The man was on the ground, his arm bent in an unnatural direction, with bone pressing against skin. He was crying, whimpering like a wounded animal. Begging, stammering, humiliated.
Standing above him—was her.
Tall, nearly as tall as him, but with the presence of someone who occupied more space than her body allowed.
Her skin was pale, so pale it seemed made of pearl under the moonlight.
Her hair, long and raven-black, was tied into a single thick braid that fell over her shoulder like a sleeping serpent.
Her eyes, narrow and sharp as blades, were two black almonds burning with a vigilant, fierce intelligence.
She wore a martial robe, crimson and black, with golden inlays that caught the light like blades. On her shoulders, a light, elegant armor. The slit along her dress revealed a long, muscular leg, poised to strike again.
Her chest was modest but perfectly balanced, her waist narrow, her hips broad and sculpted—sensual and powerful in equal measure.
Every gesture, every detail of her body, seemed to speak an ancient language made of discipline, grace, and threat.
On her robe, embroidered in gold thread, was the emblem of House Shilan-Yue: a golden phoenix on a crimson field, wings spread in an explosion of glory and rebirth.
On her head, a slender diadem, set with tiny jades and moonstones that shimmered faintly in the night. A regal headpiece—but not ostentatious: a symbol of rank, not vanity.
Aurelian froze.
Everything inside him fell silent.
The man on the ground, the weeping, the scene… disappeared.
There was only her.
"Shilan-Yue…" he whispered to himself.
One of the three. At last.
A prey, yes. But also a challenge.
And perhaps, something more.
His fingers instinctively moved toward his pouch.
Under the stiff leather, he felt the ring.
The only ring.
"If she is the key," he thought, "then I'll have to open the gates of hell to put it on her finger."
He watched her.
Chasing her wouldn't be enough.
Words wouldn't be enough.
He would have to earn her.
And as the night wind passed over him like a shiver, Aurelian understood one thing with ruthless clarity:
he could no longer afford a single mistake.
The man on the ground gave a strangled moan, then lifted his bruised face, tears streaming through the blood.
"Please… help me…" he sobbed, his voice trembling, directed at Aurelian.
The woman slid the heel of her boot across his cheek, then brought it down firmly.
Crack.
The man collapsed, unconscious.
"Your turn is over," she said, cold as ice.
Then she raised her eyes—and locked them onto Aurelian.
Almond-shaped, black as a starless night, her eyes shone with reflected light.
She saw the twin-headed serpent on his tunic.
House Var Chesen.
She didn't recoil in disgust.
She didn't show fear.
She didn't laugh.
She didn't flinch.
She just stared, as if calculating the exact distance between them, and how long it would take to strike.
"If you try to capture me," she said firmly, "you'll meet the same fate."
Aurelian smiled.
He slowly drew his dagger from his belt, holding it blade-down, relaxed.
The metal gleamed like a claw under the moonlight.
"You have no choice," he murmured, the voice of a hunter who had seen the prey fall into the trap.
"You will become mine. Whether you want it… or not."
She stepped forward.
Her figure emerged from the shadows, sensual and terrifying at once.
The elegant headdress swayed slightly, but didn't hinder her.
The long side-slit of her robe opened like a curtain: a single braid swung down her back as her bare leg lifted slowly, in a perfect pose of balance and threat.
Her foot tense, ready to strike.
Aurelian didn't retreat.
He bent slightly at the knees, dagger steady in his right hand, the other open, relaxed, floating.
Then…
They lunged.
The first assault was simultaneous.
She launched a side kick to his ribs, lightning-quick.
He deflected with his forearm and used the moment to step in with his dagger's hilt, aiming for her chin.
She ducked fluidly and replied with a low kick that hit his ankle.
Aurelian lost balance for a moment, then recovered, rolled backward, and sprang to his feet again.
They locked eyes, breathing hard, gazes alight.
Then resumed the attack.
Punches, kicks, elbows, blocks, spins.
She moved like a dancer trained for war.
Every strike was a poem of violence.
Every kick, a declaration of power.
Aurelian answered with a style of his own: fluid, personal, a fusion of Eastern martial arts and blade combat.
The dagger wasn't meant to wound, but to control the rhythm, to intimidate, to guide movement.
She noticed.
"You shouldn't hold a blade unless you plan to use its edge!" she snapped, spinning and launching a roundhouse kick to his neck.
Aurelian ducked, rolled, reemerged.
"I don't want to leave a scar on my future wife."
A moment of silence.
Then—a smile.
A true one.
Not sarcastic.
Not mocking.
Just… surprised.
"Admirable confidence," she said, circling him.
"But I will never be your wife."
Clash.
Another strike.
Aurelian feigned losing balance, offered his flank.
She took the bait—or so he thought.
Her foot arced perfectly toward his ribs.
Aurelian caught it, spun, and tried to seize her wrist.
He managed—for a second.
She twisted, using her momentum against him, and pushed him toward the wall.
She was about to finish it with a single powerful kick to the face.
But Aurelian didn't flinch.
He smiled.
At the last second, he raised his forearm, blocking the impact.
His body absorbed the blow—but instead of stepping back, he stepped in.
In an explosive movement, he seized her raised ankle, turned, and with a controlled heave, unbalanced her.
She fell backward, rolled once, and rose again.
But not fast enough.
Aurelian was already on her.
He pinned her to the ground firmly, gripping her wrist with his left hand and pressing his forearm against her chest to immobilize her.
His dagger didn't touch flesh—but hovered just above her throat, saying: I could.
Short breaths. Eyes locked. No words. Just sweat, heartbeats, and a fragile balance between victory and respect.
In the end, she spoke.
Softly. Not broken, but honest.
"You got me."
Aurelian loosened his grip, slowly stood. He offered her a hand.
She stared at it for a long moment. Then took it.
She rose, proud even in defeat. And without him needing to ask, she extended her left hand.
The gesture was clear.
Aurelian drew out the ring.
A golden band with the ancient sigil of his house: the two-headed serpent biting its own tail.
He slid it slowly onto her ring finger.
Her breath deepened.
She looked at the ring.
Then at him.
Silent.
Solemn.
She bowed.
Aurelian, heart still pounding like a war drum, extended his hand again.
She took it.
Then produced a red-gold ring bearing the crimson phoenix—and slipped it onto his right ring finger.
A promise.
A bond.
An ancient, sacred exchange.
Aurelian closed his eyes, exhausted and surging with adrenaline.
Then raised his gaze to the sky.
"I did it…"
A shout of triumph burst from his chest.
A cry of joy.
A brief, hoarse laugh, full of release.
House Var Chesen…
was no longer on the brink of extinction.
It was alive.
And ready to rise again.