Chapter 4.
1760 Words
The fire burned low in the hearth, its dying embers casting long, flickering shadows against the cold stone walls. Elara paced in restless circles, her boots striking the floor with clipped determination. The war room felt too small, too stifling, as though the very walls were closing in on her.
“We have to go after her,” she said sharply, barely keeping the desperation from her voice.
Eugene, seated at the long wooden table, did not look up right away. His fingers tapped a slow, measured rhythm against the arm of his chair. He had been silent for too long, his mind working through possibilities, calculating risks.
Finally, he exhaled. “We don’t know enough yet.”
Elara whirled on him, her frustration flaring. “We don’t have time to wait!”
Eugene’s sharp brown eyes met hers, unwavering. “She’s stronger than ever. Rushing in without a plan will only get us killed.”
“You’re afraid,” she accused.
He leaned forward, elbows braced against the table. “I’m smart,” he corrected. “And I refuse to lose you, too.”
The fire crackled, filling the silence between them. The weight of his words pressed against her, should have steadied her—but they didn’t.
Because it wasn’t just about Evelynn.
Elara turned away, gripping the edge of the table as she struggled to steady her breathing. Her hands trembled slightly, though not from fear. There was something else. A cold shiver crawled down her spine, an unseen presence stirring at the edge of her mind.
Malagar.
She had seen him. And yet… she had not recoiled in terror.
She should have. The others spoke of him with dread, but she—
She had felt something else.
An unnatural pull.
The memory of his golden eyes lingered like a brand, but it wasn’t fear that made her shiver. It was something deeper, something she could not name.
And that terrified her more than anything.
She swallowed hard, shoving the thought away. “Then we’d better start planning.”
Eugene hesitated, studying her, as if he had caught a shift in her tone. But instead of pressing, he simply nodded.
Yet, as she stared into the fire, she swore she heard a whisper.
Not in the room.
In her mind.
Soon.
Darkness wrapped around Evelynn like golden chains, tightening with every breath. They coiled over her limbs, pulsing, alive, sinking into her very essence. Every time she resisted, they burned—searing pain lancing through her flesh, deeper than skin, deeper than bone.
She had lost count of time. Hours? Days? The concept unraveled in this prison.
But she was still herself.
She had to be.
A shift in the shadows. The air thickened, charged with something ancient, something boundless.
Then, a voice. Smooth. Amused.
“Evelynn.”
Her breath caught. Recognition shot through her like ice.
Malagar.
Or, as he had whispered in the long, dark nights of her fall—Alazar.
He emerged from the void like something conjured from a dream. But he was no nightmare.
He was beautiful.
Tall and elegant, his dark robes moved as if woven from the very shadows themselves. His bronzed skin gleamed beneath the eerie glow of the golden chains. His features were sharp—regal, cruel, untouched by time. But his eyes…
His golden eyes burned.
He tilted his head, studying her with detached curiosity. “You’re resisting me again.”
Evelynn gasped, pushing against the chains. “Because this isn’t me.”
A low chuckle. “But it is.”
She shook her head violently. “No—”
He stepped closer, the space between them vanishing like mist before the sun. The air pressed down on her, stealing her breath.
His voice curled around her like silk and smoke.
“You reached for power, Evelynn. I simply gave it to you.”
She trembled. “You took me.”
Malagar smiled, slow and knowing. “You came to me.”
His words sent a chill through her. He was lying. He had to be. She would never—
Would she?
He took another step, and his fingers ghosted over her cheek, featherlight. The touch sent a jolt through her body—not just of heat, but of something deeper.
Power.
A shuddering breath escaped her lips before she could stop it.
Malagar watched her with dark amusement. “You asked for more. For strength beyond mortal limitations. And now you have it.”
She clenched her jaw, turning her face away. “I never asked for this. I wanted to save-.” The memory escaped her, like grasping at straws of the memory of another.
“You did,” he murmured, and the weight of his words pressed into her like a brand. “You may not remember it now, but you will.”
His golden gaze bore into hers—searching, pulling—
And for one horrifying moment, Evelynn felt herself sway.
A sliver of doubt curled inside her chest.
What if he was right?
What if some part of her had wanted this?
No.
No, she refused to believe it. She clenched her fists, drawing on every ounce of willpower she had left.
