The world they created pulsed in rhythm with their breath.
After centuries of war, possession, defiance, and obsession, there was a stillness that wrapped around Lina and Andra—soft and thick, like smoke after a fire. But beneath that stillness, something shifted.
The kind of shift that came not from destruction, but from creation.
—
Lina stirred first.
She lay beside Andra, skin still humming from their union, but her mind already reaching beyond the moment. She felt the flame beneath her ribs—hers, but no longer just hers. Something else burned there now. Something deeper. Quieter. New.
She sat up slowly, violet strands of hair falling into her face.
Andra turned toward her, eyes sleepy, hands instinctively reaching for her waist. "Can't sleep?"
"I don't think it's sleep I'm missing."
He blinked once. Sat up. "Something wrong?"
She shook her head. "No. But I think something's… changing."
—
The fire inside her didn't rage. It glowed.
It wasn't wild. It waited.
Andra pressed a hand to her back, feeling the warmth that pulsed from her spine. It was familiar—her magic, her soul—but laced with something else. Something shared.
"Is this what I think it is?" he whispered.
Lina looked over her shoulder at him, smile slow and knowing.
"Possibly."
Andra's hand slipped around her waist, his other brushing over her stomach. "You didn't just burn a throne, Lina."
"No," she whispered. "We birthed one."
—
There was no word for it. Not child. Not heir.
The flame growing inside her wasn't mortal, nor divine. It was the perfect fusion of love and war, of darkness and light. It was creation.
And the universe felt it.
The stars blinked into being faster. Whole galaxies pivoted toward her presence. The embers of dead gods flickered to life—not in defiance, but reverence.
Andra kissed her shoulder, whispering against her skin, "This world won't be ready."
"They never are."
"But we'll protect it."
"We always have."
—
The days passed differently now. Not in bloodshed or battles, but in preparation.
Lina built more than fire. She sculpted mountains with her bare hands, whispered rivers into existence, designed a sky that turned violet in the morning and glowed gold by midnight.
Andra guarded the edges of their realm, cutting down stray remnants of void that dared drift too close. His sword was quieter now—less rage, more purpose.
They didn't talk much about what was growing inside her.
Not out of fear.
But because the whole world was speaking it for them.
—
On the twenty-first day, Lina stood at the edge of a lake she had created with one breath.
Andra found her there, watching the surface.
"It's time," she said.
He stepped behind her, hands around her arms. "Are you ready?"
Lina turned slowly. Her eyes were no longer simply flame—they were galaxies collapsing inward. "I was made for this."
She opened her hand. The flame within it flickered into a spiral.
The world itself bent. The sky split. The stars held their breath.
And between them, a shape took form.
Small. Luminous. Silent.
Not a god.
Not a demon.
The first being born of flame and shadow.
—
Lina held it close, and it didn't cry—it shined.
Andra stepped forward, brushing fingers over its cheek. "What do we name something that's never existed before?"
Lina smiled.
"We don't."
He looked at her, confused.
"We let them name themselves. No chains. No fate. Just choice."
Andra grinned. "That's very you."
"That's very us."
—
The new soul in her arms cooed, the stars echoing the sound.
And for the first time since she was torn from her mortal life and dragged into hell…
Lina felt peace.
But peace, she knew, was never meant to last.
Far beyond their world, something stirred.
A presence that had waited.
Watched.
And now, whispered:
"She made a flame. I will bring the flood."