The arena still hums behind me, a hive of whispers and echoing footsteps. The smell of sand, sweat, and blood clings to my skin, sharp in my nostrils. Every wound throbs in rhythm with my pulse—my shoulder cut burning, my lip split raw. My shadows twitch around me, restless, savoring the fight as though they still want more.
The corridor out is narrow, flanked by guards who pretend to look straight ahead. But their eyes flick, just enough to betray that they've seen me bleed. Just enough to show they've heard the whispers already spreading like wildfire: Empress. Control. She spared them.
He waits at the archway like he knew I'd come.
Darius Kael. Arms folded, golden eyes gleaming under torchlight. His cloak drapes perfectly, his retainers lingering behind him, silent shadows of his house. He doesn't move as I approach, but the air sharpens between us, heavy with the promise of conflict.
I stop a few paces short. My shadows coil tighter, ready. His men shift uneasily, hands near hilts, but none dare move first. They can feel it too: two predators circling the same kill.
"You bleed," Darius says finally, his voice smooth, low. His eyes flick to my shoulder, where crimson stains torn fabric, then back to mine. "Good. It means you're not untouchable."
I meet his gaze. "And yet you didn't touch me."
His smirk ghosts across his lips, not the easy arrogance he shows the world, but sharper. Calculated. He steps forward, slow, deliberate. The guards around us tense as though the stone floor itself might split.
"You humiliated six of Bastion's trained men," he says, circling me like he did the arena with his eyes. "But you let them live. That wasn't mercy. That was theater. You wanted them to crawl out and spread your name."
"Perhaps," I say. My tone stays even, steady. "And what's more frightening, Kael? Killing quickly? Or leaving witnesses who can't forget?"
His eyes narrow, though the smirk lingers. He closes the distance between us, so close I can feel the heat of him, the faint brush of his breath. His hand rises—not fast, not threatening, just deliberate enough to test me. His fingers graze the torn edge of my sleeve where blood stains the fabric. A light touch. Barely there. An insult wrapped in intimacy.
"Fear," he murmurs, golden eyes burning into mine, "is easy. Desire is harder to command."
For a heartbeat, the words hang in the air. The guards behind him shift, one swallowing audibly. My shadows coil higher, writhing smoke brushing the torches until their flames gutter.
He expects me to recoil. To lash out. To prove I'm nothing but the Abyss in human skin. Instead, I lean closer, close enough that the darkness rises around us both, and let a faint smile curve my lips.
"Then be careful, Darius," I whisper, my voice like a blade's edge. "You might end up feeling both."
For the briefest instant, his pupils flare. His mask doesn't slip, but the smirk falters just enough to show I struck true. He steps back slowly, reclaiming his air, his composure.
His retainers breathe again as though released from a spell.
"This city has only room for one legend," he says, turning sharply, cloak flaring. "We'll see who Bastion crowns."
His boots echo down the corridor as he leaves, his men trailing behind like loyal hounds. But his words linger, hot as iron fresh from the forge.
I press my fingers lightly to my shoulder wound, blood damp against my skin. The shadows curl tighter, possessive, whispering their approval of the exchange.
Fear. Desire. Both are power.
And if Darius Kael thinks he can wield either against me… he's already lost.