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The night bled into amber and crimson hues above the Rune Coven. The last of the storm clouds had rolled away, leaving behind an eerie silence that hung heavy over the snow-darkened land. The witches' citadel glowed faintly in the distance — its silver towers scarred but standing. It was a fragile calm, one that seemed to tremble at the edge of breaking.
Hazel stood alone near the courtyard's frozen fountain, her breath curling in pale ribbons before her. A soft wind tugged at her silvery hair, the strands catching moonlight and gleaming like liquid frost. She wore a fur-lined cloak that brushed her ankles, her hands tucked against the cold — though the chill was the least of what she felt.
Her mind had been restless ever since they arrived at the Rune Coven. The storm, the dreams, Velia's unseen presence — they all lingered like smoke in the back of her thoughts. But more than that, something in her had shifted. Something she couldn't name. She still smiled, still laughed when spoken to, but the warmth in her chest… felt slightly hollow. As though part of her heart had been replaced with silence.
"Out here again, my Queen?"
The familiar, teasing voice broke through the quiet. Hazel turned, smiling faintly as Ares approached — his red cloak draped loosely, the wind catching the edge of his red hair. His crimson eyes glowed like dying embers in the twilight.
"You make it sound like I've been avoiding everyone," she said softly, brushing stray hair from her face.
Ares' lips curved. "You have. And poorly, I might add. I had to charm three witches just to find out where you wandered off to."
Hazel laughed under her breath, the sound gentle. "That doesn't surprise me. You seem to charm everyone."
"Except you."
The playfulness in his tone faltered for a moment, replaced by something more tender. Hazel's smile weakened, her eyes lowering. "I didn't mean to be… distant."
"I know." Ares stepped closer, his boots crunching softly in the snow. "You've got a lot on your mind. And gods know this isn't exactly the best time for peace and laughter." He stopped beside her, gazing at the frozen fountain. "But don't shut us out, Hazel. You've got warmth in you — more than you think. And sometimes, we need that more than you know."
She turned to him, studying the quiet intensity in his eyes. "You speak like someone who's lived too many lives."
"I have," he said lightly, though there was a shadow behind the smirk. "But never one where I met someone like you."
The wind shifted, carrying silence between them. For a long moment, Hazel said nothing. Then, softly, she reached out — her gloved hand brushing the edge of his sleeve.
"I can't give you my heart," she said, voice low but steady. "But that doesn't mean I don't care. You've stood by me even when you could have walked away."
Ares' gaze softened, and for once, the flirtation faded completely. He placed a hand over hers. "That's enough, Hazel. Sometimes care means more than love."
Their eyes met — a fragile, honest moment. And then a familiar voice interrupted from the shadows.
"I see the vampire's trying his luck again."
Lycan's deep voice carried amusement, though the faint growl in it betrayed more than teasing. He emerged from the trees, the moon catching in his golden eyes. His dark hair was tousled, his coat undone, and snowflakes clung to his broad shoulders like flecks of gold.
Ares groaned dramatically. "Here comes the mutt."
"Here comes the mistake," Lycan countered smoothly. "You're far from her type."
Hazel sighed, but her lips twitched with humor. "Gentlemen…"
But neither looked at her.
"She needs peace," Lycan said, stepping forward. "Not your constant flirting."
"She needs laughter," Ares retorted, crossing his arms. "And clearly, that's not something you're capable of providing."
Hazel stifled a laugh. "You two argue like an old married couple."
Both turned to her instantly, the tension breaking for just a second.
"I'd rather be dead," Ares said flatly.
"You will be if you keep talking," Lycan replied.
Hazel couldn't help it — she laughed. Really laughed. It was the first time in what felt like ages, and both men froze at the sound. Her laughter was soft and melodic, like the first breeze after winter. It warmed the cold space around them.
When she finally calmed, Hazel wiped a tear from her eye and sighed. "Thank you. I needed that."
Ares gave her a half-smile. "So… my terrible sense of humor finally did something useful."
"You mean my patience did," Lycan muttered.
