The garden was quiet, bathed in silver light. Erebus stood beside Lu Yin beneath the shadow of swaying branches, their conversation hushed but heavy with purpose.
"The army is ready," Lu Yin began, though his tone was burdened by more than logistics. "Some of our soldiers have already... grown fond of the Amanécerian women. But the mission proceeds regardless."
Erebus gave no reaction. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
"The Third Division departed through the Wahrheit portal," Lu Yin continued. "Their landing site—deep within Stygian territory, far to the west."
Erebus's eyes narrowed. "Stygian?"
Lu Yin nodded. "Yes. The alchemist with the sky-blue hair claimed it was a precise anchor. Two entry points were confirmed—one in a forest, the other an old fortress. Alessio leads the charge."
"And Division Two?" Erebus asked, his voice like stone.
"They'll depart at dawn. The smaller portal can't handle more without risk—Grandmaster Veyra warned of possible instability."
"You will lead them," Erebus said without hesitation, turning to leave.
"My Lord—" Lu Yin stepped forward, urgency in his voice. "I should be here, by your side."
"My word is final." Erebus's gaze cut through him like a blade. "Dismissed."
Lu Yin bowed, defeated, and took his leave toward the city.
---
The halls of the villa were dim and empty. Unlike the disciplined bustle of Wahrheit, no servants moved past curfew. Only silence, save for the occasional shuffle of guards.
Golden lamps flickered along the corridor, their glow soft against stone.
She stood alone by the open archway, framed by the moonlight—Luciana.
Wind danced across the floor and clawed at her exposed skin. She didn't move, lost in the sky above—its constellations perhaps offering answers, or simply asking the same questions she feared to speak aloud.
Erebus paused at the sight of her. There was no mistaking the ethereal beauty she carried, even when cloaked in melancholy. It reminded him of that night at the old Stygian fortress—her voice singing beneath the stars, hauntingly sweet.
But tonight, she sang nothing.
He approached quietly, took off his overcoat, and draped it over her shoulders. She flinched, startled.
Her wide eyes met his. Tears glistened, and for a moment, he cursed himself for not seeing them sooner.
"E-Erebus," she gasped, hastily wiping them away.
His jaw tightened. Something had happened. Something during the summoning—he was now certain of it.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
She averted her gaze. "I just needed some fresh air... that's all."
He gently lifted her chin, his touch firm yet tender. "Look at me."
Her lips trembled as her eyes met his.
"You're lying," he said, voice low and gravel-edged.
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." Frustration threaded through his tone. "You've been shouldering pain alone. And now… you're standing near the guest quarters. My room."
She blinked. "I—I didn't realize..."
He stepped closer, taking her hand in his and placing the other gently on her shoulder. "Come. It's too cold to linger."
---
From afar, Octavius watched them vanish inside, grief and fury etched into every line of his face. The door closed behind them with a sound that echoed like finality.
Inside, the room was warm. Flames danced in the hearth. Luciana stood by the fire, its glow licking over her skin, casting trembling shadows on the walls. Erebus stripped off his undershirt and added more wood to the flame. The fire hungrily consumed it.
"I should go. Hades might wake," she murmured, backing toward the door.
"Stay." His voice was deep, commanding—yet laced with quiet desperation.
She hesitated. The flames lit the edge of her robe, her silhouette trembling.
She had faced war councils and emperors. But Erebus… Erebus unraveled her.
"Why were you crying earlier?" he asked, rising, his eyes never leaving hers.
She turned her face. "I wasn't—"
"Was it Octavius?" His voice darkened with the name.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came.
That was answer enough.
She stepped back.
He stepped forward.
"Why are you trembling?" he asked, his voice now a growl. "Is it fear?"
She shook her head. "No. It's because I know what this is. What you are."
He was before her now—close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the iron and ash clinging to him. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for her robe and pushed it from her shoulder. It slid down like surrender.
"You've always known," he whispered, his fingers tracing her collarbone. "And you've always run."
"I lose myself when I'm with you," she whispered.
His mouth curled in a dark smile. "Then lose yourself."
He kissed her. Hard. Possessive. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't careful. It was a claiming—raw, consuming, inevitable.
She whimpered, gasping as he guided her back toward the bed. His hands were unrelenting, not cruel—but certain, as if this moment had been written long ago.
She didn't resist.
Her heart had never stopped answering to his.
His hands explored her like rediscovery—not worship, but possession.
He wanted no illusions, only truth. Her body gave it willingly, crying out with every shiver, every breath.
He growled into her neck, "You are mine. You always were."
And when he entered her, she cried out—not just from sensation, but from the storm he ignited within her soul.
Their rhythm was furious, aching, unyielding. Years apart only made them burn hotter. Her legs trembling with every thrust and jolt, her nails raked across the scars on his back. He didn't slow. Didn't want soft. He wanted real.
Luciana clung to him, breathless, broken open by his name on her lips.
He followed with a gasp, his release tremoring like years of weight crumbling all at once.
They collapsed, tangled and soaked in sweat. For a fleeting moment, there was no war. No politics. No world outside the bed.
Only them.
By morning, the fire had dwindled to embers.
Luciana stirred, wrapped in his arms, cheek against his chest. Her fingers traced the demonic sigils inked across his skin—symbols of the power he had chosen, the path Helios had warned her against. They were beautiful. And terrifying.
"Why did you agree on father's conditions?" she whispered.
His voice was raw, both weary and certain. "To take back what was mine."
She hesitated. "And if I said I don't belong to you?"
He shifted, facing her, his hand settling on her waist.
"Say it," he murmured. "And I'll make the realms kneel. Until I claim you back all over again."
She couldn't. The words refused to form.
Because no matter how afraid she was—of herself, of him, of the past—he still burned for her. He always had.
Her silence was enough.
He kissed her again—slower now, but just as consuming. She melted into him, hands in his hair, lips trembling.
Their foreheads touched.
"No more walls," he whispered. "No more silence."
"I'm afraid of losing myself in you," she confessed.
He smiled, softly this time. "Then let's lose ourselves together."
And when he kissed her again, she didn't resist.
She reluctantly but finally welcomed the fall. And he claimed her all over doing the deed again.