The sun rose slow through misted ruins.
Its light slid like gold across the jagged stones and shattered columns, catching on overgrown thorns, still-wet moss, and scorched-out prayer circles long since abandoned by the gods.
Sowhere in the trees, birds sang.
They didn’t belong here.
But neither did Rein.
He sat on the edge of a low stone platform, shoulders hunched, cloak draped over him like a half-finished thought. His hair was damp from an awkward basin-wash. His shirt still slled faintly of Zeraka’s claws. Valaithe’s scent clung to the inside collar like laughter with teeth.
Elaris paced the far side of the camp, eyes scanning. Always quiet. Always watching.
Iris knelt by a circle of scorched sigils, her veil stitched back into place, her hands folded unnaturally still.
Zeraka was sharpening one of her bone-hilted knives against a jagged slab of altar. She wasn’t watching Rein.
But her ears flicked every ti he shifted.
Caelia stood alone.
Not far from him. But separate.
She hadn’t removed her armor.
She hadn’t eaten.
She hadn’t said a word since last night.
Rein glanced at her again—trying not to be obvious.
Her eyes weren’t on the fire or the trees or the other demon lords. They were locked on Iris. Or maybe the silence between them all.
He stood.
"Caelia—"
She didn’t move.
"You don’t have to keep standing."
"I know," she said flatly.
"Then why—?"
"Because I’m not like them."
That landed sharp.
He swallowed.
"You’re not," he said. "But you’re still here."
She looked at him now. Full-on.
"Maybe I shouldn’t be."
Zeraka’s blade hissed once more across stone.
Then stopped.
"She’s pouting."
"I’m not—"
"If you’re gonna sulk, put it into your blade arm."
Caelia’s hand twitched toward her sword. Zeraka grinned.
"There we go."
Rein stepped forward.
"Wait, wait—what are you doing?"
Zeraka rose, loose-limbed, tail swaying. She tossed her knife from one hand to the other.
"Making sure she’s not just decoration."
"She’s not."
"No?" Zeraka purred. "Then she can show ."
"Show you what?"
"Why she thinks she belongs in the sa circle as us."
Caelia’s voice was cold.
"I never said I did."
"That’s the problem," Zeraka growled.
"You think just breathing beside him is enough? Just kneeling? No, no, no. You’re not one of us. Not yet."
She stepped into the circle. Drew a line in the ash with one claw.
"But you could be."
Caelia’s hand gripped her sword hilt.
Rein moved between them.
"Zeraka—"
"I won’t kill her."
She tilted her head.
"Just bruise her a little. See what spills out."
Elaris didn’t move.
But she watched. Closely.
Valaithe yawned behind Rein and flopped onto a stone slab like it was a throne.
"Let them scratch each other. It’s better than another lecture about divine will."
Iris whispered to herself, too softly to hear.
Rein turned back to Caelia.
Her expression was blank now.
Too blank.
"You don’t have to prove anything."
"Don’t I?"
She stepped into the circle.
Zeraka bared her teeth.
"No blades. Just hands."
Caelia nodded. Unbuckled her gauntlets. Dropped them beside the line.
They circled.
Slow.
Zeraka loosened her shoulders. Flexed. Smiled wide.
Caelia didn’t smile.
Didn’t blink.
And when she moved—
It was fast.
Zeraka blocked the first strike with her forearm. Spun. Caelia ducked. Her elbow ca up toward the Beast Queen’s jaw, but Zeraka pivoted, grabbed her wrist mid-swing, twisted, shoved her against a pillar.
Caelia grunted—but drove a knee into Zeraka’s ribs hard enough to crack.
The demon laughed.
Rein stepped forward—
Zeraka raised a clawed hand between them without turning.
"Let them," Elaris said softly. "She needs this."
"To prove herself?"
"To survive us."
They clashed again.
Harder.
Caelia’s strikes were precise, disciplined, knight-trained. Zeraka’s were wild, instinctual, but faster than human reflex should allow.
And for the first ti since eting her...
Caelia smiled.
Not proud.
Not smug.
Just... relieved.
Zeraka feinted left, caught her around the waist, and slamd her into the ground.
The wind left Caelia’s lungs in a single ugly gasp.
Zeraka lood over her.
Claws braced either side of her head.
Panting.
Grinning.
Blood on her lip.
"Again tomorrow," she said, and stepped back.
Rein rushed to Caelia’s side.
But she was already sitting up.
Breathing hard.
Her armor scuffed, her braid undone.
"Are you okay?"
"Better than I was five minutes ago."
Zeraka licked the blood from her lip and turned away.
"She can stay."
___________
Later that morning, Rein sat on the broken edge of a once-grand table, watching steam curl from six mismatched cups lined up before him.
