On the night of the Flame Tower, fire rain fell like a woven net, and the entire Flame Valley wailed amid the post-war ruins.
Evelyn sat on the broken stone steps, clad in a battle robe still warm with scorch marks, her silver-white hair stained with blood. Her gaze fell on the distant battlefield, where Lucian was leading the remaining army to wipe out the last of the enemies. Blood soaked his cloak, yet he remained as calm and resolute as ever.
She knew his eyes had long been clouded with the red haze of battle.
When Lucian ascended the tower slowly, the longsword in his hand still dripping with warm blood, Evelyn looked up and asked quietly, "Where is their holy emblem?"
Lucian tossed a shattered golden cross at her feet, his voice low: "Shattered. Just like their faith."
She stood up, stepped closer to him, and let her fingers brush the armor over his chest. Beneath that still-trembling lay his unspoken rage, his unuttered yearnings.
"You've guarded me for so long," she whispered, "this time, it's my turn to pleasure you."
Lucian could no longer restrain himself, like a long-suppressed desire suddenly ignited. He kissed her, lips and tongues entangled, stirring another storm in the wake of war. Evelyn took the initiative to tear open his ;the moment their skin touched, their gasps mingled, the scent of sweat and blood interweaving, driving all else from their minds.
The wind howled at the tower's peak, and beneath them the embers of the battlefield still smoldered. Their union was the only warmth torn from the gap between death and victory.
Lucian embraced Evelyn from behind, pinning her against the broken stone wall. Her moans rose higher with each of his thrusts, as if singing for this ravaged world.
"You are my king," he murmured, nipping at her earlobe, "my only god."
"Then burn me to the core," she gasped, gripping the back of his neck, "after tonight, you must not retreat a single step."
Their covenant required no paper, no ink, no ceremony. Just this moment—their union in blood and flame—was enough to last for eternity.
When the first light of dawn spilled over the horizon, a urgent report echoed from below the tower, from Ileia:
"The apostles of the Cracked Moon King have appeared; they've breached the southern border defenses."
Lucian and Evelyn stood at the tower's summit, their eyes meeting in silence, yet their resolve was unshakable.
They were not gods, but they would burn through fate with the flesh and blood of mere mortals.