The night wind blazed like fire, sweeping across the shattered walls of Caroshe City. Above the palace, crimson flames streamed across the sky, like a prologue to the apocalypse. Avita stood atop the high tower, her golden hair disheveled like flickering light, a blazing scepter—the symbol of royal power—clutched tightly in her hand. The fierce wind lifted the corner of her battle robe, revealing snow-white skin still stained with fresh blood.
Meanwhile, Lucian, his black armor spattered with blood, stepped into the tower against the firelight. His deep blue eyes held the smoldering desire left in the wake of a storm.
"You've finally returned," Avita whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she refused to turn around. "You disobeyed my order."
"What I disobeyed was the order you used to hide your fear," Lucian approached, his palm resting on her bare shoulder. In that moment, the queen's body tensed, hatred and longing intertwining in her eyes. "I thought you needed an army to defend you, but what you truly need is a man who can tear down your pretense."
He pulled her body close, pressing her against his cold breastplate. Avita tried to resist, but quickly melted beneath his scorching kiss. He tore at her battle robe, his palm tracing every scar on her skin, as if inspecting a fortress on the verge of surrender. Avita gasped, her fingers digging into his back, her anger dissolving into moans that trembled in the night.
"You are my ruler—but tonight, I will conquer you," Lucian murmured. He pinned her against the stone wall, his body crashing over hers like a blazing flame, claiming his glory without reservation.
Never before had she felt so exposed, so trembling, so lost. Each thrust was like a raid on the battlefield; each gasp was like fire scorching the fortress of her pride. Desire and power surged in blood and sweat, weaving a sacrament of sin with no absolution.
By the time dawn seeped through the tower, casting light on their entangled bodies, Avita collapsed in Lucian's arms. Her fingertips brushed the lingering kiss marks on his neck, and she laughed softly: "You've won tonight, but I will strike back."
Lucian's heart skipped a beat, a smirk tugging at his lips: "I'll wait for you—whether in bed, or on the battlefield."
In the distance, the whisper of Casas's soul emerged again in the morning mist, while shadows that tore through space silently stepped into this unfinished game of royal power.