A torrential rain poured down, obscuring the stars above and drowning out the wails and flames rising from the ruins of Ulr City. The Royal Flame Army stood in grim formation, assembled on Blackstone Slope outside Crimson Flame Fortress. Clad in armor and treading through rain, their spears stood like a forest of burning pines.
Evelyn stood atop the high platform, draped in a scarlet-and-gold battle robe, crowned with a flame wreath. The burning emblem between her brows blazed hotter than ever before. Her gaze pierced through wind and rain, fixing on the approaching silver-armored legion—the vanguard of the Cracked Moon King, having crossed Shadow Valley to storm the heartland.
"They think I will retreat one step further," Evelyn spoke slowly, her voice cold as iron. "Then let fire be my oath—from this day forth, burn all thrones that shelter falsehood."
General Renault stepped forward, his gaze steady as stone: "Once the flame oath is spoken, our king shall never retreat."
In the distance, Ileia galloped forth, her silver hair disheveled, her armor stained with blood. "I've blocked the northern pass, but the Cracked Moon apostles have come," she halted below the platform, her voice hoarse and low. "Casas's soul remains unextinguished, reigniting through their flesh."
Evelyn's eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing.
At that moment, Lucian stepped into the rain from behind. The black armor on his body glistened under the rain, his cloak clinging to his chest and back like a streamlined leopard. He watched Evelyn's profile in silence—the sight of her, terrifyingly beautiful, like a true lord of flame destined to destroy and rebuild all things.
"Planning to outlast them without rest?" he smiled, his tone carrying a provocative thrill.
Evelyn turned to face him. Raindrops clung to her lashes and lips, making those eyes—once before thrones for millennia—now burn only with heat and longing.
"Do you think I dare not gamble with my life?" she whispered in reply.
Lucian said nothing, only stepped closer. Finally, under everyone's gaze, he hooked a corner of her battle robe and leaned to her ear: "If you gamble with your life, I'll stake your soul alongside it."
Thunder crashed suddenly.
Evelyn tilted her chin upward, pulling him close to kiss him fiercely—a kiss like flame igniting the battlefield, as if to consume the ashes of an entire dynasty.
They retreated to the inner hall of Crimson Flame Fortress. As the door closed, Ileia stood gazing at the heavy stone portal, a complex emotion flickering in her silver eyes.
Beyond the door, rain was sealed out, and fire danced in the hearth. As Evelyn removed her battle robe, Lucian caught her wrist, pinning her against the blazing stone wall. His eyes held no mercy, only raw desire and unyielding possession.
"Before you become a true flame lord—let me burn you to ashes first," he said.
Evelyn gasped, her voice trembling with repressed anger and secret pleasure: "You wouldn't dare."
Lucian chuckled, a sound that set blood racing: "I've been waiting for you to say that."
His lips kissed her neck, hot breath trailing down her collarbone. His hand tore away her last remaining armor, pressing her down onto the fur rug bathed in firelight. Evelyn's fingers clawed at his shoulder, nails nearly piercing flesh, yet she still gasped beneath his weight.
Their bodies tangled in flame and desire, like two blazing blades crossing—each collision tearing between hatred and devotion.
"You are not my subject," she panted, biting his shoulder. "You are my rebellion."
"Which is why," he growled, lifting her to crash against the stone wall, movements primal and fierce, "I alone deserve to share your flame."
They struggled between desire and power, like two kingdoms on the verge of destruction, choosing entanglement over surrender in their final hour.
The long night burned on. By dawn, the rain had stopped, but the fire remained unquenched.
At daybreak, Evelyn stood alone by the highest tower of Crimson Flame Fortress, wrapped in a robe. Lucian stood behind her, saying nothing, only resting a hand gently on her shoulder.
"If I fall in battle against the Cracked Moon," she said softly, "do not bury me in the royal mausoleum."
"I will bury you in flame," Lucian replied, "so you never burn out."
She did not turn, only raised a hand, pointing southeast.
"Order the Royal Flame Army to advance on all fronts," her voice fell like a god-burning decree. "We do not defend. We burn—everything."