Each cup was filled with a different kind of tea.
None of them were poisoned.
Probably.
Valaithe sauntered up first, humming tunelessly, her hips swaying like she walked to a rhythm no one else could hear.
She set down her chipped, floral cup with a wink.
"Moonleaf. Touch of thornroot.
A hint of rosewater from a realm I may or may not have seduced into ruin."
"...Thanks?"
"You’re welco, handso. Drink it last. Or first. Or only."
Zeraka thumped her own offering down beside it.
The cup was a carved skull.
Not taphorically.
"Boiled fangroot. Add blood. Builds strength. Might lt your throat."
"...Encouraging."
"Drink it. Or don’t. Just don’t touch hers before mine."
Valaithe grinned behind him.
"Jealous?"
"Territorial," Zeraka snapped.
Elaris approached next.
She didn’t say a word.
Just placed a smooth, simple clay cup before him, the contents still gently swirling from the perfect pour.
Then she walked away.
Caelia set hers down more carefully, fingers trembling a little.
"Chamomile. With honey. It’s... nothing special."
She looked away.
"I just thought you might like sothing familiar."
Rein stared at the offerings.
Six cups.
Six expectations.
One mouth.
"So," he muttered to himself, "this is my life now."
He reached for a cup.
Four pairs of eyes watched.
He picked Caelia’s.
Simple.
Safe.
Sweet.
He took a sip.
Zeraka growled. Loudly.
Valaithe exhaled so dramatically it could’ve counted as a monologue.
Elaris didn’t flinch—but her fingers curled slightly around her blade hilt.
Caelia blinked. Twice.
Then tried not to smile.
"It’s good," Rein said honestly.
"Not strong," Zeraka muttered.
"Not seductive," Valaithe pouted.
"Not strategic," Elaris murmured.
Rein blinked.
"It’s tea."
"It’s a declaration," Valaithe said, flopping dramatically across his shoulder.
"You just married her tongue."
"I—what?"
"You heard . Ceremonial sip. First taste of dawn. Everyone knows."
Zeraka stepped forward, ripped the cup from Rein’s hand, sniffed it.
Then, glaring at Caelia, licked the rim slowly—before tossing it over her shoulder.
It shattered against a rock.
Caelia opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then sat down stiffly beside Rein without a word.
Her shoulders were trembling—not from fear, but from rage she didn’t trust herself to speak through.
"You know," Rein muttered, "I could just make my own—"
Three voices at once.
"NO."
Iris appeared beside him like mist.
Her cup was obsidian, steaming faintly.
She didn’t offer it.
She simply held it out.
Rein didn’t reach for it.
"You’ll drink this later," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Because I saw you do it."
What?
Rein sat back.
Tired.
Tea-stained.
Confused.
Very slightly turned on.
And still not allowed to pick his own damn breakfast.
________
Rein found her at the forest edge.
The light slanted green through the leaves, catching dust motes and curling ash. A stream murmured softly nearby, more a suggestion than a sound.
Caelia sat on a low, mossy stone, her arms wrapped around her knees, cloak draped unevenly over one shoulder like she’d thrown it on in a hurry.
She didn’t look at him when he approached.
She didn’t tell him to go away either.
He sat beside her. Not close. Not far.
Enough that she could leave if she wanted.
She didn’t.
"You alright?"
"I’m fine."
She didn’t sound fine.
She sounded like soone trying very hard to be.
Rein waited.
She spoke again, eventually.
"I thought I was better than them."
"You are."
"No." Her voice was quiet. "I’m not."
"You don’t threaten to mark in my sleep."
"Not yet," she muttered.
He raised a brow.
She blushed.
"They make it look easy," she said, almost to herself. "Wanting you. Touching you. Saying things that would get flogged in the temple."
"You don’t have to be like them."
"But you look at them."
Rein paused.
"I look at you too."
She swallowed.
Hard.
"Not the sa way."
"No," he admitted. "But that’s not a bad thing."
She was quiet again.
The wind shifted. Carried the scent of crushed mint, wet bark, and sothing faintly floral—probably left behind by Valaithe’s chaos perfu.
Caelia leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees.
"When you touched my hand in the crypt... I thought it was a trick."
"It wasn’t."
"I know that now."
She turned to him, face bare, eyes dark and open.
"Why did you?"
"Because you looked like you’d forgotten what it was like to be offered anything gently."
She flinched.
Then laughed—quiet, brittle.
"You’re too soft for this world."
"Maybe," he said.
"And I’m too hard for you."
He looked at her.
"That’s a lie."
Silence stretched.
She didn’t look away this ti.
Reviews
All reviews (0)