Private Tales Pact of Flame

[Saeris]

She recoiled from his touch, a sharp tremor running through her as she expected to feel the searing heat of the hands that still branded her skin. Tears threatened but she forced them back, squeezing her eyes shut until stars sparked behind her lids. Her body betrayed her, shuddering despite her desperate stillness.

When he yanked her upright, a strangled sound tore in her throat, pain more than protest. Her legs refused her, and she sagged in his grip, knees buckling before she could catch herself. Every breath hurt. Every muscle and nerve screamed.

She opened her bloodshot eyes at last, and they stung. The world swam, but she fixed her gaze on him all the same. Her brow furrowed, a faint twitch of confusion at the shape he wore now. For a moment she didn’t recognise him, only the towering shadow from the night before, the thing that had broken her. It was him, though, there was no mistaking it, and her eyes burned with equal parts fear and hatred as they blinked heavily at him.

She refused to move, to speak, and to look at him for a moment longer as her gaze fell to the floor.

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar tightened his grip as her knees buckled, lifting her weight with insulting ease. Her body sagged against his hand, trembling, but he refused to let her crumple to the stone. He wanted her upright and staring into the truth of her defeat.

“Good,” he rumbled when her eyes at last cracked open, the word thick with dark satisfaction. “You will not hide from me forever.”

Her gaze wavered, burning with confusion, fear, hatred. He drank it in, savoring every flicker of rebellion that still dared to live behind her ruined stare.

“You look at me as though I should be the same as last night,” he said, his free hand tracing the inked lines across his chest, smearing blood from the cut she had given him.

“Do not mistake flesh and blood for weakness. This shape…” he gestured down at himself with something like mockery, “…is just another choice. The demon you faced still stands before you, Huntress.”

He released her slowly, letting her fall back to her knees.

“Do you feel it?” His voice was low, dangerous, circling her like a predator. “The pull of the prophecy? It binds you to me.”

He crouched before her, bringing his face down level with hers. She could not avoid his gaze now; his fingers caught her chin and forced it up, burning eyes pinning her in place.

“You will learn, Saeris,” he murmured, voice like velvet over steel. “Your fear feeds me. Your hatred amuses me. But your surrender…” A cruel smile flickered. “…your surrender will remake you.”

With that, he released her chin, standing tall again, looking down at her as if she were already claimed.

"I expect if I left you to my servants you would kill one and then kill yourself. So it falls to me to get you cleaned up and your wounds tended."

"Now..." he strode around her and grasped her arms to lift her up.

"...tell me about that shard you brought here."

 

[Saeris]

"All I feel is revulsion," she said hoarsely, her voice raw but steady. The words scraped her throat on the way out, tasting of blood and defiance.

"I do not fear. I do not hate. And I do not fucking surrender."

It was a lie, and they both knew it, but she forced every syllable through clenched teeth as if sheer will alone could make it true.

The shard at her throat pulsed faintly, a flicker of shadow creeping across the stone as if it drank in her words. Liar, a voice hissed, silken and cruel, drifting straight into her skull. You taste of terror and spite. You cling to them like a starving child clings to crumbs.

When he hauled her upright again, her body protested with a sharp, involuntary hiss of pain. She bit down on it, jaw locking until her teeth ached.

Her eyes fixed on the ground, cold and unyielding despite the tears that burned at their corners. Her silence after that was deliberate, calculated. The only power she had left was to deny him the satisfactions he spoke of.

Inside, her thoughts were a litany. Just bide your time. Wait. Watch. Endure.

The shard laughed.

 

[Azrakar]

Her words hit him like sparks against iron: brief, bright, and utterly harmless. He could smell the lie clinging to them. He let the silence stretch, savoring the way she clenched her teeth against the truth.

He felt her bite down on the sound of pain, stubborn even now. It drew a low growl of amusement from him.

He turned and dragged her with him. His stride unhurried and absolute. Iron-collared goblins scattered from their path as he marched her down a narrow corridor. They stopped and bowed.

Not to Azrakar, but to her. Their new queen.

Heat seemed to gather in the stone as they descended. Ahead, a door of blackened bronze exhaled steam. The hinges groaning as he forced it open.

