
For a heartbeat, Zethra thought his mind was breaking apart. Ezagone—his human-eyed, blissfully blind brother—was staring directly at Amethyst.
And Amethyst… was staring back.
"Well," she purred, tilting her head, red silk sliding across pale skin, "isn't this Astonishing?"
Zethra shot to his feet, heart hammering. "Ezagone, don't—she's not—this isn't—"
"Not what?" Ezagone barked, scrambling up. "Not real? Not standing there looking like she just walked out of some forbidden painting?"
Amethyst laughed, the sound rich and dangerous. She sauntered closer, heels clicking against nothing, as if the air itself solidified beneath her steps. She leaned over the firepit, flames licking her silhouette, her dress clinging like sin incarnate.
"My, my," she said, eyes sliding to Ezagone. "You can see me? You? Fascinating."
Ezagone, ever the fool, managed to stammer out, "Uh—yeah. And, uh—might I add—you're terrifyingly… um… overdressed for camping?"
Zethra nearly strangled him. "Ezagone!"
But Amethyst laughed again, delighted. "Oh, I like him. He's adorable. I can see why you keep him around, Zethra."
"Keep me around?" Ezagone sputtered. "Excuse me, lady, I'm his brother."
"Oh, trust me," Amethyst's smile widened, sharp and alluring, "I know exactly what you are."
Zethra stepped between them, wings straining against his seal. His heart raced in fury and dread. "Amethyst—stop. This isn't a game."
Her expression softened—slightly. She circled him like a predator caressing her prey. "Oh, but everything is a game, dear Zethra. And your brother just unlocked a new piece on the board."
Ezagone crossed his arms, trying to look braver than he felt. "You two sound like you've been—what—chatting behind my back? Since when do you get ghost girlfriends?"
Zethra groaned. "She's not my girlfriend—"
Amethyst interrupted with a low chuckle. "Not yet."
"Not ever," Zethra snapped.
Ezagone blinked between them, then raised both brows. "Wow. She even backtalks. Yep, that's a girlfriend if I've ever seen one."
Amethyst's eyes sparkled with wicked humor, but then—just for a fleeting second—the mask cracked. She tilted her head toward Ezagone, studying him as though he were a puzzle she hadn't expected. For the first time since Zethra had known her, she looked… stumped.
"You shouldn't be able to see me," she whispered, almost to herself.
The fire dimmed for an instant. Zethra felt his skin crawl. Ezagone swallowed, suddenly uneasy. "Yeah, well… I can. And honestly? I'd like to unsee it."
Amethyst's eyes lingered on him a moment longer, unreadable. Then, just like smoke, her body began to dissolve into the night air.
Before she vanished completely, she leaned close to Ezagone, her voice a velvet dagger against his ear.
"You, little half-blood, are far more interesting than you realize."
And then she was gone.
The fire burned orange again, crackling as though nothing had happened.
Silence crushed the clearing.
Ezagone dropped back onto the log, hands in his hair. "Okay," he muttered, "either I'm losing my mind, or your imaginary demon girlfriend just hit on me."
Zethra sank down opposite him, face pale, fists clenched. He couldn't bring himself to answer. He didn't have one.
Because for the first time… he didn't understand what Amethyst wanted either.