The fire never left her now.
Even when Lina stood still, even when she said nothing—her skin hummed with it. Like her veins no longer ran with blood, but with molten memory.
The Void had shown her what she could become. And worse… what she might want to become.
But it hadn't won.
Not yet.
—
Andra knew. He always knew.
He could feel the difference in her kiss, in her silence, in the way she lingered by the Rift's edge, fingers twitching with temptation she wouldn't voice.
She hadn't touched him in days.
Not the way she used to—like he was the only thing that could silence her chaos.
And tonight, he'd had enough.
He found her in the High Tower, fire curling from her shoulders like a cloak. She stared out across her realm, unmoving.
"You're slipping," he said, his voice low, broken by worry.
She didn't turn. "Maybe I'm just finally falling."
He walked up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. She didn't pull away, but she didn't lean into him either.
"You burned the gods for us, Lina. Don't burn yourself now."
She closed her eyes. "What if that's the only way to keep you safe?"
He turned her to face him, holding her face between his hands. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Then take me with you."
She blinked. "What?"
He kissed her—slow, deep, like a vow. "I'm yours. Fully. Forever. If you fall, I fall with you."
Her fire flared, licking at his skin, and he didn't flinch.
"You don't understand what that means," she whispered.
"Yes, I do." His gaze burned. "Make me yours. The way demons bind. No escape. No death. No end."
Her heart stopped.
The Demon's Sacrament. An ancient rite. A bond beyond blood, beyond magic.
Two souls burned together.
One heart. One fate.
Even Hell wouldn't dare touch it.
"No one survives that kind of bond," she said.
He smirked, dark and deadly. "We're not 'no one'."
Lina stepped back. Her power shook the tower. The wind howled. Her body trembled.
And then, she nodded.
"Then kneel, Andra of the Abyss.
Kneel and swear yourself to my flame."
He dropped without hesitation.
She raised her hands, fire circling them both, the language of the Sacrament carving itself into the air.
"I offer you my ruin," she said, voice laced in ancient power.
"My fury. My curse. My love."
Andra looked up, eyes locked to hers.
"I give you my war," he answered. "My soul. My name. My life."
Flames engulfed them. Not in pain. In completion. His breath caught as her power wrapped around him—burning away his walls, his past, his limits. And hers wrapped around him, not as a prison—
—but as a home.
Their mouths met in fire, bodies colliding, tangled in sacred heat, their screams swallowed by the magic that remade them. Her fire did not consume him. It wove into him.
And when they collapsed to the ground, gasping, skin slick and scorched with marks only they could read—
Lina whispered: "You're mine now. Even in death."
And Andra, still catching his breath, smiled through the burn.
"Especially in death."