~~~
.
.
.
The clang of steel rang through the air like a song of defiance. Hazel gripped the sword tighter, her palm already slick with sweat. The training yard smelled of earth, steel, and faint sulfur from the torches burning in their sconces. She could feel the eyes of Hades' elite men watching her. Darius, Luke, Stefan, and Artemis, each standing like statues, disciplined and silent.
But it wasn't their stares that unsettled her.
It was him.
Hades stood at the edge of the yard, arms folded across his chest, his tall frame outlined by the red glow of the underworld's eternal moon. His silver hair caught the light like liquid flame, his expression carved from stone—stern, unyielding, unreadable.
Hazel forced herself to look away, raising the blade again as Darius lunged toward her. She blocked clumsily, the impact rattling her bones.
"Too slow," Darius muttered, pushing her back.
Hazel bit her lip, annoyed. "Maybe because your sword weighs more than I do."
A faint laugh escaped Luke's lips at the sidelines. Artemis cleared his throat like a warning, but even Stefan's lips twitched. Hades, however, did not laugh. He stepped forward instead, the movement cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Again," he said, voice low but carrying easily.
Darius lunged once more. Hazel moved quicker this time, sidestepping. Her blade caught his just enough to redirect it, but the force knocked her balance off and she stumbled back. She landed ungracefully on the dirt, the sword clattering beside her.
A low murmur rippled from the elite men. Hazel flushed, brushing her silver hair back as she scrambled to her feet.
"That wasn't too bad," she tried, half-defensive, half-playful. "I'm still standing, aren't I?"
"Barely," Hades replied.
Hazel rolled her eyes. "Always the encouragement with you, isn't it?"
She expected him to ignore her, to return to that icy silence of his. But instead, he strode toward her. Her heart skipped as he came close, so close she had to tilt her head back to look up at him.
"Your stance is wrong," he murmured.
Before she could retort, his hand closed over hers—large, calloused, warm. He adjusted her grip on the hilt, the other hand brushing against her waist as he shifted her stance. Hazel's breath caught. Every nerve in her body sparked alive at his nearness.
"Keep your weight forward, not back," Hades continued, his tone clipped, professional… but his touch lingered a fraction too long.
Hazel forced herself to focus. It's training, Ariana, just training. Don't start imagining things.
But when he stepped behind her, guiding her arm, his chest brushed her back. Heat shot through her, her pulse drumming wildly. She gulped down air, praying he couldn't hear how fast her heart was racing. It was such a relief demons couldn't read her.
"There," he whispered near her ear. "Again."
This time when Darius struck, Hazel blocked firmly, the clash ringing with strength she hadn't managed before. She glanced over her shoulder, a triumphant grin tugging at her lips.
"Better?" she asked.
Once again Hades' lips curved—just slightly. A half-smile, faint, fleeting, but real.
Hazel's stomach flipped. gods help me… I made the King of the Underworld smile. He was smiling more often now, although not enough, but he sure had a breathtaking smile.
The moment stretched between them, crackling with unspoken words. Then the sky split open.
A violent rumble shook the Citadel grounds. Dark clouds churned above them, the red moonlight swallowed by roiling shadows. A streak of lightning, black with crimson edges, tore across the heavens.
"Storm," Drakon one of Hades' warrior muttered, stepping back. "Not natural."
The wind picked up in a howl, sending Hazel's hair whipping around her face. Torches sputtered and died, and the ground trembled faintly beneath her boots.
"Inside. Now." Hades' command was sharp, brooking no argument.
The men dispersed immediately. Hazel moved to follow, but Hades' hand gripped her wrist. His touch was firm but not harsh, anchoring her as the storm whipped harder.
She met his gaze. His fiery eyes glowed faintly against the dark sky.
"Stay close," he said, softer this time.
Hazel nodded, unable to speak. He pulled her through the gusts of wind, half-shielding her with his body as he hurried back into the Citadel using his speed ability.
The great doors slammed shut behind them with a thundering echo. Inside, the air was heavy, the distant rumble of the storm pressing against the stone walls like a living thing.
Hazel exhaled shakily. "That storm… it didn't feel normal."
"It wasn't," Hades replied, his jaw tight. "It's the underworld. Some storms carry the fury of the dead. They can drive weaker demons mad."
"Lovely," Hazel muttered, brushing hair from her face. "Exactly the sort of bedtime story I needed."
He glanced at her, and for a heartbeat, his lips twitched again. Almost a smile. Almost.
Hazel crossed her arms. "So… what now?"
"We'll stay in our chamber until it passes," he said simply.
Hazel blinked. "Excuse me? Our chamber, alone?"
His gaze locked on hers, unwavering. "It's the safest place in the Citadel. Nothing can breach its walls."
Her pulse fluttered. She wanted to argue, to make a sarcastic remark, but the sincerity in his voice disarmed her. Reluctantly, she nodded.
The chamber was dim when they entered, lit only by a few candles that flickered under the storm's pressure. Hazel sank onto the edge of a chair, hugging her knees, while Hades remained by the window slit, watching the sky with tense shoulders.
Minutes stretched. The storm howled, rattling the fortress with its fury. Hazel tried to focus on the book she had grabbed, but her eyes kept straying to him. The way his silver hair caught the candlelight. The quiet strength in the set of his shoulders.
She didn't realize she'd been staring until he spoke.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Hazel jumped. "I—I wasn't!"
His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing, as though he could read the truth she tried to hide. She quickly looked away, cheeks burning.
Silence fell again. Only the storm filled the space.
Then the thunder cracked so loud Hazel flinched. Before she knew it, she had moved closer—to him. Almost instinctively.
He noticed. She saw his hand twitch, as if he wanted to reach for her but forced himself not to.
"Are you frightened?" His voice was low, gentler than usual.
"No," Hazel said quickly, then faltered. "Maybe a little. It feels… wrong."
He studied her for a moment, then finally sat beside her. The chair dipped under his weight, his nearness overwhelming.
"Rest," he said, softer still. "You're safe here."
Hazel stared at him, at the rare vulnerability in his face. Something inside her softened. Slowly, hesitantly, she leaned against him.
He stiffened at first—like the idea of being leaned on was foreign—but then, with a quiet exhale, he relaxed. His arm moved around her shoulders, protective, firm.
Hazel's heart raced. The storm raged on, but all she could hear was the steady beat of his chest beneath her ear.
She whispered, barely audible: "You don't have to always be stone, you know."
He didn't answer. But his hand tightened slightly on her shoulder, holding her as if he couldn't let go.
Hazel's eyelids grew heavy. Wrapped in his warmth, she drifted toward sleep.
And in that liminal space, just before darkness claimed her, she thought she heard him murmur—so soft it might have been a dream:
"I can't lose you."