Dorten felt a chill run down his spine, a primal warning that vibrated through his very marrow. For a fleeting second, the young man's eyes seemed to flicker with a brilliant, neon-purple light—a void-touched glow that didn't belong to any mortal. Dorten shoved the sight into the back of his mind, focusing instead on the weight of the words being spoken to him.
"Azmuth has already written your eulogy, Dorten. You're dead to them," Natsu began, his voice flat. "Your kingdom officially declared you killed in action, along with the rest of your group. They've blamed the massacre on demonkind, claiming they're building a stronghold here. Your patron god, Ares, whispered the lie into their ears, and they swallowed it whole."
Dorten let out a sharp, ragged scoff that turned into a wince as the pain in his chest flared. "Of course they did," he spat, his tone thick with a lifetime of accumulated loathing. "That is the soul of Azmuth. They are nothing more than human filth adorned in jewelry and titles. The royal family and the nobility are just spoiled children playing at empire, caring for nothing but their own vanity."
Natsu watched him with a thin, amused smirk. "Spoken like a man who has seen behind the curtain. But you already know the truth, don't you? I'm the one who wiped out your group. I ended them for trying to lay hands on my guests."
He paused, his gaze boring into Dorten's as if measuring the man's resolve against the cold reality of his companions' deaths. "The only reason I spared you is because I know your heart wasn't in it. You never wanted to be a part of that hunt. But your role in this play isn't over yet, Dorten."
"Can you stand?" Natsu asked, his tone shifting back to his casual cadence. Dorten tested his limbs, the dull ache still persistent but his strength returning. He gave a sharp, determined nod. "Good. Follow me."
Dorten groaned as he forced himself off the makeshift bed. Every joint protested, but he trailed Natsu out of the room and into an adjacent chamber. He froze at the threshold.
There, lying in a peaceful, dreamless sleep, was the golden-haired figure of the high-ranking elven mage.
"Elluriel?!" Dorten's voice broke the silence, heavy with disbelief. He took an involuntary step forward, the pain in his body forgotten. Natsu's smirk widened, but his eyes weren't on the elf. They were fixed on Dorten, reading the unguarded flood of relief that washed over the warrior's hardened face like a map revealing its most vital terrain.
"I thought that might get your attention. She's alive, Dorten. Completely unharmed—not a single scratch on her."
Dorten stepped toward the bed, his hand trembling as he checked the pulse at her throat. Finding it steady and strong, he closed his eyes for a second, a silent tension draining from his shoulders. When he turned back to Natsu, the raw emotion was gone, sealed behind a wall of grim focus. His eyes, however, held a new, calculating sharpness.
He stood there for a long moment, the only sound Elluriel's soft breathing. The wounded soldier was gone, assessed by the veteran strategist. His old world was ash. Before him stood the architect of that fire, offering a stark new reality and, impossibly, a reason to consider it.
"What do you want?" Dorten asked, the question hanging in the air like a bared blade—not a plea, but a demand for the terms of a new contract.
Natsu only smiled at Dorten, a simple expression that the veteran found eerie and deeply unnerving despite his years of combat. To a man who had faced death on a hundred battlefields, that look felt like a cold weight in the air, a reminder that the young man standing before him was far more than he appeared.
The silence of the cave felt absolute, a vault for secrets that were about to change the world.
Back at the cabin, the atmosphere was far more domestic, though no less charged with an unspoken tension. Tanya paced the small living area, her eyes darting toward the front door as the minutes bled into an hour. Beside her, Anyael sat by the window in a quiet daze, her thoughts still tracing the boyish smile Natsu had given them earlier that morning.
It was a memory that seemed to throb in her mind, overshadowing the growing chaos beyond the forest.
"I wonder what Natsu's doing right now? He completely missed dinner," Tanya stressed, her voice thin with a worry she couldn't quite name. Death sat gracefully at the table, her hands wrapped around a delicate cup of tea as she watched the steam curl into the air. "Now now my dear Tanya, I'm sure he'll be back anytime now," she said, her voice like velvet against the quiet of the room.
As if summoned by her words, the front door creaked open and Natsu stepped into the warmth of the hearth. "I'm home! Sorry for the holdup, I needed to make sure the chickens and ducks had enough feed," he said, his voice light and unburdened by the hidden truths of the night.
"Hello my love," Death greeted him, rising from her seat to close the distance between them. She reached up and pressed a kiss to his lips, an intimate gesture that Natsu welcomed even as a faint shyness colored his features. From the table, Tanya and Anyael watched with a sharp, undeniable envy.
Anyael didn't bother to hide the longing in her eyes, while Tanya looked away, her cheeks flaring with a sudden, flustered heat at the sight of Death being so unabashedly intimate.
Death leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, intoxicating tone that made Natsu laugh softly in surprise. "I assume your business has concluded for tonight?" Natsu met her knowing gaze with a look of pure affection, his hand finding hers. "I guess nothing escapes you, huh?" he replied lovingly.
Death took his hand and placed it against her cheek, her eyes locking onto his with a fierce intensity. "If only it were that easy to have certain somethings escape me. Maybe you're forgetting that I'm technically your wife." Natsu laughed again, leaning down to press a tender kiss to her forehead before turning to greet the sisters.
He retreated toward the kitchen, the familiar sounds of clattering pans beginning to fill the space. "I'm thinking of cooking some chicken tortilla. You girls want some?" he asked. The sisters lit up instantly, their previous envy replaced by an enthusiastic chorus of agreement.
Natsu smiled at them, then turned his gaze toward the shadows where the maids stood. "What about you Tara, Sicily? You know what, say no more—everyone gets to eat one."
Tara wore a smile that looked beautiful at the offer, her sister Sicily mirroring the look of gratitude. "If it's an offer from you my lord, I'll gladly accept it," Tara said, bowing lightly with Sicily following suit in perfect, silent unison.