The serpent did not speak in words.
It never had.
It spoke in hunger, in pressure, in the way Kael's bones ached when Elira slept too far away — or when she was hurt, or frightened, or thinking about leaving.
Tonight, it roared.
Kael doubled over as shadow peeled from his spine like a living wound, scales surfacing beneath his skin, burning gold and obsidian. The room darkened, candles snuffed out one by one.
Elira was at his side instantly.
"Kael," she said, voice steady even as fear clawed at her chest. Silver light gathered reflexively in her palms. "Breathe with me."
The serpent laughed inside them both.
> She is not yours alone, warlord.
Kael slammed his fist into the stone floor, cracking it. "Get out of my head."
> You opened the door.
You fed me blood and fury and devotion.
Now I collect.
Elira felt it then — the pull. Not from the heavens.
From the abyss.
"What does it want?" she asked quietly.
Kael looked at her, eyes glowing faintly gold. "You."
The word landed like a blade.
> She anchors you. the serpent purred.
Without her, you will burn out. Without me, you will die.
Bind her to us. Or lose everything.
Elira's chest tightened. "Bind… how?"
Kael didn't answer.
Because he already knew.
The serpent's hunger was not for her body — not yet.
It wanted claim.
It wanted her choice.
It wanted her to stay, fully, irrevocably — cutting heaven's leash forever.
"Elira," Kael said hoarsely. "Listen to me."
She knelt in front of him, taking his shaking hands in hers. Silver met shadow — not clashing, but holding.
"I'm listening."
"If you agree to this," he said, voice breaking, "there is no clean ending. No absolution. Heaven will hunt you. The council will betray us. And whatever is left of me—"
She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his.
"I was never clean," she whispered. "I fell for you while you were burning."
The serpent stilled.
Interested.
> Say it, star.
She inhaled.
"I choose him."
Power surged — violent, ecstatic.
Shadow and light braided together, ripping through the chamber, cracking walls, tearing sigils into the air. Elira gasped as something ancient locked into place — not ownership.
Bond.
Her pulse synced with Kael's.
The serpent purred, satisfied.
> Then let the heavens come.
Kael pulled her into his arms as the fortress shook.
"They will kill you," he said against her hair.
"Then we don't let them," she replied simply.
That was the moment he decided.
---
The warlord did not summon his generals.
He summoned the world.
By dawn, ravens darkened the sky, carrying messages sealed with shadow and starfire.
To kings who owed him blood-debts.
To monsters who remembered his mercy.
To exiles who had nowhere left to run.
Kael stood atop the battlements, Elira beside him, silver light glowing openly now — defiant.
"I will not kneel to gods who break what they fear," Kael said, his voice carried by magic, by fear, by loyalty earned in war. "I will not surrender the woman who chose me when heaven turned its back."
The sky split.
Clouds tore apart, revealing burning sigils etched into the firmament itself.
A response.
Elira felt it press against her mind — vast, furious.
> You declare war on eternity, the heavens thundered.
Kael wrapped his arm around her waist, possessive, unashamed.
"No," he replied calmly. "Eternity declared war on us."
Elira lifted her chin.
"And it will lose."
Far above them, stars began to move.
Not fall.
March.