The cottage was quiet that night. Only the low hum of wind brushed against the wooden shutters, whispering through the tiny cracks like a restless ghost. The hearth had long gone out, its ashes gray and cold. Lysera sat by the window, her hands resting in her lap, the light from the moon drawing a faint glow over her pale skin.
It had been days since she last saw him. Days that felt longer than winters in the north. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—the black-haired man standing in the rain, his eyes burning brighter than lightning, the man who could destroy gods and still look at her with that quiet, disarming warmth.
Her fingers traced the edge of the windowpane, stopping when she saw her reflection faintly mirrored in the glass. "He said he'd return," she murmured to herself, voice fragile, "but even if he does… for how long?"
Outside, the night deepened. The world was asleep, but Lysera's heart beat restlessly. She reached for the pendant around her neck—the one he'd given her before he left. It pulsed faintly, as though responding to her thoughts.
And then, the air shifted.
It wasn't loud or sudden. It was a whisper at first—a change in the stillness of the room, like the breath of the universe holding itself. Her heart stopped. The faint breeze that slipped through the cracks stopped moving altogether.
She didn't need to turn around to know.
He was here.
"…You still stay up this late?"
That voice. Smooth, confident, carrying the faint trace of amusement that always made her chest tighten.
Lysera turned slowly, and there he was. Standing by the doorway, framed by the silver of the moonlight, his hair slightly damp as though the night had followed him inside. His eyes—those impossible eyes—were softer now, no longer the gaze of a god or conqueror, but of a man who had finally found his way home.
"Ashura…"
He smiled faintly, stepping closer. "You make it sound like you were about to cry."
She stood, her throat tightening as she tried to speak. "You didn't even knock."
"I figured you'd already know," he replied with a teasing smirk. "Your heart beats faster whenever I'm near. It's kind of hard not to notice."
Her face flushed, the familiar warmth rising to her cheeks. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why not?" he asked, leaning closer until his breath brushed her ear. "You missed me, didn't you?"
Her hands trembled slightly, caught between wanting to shove him playfully and simply stay still in the gravity of him. "Maybe," she whispered.
"Maybe?" he repeated, arching an eyebrow. "That's all I get after I walked through hell and back?"
She turned her head, avoiding his gaze. "You're exaggerating again."
He chuckled, low and soft, the kind of laugh that filled the air around them with a warmth words could never create. "Maybe I am. But maybe you like that about me."
She smiled despite herself, shaking her head. "You never change."
"Would you want me to?"
The question caught her off guard. His tone wasn't teasing this time. His eyes held hers, searching for something deeper than just an answer.
"No," she said finally. "I don't think I could love you if you did."
He said nothing for a moment—just stood there, letting the silence between them breathe. Then he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her.
The moment her head rested against his chest, the world outside faded. His heartbeat was steady, calm—an anchor in the endless sea of chaos her life had become.
"I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair. "For leaving without saying much. Things got… complicated."
"You don't have to explain," she murmured. "I know what you are now. You don't belong to this world alone."
Ashura's lips curved faintly, though his eyes were somber. "Maybe. But you—" he brushed his thumb against her cheek, "—you remind me that I was once human. That I still can be."
Her breath caught. "Then stay a little longer."
He hesitated. Just a heartbeat of silence. Then, "Two days. That's all I can manage before I'm needed again."
She nodded slowly, hiding the sting in her chest. "Two days… I'll take it."
For a while, they said nothing. They just stood there, breathing each other in, the quiet warmth of the room filling the gaps left by war and distance.
Later, they sat by the faint glow of a relit hearth. Ashura leaned back against the chair, his eyes watching the flames dance. Lysera sat across from him, her knees drawn close.
"So," he began casually, "how's life been without me ruining your furniture?"
She smiled softly. "Peaceful. Lonely. The roof leaks when it rains, the market's quieter now. Nothing out of the ordinary."
He grinned. "You almost sound disappointed."
"Maybe I am."
He tilted his head. "You're supposed to tell me you enjoyed the peace."
"I would," she said, "if peace didn't feel so empty without you here."
His grin faded. The playfulness softened into something heavier—something that settled in the chest and refused to move.
"I can't stay," he said quietly. "Not for long."
"I know."
"But I'll always come back."
"I know that too."
Her eyes shimmered in the firelight. "But every time you leave, I feel like you take a part of me with you."
Ashura leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Then I'll leave something behind this time."
She blinked. "What do you mean?"
He reached out and pressed his hand gently against her stomach. "It's faint," he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly as though sensing something beyond mortal understanding. "But it's there."
Her breath hitched. "What is?"
His lips curved into a slow, warm smile. "A heartbeat. Two, actually."
Lysera froze, her eyes wide. "You mean…"
He nodded. "You're pregnant. Twins."
The room spun for a moment. She touched her stomach, disbelief and wonder colliding inside her like storms. "Ashura… how—"
He chuckled softly. "You really need me to explain that part?"
She swatted at him, blushing furiously, but he caught her hand mid-air and pulled her closer. "Relax. I'm serious. You're carrying something… special."
Her voice trembled. "Are they… like you?"
He hesitated. "Maybe. Maybe not. But whatever they are, they'll be strong. Strong enough to survive anything."
Silence lingered again—soft, fragile, filled with unspoken promises. Then he spoke, his tone more serious.
"If you want," he said, "you can stay with my family in the capital. My mother—Arlena—and Gina will take care of you. You'll be safe there."
Lysera looked up at him, her eyes wet. "You already thought of that?"
"I have to," he said. "You and the children… you're the only things that could ever make me hesitate."
She smiled faintly through her tears. "Then I'll go. But promise me something."
"Anything."
"Don't disappear without saying goodbye again."
He stared at her for a long time. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead—gentle, warm, full of everything he couldn't put into words. "I promise."
The fire burned low. The stars outside had shifted. Time, as always around him, felt both infinite and fleeting.
When dawn came, the air was cool and pale. Lysera stood by the window, her hands clutching the fabric of her robe. Ashura stood by the door, his expression calm but heavy.
"Already?" she asked softly.
He nodded. "They'll come soon. I have to be there when they do."
Lysera stepped forward, touching his hand. "Then go. Just… come back to me."
He smiled—an expression that carried both arrogance and affection. "You make it sound like I'm not invincible."
"You're not," she said, her voice breaking just slightly. "Not to me."
He laughed quietly, then pulled her into one last embrace. "You'll see me soon enough. Don't cry, alright? I hate seeing you cry—it makes me want to burn the sky."
She pressed her face into his chest. "Then promise me again."
He tilted her chin up, meeting her eyes. "I'll always come back. Even if I have to tear the heavens apart to do it."
And then, just like that, he stepped back. The air shimmered faintly around him—no aura, no divine light, just a soft distortion, like reality itself hesitated to let him go.
Lysera reached out instinctively, but her fingers caught only air.
He was gone.
The room was still again, save for the faint echo of his voice in her mind—warm, teasing, unmistakably him.
She stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space he'd left behind. Then she walked to the window, the same one where she'd waited nights ago, and pressed her hand to the glass.
Outside, the world continued—quiet, ordinary, unaware of the man who had just vanished from it.
A tear slid down her cheek as she whispered, "You always say you'll come back…"
The wind answered with silence.
But somewhere, deep within the pulse of the world, a flicker of warmth brushed her heart—his presence, faint but real, like the echo of black lightning in the distance.
She smiled through her tears.
"He always does."