~~~
.
.
.
The night in Moon Vale shimmered like glass.
A pale moon hung low over the silver trees, spilling light across the lake until every ripple gleamed like liquid mercury. The winds were still, yet the air trembled with the ghost of thunder—as if the realm itself hadn't quite recovered from what it had seen.
Hazel stood alone on the balcony, her bare feet brushing against the cold marble. The thin silk of her robe fluttered in the faint wind, and her thoughts felt heavier than the night itself.
She should have felt peace here, in this sanctuary between realms. The Vale was beautiful, untouched—moonlit blossoms unfurled under starlight, and soft lights glowed in the distance where the fireflies gathered near the pines. Yet the beauty mocked her tonight.
All she could see were the faces she had never met—women and children in Lycan's kingdom, swallowed by the storm of the dead.
Her reflection in the balcony mirror looked pale and tired. "It's all connected to me somehow," she whispered to herself. "It has to be. It always is."
Her voice caught. She hated the guilt pressing down on her, hated that every loss seemed to circle back to her existence.
The air stirred.
A familiar heat licked across her skin before she heard his voice.
"You shouldn't be out here alone."
Hades' tone was quiet, deep enough to stir the wind itself. When Hazel turned, he was already there—half-shadowed, half-moonlight. His hair was damp as though he'd washed off battle sweat, and the dark tunic clung to his chest in a way that made her heart ache in all the wrong ways.
"I couldn't sleep," she admitted softly. "I didn't want to wake you."
"You didn't." He stepped closer, the marble beneath his boots barely whispering. "I couldn't sleep either."
He stood beside her, close enough that she could feel the faint heat radiating off his body. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them was not empty—it pulsed with something unsaid, something raw.
Finally, Hazel breathed, "They said the storm took children, Hades. In Lycan's lands."
His jaw tightened. "I know."
"I keep thinking…" she hesitated. "If I hadn't been so ignorant, if I'd—"
"Stop." His voice was firm, but his gaze softened when it met hers. "Don't do that. Don't blame yourself for the sins of monsters."
"But it's true, isn't it?" she pressed, her eyes glimmering. "Every time something happens, I'm at the center of it."
He turned to her then, the moonlight catching the scar on his cheek, the faint glint in his eyes. "You're not a curse, Hazel. You're a storm breaker, not the storm."
The words struck her deeper than she expected. He never used to talk like this.
Her lips trembled into a bitter smile. "Then why does it always feel like I'm the reason people suffer?"
He took another step, closing the space between them. "Because you care too much," he murmured. "And that's something this world doesn't deserve from you."
The way he said it—quietly, like a confession—made her chest tighten.
Her heart wanted to lean into him, but her head still reeled with guilt. "Velia is still out there," she whispered. "If she summoned that storm…"
"She did," he cut in, the calm in his tone sharpened by certainty. "And she'll pay for it."
"Lycan's furious," Hazel murmured, her eyes falling to the floor. "You saw him. I've never seen him like that."
The faintest muscle ticked in Hades' jaw. "Lycan can be furious all he wants. He lost warriors. I nearly lost you. There's no comparison."
Hazel blinked up at him. "I'm fine."
"Were you?" His voice deepened, a quiet growl breaking through. "When Velia and Gavriel came for you? When I thought—"
He stopped himself. His hands flexed at his sides.
"When you thought what?" she asked, her voice small.
He exhaled sharply. "When I thought I'd lost you before I ever got the chance to tell you how much—"
The air caught between them. Hazel froze.
Her breath hitched, heart thundering under her ribs. The heat between them wasn't just emotional—it was alive, the kind of tension that hummed through the veins like a living flame.
Hades' gaze fell to her lips. "You drive me mad, Hazel."
"Do I?" Her tone trembled, but her eyes were steady—curious, teasing.
"Every day," he confessed, his hand brushing her jaw with a gentleness that contradicted the danger in his touch. "And it terrifies me."
The moonlight made his irises gleam like smoldering embers. He didn't wait for permission this time—he kissed her.
It wasn't the kind of kiss born of restraint. It was need, raw and unguarded. His hand cupped her cheek, the other slipping to her waist as he drew her closer. Hazel gasped softly against his mouth, her fingers clutching his tunic. The world around them blurred—moonlight, heat, breath.
Their lips moved together, deepening, tasting, finding rhythm. Her heart raced as his tongue brushed against hers—slow, deliberate, intoxicating. She felt herself melt, the world vanishing into this single moment where nothing else mattered.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathless. Hazel's lips were red, her gaze dazed.
"Why do you always stop?" she whispered, the ache in her tone breaking his composure.
Hades' voice was hoarse. "Because if I don't, I won't."
They stood there, inches apart, both of them trembling for entirely different reasons—fear and desire, intertwined and inseparable.
Then, as if to mock their fragile calm, the wind picked up. The moon dimmed slightly behind a cloud.
Hazel shivered. Something in the air shifted.
A faint, serpentine hiss echoed far in the distance—so faint she thought she imagined it.
Hades noticed her stiffen. "What is it?"
"I—nothing," she whispered. "Just… the wind."
But even as she said it, her chest ached in warning.
.
.
.
At the Citadel
"The healers said something's off," Luke said quietly. "Her blood—it's dark. Not normal."
Stefan's jaw tensed. "Then fix it."
"They don't know what it is," Luke continued. "They said it's not poison. Not magic either. It's… changing."
The word hung heavy.
Miriam stirred slightly, her lips parting. Stefan leaned forward instantly.
"Hey," he whispered. "It's okay. You're safe."
Her eyelids fluttered, and for a second, her gaze met his. "You…" Her voice was barely a whisper. "You're here."
"Always," he said hoarsely.
A faint smile ghosted her lips before her eyes closed again. Falling asleep.
Darius looked away, giving them space. The emotion in the room was palpable. Stefan brushed a strand of hair from her face, his hand trembling.
As the others left, Darius paused by the door. "There's venom in her veins," he said quietly. "We just don't know what kind."
Stefan didn't move, didn't even look up. "Then I'll keep her safe long enough to find out."
.
.
.
Back in Moon Vale
Hazel's sleep didn't come easily. When she finally drifted off, her dreams were thick and hot like smoke.
At first, she saw flames—endless and red, swallowing cities and skies. Then the flames parted, and she saw herself standing amid the ruin.
But it wasn't her.
The woman in front of her looked identical—same hair, same eyes—but colder. Her expression empty, her armor blackened, her wings of fire folded behind her like blades.
She moved like a machine, her gaze hollow, her voice echoing inside Hazel's head:
"Thestorm is only the beginning.The serpent stirs because the flame sleeps too long."
Hazel tried to speak, but her voice wouldn't come.
"You cannot run from what you are." the phantom continued. "You can only burn."
The flames swallowed her whole.
Hazel jolted awake with a gasp, her heart racing. Her palms were hot—too hot—and when she looked down, her fingertips glowed faintly gold.
She blinked, and the light vanished.
The room was still. The moon was setting. Hades' scent still lingered faintly on her skin. But he was with the guys, drafting their next move.
She pressed a trembling hand to her heart.
Whatever that vision was—it wasn't a dream. It was a warning. Why couldn't she just have a peaceful sleep without seeing things.
And as dawn crept over Moon Vale, carrying whispers of unease, the first ember of fate began to stir.