That night, Devara dreamed again, but the dreams were more like a prison caging her soul. Rudi Santoso's face, the manager she had betrayed, appeared repeatedly, a shadow refusing to fade. His kind face melted before her, his eyes hollow, his lips whispering one word that struck like a hammer: "Why?" Behind his shadow, other flashes emerged—her own face from past lives, bound in iron chains, dragged to a blood-stained stone altar, branded with fire that seared her skin. Reincarnation after reincarnation. Failure after failure. Every version of her stared with the same expression: disappointment, heavy with unspoken regret.
Devara woke drenched in cold sweat, her breath ragged as if she'd just escaped drowning. The clock on her apartment wall ticked, its seconds sounding like a punishing sledgehammer. The necklace around her throat felt heavier, anchoring her to a past she hadn't chosen. She closed her eyes, trying to banish the shadows, but Rudi's face and her past selves flickered behind her eyelids, like mirrors that refused to stop reflecting.
In the morning, Devara slipped into the basement archives of Nexus Tower, a place that now felt like a secret tomb. The dim neon lights made Dr. Artha's face appear paler than usual, worry lines etched deep into his forehead. He stood among the archive racks, clutching a tablet with a dark screen, as if afraid to turn it on.
"Devara," Artha's voice trembled, nearly breaking, "I heard… the man you framed, Rudi Santoso… he has a wife, two young children. They came to the office gate yesterday, crying for their father. You know what happens next, don't you? They'll never see him again."
Devara froze, his words cutting sharper than a dagger, straight to her heart. She looked down, her body swaying as if the ground beneath her might collapse. "Why tell me this?" she asked, her voice hoarse, laced with anger and regret.
Artha stepped closer, his eyes filled with fear but resolute. "Because you need to know the cost of every step," he said. "Queen Li… she's not just testing your loyalty. She's tearing your conscience apart, layer by layer, until you're no longer the human you know. She wants you to become like her—empty, consumed by obsession."
Devara closed her eyes, nausea crashing over her like a wave. "I can't do this anymore, Doc," she whispered, her voice nearly gone. "She's… eternal. She can wait a thousand years if she must. Whatever I fight against, it'll be futile. I'm just one mortal. Sooner or later, I'll fall into her hands."
Artha gripped her shoulder, his hold weak but urgent. "You're not alone, Devara. There's still a way. But you have to hold on, at least until we find her weakness." Yet his words sounded hollow, like hope already cracking.
The next night, Devara sat in her office, the lights off, only moonlight streaming through the window, glinting off the glass desk. In her hand, the watch from Queen Li gleamed, its seconds ticking relentlessly, a reminder that time was now her enemy. She stared at it, her fingers clutching the cold metal tightly, as if she could stop time with her anger. Then, in a burst of emotion, she smashed the watch onto the floor. The glass shattered, the second hand froze, but the ticking echoed in her head. The destruction brought no relief—only emptiness, like a black hole in her chest.
Tears fell unnoticed, wetting her cheeks. In her mind, one whisper repeated: There's no other way. The guilt over Rudi Santoso, the threat to her family, and the shadows of her past lives piled up, crushing the last of her defenses. With heavy steps, like a prisoner walking to the gallows, she stood, reached the door, and left the room. Her feet carried her to a place she knew too well: Queen Li's private apartment at the top of Nexus Tower. No invitation. No plan. Only despair driving her forward.
The apartment door opened with a soft hiss, like a secret unveiled. Queen Li gazed at her from her wheelchair, still playing the frail woman, but her eyes gleamed like a predator knowing its prey had finally surrendered. The candlelight in the room reflected off her black gown, creating an aura both alluring and terrifying. The scent of sandalwood filled the air, swirling around Devara like an invisible web.
Devara said nothing. Tears streamed down her face, her expression pale and empty. She fell to her knees before Queen Li, her arms wrapping around the woman's legs, her face buried in the folds of her gown. Like a child lost from home, she trembled, her body shaking with exhaustion and surrender. "I… I can't anymore," she whispered, her voice broken, barely audible.
"Finally," Queen Li murmured, her voice soft yet triumphant. Her cold hand stroked Devara's hair with slow, deliberate movements, a perverse tenderness, like a mother embracing her child and an executioner preparing the noose. "Finally, you've come back to me. Forever, this time."