The chamber beyond was heavy with mist. Warm rivulets of water streamed down dark stone walls. Just like the other corridors, orange crystals had been forced into the walls and bathed the room in a dull light. The air clung thick to the skin, beading his tattoos with sweat. It smelled of iron, earth and something almost cleansing.

Azrakar shoved her forward into the room, letting her stumble before him. He wasn't as monstrously large as when he had picked her up and toyed with her. He still stood above her, his hands large against her back.

“Your body breaks. Your spirit lies.” his gaze fixed on the faint glow at her throat, pupils narrowing with something more than hunger.

“But I don't understand that. I would see how deeply it has sunk its claws into you.”

He stepped in after her, the door thundering shut behind them. Steam curled around his horns, his size filling the chamber until it felt smaller, suffocating. It was awkward work but he removed the tunic she had been provided with.

From a niche in the wall he pulled out a wooden bowl of water, already warmed by the chamber. He dipped a cloth into it, wrung it out with fingers that could crush stone

 

[Saeris]

Saeris stumbled but refused to fall, forcing her shaking legs to lock and keep her upright as the door boomed shut behind them. The sound made the small, mist-choked chamber feel even more like a trap.

Her wounds were raw and bleeding, her body broken and bruised, but she grit her teeth against the pain of his touch, of every step she was forced to take. She glared at the goblins as they scattered, her frown deepening when they bowed, assuming it had been for their demon king. She'd have their heads off their shoulders, if she could.

The heat in the room prickled against her skin, mingling with the blood and sweat and ash that clung to her like another layer of clothing. She took in everything, cataloguing it in silence, her jaw ached from how tightly she kept it clenched as he spoke to her.

When he stripped the tunic from her she jerked back as far as the ropes would allow, teeth flashing in a snarl. The struggle was weak, her body too battered to put up much resistance, but she refused to make it easy for him.

Her chest heaved, her breath shallow and sharp as she glared at him through the damp strands of her hair, face streaked with sweat and blood.

“I can wash myself,” she rasped at last, voice hoarse. The words were not a plea but a command, as if she still had the right to decide anything for herself.

 

[Azrakar]

"No," he said plainly.

"This is not the time for your fight," he warned.

Those words were chilling in their implication. Azrakar calmly informed her that moments were coming where she would want to fight. That she should save her strength for that endeavour.

The dark skinned demon dropped to one knee. It brought him eye level, even if his horns rose above her.

With his left hand he reached for her shoulder to still her. His right, holding the cloth went for her side, where he had torn her skin.

It would need tending. He needed her strong.

 

[Saeris]

Saeris flinched at the word no as though it were a physical blow. It rang through her, settling like lead in her stomach. His next words were worse, chilling in their calm certainty, leaving no doubt that whatever waited for her ahead would be worse than this.

And yet… as if his warning had given her permission, something inside her loosened.

Her body sagged, dragged down by pain and exhaustion and the sharp edge of helplessness she could no longer keep at bay. She let herself stop fighting, just for a little while...

She trembled uncontrollably, unable to still it. Her entire body hurt, every breath stung. Her mouth was dry, her stomach an empty pit, and she had no energy left to argue, nor any left to care.

Her eyes blinked slow, heavy, before she finally squeezed them shut, a quiet whimper escaping despite herself as the hot cloth touched her torn flesh. Pain flared white, stealing her breath.

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar watched the breath catch in her throat as the cloth pressed into her torn flesh. Azrakar reminded himself that she was destined, but still just a mortal.

Her tremor was so slight, so human. She wasn't broken, but she was vulnerable. He could have savoured that. He preferred when she had the strength to fight and to match him.

He remained on one knee, heat and steam painting his tattoos in living ink. With slow intention, he shifted the cloth. He was no no longer cleansing, but soothing, tender across her ribs, where bruises bloomed like dark flowers.

Each exhalation she released echoed with pain. When her eyes fluttered shut he felt it, knew it. That her body knew she was no longer fighting, only for this moment.

