Caius had always worn warmth like armor.
Even now, as he walked the stone corridors of the Temple, robes dusty and boots worn from travel, he offered polite nods, a charming smile to the guards, the humble posture of a returning servant of the Flame.
But beneath it all—
He was calculating.
He always had been.
His presence in Arielle's cell wasn't just sentiment. It was strategy. It had taken him two years of covert service, one falsified appointment under the Sanctum's intelligence wing, and countless battles on the Outlands border to earn enough clearance to step into this holy prison.
All for her.
Arielle Voss.
The one who refused him when they were barely more than children. The one who told him love had no place beside a calling like hers.
He hadn't hated her for it.
He had burned for it.
And now she stood on the edge of exile—perhaps worse. Marked by a power that should not exist. Tainted by a creature whose name had been forbidden for a thousand years.
Riven.
Caius's fists clenched as he stepped into the Hall of Shadows, where the Order's secret records were kept—beyond public scripture. He pulled out the sealed scroll he had stolen from the restricted vault.
The one titled:
The Severed Path: Names That Should Not Be Spoken.
He rolled it open under candlelight.
There it was.
Riven.
The Ashen Crown.
The Void-Walker.
The First Curse.
No illustration. No description. Just one phrase repeated like a warning etched in blood:
"He remembers what he tastes."
Caius stared at the parchment long and hard.
He didn't believe in fairy tales. But he knew how dangerous obsession could be—especially when it was wrapped in flesh and spoken through a kiss.
He knew Arielle hadn't just opened a gate.
She had invited something in.
And it was no coincidence that Riven hadn't killed her. Demons didn't spare lives out of mercy. They spared what they wanted to keep.
Still… it wasn't jealousy clawing at Caius's gut.
It was fear.
Fear of losing her again—this time, to something he couldn't fight.
Not yet.
But soon.
He rolled the scroll shut and tucked it into the satchel beneath his robes. His path was clear now. If the priests wouldn't stop what was growing inside her… he would.
Not by harming her.
No.
He would save her. Possess her, if he had to. Remind her who she was before the bond began to twist her fire into something else.
He had waited too long. Become too strong. And if the creature tried to take what Caius had bled for—
Then not even the void would protect him.
Back in her cell…
Arielle stirred from restless sleep, a strange chill brushing down her spine.
Something was wrong.
Not Riven.
Something else.
""
It began in the dark.
Arielle stood in an endless corridor of lightless stone, her bare feet silent against the marble floor in her dream.The air was thick—velvet and heavy, humming low with an energy she couldn't name. Her pulse echoed louder than her footsteps.
Then she heard him.
The voice.
Smooth, cool, and far too close for comfort.
"You called me again."
She spun.
He wasn't behind her—he was everywhere, his voice folding around her like silk laced with smoke.
"I didn't summon you."
"You did. In your thoughts. In your sleep. In the place where your gods can't watch you."
Arielle's breath caught.
She didn't answer.
Because he wasn't wrong.
And then, like a shadow peeling itself off the wall, he appeared.
Riven.
He wore no armor. No weapon. Just the same black coat falling off his frame like a midnight promise. His silver eyes gleamed, reflecting nothing but her.
"You're not afraid anymore," he said, stepping closer—not enough to touch, but enough to invade. His presence warped the air, chilled it, thickened it.
"I'm not afraid of you," she lied.
"You should be."
The silence stretched between them, vibrating with something she couldn't name. Not yet.
"You invaded my dreams," she said.
"No," he replied calmly. "I answered them."
He circled her like thought itself, never quite looking at her fully, yet somehow seeing more than anyone ever had.
"Why are you here?" she asked, voice tight.
"Because you crave answers," he said. "And your holy books don't hold them."
"I don't crave anything of you."
He stopped.
Finally, his gaze locked with hers.
There was no warmth there. Just intensity. Cold, breathtaking intensity.
"Don't lie to me, Priestess."
Her lungs stuttered.
"I can taste the truth bleeding through your denial," he said. "It's in the way your breath stumbles when I speak. In the way your soul hums when I'm near."
"You're imagining things."
"No." His tone never changed. "You are. Imagining what it would feel like if I did touch you."
She stepped back.
But he didn't follow.
He didn't have to.
"I am not yours," she said, voice hoarse.
"I never asked for you to be," Riven murmured. "But a part of you already is mine—by your own hand. By your own kiss. And now that we are bound, I'll tell you the truth no priest ever dared whisper in your ear."
She swallowed. Her heart thrashed. Her skin prickled.
"The flame inside you was never meant for worship."
He tilted his head, studying her like an answer only he could unlock.
"It was meant to burn."
Her knees weakened—just slightly.
His voice softened to a whisper only her soul could hear.
"And I wonder, Arielle... how long can you hold onto your light… before it wants to touch the dark?"
Her jaw clenched. "You don't belong here."
"Neither do you," he said. "A holy priestess dreaming of the thing she swore to banish. How poetic."
She backed away as he stalked forward, each step unhurried, deliberate, like he was measuring her will with every breath she took.
"Stay away from me."
Riven stopped a few paces away.
His voice dropped. "Why? Does the space between us protect you from me? Or does it protect you from what you're afraid you'll become?"
"I'm not afraid of you."
"You're terrified of what I make you feel."
Arielle's heart stuttered. "You make me sick."
"But curious," he whispered, "dangerously so. You wake up sweating. You tremble when you hear my voice. You pray harder now, don't you?"
She swallowed.
He smiled—not warmth. Not mockery. Something worse. Something that knew her.
"Do you even know what your gods are made of, Arielle? Have you ever wondered who lit that first holy fire?"
"Don't twist my faith."
"I'm not twisting it," he said, eyes glinting. "I'm offering you the chance to question it."
His words crawled under her skin like ink.
"You speak like you know me."
"I do," Riven said. "I know the fire behind your eyes. I know the ache you refuse to name. And I know this—"
He stepped closer.
She didn't move.
He didn't touch her.
But his voice was a weapon, and he wielded it with a surgeon's cruelty.
"Every time you curse me, your soul burns brighter. Every time you hate me, your bond to me deepens. You're feeding me with your rage, priestess. And soon… it won't be rage anymore."
"Leave me alone," she choked.
Something in her snapped.
"I don't want you in my head. I don't want your voice. I don't want your riddles or your questions or your cursed shadow following me like it owns me."
Riven tilted his head, silver eyes unreadable.
Then—he smiled.
Not in victory.
In fascination.
"As you wish," he said.
He turned as if to leave—but just before he vanished into the dark, he paused.
And looked over his shoulder.
"The first flame was lit by a lie."
His voice echoed in the dream, threading through her spine.
"If you want the truth… find the girl with no shadow."
Then he was gone.
The corridor dissolved.
She woke gasping.
No sweat. No screams. Just her breath tangled in a single truth:
He hadn't touched her.
But she had never felt more bare.
The girl with no shadow what did he mean?