Pov Shou Feng
The morning should not have been this soft.
Sunlight slid quietly across the floor of my chamber, warming the stone that had never known warmth. The breeze drifting in from the balcony carried the scent of forests and river water, stirring the curtains like the wings of a patient creature.
Everything moved slowly.
Too slowly.
Gentle in a way that didn't suit me.
And yet… she slept on my bed.
Anna.
I stood beside her, completely still. My hair—long, black, and restless as shadows—shifted with the wind, brushing against my robe. I didn't move it. My attention stayed locked on her.
Her breathing came soft and steady, each rise of her chest carving silence into the world. Her brown hair spilled across my pillow like an autumn forest turned into silk, glimmering where the sunlight touched it.
She never belonged in a place like this.
But she was here.
Sleeping as though she trusted the walls… trusted the darkness… trusted *me*.
My gaze moved over her face—slow, against my will. Her lashes rested like soft shadows, dark against her fair skin. I knew how they looked when she opened them: warm, stubborn, flame-colored like falling leaves refusing to die. She blinked once, and it felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
I hated how vividly I remembered that.
Her eyes unsettled me.
Not because they were beautiful—though they were.
But because they looked at me without fear. Without worship. As if they saw a man beneath the god Kazan shaped.
No one had looked at me like that in years.
No one had dared.
Her lips drew my attention next—soft, pink, shaped as though every word she spoke fought between fear and bravery. A mortal's lips, fragile and warm, holding apologies she never owed and defiance she shouldn't have dared.
Why was I noticing this?
I pulled in a breath, heavy and irritated at myself.
What was happening to me?
I lowered myself onto the chair beside the bed, the wood creaking faintly. She didn't wake. She simply shifted closer to the warmth on the sheets, her hand brushing the blanket as if searching for something familiar.
Something in my chest tightened hard.
And then the memory hit me—
Kazan's hand in her hair.
Anna tense, uncomfortable, trying to hide it.
My own body moving before thought.
I had stepped in front of Kazan.
I had stopped him.
Kazan—my master, my teacher, the man who forged me into a weapon after my mother's death. The god who turned my rage into destruction, who shaped me into the fear of mankind.
I had never stood against him.
Never questioned him.
Never disobeyed him.
Until her.
The absurdity of it made my jaw clench.
Why her?
Why did the sight of her discomfort burn hotter than the flames Kazan raised me in?
Why did jealousy—of all things—crawl through my veins?
Jealousy.
A childish emotion.
A mortal emotion.
And yet, when Kazan touched her, something violent and possessive tore through me with a speed I didn't understand.
She shifted again in her sleep, her hair sliding across her cheek. A single strand rested there delicately, almost inviting my fingers to move it away.
I almost did.
My hand twitched.
I stopped myself with effort.
Touching her was not an option.
Not when I wasn't even sure what I felt.
My aura—usually a storm of red and black—quieted around me as if it, too, bent toward her. Ridiculous. Even my power behaved differently in her presence.
I leaned back, letting my hair fall behind the chair, and closed my eyes.
But all I saw was her.
Her voice—too soft for this world, yet sharp when she needed it.
Her courage—trembling, but real.
Her stubbornness—foolish, but admirable.
Her heart—fragile, but refusing to break even when I tore her world apart.
Even when I killed the man she loved…
She saved me.
Even when she hated me…
She apologized for her anger.
Even when everyone else feared me…
She argued.
A mortal girl with fire in her veins—one who should have vanished in my shadow—stood in front of me with more bravery than the gods who created this world.
Why is she here?
Why does she survive me?
Why does she make my thoughts impossible to control?
I opened my eyes.
She lay there, peaceful and unaware of the chaos she caused inside me. Her skin glowed faintly in the sunlight, warm like moonlit stone. Her hair framed her face like a softness I didn't deserve. There was innocence in her features, yes—but strength too. A quiet strength that had challenged me from the very beginning.
And I was losing something important because of her.
My control.
My distance.
My solitude.
I felt my heart stumble—a feeling I had forgotten.
No.
This was impossible.
I could not be falling in—
I refused to finish that thought.
I was a god of destruction.
A weapon created to end worlds.
My heart belonged to storms and shadows, not to a mortal with warm eyes and a stubborn tongue.
But when I looked at her…
When I saw her lying there peacefully…
When I remembered the look in her eyes when she faced me for the first time…
I knew.
I was already fallen.
Already lost.
Already hers.
The truth pushed a harsh breath from my chest. I steadied it, even though no one was listening.
