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The Rune Coven never slept that night.
By the time dawn pressed its first pale fingers across the snow, the courtyard was already alive with murmurs, firelight, and magic sigils half-drawn on the ground. Ares stood at the center, boots planted in the ice, surveying the remnants of the storm's epicenter. Hades, Lycan, and Hazel lingered nearby while Alyssa's coven witches moved like ghosts around them, recording faint pulses of residual energy.
The air reeked of iron and ozone — the scent left behind when power older than the world itself was torn open.
"It wasn't a natural tempest," Ares said, kneeling beside a blackened rune. "See this pattern? It's not celestial, not demonic either. It's… just pure evil."
"Velia," Hades muttered. "She's the only one twisted enough to do this."
Lycan folded his arms, gaze narrowing. "You're certain this was her doing?"
Ares scraped away a layer of frost, revealing the deeper carvings beneath. "I'd bet my sword on it. But it's not just her. She was calling to something — something buried or sealed long before this realm even existed."
Hazel's breath fogged the cold air. "What could possibly require a storm of the dead as a prelude?"
Ares glanced at her, expression grim. "Something that feeds on souls, My Queen. The kind of creature even gods pretend they never made."
Silence stretched. Only the soft hiss of wind filled the ruins.
Alyssa approached then, wrapped in a cloak the color of frostbite. "When the storm began, the dead rose screaming," she said quietly. "Not to fight — to flee. They were running from something that was coming through the clouds. I sealed the barrier before it could fully breach, but the backlash destroyed half our wards."
Hazel's hand tightened around her cloak. She could still hear those phantom screams echoing inside her mind — the way the sky had fractured as if trying to spit something out.
Ares straightened, brushing snow from his gloves. "We'll need to reopen the site, but under containment wards. Hades, I'll need your core flame to neutralize the remaining residue. Lycan, you handle the physical barrier — if this thing tries to re-manifest, you slam it back underground."
Lycan cracked his neck. "With pleasure."
Hades nodded once, summoning a thin arc of crimson fire in his palm. The flames flickered against the frozen air, refusing to melt it — pure infernal energy restrained by precision. He cast it toward the runes, each spark sealing a crack of darkness that oozed beneath the snow.
The ground hissed, steam rising like sighs.
Hazel watched in quiet fascination. The way he controlled destruction, how easily he commanded fire yet softened his tone when he glanced at her — it stirred something warm and confusing inside her chest.
Hours passed in that methodical rhythm: rune after rune neutralized, Ares barking low-voiced orders, Alyssa's witches chanting counter-verses. But beneath all the diligence lay a truth none of them wanted to voice — the storm had been only a signal.
Velia wasn't done.
By dusk, exhaustion had painted shadows under everyone's eyes. Alyssa insisted they rest before nightfall overtook them again. The witches prepared dinner, and the group was ushered into the Rune Coven's grand dining hall.
The moment Hazel stepped inside, her breath caught.
The room looked as if winter itself had been persuaded to bloom. Walls of translucent crystal reflected a thousand gentle lights; snow-petaled chandeliers hung overhead, dripping liquid gold that shimmered like captured sunrise. The long table at the center gleamed with silverware and bowls of steaming delicacies that looked almost too beautiful to eat.
For the first time in days, the air smelled of warmth — roasted herbs, sweetened butter, and something citrusy beneath it all.
They took their seats hesitantly, unused to peace.
Alyssa gestured toward the spread. "Our kitchens survived," she said with a tired smile. "Eat. You all look like you've been living on smoke."
Hades smirked, seating Hazel beside him. "We nearly have."
Hazel looked down at her plate — translucent dishes of frost-bloom fruit that glittered like gemstones, slices of celestial salmon seared in golden honey, and warm bread infused with moonflower nectar. When she broke the crust, steam curled up carrying the scent of vanilla and winter spice.
Her stomach ached with sudden hunger.
Ares didn't wait for decorum; he tore into his portion of venison roasted in blue-flame wine. "By the gods, I forgot food could taste this good."
Lycan grinned, mouth full. "Careful, you'll make the witches think you're civilized."
Hazel laughed quietly, and the sound drew Hades' eyes like gravity.
She caught him staring. "What?"
He shook his head, lips curling. "You look almost happy."
"I am," she said softly. "For now."
He wanted to ask what that meant, but she was already sipping from her glass of crystalline cider. The way the candlelight played across her silver hair made his chest tighten.
Alyssa began discussing defense plans with Ares and Lycan, but Hades barely heard them. His focus was on the small things — the way Hazel brushed a crumb from her lip, the faint tremor in her hand when laughter faded.
She was slipping further into herself again.
When the meal ended, Alyssa excused herself to attend the healers, and the group began to disperse. Ares stayed behind to study the maps laid out along the table, muttering theories about summoning circles. Lycan volunteered to help secure the perimeter.
That left Hades and Hazel alone in the echoing corridor that led to their guest chambers.
Their room was quiet — large, dimly lit by a hearth of silver fire that emitted no heat. The bed was draped in pale linen, the windows rimmed with frost.
Hazel slipped off her cloak, movements slow, graceful, distant. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the fire as if it might speak first.
Hades closed the door behind him and stood there for a long moment, watching her. "You're somewhere else again," he said gently.
She smiled faintly. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
Her fingers toyed with the pendant at her throat — Alyssa's gift of protection. "Do you ever feel like something inside you is shifting, but you can't tell if it's for better or worse?"
He walked to her slowly, kneeling beside the bed so they were eye-level. "Every day since I met you."
That earned him a small laugh, tired and real.
He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "You've been quiet since we arrived. Tell me what's wrong, Hazel."
Her throat tightened. "When I stood near the ruins this morning… I felt something. Not just magic. It was like the world remembered me — and not kindly."
He frowned. "The storm residue?"
"Maybe," she lied. Because how could she explain that the air had whispered her name in a voice that wasn't hers?
He touched her chin, tilting her face toward him. "Whatever it is, it won't touch you while I breathe."
The certainty in his voice should have comforted her, yet it only deepened her ache. Because she could feel it — the distance fate was already building between them.
"Don't make promises you can't keep," she whispered.
He smiled sadly. "Then I'll die trying."
For a long heartbeat, neither moved. The firelight painted their faces in gold and shadow. When he finally leaned closer, she didn't pull away.
Their lips met softly at first — a whisper of warmth, a plea more than a kiss. Then his hand cupped her jaw, deepening it, tasting of honeyed wine and unspoken fear. Her fingers clutched the fabric of his collar, pulling him closer until the space between them ceased to exist.
When she finally broke away, breath trembling, she pressed her forehead to his.
"This shouldn't feel like goodbye," she murmured.
"It isn't," he said, though his voice cracked almost imperceptibly.
Outside, wind howled through the ruined spires, and the silver flames flickered low — as if the night itself leaned in to listen.
Neither of them noticed the faint pulse beneath the floor — a buried heartbeat deep in the frozen earth, slow and patient.
Far below the Rune Coven, something answered.
And in her sleep that night, Hazel dreamed of wings made of light and ash — and a voice whispering from the dark:
"The circle begins again."