He leaned forward, hands cradle-strong, and let the cloth slip along the line of her shoulder, tracing the rhythm of her scars. The motion was clinical, but the way he stared… it was something deeper, unspoken. Consent blurred with necessity. Her body could no longer resist the softness of his touch even if her heart screamed against it.

A metallic click of the jar’s lid echoed in the mist. He dipped two fingers into salve, thick as slow flame, and pressed it to her ribs. The salve hissed where it touched bruised flesh, a healing fire against cold stone.

 

[Saeris]

Saeris kept her face turned away, her gaze fixed on the stone beneath her. She would not look at him. She would not let him see how her eyelids sagged, how every breath grew heavier as the weight of exhaustion dragged her down.

Her body swayed but did not collapse. Pride kept her upright when strength had fled.

Then the salve touched her ribs, and the shock of it ripped the breath from her chest as white-hot fire that seared straight through muscle and bone. Her cry broke free before she could stop it, sharp and ragged, the sound echoing in her ears.

She bit down hard, jaw locking, the scream dying in her throat and twisting instead into a guttural growl, a hiss of air through bared teeth. Her fingers curled into fists against her bindings as she recoiled from him.

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar’s eyes narrowed, her growl vibrating through his chest less. It carried her anger through his core. Pride had faltered. Flesh had confessed.

He did not retreat when she recoiled. His free hand followed her movement, catching her shoulder and holding her there. His other hand resumed its work, forcing her to feel the sting until she shuddered beneath his touch.

"You would bare your teeth to me, but your body cannot lie.”

His thumb brushed the edge of the bruise, smearing the salve deeper into her flesh with deliberate pressure. He studied the twist of her face, the strain of her locked jaw. The fire flashing behind her eyes though she tried not to look at him. Fascination burned in his gaze.

“You recoil, yet you remain upright,” he said, tilting his head, almost contemplative.

He let his hand linger a moment longer then withdrew slowly, leaving the heat of his touch behind as proof of his claim.

“I will learn everything about you. Pain and defiance… all of it. You will belong to nothing but this bond.”

Where pride had kept her upright, she couldn't resist his guidance when he used both hands to set her backside down on a shelf in the rock.

 

[Saeris]

Her jaw clenched so hard it ached. She ground her teeth against the pain, refusing him the cry that burned in her throat as he pressed into her injries. Her eyes stung, tears gathering despite her best efforts, but she stared up at him with nothing but pure venom.

She bit back a hiss as his hands moved her, muscles tightening painfully beneath his grip, every bruise and tear flaring under his touch. Being lifted made her stomach knot, a humiliating reminder of how easily he could move her, how small she was in his hands, and she made sure to thrash in protest.

When he sat her down upon the cold stone shelf, she refused to slump. Her spine straightened despite the ache that threatened to pull her forward. Her breath came through her nose, sharp and hot.

Then she sneered, spit on the ground at his feet.

“I belong to nothing and no-one,” she rasped, voice hoarse but steady, her eyes fixed on his in defiance, blazing now despite her pain.

“You can tell yourself different all you want. You can continue inflicting the worst upon me—” her voice cracked but she pressed on, louder now, “but my mind and my soul are my own. And that is how they will remain.”

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar watched the spit arc and land at his feet. A slow, dark amusement warmed his features; the portion of him that delighted in small cruelties flexed like a coiled muscle. He did not rage. He only smiled.

He stepped forward until the steam blurred the space between them. The vastness of him swallowed the light; his shadow fell across her like a verdict. With two fingers as gentle and as absolute as a vise, he tipped her chin up so she could no longer look away. Her eyes flashed hatred; he drank it in.

“You say you belong to no one,” he said, each word a weight.

“You think mind and soul are sanctuary.”

He crouched so his face was level with hers, the heat from his breath fanning her cheeks. The cut across his own cheek had bled through the night; a thin line of darker stain still marked his skin. He did not hide it.

He straightened slowly, the motion folding the mist around him. His hand fell to rest against the stone beside her shoulder. It was a reminder of how easily he could press her back to the ground.

“Mind and soul. Meaningless words.”

