Night fell, and the searing sandstorm finally stilled in the distance. Stars, like burnt ash, scattered across the desert's peak. At the edge of Iron Blade Fortress, a tower blackened by flame stood silent, its silhouette against the fiery distant sky resembling the bared fangs of an abyss.
Ileia was escorted to the tower's top by a squad of Shadow Guards. Her body, clad in iron-feathered armor, was stained with ash and blood. The flame emblem at her temple flickered faintly in the moonlight, like a mark on the verge of awakening. She knew this moment would come—Lucian would not let her go, nor could he.
At the tower's summit, Lucian lounged on a pitch-black throne, draped in a red-and-gold battle robe. His Adam's apple jutted sharply, his gaze as menacing as a black wolf waiting to tear its prey. In his hand, he held the scabbard of her sword, confiscated that day; his fingertips traced it slowly, his eyes fixed on the brand at the nape of her neck.
"You finally walked up here yourself," his voice was low, simmering with barely contained rage and longing, "Surrender, or—seduction?"
Ileia stood silent, her knuckles trembling slightly, yet her spine remained straight. She knew any resistance would only fan the flames of his desire. She took a few steps forward, her silver boots clanging against the floor. In the firelight, her golden eyes were as cold as biting snow.
"Just say you want me," she spat, a shattered emotion lingering in her gaze—not shame, nor hatred, but an indescribable weariness and surrender.
Lucian rose abruptly, closing the distance in a single step. His hand shot up to grip her chin tightly, forcing her to meet his burning gaze. She felt that familiar scent—desire and control intertwined—wrap around her like flames.
"You don't know what you're saying," he snorted, his other hand slowly unfastening the armor at her neck, "You already bear my mark."
Piece by piece, the armor fell away. In the dancing firelight, her porcelain skin was revealed, along with the deep crimson soul-flame brand at her nape. Lucian's fingertips brushed the mark, his voice low: "Every struggle of your body is a provocation."
Ileia bit her lip. Her body, already trained by him to ignite at a touch, still tried to hold on—even if only for a breath's distance.
He suddenly pinned her against the tower's stone wall, his lips crashing onto the brand at her collarbone, his tongue tracing the scorching . Ileia trembled violently, a gasp escaping her lips. Lucian grew rougher, stripping away her last defenses while murmuring in her ear: "Every resistance makes me want to—break you in my arms."
Firelight cast their entangled shadows. Breaths and moans intertwined into the only melody of that stormy night. Ileia was pressed against an iron pillar, Lucian taking her from behind with ruthless intensity. In the throes of passion, the brand seemed to come alive, flames spreading across every inch of her skin.
She screamed—not from pain, but from a primal longing finally ignited. No longer resisting, she reached back to clutch his neck, sinking her teeth into his collarbone, returning his desire with equal fervor.
"You want to conquer me," she gasped in his ear, "then remember... I can conquer you too."
Night wind howled, and the tower was consumed by lust and demonic flame. When the first light of dawn pierced the fog, they still lay tangled on the stone floor, sweat and fire emblems merging into a,beautiful mark.