Inside Klaus's Chambers, the secret lair of the Fraction reeked of damp stone, candle wax, and something darker. Klaus stood shirtless before a large mirror, a dagger in one hand as he carved a fresh sigil into his chest—part of the ancient blood ritual that kept his strength intact. Dark veins pulsed beneath his skin.
He paused as the air behind him rippled, and with a soft whoosh, Melisse appeared—pale, trembling, bloodied.
His eyes widened. "My Love?"
Before he could catch her, she collapsed. He dropped the dagger and rushed forward, cradling her in his arms.
"He's escaped," she gasped, barely able to breathe.
Klaus's face went rigid, his jaw tightening. "What? How is that possible?"
"He—he shattered the chain and nearly killed me with it. I had to teleport away. It was that or die."
"We need to tell your brother—" she started.
"No," Klaus snapped. "We can't. If Thaddeus finds out, I'm finished. And you? You'll be next."
Melisse shoved him back with what little strength she had left. "I told you we should've informed him from the start! I will not be punished because I listened to you!"
"And what, you'll rat me out?" Klaus asked coolly, a smile creeping over his lips. He cupped her face roughly. "Let me remind you—Thaddeus is my brother. If he punishes me, it'll be with a slap on the wrist. But you?" He leaned closer. "You'll be torn apart. So I suggest you keep that beautiful mouth of yours shut."
Her red eyes narrowed in pure hatred as he stood up and turned away.
"He can't have gone far," Klaus muttered. "He's wounded. Weak. We can still catch him." He glanced over his shoulder. "Can you teleport us back?"
"No," she growled. "I'm too weak. The bastard drained everything from me."
"Then let's fix that," Klaus said, walking toward a nearby table, a silver dish layed under the cover. "I was just about to have lunch."
He lifted the lid, revealing a fresh human heart. Raw, bloody, still twitching faintly.
Melisse's eyes flickered with a hungry glow.
"How old?" she asked, slowly rising to her feet, drawn to the scent.
"Barely four. A beautiful boy," Klaus whispered. "Pure to the bone."
She snatched the heart and tore into it, devouring it like a starving beast. Blood dripped down her chin as she consumed it piece by piece, her body visibly healing with each bite. Her spine straightened. Her eyes gleamed. Power returned to her veins like fire rushing through dry wood.
When she finished, she licked the blood from her fingers, a satisfied smile on her lips.
"Feeling better?" Klaus asked with a smirk.
"Absolutely refreshed," she purred, her voice coated in bloodlust.
"Good." Klaus stepped in close, eyes dark with purpose. "Now, let's go find the King who refuses to die."
He placed a hand over her face and kissed her deeply. In a blink, they vanished into thin air.
------
Selene, Travis, and the entire army arrived at the village just as the sun began to dip behind the hills.
The journey to the village had been quiet but tense. Selene rode at the front, her posture unshaken, eyes locked on the horizon. When they finally arrived, Every villager had come out to greet them.
Dozens of people were gathered outside—old women with scarves wrapped around their heads, children clutching at their mother's skirts, men still in soot-stained shirts. They all stood frozen in awe as the royal army entered on horseback. But it was Selene who held their gaze most fiercely. Her gleaming silver armour caught the dying sun, and her dark hair fell down her back like a river of shadow. She looked less like a queen and more like a goddess.
Gasps echoed quietly among the villagers as she dismounted her horse with ease.
An older man with greying hair stepped forward, followed by a lanky young man with unsure eyes and dirt-smudged hands. They bowed low.
"Your Majesty," the older man said with reverence. "It is an honour to have you here in our home. I am Marlo, village head. This is Victor, the baker's son. He's the one who found the King and brought him to us."
Selene gave a small nod. "Where is he?"
Marlo straightened and gestured toward a house at the edge of the gathering. "This way, my Queen."
Selene and Travis followed him swiftly through the village. The path was narrow, lined with curious stares and hushed whispers. When they reached the humble healer's house, Marlo stepped aside. Selene didn't hesitate—she pushed the door open and went in.
Inside, the smell of herbs and old wood greeted them. A single oil lamp lit the space.
And there he was.
Ronan, seated on a mat, shirtless and pale. A bloodied spear still buried deep in his chest, wrapped haphazardly in cloth to stop the bleeding. His skin was pale, lips cracked, sweat beading his brow. But he was breathing. Barely—but breathing.
Travis froze in the doorway. His throat closed up.
"Ronan..." he croaked. And then he rushed to him. His feet moving before he could think.
"Gods—Ronan!" Travis dropped to his knees beside him, reaching for him but too afraid to touch. "You stubborn, stupid bastard," he whispered, voice breaking.
Ronan looked up, blinking slowly. He gave a pained smile, his voice rough. "What? Haven't seen a man impaled before?"
Travis let out a laugh that cracked into something close to a sob. His hands hovered uselessly over Ronan's shoulders. "I thought you were dead. I thought I lost you."
"Well... not yet," Ronan said with effort. "The villagers did what they could. But none of them want to pull this spear out. They think it'll kill me. I would've done it myself, but... I dislocated both shoulders trying to drag myself out of a ditch, so..." he trailed off, eyes flickering with dry humour and exhaustion.
"Then let me help you—husband." Selene whispered softly.
Ronan's breath caught.
He turned slowly—and finally saw her.
Selene.
How did he not noticed her before.
And gods, she was more beautiful than he remembered. She stood tall in glistening armour, the hilt of his sword resting against her hip, her eyes locked on him like he was the only thing she could see.
His throat went dry. The pain in his chest faded into background noise.
Her hair flowed like black silk over steel. Her face was both terrifying and tender. She looked like something out of a war song, some ancient force come to claim him.