"I want to know why the shard chose you. And I will not be satisfied with silence or barbed retort. "

He rose, filling the chamber with his height. For a heartbeat he hesitated, the shadow of something almost like consideration crossing his features. Then, he banged on the door.

“Bring linens,” he ordered. “And oil. We continue.”

 

[Saeris]

She did not flinch when his fingers tipped her chin up, though her breath hitched, sharp against her will, but she refused to shrink back. She stared up at him, unblinking, her pulse hammering in her throat as if trying to break free. She had not forgotten what those hands could do, what they had already done. The knowledge of it crawled over her skin, made her breath quicken, but she would not cower.

Her gaze fell, just briefly, to the dark line of blood across his cheek. Her mark. Her only mark. A scratch so small, so pitiful compared to the pain he had carved into her. The reminder twisted in her chest like a blade, making her feel the hollow weight of her own powerlessness all over again.

When he straightened to his full height, she followed him with her eyes, scowling up at him through her damp hair. Her jaw clenched at the mention of the shard, of his insistent fixation on it.

“It didn’t choose me,” she spat, her voice hoarse but edged like steel.

“It didn’t choose anyone. It’s the soul of a demon who thought it could hold me captive." she forced a smirk.

Her brow furrowed as the words left her mouth. Whether it was a threat, a promise, a prayer, or just a spark thrown at his feet, she didn’t know, but she let him see the venom in her glare, the quiet oath to herself that even if it took her last breath, she would end him.

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar’s lips quirked - half-sneer, half-smile - at the tiny furious spark she offered. He regarded her for a long moment. The cut on his cheek pulsed faintly with dried blood; her mark was a small argument in a war of greater wounds.

He crouched again until their faces were level, so close she could count the little ridges of his red tattoos against inky black skin. His shape was very different. His eyes were still red, but watched her from within an almost human face. Braids of dark hair fell across his shoulders. Shoulders led to a body that was smooth muscle, not shards of rocky plates and flame.

“You say the shard is a demon’s soul. Perhaps you will make me a shard for what I did to you?"

“I think it found the cut in your fate and it burrowed its teeth.”

He let the words hang, watching her jaw tighten, tasting the oath she spat like acid.

“You are proud, Saeris. Dangerous pride is useful. It makes you interesting.” He rose, a mountain of motion, and the chamber seemed to tilt as he straightened. “Threats are theatre. I prefer evidence.”

There was a knock at the door. Azrakar opened it to find a bowl of oil, jars of salve, cloths and bandages.

“Save your breath in veiled threats. It will be more useful when you must scream for something other than pride.”

Then, as if indulging a private curiosity, he reached out and without touching the shard he let the heat from his palm hover an inch from the pendant. He could feel the way the pulse quickened beneath her skin. His eyes burned with the hunger of a scholar and a conqueror at once.

"Why do you carry it?" he asked. He turned his large hands to dressing her wounds. He lifted her arm so he could wrap cloth around her middle.

 

[Saeris]

Saeris met his gaze as he studied her, refusing to look away even though her pulse raced so fast it ached in her raw throat. Her jaw stayed set, but her fingers curled into tight fists at her sides to still the tremor in them.

“Perhaps I will,” she whispered back, spite dripping from the words like venom. It was the only weapon she had left.

But when he spoke of her screams, of saving her voice for later, something in her expression faltered. Just for a moment. The threat landed. The image of last night burned fresh behind her eyes. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest, her breath catching, her stomach twisting as every ache, bruise, and split in her flesh lit up like fire. She hated that the memory still lived in her muscles, her throat still raw from the proof of it.

She dropped her gaze, just for an instant, the smallest admission that the fear was still there before forcing her eyes back to his with venom burning behind them.

Her gaze flicked around the room, searching not for escape, but for anything sharp enough to hurt him. Sharp enough to hurt herself, if it came to that.

When he asked about the shard, her lips pressed into a thin line before curving into something almost like a sneer. “Because it looks pretty,” she said finally, voice flat, defiant, a lie so sharp it cut her tongue to speak it.

It had given her power, until it abandoned her to her fate.

