Night fell, dark clouds pressing down from the sky, and the entire Thornspire Citadel seemed to vanish into the eve of an imminent storm. Upon the altar, pale blue sacred flames burned atop obsidian pillars, casting the half-naked silhouette of Lucian. Old scars crisscrossed his chest like shackles in the firelight. He stood there, draped in feathered fabric, his gaze calm as if awaiting an inevitable sacrifice.
When Evelyn stepped in slowly, and the stone door slammed shut behind her, the gears of fate began to turn.
"What you ask of me is more than a sacrifice," her voice was steady, yet trembling imperceptibly, "You want my entire soul."
Lucian's gaze didn't shift. He slowly raised his right hand, pressing his fingertips to the blood seal on his heart. Crimson instantly spread across his palm.
"Not a soul," his voice was hoarse, "It's your truest self—unmasked, unafraid, the very essence of this flame."
Evelyn stood firm. The man before her was not only the heir to the Flame King, but also her deepest trial amid all conspiracies. She knew this was more than physical union—it was an exchange of power, an oath of blood and desire.
She undid her battle robe, and the black silk girdle slid slowly to the ground. Her skin glowed softly in the firelight. Lucian didn't move, only watched her approach step by step until her palm covered his unhealed old wound.
"If we start this way, there's no turning back," she murmured.
"From our first kiss, there was never a way back."
In the next moment, he kissed her.
It was no gentle exploration, but complete devouring. He descended like wildfire on dry wood—urgent, scorching, with uncontrollable hunger. Evelyn's gasps mingled with the flames as her body was pressed firmly against the stone pillar, her nails digging into his back as if clinging to the last thread of reality.
"I want to watch you melt in my vow fire," he whispered, biting her earlobe, his lips trailing down to kiss her collarbone, her chest, igniting every inch.
Evelyn didn't resist. She was like a flame—ignited, shattered, finally releasing her primal struggles amid desire and pain. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and as their lips tangled, that fierce possession surged through her entire body.
When he entered her, it was like thunder splitting the sky.
Thrusts, entanglements, sweat and moans echoed through the altar. Between clashing lips, she almost forgot who she was. Only this moment mattered—she was Evelyn, not a queen, not a mistress, just a woman moaning in the flames.
He turned her onto the stone altar. She arched her back, fingers gripping the cold stone, trembling beyond speech. He thrust into her again and again, deep inside, as if branding all oaths and desires into her soul.
She wept, she moaned, she shattered.
And he whispered, "You are not my subject. You are my divine punishment."
Climax crashed over her like waves, until she nearly suffocated on the crest of passion. Finally, he pulled her into his arms, his forehead pressed to her hair, their breaths ragged as if fresh from battle.
Silence lingered.
"Have we truly changed anything?" she whispered.
"We have," he gritted his teeth, "There are no more traces of them on you. Now, only mine remain."
In the distance, within the shadow of the high tower, a pair of purple-gold eyes quietly opened—
The apostle of the Cracked Moon King had descended upon the mortal realm.