Elara woke screaming.
Pain tore through her veins like fire poured into glass. She thrashed against stone sheets, fingers clawing for something solid, something real.
"Easy."
Kael's voice cut through the agony.
She gasped, eyes flying open. The room was carved entirely from obsidian, veins of dim crimson light pulsing through the walls like a slow heartbeat. Runes hovered in the air—containment sigils, old and brutal.
Her body felt wrong.
Heavy. Hollow. Too full.
"What did he do to me?" she whispered, voice shaking.
Kael sat beside the bed, his posture rigid, jaw clenched hard enough that she could hear his teeth grind. His armor was gone. His hands—usually steady—were clenched into fists resting on his knees.
"He tested you," he said. "And Hell answered."
She swallowed. "I can feel it. Something's missing."
Kael didn't respond immediately.
That silence terrified her more than screams ever could.
"Elara," he said finally, "every time you resist a law of Hell… it takes something from you."
Her breath hitched. "What did it take?"
Kael lifted her hand.
She flinched when he pressed his thumb lightly against her palm.
Nothing happened.
No surge. No spark.
Her magic didn't answer him anymore.
Her eyes widened in horror. "I— I can't feel it."
"You still have your power," Kael said quickly. "But not freely."
Her chest tightened. "Then where is it?"
His gaze darkened. "In me."
The words settled like a curse.
Hell had bound her magic to his blood—anchored it through him as a leash.
Elara pushed herself upright, panic rising. "That means if you—"
"—are hurt," Kael finished, "you feel it."
"And if I die?" she whispered.
Kael held her gaze.
"You won't."
That wasn't reassurance.
That was a vow.
The door creaked open.
The Devil King entered without ceremony, the room bending subtly around his presence. His eyes swept over Elara, sharp and assessing.
"You survived," he said. "Good. I dislike wasted potential."
Elara stiffened, anger and fear tangling together. "You bound me."
"Yes," he replied calmly. "You were destabilizing my realm."
She laughed bitterly. "You tried to break my heart."
"I did break it," he corrected. "Just not completely."
Kael stood. "This ends now."
The Devil King turned his gaze to his son.
"No," he said softly. "Now it begins."
He circled them slowly.
"She cannot leave Hell," the King continued. "Her blood has rooted here. Remove her, and the realms will bleed."
Elara's hands shook. "You're imprisoning me."
"I'm protecting existence," he replied.
Kael stepped closer to her, his presence steady, grounding. "Then she stays under my protection."
The Devil King smiled.
"That," he said, "was always the point."
He leaned closer to Elara, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her.
"You will learn restraint. Hunger. Control. Or Hell will teach you."
Then he straightened and turned away.
"Prince Kael," he added over his shoulder, "if you continue to choose her… you will lose everything else."
The doors slammed shut.
Silence stretched.
Elara stared at Kael, fear creeping into her voice. "I don't want to destroy you."
Kael knelt in front of her, taking her hands carefully, reverently.
"You won't," he said.
She searched his face. "How can you be so sure?"
His eyes burned softly in the dim light.
"Because," he said quietly, "if you do… I'll let you."
Her breath caught.
Not because of what he said—
—but because some part of her understood that he meant it.
And somewhere deep within Hell, something ancient shifted, sensing that the bond between them was no longer accidental.
It was inevitable.