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar let the lie hang between them like steam. Her answer was pretty in its defiance, but he saw the fissures it tried to hide: the quick catch of breath, the way her fingers fisted until the knuckles shone white. He crouched, the sheer bulk of him folding into the mist until his face was level with hers once more.

“Do you understand why I care?” he asked, not because he desired an answer but because speech made the space between them smaller. “Because keys and levers are not curiosities to a king like me. They are instruments. They open doors, or they become locks.”

“You will remain,” he told her, voice softening only enough to be dangerous. “You will not leave my presence.” His gaze sharpened.

He lifted the salve jar again, as if to continue tending, and for a long moment his fingers hovered over her ribs. His touch this time was clinical, mapping the places where pain made her flinch - a catalogue.

“You are more interesting when you refuse to be reduced to pity,” he added, almost kindly. He had reveled in claiming her. She had been an obsession for centuries. Now, he felt just a moment of regret. It wasnt something he indulged in often. He knew she needed to break before being remade. It would make her ascension all the more rewarding.

Then, with one last, long look that held both hunger and an odd, possessive curiosity, he turned away. He opened the door, turning to thrown a tunic he had been handed to her.

“Come, you may rest,” he said, and the order carried the gravity of law.

“In a few days we begin. The ceremony will take place and you will be mine.”

 

[Saeris]

She listened while the words fell around her like hot breath, each one shrinking the room until it felt like the inside of a coffin. When he spoke, something cold and furious uncoiled in her chest, anger sharpened by the smallness of her own wound compared to the depth of what he planned.

Her hands fisted again, knuckles whitening; the tremor in them was not all from pain. The idea of a ceremony, of a future set like a chain around her, made her stomach drop. “Ceremony?” she croaked, the question barely more than a rasp. The sound of her own voice surprised her with how thin and small it was.

She had no strength left for a fight that could win anything now. He said the word rest and it called to her like a siren. The thought of closing her eyes and letting the world go quiet for the span of a night felt almost sinful. For a heartbeat she wanted to lean into that exhaustion and stop arguing, to trade a war for a breath.

But the breath he offered was a cage. She forced herself to meet his gaze, spite and fatigue braided together in the look. “You can plan your ceremony. You can bind me. Wound me. Defile me.. We can have this argument as many times as you want.." Her mouth curved with a bitter, humourless smile. “I am not yours. Death will take me long before your prophecy comes true."

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar’s expression thinned into something colder than amusement. The theatre of her defiance had frayed; the threats that had once glittered like sparks at his feet now sounded like the repetitive tapping of a pebble against stone. He listened only long enough to admire the rhythm of her stubbornness, then dismissed it with the ease of a lord swatting smoke.

“You threaten death as if it were some clever retort,” he said, voice flat, the warmth gone. “It is tedious. Come.”

Without another argument, he turned and dragged her to her feet. Each move was controlled and no cruelty wasted on theatrics. He moved her through corridors that smelled of iron and old incense, past torchlight that made his tattoos seem to crawl. The castle opened into parts she had not been shown: deep, private corridors that led to his chambers.

The room that swallowed them was incongruous to the halls they had walked. There were plush rugs laid over black stone, heavy tapestries that swallowed sound, and low light spilling from fat candles.

A wide bed, piled with furs and linens warmed from below by a hearth flame sat in the centre. He set her on the edge of it and regarded her with a predatory calm.

“Rest,” he said, a note of mock tenderness threading his words.

Before she could respond a pair of leather cuffs clinked against stone. He fastened them at the length of a short chain to the bed’s carved posts.

The chain was short enough that she could move and strain, but not enough to reach the carved rack on the opposite wall where his weapons were displayed.

“There,” he said at last, returning to stand over her.

An orc lingered in the doorway, watching with tiny, alert eyes. Azrakar waved it away with a minimal gesture, but it's gaze lingered on Saeris before it turned.

For a long moment he simply inspected her. “Sleep,” he ordered softly. “Conserve whatever will you can muster. Tomorrow we begin in earnest.” Then, without another word, he turned and left the chamber, his silhouette sliding through the doorway like a curtain falling. The orc latched the heavy door behind him; the click of the bolt sounded like a verdict.