I had been fightingfor her.
The realization tore through me like a blade. My chest burned with it. My fists shook with it. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want her. She was fragile, reckless, her tongue sharper than her mind, and still she had gotten under my skin, threaded herself into my veins like a poison.
And yet the moment her voice cracked my name—Zaph—the black that had surged through me like a tide, ready to rip the world apart to keep her safe, retreated.
“Drekken,” I spat, slamming my fist against the cold stone wall. The impact split the air, cracks webbing through the surface. “What have you done to me?”
I turned to her, my aura was still flickering wildly, black licking at the edges of gold. Confusion, fury, something dangerously close to desperation, it all bled into my face, no matter how hard I tried to lock it away.
She stood there, staring at me with those wide human eyes, and I wanted to snarl at her, to shove her away, to drag her closer—all at once.
I was Zapharos, Praetor of War. I was an Arkhevari.A god forged in blood and eternity. A god long forgotten. A legend.
I wasn't one who was ever undone. Ever. By anything. Yet, this fragile female had nearly succeeded where thousands of warriors hadn't. Who in the great unknown was she? My jaw clenched as I led her deeper into the hall. The runes on the walls pulsed faintly at my presence, the stone itself thrumming with Arkhevari power.
She moved beside me, her wide mortal eyes darting over every arch, every glowing sigil, every relic from a thousand dead worlds. Curiosity radiated from her in waves, sharp enough that I could feel it prickling against my skin.
I brought her into the solar, a chamber mortals might mistake for a living room. The air shimmered faintly with heat from a firepit that burned blue, its flame cold to the touch but warm to the bones. Loungers of scaled hide curved invitingly, tables of obsidian scattered with fruit and metal cups. It was a room meant for warlords, not fragile humans.
One of the attendants approached, a tall, lean figure with skin the color of tarnished silver and eyes like molten copper. He inclined his head low. “Praetor. Do you desire anything?”
A Veythari. They were not Arkhevari, but remnants of another world swallowed long ago by Nox Eternum. Now and then, when the Abyss consumed a planet, a few survived. Most perished within hours, unable to withstand the pull, but some—like the Veythari—adapted. Whenthey were weaker species, unable to defend themselves, we allowed them to remain under our protection. In return, they bound themselves to us. Servants, attendants, tradesmen. They lived within the shadow of our halls, and we gave them what they needed to survive: food, shelter, and protection from the Mmuhr’Rhong and the madness of the Abyss. It was a bargain struck countless times across the millennia—survival in exchange for service. To them, it was salvation. To us, convenience.
The Veythari bowed lower, awaiting my command, the gleam of his copper eyes never daring to rise to mine.
Ella stiffened at the sight, and tension moved through her body. I felt it more than I saw it. Damn her to the darkness; my essence was already getting in tune with her emotions. I didn't like it.
Grudgingly, I turned to her. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” The words tasted foreign in my mouth, as though asking them made me weak.
Her throat bobbed, her voice sounded brittle. “Water.”
I flicked my fingers at the attendant. “Water. Now.”
The Veythari bowed low and vanished as silently as he had come.
We were alone again.
She stared at me, her chin tilted up, defiant even when I could smell her unease. I met her gaze, let the weight of mine settle on her like a brand.
“Where are we?” she asked at last, her voice sounded steadier than her pulse.
I let my aura pulse once, faint gold spilling over the chamber. “In my hall,” I said. “On a fragment of one of the oldest worlds swallowed by Nox Eternum. A place carved by gods and still held by us. No Mmuhr’Rhong would dare step here.”
I paused, studying her as the echo of my words filled the chamber. Her shoulders squared, her eyes turned bright with defiance, but I could hear the stutter in her heart. She was unsettled, lost in a place no mortal should ever set foot. Yet still she held my gaze as though she thought she could measure me—and find me wanting.
“Your hall,” she repeated, the words edged with disbelief. “Yourpalace.And what? You just… live here? While the black hole eats worlds?”
I almost laughed, but it came out closer to a growl. “This is not your black hole, little Earthling. It isNox Eternum—the heart of what devours. A place of war, not wonder. Do not mistake survival for life.”
Her mouth pressed into a line, and for a flicker, I felt her anger rise again, hot and sharp. I leaned into it, let my aura flare brighter, daring her to test me.
The chamber thrummed with silence. The fire in the hearth cracked, sending blue light skittering over her face. She had no idea what it meant to stand here. No idea that this fragment, this hall, had been carved by hands older than her planet. No idea that she was alive only because I had not yet decided otherwise.
And yet… she still hadn’t looked away. I hated that it stirred something in me, something perilously close to admiration. But also, curiosity.
I motioned for her to sit while I leaned against the side of the fireplace, studying her, purposefully keeping her on edge, "Tell me about your people."
Her brow knit. “My people?”
