Auron Starfire's breath came in ragged gasps, his fists dripping blood.
He leaned against the cold stone wall of the royal training hall, surrounded by shattered dummies and torn sandbags—physical ruins that couldn't compare to the ruin inside his heart.
He had struck until his bones screamed, until the ache drowned out thought. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
He was supposed to be the unbreakable one.
The golden son of Solaris.
The chosen Hero.
But Kael Ardyn had found his weakness—and it wasn't a blade.
It was Elyndra.
She was slipping through his fingers like sand, and all his strength meant nothing against that slow, silent theft.
Kael was taking her.
And worse... she was letting him.
The royal archives were sacred ground—sealed by ancient rites, blessed by High Priests. None but nobles of blood or trusted sages were permitted within.
Auron broke those laws that night.
Cloaked in midnight blue, he stalked through the palace's sleeping corridors, every step silent as judgment. He reached the towering door bearing the seal of Solaris and laid his bloodied palm on the sun-sigil.
It flared once.
Then parted.
Inside, moonlight spilled over shelves older than the Empire itself. Scrolls hummed with forbidden knowledge. Dust swirled like ghosts.
Auron didn't flinch.
He moved past war strategies and divine rites until he found what he needed—"The Art of Dominion – Controlling the Weak of Heart."
The title itself was poison.
He hesitated, hand trembling.
But if Kael had used such magic—twisting Elyndra's thoughts, manipulating her soul—then he had to know.
Even if it meant damning himself.
Elyndra stared into her mirror, unable to meet her own gaze.
She was no longer the radiant lady sworn to love a hero.
That woman had been proud, strong, unyielding in her convictions.
But this woman?
This pale reflection?
She was something else entirely.
Her fingers brushed her collarbone—she could still feel Kael's touch there. Phantom warmth, maddening and seductive.
Her breath hitched.
She hated herself for how much she missed it.
"Auron never touched me like that…"
The thought shamed her.
And yet it lingered.
A knock.
She turned, heartbeat stumbling.
She didn't need to ask who it was.
Auron led her to the moonlit gardens. Moon lilies bloomed in quiet reverence. But there was no peace here—only reckoning.
He turned to her, eyes sunken with sleepless grief.
"Elyndra…" His voice was broken. "Tell me what happened to us."
She opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
He stepped closer, desperation in every movement.
"I love you. Gods, I love you. Whatever Kael has done, I can undo it. Just—just say the word. We can leave tonight. Just you and me. We'll vanish."
She blinked back tears.
But she didn't say yes.
"Elyndra," he begged. "Choose me."
A long silence stretched like a blade between them.
Finally, in a whisper:
"…I can't."
That was all it took.
Auron didn't speak.
Didn't cry.
He just nodded, numb, and turned away.
And Elyndra—who once would have chased after him—did not move.
Among the twisted vines and statues of forgotten kings, a shadow stirred.
Kael Ardyn stepped from the gloom, eyes gleaming like onyx in the moonlight.
He sipped from his goblet, savoring the vintage.
Auron was broken now.
Elyndra was his.
And there was no going back.
"Heroes," he murmured, with quiet amusement, "always think they can save everyone."
He let the wine linger on his tongue.
"But some people don't want to be saved."
His smile deepened.
They want to be claimed.
To be continued...