The ruins of the Crimson Court lay buried deep within the Mountains of Mourning, hidden by mists that bent light and twisted memory.
Kael stood at the edge of the crumbling gates, runes glowing faintly in his palms as he traced the etchings of a forgotten sigil.
The same one from his father's letter.
Beside him, Seraphine adjusted her sword belt, eyes wary and lips pursed in thought. The wind tugged at her cloak, revealing the curve of her neck—still bearing a faint scar from the last battle.
"I thought it would be... grander," she murmured, staring up at the toppled pillars.
Kael smirked. "It was grand. Thousands of years ago."
"You sure you weren't born in a storybook?"
"I'm starting to think I was forged in one."
Seraphine snorted and followed him inside.
They passed through shattered corridors, frescoes depicting winged demons and horned kings long since faded. Their steps echoed like whispers in the gloom.
In the heart of the ruins, a circular chamber remained intact. Obsidian pillars lined the perimeter, and in the center, a throne of molten stone had been cracked straight down the middle—as if the Court itself had been split along with it.
Kael stood before it, a storm of emotion flickering behind his eyes.
"It's strange," he said quietly. "This place is supposed to be where my family ruled. Where I should have grown up."
Seraphine came to stand beside him. "Would you want that? A throne built on blood?"
He hesitated. "Maybe. If I could've changed what it meant."
Then she nudged him with her shoulder. "You already are."
Later that night, they made camp in one of the undamaged chambers—half-library, half-sanctuary. Shelves of ancient demon texts towered overhead, and faded cushions lined the sunken floor.
Kael lit a small magical flame between them, casting golden light over Seraphine's face.
"You've been quiet since we arrived," he said.
She raised a brow. "You've been staring at me since we left Wyrmspire."
He didn't deny it.
"You're beautiful," he said simply.
Seraphine rolled her eyes—but a smile tugged at her lips. "You're a terrible liar."
"I'm not lying," he murmured, gaze dropping to her lips. "Even when you're scowling, I want to taste you."
Her breath caught—barely.
"You always do this," she said. "Say things that make my heart do stupid things."
Kael leaned in slowly. "Do you want me to stop?"
She licked her lips. "Not really."
He was so close now, the heat of his body brushing against hers like fire licking dry parchment.
"Seraphine," he whispered, voice husky.
"Yes?"
"Tell me to stop."
She didn't.
Instead, she reached up and tangled her fingers in his collar, pulling him forward until their mouths met—slow at first, then hotter, deeper. Kael growled low in his throat as he shifted, pressing her back against the cushions. Her hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer still.
"I've waited so long," he murmured against her jaw. "You drive me mad."
She laughed breathlessly. "Good. You've earned it."
His lips found her neck, teasing the sensitive spot below her ear, and she gasped, arching into him.
"Careful," she whispered. "You're playing with fire."
Kael pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes.
"I am fire."
Just as his hands slid beneath the hem of her tunic—just as the tension reached that sweet, electric point—
The runes around the chamber flared to life.
A deep rumble shook the stones.
Kael cursed under his breath and rolled off her, grabbing Ashbreaker.
Seraphine groaned. "Your ancestors have the worst timing."
A shimmering portal opened in the center of the floor—circular and filled with crimson light. And from it stepped a man—tall, graceful, with curved horns and long, ink-black hair.
Kael stepped forward, stunned.
The man looked at him—his features eerily familiar.
"I thought you were dead," the stranger said. "Brother."
Seraphine stared between them.
Kael's mouth opened—but no sound came.
He had found one of his blood.
And suddenly, the fire inside him didn't feel so steady anymore.