Twilight had fallen over Amaris like a veil of dried blood.
Hours had passed since the black-and-purple blur last cut through the air of the forge. She had taken the black dagger that Passiora had forged and disappeared through the door without a word of goodbye — only that dangerous smile, full of secrets and promises that would never be kept.
Passiora was alone now.
The fire crackled low. The hammer rested silently on the anvil. The air smelled of metal and charcoal, heavy like the silence that had followed her departure.
Then the bell rang.
It was not the usual bell. It was the Bell of Eternal Ashes, as old as the balance of the world, hanging at the top of the Royal Tower. Its clapper struck the bronze with such gravity that the walls of the forge vibrated. One. Two. Three slow, deep tolls, like the final sigh of a dying goddess.
The sound rolled through the narrow streets, entered the forge through the open window, and pierced Passiora's chest like an icy blade.
And the ancient voice rose — a thousand spectral mouths whispering at once, carried by the wind that smelled of extinguished fire:
— The Queen is dead.
The words fell like black petals over the city. The forge fire flickered, almost reverent.
Passiora stopped. Her green eyes widened, her chest rising and falling in broken rhythm. A shiver ran down her spine, cold and inevitable.
And then the vision came — inevitable, cruel, beautiful like a blade in the dark.
She saw it.
Deep night in the Floating Palace of Crystal and Flame. Elven guards lay in perfect silence, throats opened like red smiles. The swift shadow moved like Death itself dressed in desire: a black-and-purple blur, faster than thought, quieter than the shadow between stars.
The Queen stood before the Throne of Fire, her flaming crown upon silver hair, red robes billowing in the wind. Her golden eyes gleamed with terror as she felt the presence behind her.
— Who—
The word died before it could be born.
The assassin was already there. A single fluid, lethal, almost sacred movement. The black dagger — the very one Passiora had forged with her own hands — slid between the Queen's ribs as if the royal body were made of mist and destiny, not flesh and ancient magic. The blade found the flaming heart and extinguished it with a wet, deep whisper.
The sovereign gasped. Her delicate hands tried to grasp the air. The fire of her crown flickered and died like a candle in the wind. Golden blood, bright as poisoned honey, trickled between her fingers and dripped onto the white marble of the throne, forming pools that reflected the cold stars.
The swift shadow held the Queen from behind in one final deadly embrace, her slender body pressed against hers, lips brushing the dying ear.
— The balance broke long ago, Your Majesty. Now… break as well.
The Queen fell. Majestic even in death. Her knees hit the ground with a hollow, eternal sound. Her body slid slowly, collapsing sideways like a flame that goes out forever. The crown rolled away, extinguishing into cold ashes.
And the assassin was no longer there.
Only a purple blur vanishing into the shadows of the palace, leaving behind the scent of leather, cold metal… and the absolute emptiness a queen leaves when she dies.
Back in the forge, the bell gave its final toll — grave, final, like the heart of the world breaking in two.
Passiora fell to her knees on the warm stone floor. Her shoulders shook. A hot thread of tears ran down her face.
— It was you… — she whispered to the empty air, her voice hoarse, torn between shock and pain. — My swift shadow… my beautiful assassin… you killed the Queen.
The fire crackled louder, as if laughing softly.
A black-and-purple blur exploded into the space right in front of her. Before Passiora could even lift her head, strong hands cupped her face with surprising gentleness, tilting it upward.
Noctra Vexshade was there.
Her dark hair with the single purple streak framed her pale face, the crimson eye gleaming with that same playful danger as before. She was still wearing the tight black leather, though it now carried the faint scent of night wind and distant smoke. Without a word, she leaned in and pressed her lips against Passiora's in a deep, sudden kiss — hungry, hot, and far too brief.
The kiss tasted of danger and farewell.
When Noctra pulled back just enough to speak, her voice came out low, velvety, and teasing, her lips still brushing against Passiora's.
— I told you you'd find out soon enough, beautiful — she whispered, a dangerous little smirk curving her mouth. — Didn't I?
Passiora's green eyes widened, fresh tears still clinging to her lashes. Her hands shot up quickly, grabbing the front of Noctra's leather bodice as if afraid the shadow would disappear again.
— You… it really was you… — she breathed, her voice breaking. — The Queen… you killed her with the dagger I forged for you.
Noctra didn't answer right away. She simply slid her thumb across Passiora's wet cheek, wiping away a tear with an almost cruel tenderness. Her crimson eyes shone with something between amusement and regret.
