"I have a crush on you."
The words were repeated in Naya's head like an unwanted thought.
"I have a crush on you."
She blinked, pacing the length of her private chamber.
"I have a crush on you."
She'd heard people calling her a monster or even insulting her but never have someone said those words during battle.
"I have a crush on you."
Her jaw tightened. The words refused to fade.
"I have a crush on you."
She rubbed her temples as if pressure could erase sound.
"I have a crush on you."
Her mind replayed it again, unbidden: the moment right before she'd shattered that ridiculous pendant, the girl's breathless confession slipping through the heat and chaos.
"I have a crush on you."
Naya finally groaned out loud. "What the heck was that supposed to mean?"
She dragged a hand through her hair, staring at the faint scorch marks still blackening the floor where the human had stood.
It was early morning, if time even meant anything in this deep underground—and she hadn't slept.
Not because of guilt, certainly not because of curiosity. Just… irritation.
Yes. That was it. Irritation.
She'd been fighting a foolhardy intruder, ready to finish it, and suddenly out of nowhere this creature had looked her dead in the eye and said the most absurd thing imaginable.
A crush.
On her.
Naya Blackwell. The Black Flame. The demon general feared across three kingdoms.
The right hand of the Demon King. The woman who had burned armies into ash and crushed kkngs beneath her heel.
No one had a "crush" on her.
People feared her, envied her, sometimes begged her for mercy but affection? No. Affection didn't survive long in her orbit.
She sat down at her desk and poured herself a glass of something stronger than wine. It was barely dawn, but this felt like a dawn problem.
"Ridiculous," she muttered. "It must have been a tactic. A distraction."
Her mind supplied the memory anyway: the way the girl had said it, not as a weapon but as a confession, raw and awkward and utterly unstrategic.
Her lips twitched. "Or insanity."
That made more sense. Humans were fragile things, always doing stupid acts right before dying. She'd seen it before. They'd look death in the eyes and suddenly all words were good if they survived.
Yes. That was all it was.
"Crush," she muttered again, disgusted. "Pathetic word."
By midday, she'd almost convinced herself she didn't care.
Almost.
The council chamber of the generals was large enough to hold a dragon, the ceiling was carved with old infernal sigils that glowed faintly red.
Naya stood at one side of the long obsidian table, armor gleaming, expression neutral.
Around her sat the other generals, each powerful in their own right, each far less disciplined.
General Vorin of the Eastern Legions was bulky and blunt, slammed his fist on the table. "The humans are growing weak! We should strike now before they recover."
"You said that last century," Naya replied flatly.
"It was true then, it's true now!"
"Then perhaps the universe is trying to tell you to come up with a new idea."
Snickers rippled through the chamber. Vorin glared, tusks flaring.
Naya didn't bother returning the look. Her patience today was a thread stretched thin.
Beside her, General Kael leaned in, whispering, "You seem… distracted, Blackwell. That's unlike you."
"I'm not," she said curtly.
Kael's grin widened. "You are. Something on your mind?"
She gave him a look that could have turned stone into ash. "Nothing relevant to you."
He raised both hands in mock surrender and turned away, but she could feel his curiosity. That man really loved gossip.
Across the table, another general droned on about border patrols, but Naya's thoughts drifted again.
The fight replayed itself: the way the girl had dodged her blows, the quick reflexes, the refusal to yield. There had been skill there, buried under recklessness.
Fire meeting light. And that ridiculous declaration, slicing through the chaos like a misplaced confession in a war zone.
"I have a crush on you."
Her sword hand twitched slightly.
"Naya," Kael said under his breath. "You're grinding your teeth."
She inhaled slowly. "I'm restraining my temper."
The meeting dragged on. Reports on soldiers , human scouting parties, trade disputes between demon clans but none of it held her focus.
Her mind kept circling back to that impossible statement.
She'd had admirers before. Plenty. Demons who adored her strength, courtiers who wanted status, soldiers who worshipped her like a living flame.
She'd entertained them occasionally. There had been lovers, brief and forgettable. Passion wasn't foreign to her.
But this was different. The audacity of it, the timing, the absurdity.
Who confesses admiration mid-battle? Who means it?
Her jaw tightened again. It didn't make sense.
When the meeting finally ended, she was the first to leave. The others barely noticed; they were too busy arguing about who had to do what .
The corridor outside was blessedly empty. She walked fast, boots striking against the obsidian tiles, each step echoing louder than the last.
By the time she reached her quarters, she'd decided on a conclusion.
It was a distraction. It had to be.
The masked girl had said it to throw her off, to buy time to escape.
And it had worked.
Her fingers clenched around the hilt of her sword. "Clever little liar," she muttered. "You'll regret that next time."
But something in her voice didn't sound angry. It sounded tired. Almost uncertain.
She sat down at her desk again, staring at the half-finished glass from earlier. The surface of the wine reflected the faint glow of her eyes, steady and sharp.
She tried to imagine the girl's face beneath the mask. She had silver hair . She remembered a glint of it. Eyes green.
But what would her face look like,would she look like a beauty. Her voice was cute so maybe a young woman.
She scowled and took a long drink. "Irrelevant, let's stop thinking about that ."
She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, trying to regain the calm precision that had always defined her.
She had survived a century of wars. She was not going to lose sleep over a human with a mask and terrible timing.
And yet…
The look in the girl's eyes right before she teleported defiant, terrified, alive refusing to fade.
Naya pressed her thumb against the scar that ran across her palm, a reminder from catching the girl's light blade barehanded. It hadn't healed completely. The burn was faint but stubborn.
She'd forgotten what it was like for magic to scar her.
Her eyes lingered on the mark. "How annoying."
She stood and walked to the balcony. Outside, the molten plains stretched endlessly, the horizon blurred by waves of heat.
She rested a hand on the railing and watched the distant geysers erupt, painting the sky in ribbons of orange.
"Should I just give her a chance or maybe just try to get some information from her?"