The hall still smelled of blood and ash.
The storm pressed against the broken windows, clawing to come inside, yet somehow it already had. Kira felt it breathing within her chest, coiled around her ribs like a second heartbeat.
Her hand shook on her blade. Her knees begged her to collapse. But Sajah's grip on her wrist kept her upright, searing her skin, anchoring her to the man she swore was hers.
But the other stood before her—same eyes, same fire, same face.
The storm clung to him as though he was its firstborn son. Shadows curled against his shoulders like wings made of night.
"You swore vows," the risen one said, his voice slow, molten steel dripping into her bones. "Not to him. Not to me. To the storm itself. And the storm… chose you."
Kira's lips parted, trembling. "No…"
"Yes," he whispered, his smile both cruel and sorrowful. "That is why it answers you when you scream. Why it bends when you fight. You are no bride to flesh, little flame. You are the storm's."
Lightning cracked above them. The chandelier groaned, shuddering, before crashing down into shattered ruin. Every guest still conscious fell to their knees, compelled by some unseen will.
All except Kira.
Her throat tightened. Why her?
⸻
Sajah dragged her closer, forcing her to look into his eyes.
His fire. His desperation. His fear.
"You are mine," he growled, each word a vow in itself. "I fought the storm for you. I bled for you. Don't let him twist what we have."
Her heart throbbed painfully. She wanted to believe him. Gods, she wanted to. But her pulse raced with thunder, her breath carried lightning, and her body trembled beneath the storm's invisible embrace.
The risen one's laugh was low, dangerous. "She already belongs to us, brother. You're clinging to ash. She doesn't even know the truth of her vow."
Kira's blade fell from her hand. The clang echoed through the ruined hall, louder than thunder. She clutched Sajah's arm, desperate, torn, drowning.
"What truth?" she whispered.
Both men stilled.
The storm itself hushed, waiting.
⸻
The risen one stepped forward, eyes burning brighter.
"You think you chose him. That you gave your love freely. But you didn't. You called the storm with your vow. And when the storm answered, it bound you to us both."
Her breath caught. A chain she could not see but could feel coiled around her chest. Heavy. Eternal.
"No…" she gasped. "That can't be true."
"Then why does the storm bow to you?" he pressed, his voice a caress and a blade. "Why does it bend to your heartbeat, your screams, your will?"
Sajah flinched, his grip tightening. His eyes burned with pain. He didn't deny it.
Kira's tears blurred her vision. She turned her face away, but Sajah's hand caught her chin, forcing her back. His touch was both cruel and tender, desperate fire clinging to the woman slipping from his grasp.
"You are not his," he rasped. "You are mine. Remember the night you chose me. Remember the blood on my hands, the fire in my heart. That was real. That is real."
Her lips parted, trembling. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to fall into his arms, forget the storm, forget the chains. But the storm itself betrayed her heart.
It bent.
It bowed.
It wrapped her in lightning like a lover's embrace.
She gasped, arching as the power coursed through her, burning, searing, filling her veins with thunder.
Both men stilled. For the first time, both looked shaken.
The risen one's voice broke the silence.
"You already belong to the storm."
Kira's lips quivered. Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Then if I belong to it… it belongs to me."
⸻
Thunder roared, not as rage but as recognition.
The storm bent lower. Shadows and flame flickered, both twins caught in the same terrible awe.
The storm had chosen its bride.
And her war between love and destiny had only just begun.
The hall still reeked of blood and smoke.
The storm pressed at the shattered windows, clawing to come inside, though somehow it already had. Kira felt it inside her chest, curled tight around her ribs, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
Her hand shook on the hilt of her blade. Her knees begged to collapse.
But Sajah's grip on her wrist held her upright—hot, unyielding, grounding her even as her heart warred against itself.
And yet before her stood the other—same fire, same face. Shadows curled around his shoulders like wings spun of night, the storm clinging to him as if he were its firstborn son.
"You swore vows," the risen one said, his voice slow and molten, dripping into her bones. "Not to him. Not to me. To the storm itself. And the storm… chose you."
Kira's lips trembled. "No."
"Yes," he whispered, his smile sharp and sorrowful all at once. "That is why it answers when you scream. Why it bends when you fight. You are no bride to flesh, little flame. You are the storm's."
Lightning split the sky, crashing into the earth. The chandelier above them swayed once, then plummeted into ruin. Gasps choked the guests, but none could move. One by one, they crumpled to their knees, their eyes blank with some unseen compulsion.
All except Kira.
Her throat burned as the truth pressed harder. Why only her?
⸻
Sajah jerked her closer, forcing her to meet his gaze. Fire burned in his eyes—desperation, fury, fear.
"You are mine," he growled, the words jagged as a blade. "I fought the storm for you. I bled for you. Do not let him twist what we have."
Her heart pounded painfully. Gods, she wanted to believe him. To fall into his arms and bury herself in the warmth of the man she loved. But her pulse raced with thunder, her breath dragged lightning, and the storm's embrace coiled around her like invisible chains.
The risen one laughed softly, cruelly. "She already belongs to us, brother. You cling to ashes while the flame burns elsewhere."
Kira's blade slipped from her grasp, clattering against the marble. She gripped Sajah's arm instead, torn between fire and storm, love and destiny.
"What truth?" she whispered.
⸻
Silence answered her. Even the storm hushed, waiting.
The risen one stepped closer, his eyes burning brighter than flame.
"You think you chose him. That your vow was a mortal bond. But no, little flame. You called the storm. And when the storm answered, it bound you—to us both."
Her chest tightened. She felt the chain now, unseen yet heavy, coiled around her heart.
"No…" Her voice cracked. "That can't be true."
"Then why does the storm bow to you?" His words were silk and steel, slicing through her denial. "Why does it bend to your will, your heartbeat, your screams?"
Her gaze flicked to Sajah—her Sajah—searching for denial. For reassurance.
But he did not speak. His jaw was tight. His grip on her wrist trembled.
And that silence cut deeper than any blade.
⸻
Kira's tears blurred her sight. She turned her face away, but Sajah's hand caught her chin, forcing her back. His touch was cruel in its desperation, tender in its fear, as though he clung to the only thing he still believed was his.
"You are not his," he rasped. "You are mine. Remember the night you chose me. The fire on my hands, the blood I spilled for you. That was real. That is real."
Her lips parted, trembling. She wanted to answer. To surrender. But the storm betrayed her.
It bent.
It bowed.
It wrapped her in lightning like a lover's embrace.
Her body arched as the power coursed through her veins, burning, searing, filling her lungs with thunder until she could hardly breathe.
Both men froze. For the first time, both looked shaken.
The risen one's voice broke the silence.
"You already belong to the storm."
Kira's lips quivered. A whisper slipped free, fragile yet defiant:
"Then if I belong to it… it belongs to me."
⸻
Thunder roared—not as rage, but as recognition.
The storm bent lower, its winds curling around her like vows in the air, lightning sparking in rhythm with her pulse.
The risen one's lips curved in something close to reverence.
Sajah's eyes, wide with fear and love, burned as though she were slipping away from him forever.
The storm had chosen its bride.
And Kira, trembling in the eye of it, realized her battle was no longer about choosing a man.
It was about choosing whether she could survive being chosen at all.