“I will never be yours,” she hissed.
Malagar smiled. Slowly. Like he knew something she didn’t.
“You already are. And soon Elara will be too.”
The chains burned brighter, and Evelynn screamed.
That night Elara could not sleep.
She sat alone in her bedchamber, firelight flickering against the stone walls, playing shadows across her face. In her palm, a small flame danced, shifting and curling, mirroring her thoughts.
She should not be afraid.
She had never feared fire before.
But tonight, as she gazed into the flame, the whisper returned.
Soft. Sinister.
You will choose me, Elara.
She shuddered.
Because she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t.
Soon sleep over took her and she dreamed. Elara had been dreaming of him since she was a child.
At first, he had been nothing more than a whisper, a fleeting presence at the edges of her consciousness. A faceless man standing in the distance, watching. Never speaking, never stepping forward. Yet, despite his silence, she had always known—he was waiting for her.
As she grew, so did the dreams. The distance between them shrank. She could feel him closer, though she never saw his face. He was tall, strong, his voice a deep murmur in the night. And somehow, through every dream, he remained unchanged, untouched by time, while she aged.
By the time she was sixteen, she was certain of one thing—this man was meant for her.
Her soulmate.
She had promised herself that when she turned eighteen, she would find him. Whoever he was, wherever he was, she would search for him. Because how could she not? He was part of her, a thread woven so tightly into her existence that the thought of never meeting him felt like a loss she couldn’t bear.
But she had never imagined this.
Not this.
Tonight, the dream was different. The air crackled with energy, thick and charged, pulling her in like a tide. She stood in a vast expanse of shadows and fire, the ground shifting beneath her like smoke. The scent of something dark and heady filled her lungs—spice and power, something ancient.
And then he was there.
No longer a faceless figure.
No longer just a dream.
He stepped from the darkness with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator. His golden eyes burned like molten sunlight, framed by thick lashes and a face that was nothing short of breathtaking—sharp cheekbones, full lips, a jaw carved from marble. His dark hair was tousled, just long enough to brush his collar.
He was beautiful.
And he was the monster who had taken her mother.
Elara’s breath hitched. A war raged inside her—logic screaming that she should recoil, run, fight. But she couldn’t move. Because the moment his gaze locked onto hers, something deep inside her recognized him.
Alazar.
The name curled in her mind, heavy with an unspoken promise.
“You…” Her voice was barely a whisper. “You can’t be him.”
A slow smile tugged at his lips, amusement flickering in his golden gaze. “And yet, here I stand.”
The heat from his presence wrapped around her, a fire licking at her skin. The air between them pulsed, alive, humming with something she had never felt before.
Desire.
Power.
Destiny.
He took a step closer, and she couldn’t help but drink him in. Every movement, every glance, every word—he was designed to captivate, to ensnare.
And damn her soul, she wanted to be caught.
He reached for her. Not forcefully, not demanding. Just a simple lift of his hand, his fingertips hovering just above her skin, waiting. Inviting.
The moment he touched her, she shattered.
Flames erupted beneath his fingers, a fire that burned but did not consume. It was like he had set every nerve in her body alight, every inch of her aware of him. His touch left a trail of fire, scorching a path along her jaw, down her throat, lingering at the base of her neck.
A sound escaped her—soft, startled, nothing like herself.
She had never felt anything like this.
Like him.
Alazar’s fingers traced lower, his touch agonizingly slow, deliberate. His gaze never left hers, watching, studying, like he was waiting for something. And gods, she was burning. Heat pooling in her belly she pressed herself to him.
She could feel his breath against her lips.
He was going to kiss her.
She wanted him to.
Needed him to.
And just when she thought he would—just when she was seconds away from giving in—he pulled away.
Elara gasped, swaying forward before catching herself. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her skin still ablaze where he had touched her.
His smirk was devastating.
“By the next moon, my phoenix,” he murmured, his voice a dark caress against her senses. “I will have you. I have waited so long to taste you… a fortnight more will be nothing.”
Her stomach tightened.
And then, he whispered the final words against her lips, his breath warm, his golden eyes gleaming with wicked promise.
“Happy birthday, Elara.”
The dream shattered, and she woke—heart racing, breath unsteady, her skin still burning where he had touched her.
- Writer