Ares ignored him, but Hazel noticed the faint grin tugging at Lycan's lips. It wasn't often that he smiled, but when he did, it was disarming.
They stood there together, the three of them, beneath the bleeding sky. It should have been awkward — the Queen, the vampire, and the werewolf — yet it wasn't. It felt natural. Quiet. Human.
After a moment, Lycan tilted his head toward her. "You're not sleeping well."
Hazel hesitated. "You can tell?"
"Your scent," he said simply. "It's restless."
Ares gave him a look. "You're smelling her now?"
Lycan ignored him. "Something's keeping you awake."
Hazel's fingers brushed the pendant around her neck. "Dreams," she admitted. "They feel… too real."
Ares' brows furrowed. "That disturbing huh?"
She nodded. "Only now, I can't tell if they're mine or someone else's."
The silence that followed was thoughtful, weighted. Lycan's gaze softened. "Then talk to us about it. Keeping things like that to yourself never ends well."
Hazel looked at him — at both of them — and smiled faintly. "You two really care, don't you?"
Ares grinned. "Of course. You're practically the only reason we're tolerating each other's company."
Lycan snorted. "You're barely tolerating air."
But Hazel reached out again — this time taking both their hands, one in each of hers. Her palms were cold, but her touch carried something deeper.
"I may not be able to love you both the way you want," she said softly, "but I can care for you with everything I have. You've both given me something I didn't know I needed."
Ares' jaw tightened slightly, but there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "What's that?"
"Belonging."
The word hung in the air like a heartbeat. Lycan's fingers closed gently around hers, the faintest hint of warmth radiating from his skin.
"You'll never be alone again," he said quietly.
Hazel smiled, but her heart ached with an emotion she couldn't name. It was bittersweet — this strange connection between them all. Ares, with his passionate fire. Lycan, with his steady strength. And her, standing somewhere between the two, carrying pieces of their warmth without being able to return it entirely.
For a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in the distance — a faint shimmer in the air near the treeline. A whisper of energy. Familiar, yet wrong. Her eyes lingered there, but the moment passed, and she shook it off.
Ares noticed. "What is it?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just thought I saw something."
Lycan frowned slightly but said nothing.
Later that night, they found themselves sitting by the great firepit of the Coven. The witches had lit it as a symbol of renewal, its blue-white flames dancing high into the night. The air was alive with faint laughter and hushed conversation, the sound of the wounded being tended to, and the occasional shimmer of magic in the air.
Hazel sat between them — Ares to her left, Lycan to her right — wrapped in a blanket that Alyssa had given her earlier. The warmth of the fire reflected in her eyes, softening the silver to molten gold.
Ares handed her a cup of warm mead. "Drink. You'll feel better."
She accepted it gratefully. "You really do act like an older brother sometimes."
Ares scoffed. "I'd rather be anything but that."
Lycan smirked. "She's not wrong though."
Ares threw him a glare, but Hazel's quiet giggle diffused it again. The sound carried over the fire, light and comforting.
"You two are ridiculous," she said. "But I think that's what makes it easier to breathe around you."
"Good," Lycan murmured. "You've been holding your breath for too long."
She looked into the flames, her thoughts turning inward. "It's hard not to when everything feels so uncertain. I can't shake the feeling that something's coming. Something terrible."
Ares' gaze flickered toward the fire. "Then we'll face it together."
Lycan nodded. "No matter what."
Hazel turned to look at them — the vampire with fire in his veins, the werewolf with loyalty in his eyes — and felt something warm unfurl in her chest. It wasn't love, not in the way she felt for Hades, but it was still real. Still powerful.
"Thank you," she whispered.
They didn't answer, but she didn't need them to. The silence was enough — the kind that didn't demand words.
As the night deepened, Hazel found herself leaning lightly against Lycan's shoulder, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up to her. Ares threw a cloak over both of them without a word, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
The sky above the Rune Coven shimmered faintly with northern light — green and violet streams that danced across the dark. For a fleeting moment, everything felt almost… peaceful.