Devara didn't resist. Her defenses crumbled, like sandcastles swept away by waves. She let herself sink into the embrace, knowing it wasn't love but a trap waiting for her across centuries.
Queen Li leaned down, her lips nearly brushing Devara's ear, her breath warm and heavy, carrying the intoxicating sandalwood scent, like smoke enveloping her body. "Look at you, Dev," she whispered, her voice soft yet commanding, a siren's song promising pleasure and ruin. "So fragile, so beautiful when broken. You know? I don't crave glory or kingdoms. I only want you. You are the eternal victory I never tire of claiming."
Devara lifted her face, her eyes wet, filled with exhaustion that had eroded her defenses. She found no hatred within her, only an emptiness that left her vulnerable. Queen Li leaned down, her lips touching Devara's softly at first, a kiss laced with temptation, testing the limits of her resistance. Her lips were gentle yet firm, exploring deliberately, her tongue sweeping with slow movements that stirred heat in Devara's body, though her mind still rebelled.
Queen Li's hand crept to her neck, her cold fingers tracing Devara's jaw, then sliding to her chest, unbuttoning her shirt one by one with controlled movements, as if each touch was part of a ritual. Devara's skin burned under the cold touch, each inch leaving a confusing trail of heat. "You feel this, don't you?" Queen Li whispered, her voice low, husky, thick with desire warped by obsession. "Your body knows, your soul knows. You're mine."
Devara trembled, her breath ragged, but she didn't resist. She let Queen Li pull her to the wide bed draped in black silk, its sheer curtains swaying like living shadows. Queen Li pushed her down gently until she lay back, her black gown falling away with graceful movements, revealing pale skin untouched by time, her curves like a living marble statue, radiating an aura both captivating and terrifying. She straddled Devara, her slender thighs pinning her hips, her hands gripping Devara's wrists and holding them above her head, rendering her powerless beneath her.
Every touch from Queen Li was a blend of tenderness and dominance. Her fingers traced Devara's chest, her nails grazing lightly, leaving faint red lines like marks of ownership. She leaned down, her lips brushing Devara's neck again, her kisses deeper, hungrier, her teeth grazing the base of her throat, drawing a stifled moan from Devara's lips. "You can't run," she whispered between kisses, her breath hot against Devara's skin. "This body, this soul, was marked centuries ago."
Devara felt heat blaze through her, a mix of unwanted desire and despair that drove her to surrender. Her hands, once clenched, slowly relaxed, her fingers brushing Queen Li's waist, feeling skin cold yet soft as silk. She let herself sink into the rhythm of their movements, their bodies dancing in a paradox of surrender and resistance, desire and regret. Queen Li moved her hips slowly, deliberately, each motion designed to pull Devara deeper into her web. Their breaths mingled, fast and heavy, the room filled with soft moans and the rustle of silk.
That night wasn't just lovemaking—it was total surrender. Every touch from Queen Li was a chain tightening, every kiss a reminder that Devara now belonged to someone who would never die. At the climax, Devara felt her soul wrenched, as if pulled into an unstoppable vortex. Queen Li gazed down at her, her eyes gleaming with triumph, her lips curving in a smile of possession. "You're mine," she whispered, her voice a mantra binding Devara's soul to the eternal cycle she had crafted.
The next morning, Devara woke in the wide bed, its sheer curtains swaying in the morning breeze. Her body felt heavy, as if filled with sand. By the bedside, Queen Li sat, her black gown pristine again, watching her with a smile too calm, like a goddess who had just won a war.
"Good morning, darling," she said, her voice soft yet victorious. She offered a glass of clear water, its surface glinting in the sunlight streaming through the window. "Today… we begin a new chapter. One that will never end."
Devara drank, her hand trembling. The water tasted strange, slightly bitter, as if something more than water flowed into her. She looked up, her eyes widening, her heart pounding again. "What… is this?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
Queen Li met her gaze, her eyes glinting like stars that never fade. "That drink will slow your aging," she said, her voice certain. "You can't run from me, Devara. Even time is now on my side."
Devara froze, the empty glass feeling like a new shackle in her hand. A simple glass of water was a declaration of war against her mortality. And she knew the game had just changed—forever. In the corner of her mind, the mysterious message from "A" still echoed, but it now felt like a voice from another world, too distant to reach.