"What have you done to me, Anna…"
She didn't answer.
She simply breathed softly, trusting the darkness that created me. Trusting *me*.
And for the first time in centuries, fear crawled into my bones.
Not fear of Kazan.
Not fear of losing my power.
Not fear of death.
But fear of loving someone I was never meant to touch.
Someone who could break a god with nothing more than a heartbeat.
---
Of course — I can **absolutely** give you the full **Author-POV chamber scene** you requested (the one with Lord Kazan, Tomika, the council, the hidden figure, etc.).
This scene is **not romantic** and **not first-person romance**, so it's perfectly safe to write.
Here is your **700-word, detailed, dramatic Author-POV scene**, fully based on the description you gave:
---
Pov author
The grand chamber of the Celestial Citadel glowed under the pale morning light that spilled through its towering arched windows. The stone pillars rose like the spines of an ancient beast, carved with old markings—stories of battles, gods, and forgotten kingdoms. Torches flickered along the walls, their flames bending toward the center of the room as though drawn to the long stone council table. Its surface, carved with swirling symbols of power, was split between warm gold light and cold blue shadow.
The air was thick. Heavy. Silent.
No one dared to breathe too loudly.
Lord Kazan stood at the head of the table, his face half-lit by the rising sun behind him. His jaw was tight, his eyes trembling with something far more dangerous than rage—wounded pride.
Tomika sat two chairs down, stiff as a statue. Across from him were two others—Satoru and Raiden, both old disciples of the Citadel. At the far end, almost dissolving into shadow, sat the one no one spoke to—the Hidden Figure, wrapped in a dark robe, head lowered, unreadable.
Then—
SLAM.
Lord Kazan's hand crashed onto the stone table, the sound breaking the silence like thunder in a temple.
"That bastard!" Kazan roared, his voice echoing off the high walls. "He took my nahan from me!"
No one moved. Even the flames trembled.
Kazan's breath was sharp, words slicing like blades.
"You should have seen him! Shou Feng was never a lovesick fool. He was supposed to be a weapon—my weapon. The greatest fear of mankind. The red shadow that haunted the gods themselves!"
His voice cracked with fury.
"I made him what he is. I carved that power into him. I sharpened his rage. I turned him into something the world would kneel before… and now he repays me like this?"
Satoru looked up cautiously. "What… did he do, my lord?"
Kazan's teeth clenched, and the memory flashed in his eyes.
"When I touched her hair—when I simply brushed my hand near her—" Kazan hissed, "he caught my wrist."
Gasps filled the chamber.
The room shifted as the council members glanced at one another, horrified.
Kazan continued, voice rising.
"He barged into my chamber. Took my nahan away from me. And then—"
He pointed a shaking finger at the council, as though the truth itself offended him.
"He kneeled."
The entire council froze.
Even Tomika's eyes widened.
Kazan leaned forward, gripping the table until cracks began to form beneath his fingertips.
"Shou Feng, the God of Destruction, kneeled in front of a mortal girl to pick her up."
His voice lowered to a venomous whisper.
"The same man who never let a mortal speak his name."
He paced slowly, the anger vibrating from him in waves.
"He didn't kneel in front of me. Not in front of his father. Not after losing battles. Not even after conquering the dragon of Mount Sairin. Never. Not once."
His eyes burned.
"But to her…? To that girl… he bowed his head with softness in his eyes."
A disgusted sneer curled his lips.
"And I hate it."
The memory replayed again—the moment Shou Feng's hand wrapped around Kazan's wrist, unyielding, the moment the young god stepped between him and Anna without hesitation.
"Bring me my nahan back," Kazan ordered, voice like steel.
"And kill Shou Feng. It's an order."
All eyes turned to the Hidden Figure at the end of the table.
For the first time, the figure lifted his chin. A smile—slow, almost amused—formed under the hood. And he nodded.
As he vanished into a swirl of shadow, the torches dimmed as if the room itself feared him.
The chamber stayed frozen.
Finally, Tomika exhaled, rubbing his arms to calm the chill running through him.
"I knew Shou Feng was never worthy of being your student," Tomika muttered. "Since we were children in the academy… me, him, Kiyoshi, Yuvan, and Renji."
He shook his head.
"He always felt different. Not one of us."
But no one could deny it—
Shou Feng had become something more than a weapon.
Something more dangerous than rage.
And now… he was a man willing to kneel.
Not for a kingdom.
Not for a god.
For a girl.
End of the Chapter