Aurean stayed against the wall, breathing in slow, shaky bursts as his fingers brushed his own lips — still tingling with what *almost* happened.
His mind raced.
Not just from fear.
Not just from the thing scraping through shadows like bone on stone.
But from that whisper…
*"I don't know how much longer I can keep pretending..."*
Pretending?
Then Varys *did* feel it too.
Aurean pressed both palms flat against the cold stone behind him — as if trying to ground himself in reality when everything around him was falling apart.
And then...
He made a decision.
No more running.
No more pretending he didn't care.
He was going to *face* this.
Face fear.
Face whatever was coming.
In the distance, the thing outside roared—and Aurean knew their time to hide was over.
So he pushed off from the wall…
And stumbled out into the library, running straight for the shattered glass window where shadows still flickered—a trail through the darkness—as those clawed footsteps vanished through broken halls where every candle turned to ash beneath hungry breaths.
The library howled with wind and something worse — a presence that slithered through cracks in reality like oil through water.
Aurean didn't hesitate.
He followed the trail — not of blood, but of *absence* — places where light died, where air thickened, where even shadows refused to move… as if whatever passed had devoured them whole.
He reached the grand hall — vast and broken under red moonlight pouring from above like liquid flame. And there…
Varys was fighting.
Not with swords.
Not with fire or magic storms that would level mountains.
But *barehanded.*
The Demon Lord moved like a storm given form—fast, brutal, beautiful—tearing into the thing that had broken through: tall and hunched on reverse-jointed limbs, skin stretched too tight over bone like melted wax pulled into a mockery of human shape. Its face… shifting. Always shifting. But one expression stayed:
***Hunger.***
Varys slammed it back with a roar—dark energy ripping from his palms—but as he did…
His eyes flickered toward Aurean at the edge of the hall…
And for half a heartbeat—
Fear flashed across his face.
**Not for himself.**
For him.
And in that moment—
The creature saw its chance.
It lunged—not at Varys—
But straight for Aurean—
Mouth opening far too wide—spines erupting from its arms—reaching to take what it called *"mine"* since before time learned names...
But this time?
Aurean didn't flinch.
Didn't run.
Didn't close his eyes.
Instead—he screamed:
**"NO!"**
And raised both hands not in defense…
But defiance —
As golden light—warm and impossible—blazed from within him… erupting up through veins until it shattered part of the ceiling above them all!
***
*What is he?*
That question hung heavier than any sword...
Because no mortal could do that.
No mere sacrifice born to be claimed should burn so bright against ancient dark...
And deep down?
Varys already knew why fate sent *him* instead of his brother…
Now only two truths remained:
One night survived…
Two more moons remain…
And now—the monster wasn't just outside anymore…
It was waking up inside **both** of them...
The golden light pulsed from Aurean's palms — not blinding, but *warm*, like the first sunrise after an endless winter. It pushed back the creature's shadowy form with a shriek that split the air — a sound too sharp for any living throat.
And Varys?
He froze.
Mid-lunge.
Claws out.
Fire blazing in his eyes.
But not from rage now…
From *recognition.*
"Aurean…" he breathed—voice raw, cracked—as if saying his name for the first time with meaning, not just as a label on a fated soul. "No… you're *not* human."
It wasn't an accusation.
It was awe wrapped in dread.
Because suddenly every piece fell into place:
The bond didn't choose him by accident.
Fate didn't send him here to survive or serve—
**It sent him to wake something even demons had forgotten existed…**
The Light-Bearer.
Last of the Dawnborn.
Born once every ten thousand years—never known until they shine under blood moonlight…
And only then do their chains fall away.
But Aurean didn't hear any of that—not yet.
He was staring at his own hands, trembling—not from fear—but power surging beneath skin like rivers breaking through dam walls long past their time…
"I don't know what I am," he whispered hoarsely… "but I'm done being afraid."
Then he stepped forward—between Varys and the writhing horror still trying to rise—and raised both palms again—
***"You wanted me?"***
His voice echoed unnaturally through stone and sky—as if spoken by more than one throat at once:
***"I'm here."***
Golden light erupted—not just outward—but **upward**, carving cracks in red moonlight itself as pillars of radiant fire split across the hall!
Outside—the winged watcher screamed.
The thing before them shrieked and melted into ash where it stood.
Even shadows fled across marble floors like whipped dogs begging for mercy…
When silence returned—it came slow.
Broken only by heavy breaths echoing in ruins now glowing faintly with residual gold upon black stone...
Aurean collapsed to one knee—exhaustion slamming into him all at once—and would've fallen flat if strong arms hadn't caught him last second—
Varys held him close—one hand against chest rising fast with breath, another tangled gently in sweat-damp hair—as he whispered low against Aurean's ear:
**"You fool... You beautiful fool."**
*(a shaky breath)*
**"You could have died."**
Aurean lifted heavy eyes—half-lidded but still burning—with embers of something greater than either dared name:
"And you?" He panted weakly. "Would you have mourned me?"
Varys stilled.
Then pulled him closer—took one ragged inhale near his neck—as if memorizing scent over sense—and growled so softly only hearts could hear it:
**"I would have burned this world down trying not to."**
First night survived.
Two more moons remain...
But something new has risen between them:
Not just attraction or fate...
But devotion carved from fire and refusal to let go...