The shadows arrived before he did.
Long fingers of darkness stretched across the throne room floor, coiling like smoke around the columns, whispering secrets in a language even the fire dared not answer.
Lina stood barefoot on obsidian, her gown a river of flame and silk, eyes glowing with truth and terror.
She had felt it for days.
The presence.
The pull.
The one who had watched her burn lifetimes ago.
And now—he was here.
From the deepest crack in the earth, he emerged. A god of nothingness. Not demon. Not devil. A being carved from silence and hunger, whose eyes held no light—only memory.
"Do you remember me?" the shadow god asked, voice like velvet soaked in blood.
Lina didn't flinch. "I remember the pain."
He smiled. "And yet, here you stand again. Still beautiful. Still mine."
Flames rose at her feet, curling around her ankles. "I'm not yours."
"You were," he said, stepping closer. "Before the fire took you. Before you chose the Heart over me."
Lina felt the storm swirl in her chest. Andra stepped into the room like thunder incarnate, rage simmering beneath every breath.
"Touch her," he growled, "and I will tear your existence apart thread by thread."
The god of shadows only smiled at Andra—amused, not threatened. "You're only holding what I once had."
Lina lifted her hand, stopping them both. Her voice was calm, cold, commanding. "I am not an object. Not a prize. I am the flame that survived gods and kings."
The shadow's smile faded. For the first time, he bowed his head. "Then I came not to claim you. But to warn you. The Heart… does not love. It consumes. You were always meant to be its vessel, not its queen."
She stared at him. "And you? What would you have made me?"
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Mine."
With that, he vanished into the darkness he came from.
The room fell silent. The fire flickered low.
And then… Andra moved.
He didn't speak. He didn't ask.
He grabbed her—fingers threading into her hair, mouth crashing to hers with fire and fury, like he was trying to erase the memory of every god before him.
She welcomed it.
Her hands clawed at his back, tearing through layers of silk and shadow. They fell together onto the throne she had claimed—bodies tangled, breath wild.
The flames around them rose high, devouring the room in heat and hunger. Her crown slipped off her head, landing with a clatter against the stone floor.
Andra's lips found her neck, her chest, the curve of her hips. "You are mine," he growled. "Not because I took you. But because you chose me."
Lina arched beneath him, her voice a gasp. "Then take what you chose too."
And he did.
The throne room pulsed with fire and lust, smoke curling around their bodies like a second skin. There was no war, no prophecy, no shadow.
Only her fire.
Only his worship.
Only them.
And Hell held its breath for the queen who moaned like she ruled everything—and the king who would let the world burn just to hear her do it again.