The silence was louder than thunder.
Lena stood at the edge of a massive hall, marble floors stretching like a frozen sea, and towering statues of gods lining each side — all faceless, as if too ashamed to watch what was about to unfold.
At the center, he waited.
Lucien.
The God of the Underworld. Her husband.
She still couldn't say it aloud. The words stuck in her throat like thorns.
He was seated upon a throne not made of gold or velvet, but of obsidian blades — sharp, shifting, as if alive. Chains wrapped around his right arm, glowing faintly. Not restraining him. Anchoring him.
"Come," he said, voice deep as dusk.
Lena hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to scream, to curse whatever twisted fate had led her here.
But her feet moved anyway. Toward him. Always toward him.
As she walked, memories stirred at the edges of her mind. Fleeting, like dreams that dissolve with daylight. A flash of a smile. The whisper of a name. Pain. So much pain.
When she reached the bottom step of his throne, she stopped.
"I didn't agree to this," she said coldly.
Lucien tilted his head. "You did."
"I don't remember it."
He rose. Tall. Impossibly tall. Shadows curled around him like a second skin, forming and unforming with every breath.
"You will."
She braced herself as he descended the steps, but he didn't touch her. Not yet.
Instead, he circled her like a predator tasting the air around its prey.
"You feel it, don't you?" he whispered. "The pull between us. The weight in your chest. The ache when I'm too far away."
"No," she lied.
He smiled, and the temperature dropped.
"You were dying," he said softly. "You called for help. You offered your soul. I answered."
"Then you tricked me."
"No." His voice grew quiet, almost reverent. "I gave you everything."
A memory surged, sharp and sudden:
A battlefield soaked in rain. Her own hands, trembling. A dying man — Lucien — impaled through the chest, laughing even as the gods struck him down.
"Let me fall," he had said.
"No," she had cried. "Take me instead."
The memory snapped like a brittle bone.
She gasped, clutching her chest. Lucien caught her before she collapsed.
"I warned you not to dig too fast," he murmured.
Lena shoved him away. "What was that? Why do I remember dying?"
"Because you did."
His words crashed into her.
"You weren't just some mortal caught in a divine mess, Lena. You were the one who started it."
She laughed, bitter and broken. "You're insane."
Lucien's eyes darkened. "You challenged the gods. You broke the cycle. And when they tried to erase you, you begged me to keep you alive."
Another memory rippled through her: A vow spoken in a secret chamber. Her hands on his chest. Her lips brushing his ear.
"No matter what happens, find me. Marry me. Bind me to you. I'll forget, but you won't. You'll bring me back."
Lena staggered.
Lucien reached out again. This time, she let him.
"I don't know you," she whispered. "But part of me... wants to."
He touched her cheek. "Then let that part speak."
But before she could, the doors of the hall burst open.
A figure strode in — cloaked in silver, face hidden by a mirror mask.
Lucien growled. "You dare enter this place?"
The figure raised a hand. "You've broken the balance, Lucien. You were warned."
Chains erupted from the air, wrapping around Lucien's wrists and throat. He dropped to his knees, gasping.
Lena cried out, stepping forward — but the masked figure turned to her.
"You do not belong here, mortal."
"I'm not just mortal," she snapped. "I'm his—" She froze.
The word hovered at the edge of her tongue.
Wife.
Lucien looked up, blood dripping from his mouth.
"Run," he rasped. "Lena, go."
She didn't.
Instead, she stepped between him and the masked attacker.
"Touch him again," she said, "and I'll show you what a reborn soul can do."
A pulse exploded from her chest — invisible but deafening. The chains snapped. The hall cracked. The statues wept golden tears.
The figure recoiled. "Impossible."
Lucien rose behind her, shadows surging.
"She's remembering."
The figure vanished into mist.
Silence returned.
Lena turned to Lucien, breathing hard. "What the hell was that?"
Lucien smiled — a real one this time. Painful. Proud.
"That was you."