— I warned you it was a little secret — she murmured, leaning her face closer once more, her warm breath against the succubus's lips. — And now you know. The balance has broken. The world is going to burn… and I'm just the match.
Passiora tightened her grip on the leather, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
— Why? — she asked, her voice hoarse and broken. — Why did you come back? Why kiss me now… if you're going to disappear again?
Noctra gave a slow, almost sad smile and pressed her forehead against Passiora's for a brief second.
— Because I couldn't leave without tasting this one more time — she confessed softly. — You're the only warm thing left in this cold night, Passiora Synnara.
She stole one more quick, short, and intense kiss before slowly pulling away. The black-and-purple blur began to form around her body once again.
— Take care of yourself, my blacksmith of delicious curves. The world is about to change… and I still have a lot of work to do.
In the blink of an eye, Noctra vanished.
The dining room was lit only by golden candles and the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. The warm aroma of roasted meat, red wine sauce, and fresh herbs filled the air, making everything feel cozy and intimate.
Benericta and Rosalyth sat facing each other at the long mahogany table, but close enough that their knees almost touched. Rosalyth wore a light sky-blue silk robe that kept slipping gently off one shoulder, revealing the smooth bronze skin and the soft curve of her breasts. Her pink-and-green hair fell loose around her face, and her cute fox ears twitched happily every time she smiled. Benericta still wore her striking red-and-silver robe, the fabric shimmering softly in the candlelight, her fire-and-platinum hair cascading over her shoulders.
Rosalyth picked up a juicy piece of fillet with her fork, dipped it slowly in the warm sauce, and reached across the table with a sweet little smile.
— Open your mouth, my love — she said, her voice soft and affectionate, almost a tender whisper.
Benericta parted her lips slowly, looking into Rosalyth's bright cyan eyes with a shy smile. The kitsune gently placed the piece of meat in her mouth, her thumb brushing lightly over Benericta's lower lip as she closed her mouth and began to chew.
— Mmm… it's so good — Benericta murmured while still chewing. Her heterochromatic eyes sparkled with warmth. — Your turn now.
She cut a smaller piece, dipped it in the sauce, and offered the fork to Rosalyth. The little fox leaned forward just a bit, opened her mouth with a happy smile, and accepted the bite.
— Delicious… — Rosalyth closed her eyes for a second, savoring it. — But the best part is eating from your hand, you know?
They kept going like that, trading bites with slow, loving gestures. Rosalyth fed Benericta golden roasted potatoes, then a piece of bread soaked in sauce, always saying softly:
— Open a little more, my beautiful little witch.
Benericta returned the affection, lifting the wine glass to Rosalyth's lips and gently wiping away a tiny drop of sauce from the corner of her mouth with her finger.
At one point, Rosalyth picked up a fresh strawberry from the dessert plate, dipped it in sweet cream, and brought it to Benericta's mouth.
— Try this one, my love. It's really sweet… just like you.
Benericta bit into the strawberry slowly. A little red juice trickled down her chin. Rosalyth giggled softly, reached out, and wiped it away with her thumb, then licked her own finger while still looking at her with pure affection.
— You're so cute when you get messy — she whispered, her voice full of love.
Benericta blushed, but smiled back and picked up another strawberry, doing the same for Rosalyth. Both of them laughed quietly every time one made the other a little dirty, cleaning each other with gentle touches and exchanging long, silly smiles.
The whole room felt warm, light, and full of love. Rosalyth's fluffy tail swayed slowly behind her, occasionally curling around the leg of Benericta's chair as if it wanted to be even closer. Their hands touched over the table from time to time, fingers lacing together for a few sweet seconds before they went back to feeding each other.
They were right in the middle of it — Rosalyth placing a small piece of chocolate cake in Benericta's mouth while the witch held the wine glass for Rosalyth to take a sip — when the deep, heavy sound echoed through the entire mansion.
The Bell of Eternal Ashes.
One. Two. Three slow, grave tolls that made the glasses tremble on the table and the air suddenly feel colder.
Both of them froze mid-motion. Rosalyth's fork was still close to Benericta's lips. The wine in the glass swayed lightly.
The ancient, spectral voice invaded the room like an icy whisper coming from everywhere at once:
— The Queen is dead.
The silence that followed was heavy. The candles flickered. Rosalyth slowly lowered the fork, her cyan eyes wide, her tail stopping completely. Benericta felt a chill run down her spine, her hand still holding the glass.