The First Flame was hers now.
And with it, Lina was no longer a queen of Hell.
She was a goddess of rebirth and ruin.
When they returned from the Voidspire, the underworld bent at the knees. Even those who once whispered rebellion in shadows dared not breathe her name too loudly.
Andra walked beside her like a storm chained by love. His loyalty had never been blind—he chose her, again and again, with his claws, his heart, and his soul.
But power that burns that brightly? It always casts shadows.
—
They stood in the chamber of the Fallen Circle—once a place of judgment, now a gathering of warlords, ancient demons, and elder flames. Every creature in that room had once sworn to serve Hell's original king.
Now, they knelt for her.
Except one.
Azarek.
A high-born devil. One of the few who remembered the era before time. He looked at Lina not with fear—but with temptation.
"She carries the First Flame," he said slowly, circling her like a beast sizing up prey. "But is she still mortal enough to bleed?"
Andra growled.
Lina didn't flinch. She stepped down from her throne, eyes glowing like molten gold. "Do you want to find out?"
Azarek smirked. "Maybe I want to taste it."
The room tensed.
But before anyone could move, Lina raised a hand—and Azarek's body erupted in whitefire. It didn't burn flesh.
It burned memory.
He collapsed, screaming, forgetting his name, his lineage, even the taste of his own power.
She turned to the others. "Anyone else?"
Silence.
The warlords bowed lower.
—
That night, the fire in her veins didn't let her sleep.
She stood on the balcony of her obsidian palace, watching the embers drift through Hell's skies. Andra came up behind her, shirtless, his skin still scarred from the Voidspire trials.
"You're too quiet," he murmured.
"I'm listening," she replied.
"To what?"
"To the universe waiting to challenge me."
Andra wrapped his arms around her, lips brushing her ear. "Let it wait. For now… you're mine."
His mouth claimed hers, brutal and breathless. Their bodies tangled like fire and shadow, feeding on each other, needing no words.
Andra picked her up, carried her through the flame-lit corridors of their fortress, and laid her on a bed made from the scales of fallen beasts. Every kiss was a vow. Every scratch a promise.
She was no longer human.
And he?
He was no longer just her captor or her king.
He was the only one who could match her hunger—forpower,
forchaos,
forlove.
And together, they would burn the stars clean.