Chapter 5 - The Crack in Eternity

The warded cave felt smaller the longer they stood in it.Senna's back pressed against cool stone; Azraath's hands still framed her face, thumbs resting lightly against her cheekbones as though he feared pressing any harder would bruise something fragile. Neither had moved since his forehead settled against hers. The contact was steady now, almost grounding—like two people learning how to share the same breath without suffocating.Outside, the world was unraveling in slow motion.Red lightning forked across the sky in unnatural patterns, each strike leaving afterimages that lingered like wounds. The chanting of the choir had grown distant but no less furious; it rose and fell in waves, carried on wind that smelled increasingly of sulfur and scorched pine. Somewhere far below, roots continued their blind, hungry crawl across the mountainside.Inside, time felt borrowed.Senna broke the silence first."How long do these wards actually hold?"Azraath's eyes were closed. "Until the gate finds a weakness. Or until I weaken them by staying."She felt the subtle tremor in his fingers. "You're bleeding power just to stand here.""Not bleeding," he corrected quietly. "Redirecting. Every second I remain inside this circle, I feed the wards instead of the gate. It… displeases the thing that lives beyond."Senna let her hands slide from his chest to his wrists—light, exploratory. His pulse was there, slow and deep, like something waking after centuries of dormancy."Then we don't stay forever," she said. "We use the time we have."His lashes lifted. Violet-black irises caught the silver-blue glow of the runes and reflected it back at her—brighter, warmer than they had any right to be."Use it for what?"She didn't answer with words.Instead she rose onto her toes—slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted—and closed the last whisper of distance between their mouths.The kiss was not gentle.It was not fireworks or symphonies or any of the things poets lied about.It was desperate. Hungry. The collision of two people who had spent too long pretending touch was impossible.Azraath froze for one heartbeat—long enough for panic to flicker through Senna's mind—then his hands slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull as though she might vanish if he let go. He kissed her back with the same precision he once used to carve her heart from her chest: deliberate, devastating, utterly focused.Senna made a small, broken sound against his lips.He answered with a low growl that vibrated through her bones.When they finally broke apart—gasping, foreheads pressed together again—his voice was wrecked."I have waited three hundred and seventeen years to feel something like this," he rasped. "And it terrifies me.""Good," Senna whispered. "Terrified is honest."She kissed him again—slower this time, learning the shape of his mouth, the faint scar at the corner where someone had once tried (and failed) to end him long before the prophecy claimed him. He tasted like smoke and iron and something sweeter underneath, like rain on hot stone.His hands moved—down her back, over the thin, ruined silk of the gown—mapping her spine like he was memorizing every vertebra. When his fingers brushed the small of her back, Senna arched instinctively.Azraath pulled back just enough to look at her."You are shaking.""So are you."He exhaled—a sound caught between laugh and curse."I am not accustomed to wanting without taking.""Then take," she said simply. "But ask first."His gaze darkened. "Ask?"She nodded. "I've died for you forty-seven times without consent. This time I want to choose. Every step."Something raw crossed his face—gratitude, maybe, or guilt too old to name.He lowered his head until his lips brushed the shell of her ear."May I touch you here?" His hand ghosted over the curve of her waist."Yes."His fingers settled—firm, warm through wet silk."May I kiss your throat?"She tilted her head back in answer.His mouth found the pulse point beneath her jaw—soft at first, then teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. He lingered there, breathing her in like she was oxygen after centuries underwater."May I—""Yes," she cut in before he could finish. "Whatever you're about to ask. Yes."He laughed—low, ragged—against her skin."Careful, little prophet. I have centuries of restraint to unravel.""Then unravel slowly," she murmured. "I want to feel every thread snap."They sank to the cave floor together—stone smoothed by time, scattered with dry pine needles that clung to damp fabric. Senna ended up in his lap, knees bracketing his hips, hands fisted in the collar of his coat. The position should have felt vulnerable; instead it felt like power.Azraath's hands roamed—reverent, possessive—sliding beneath the torn hem of her gown to find bare thigh. His touch was cool at first, then warming as though her skin was teaching his how to feel heat again.Senna tugged his coat open. Beneath it, a dark linen shirt clung to the hard planes of his chest. She pressed her palm flat over his heart again—stronger now, faster."You have one," she whispered."Apparently," he answered, voice rough. "It was quieter before you."She kissed the hollow of his throat in reward.Outside, a fresh crack split the sky—louder this time. The wards flared in response, silver light pulsing brighter, then dimming as though straining.Azraath tensed beneath her."They're closer."Senna didn't lift her head from his neck. "How long?""An hour. Less if the high priest finds the old breach in the eastern ridge."She pulled back enough to meet his eyes."Then we have an hour."His fingers tightened on her hips. "To do what?""To decide what happens when they arrive." She traced the line of his scar with her thumb. "Do we fight? Run? Bargain? Or do we finish what the prophecy started—together?"Azraath's gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted again."If we finish it," he said quietly, "the gate closes forever. No more ritual. No more resurrections. No more loop."Senna's breath hitched. "And the world?""Stays as it is. Broken, but breathing."She searched his face. "You'd give up drowning empires for that?""I would give up drowning empires for you," he said—simple, devastating. "The rest is negotiable."Tears pricked Senna's eyes—unexpected, unwelcome.She kissed him again—harder this time, pouring everything she couldn't say into it: forty-seven deaths, every scream she'd swallowed, every sarcastic quip that hid terror, every moment she'd looked at him on that altar and wondered if monsters could be lonely too.When they parted, both were breathing like they'd run for miles.Azraath rested his forehead against hers once more."Whatever comes next," he murmured, "we do not face it apart."Senna nodded—small, certain."Together."The wards flickered again—once, twice—then steadied.But the chanting outside grew louder, closer, threaded now with the unmistakable crack of roots tearing stone.An hour.Maybe less.Senna slid her arms around Azraath's neck and held on.In the silver-blue glow of ancient wards,two people who were never meant to touchbegan rewriting the only story fate had ever allowed them.And for the first time in three hundred and seventeen years,the end felt like a beginning.