Night fell over the Scorched Light Plains, where embers still smoldered. The sky was veiled by gray dust clouds, and crimson stars seemed to gaze down upon this fractured land. Wind, carrying the stench of and corrosion, swept through the ruins—once homes to humans, spirits, and even demons, now reduced to the border of the Gray Realm.
Elea stood at the end of a broken bridge, her flame cloak snapping in the wind. Her eyes were hollow yet blazing, as if still trembling from the return from the dream realm. Beneath her feet, bodies burned silently in black flames. She could no longer distinguish friend from foe—only one truth remained: the power of the Shattered Moon had corrupted her soul.
"You look more dangerous than hell itself."
Lucian's voice came from behind. He wore no mask; his silver-white was dusted with ash, and his golden eyes were as deep as a storm about to devour everything. Elea did not turn, but her throat trembled slightly.
"You're here," she said, her voice dry, like syllables sifted from ashes.
"I came too late," he said softly, drawing near to stand beside her, gazing at the incinerated City of Scorched Light—a place where the Gray Realm's remnants had made their final stand against disaster, now barren of all life.
"The Gray Realm is born. Are you ready to face it?" Elea asked. He could hear her racing heartbeat, a sign that the Shattered Moon seal was devouring her humanity.
Lucian did not answer. He simply reached out and pulled her into his arms.
She did not struggle, but trembled violently against him—not only from the shattering of souls consumed by scorching light, but because in that moment, Lucian's hand slowly covered her bare shoulder, his fingertips trailing with a soothing yet bewitching divine power.
"Let me help you," he whispered, his voice like a charm, "before you lose yourself completely."
She tilted her head back, flames surging in her eyes, but her lips trembled upward to meet his. In the next instant, lips and teeth tangled, and fire erupted between them, as if to incinerate each other's consciousness.
Lucian's repressed gasps turned feral. He pressed her against the altar, black divine runes spreading across their intertwined skin. Every touch felt like a sacrifice, and like.
"I was already destroyed," she murmured against his lips, "you're too late."
"I didn't come to save you," Lucian whispered, "I came to fall with you."
They entangled among the Scorched Light ruins, with scorched dust beneath them and a crumbling sky above. Elea's body was like a ticking inferno, every spasm a declaration against the gods. And Lucian, no longer a judge, but a traitor walking with her toward the end.
When passion finally subsided in a shudder, both lay panting in blood and ash, their heartbeats intertwined.
Elea's gaze gradually cleared, but behind that clarity, deeper darkness gathered.
"The core of the Gray Realm lies beneath the Blazing Abyss," she said quietly. "We don't have much time. The has only just begun."
Lucian rose, staring at the distant rift in the sky, where flames now,a sign that the final boundary was about to shatter.
He held out his hand.
"Then let's destroy this world together."
The bell of the Gray Realm's birth tolled softly in their ears—a lament woven from blood and fire, desire and fate.