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The afternoon light slanted gently through the ash-hung sky, a bruised gold spilling over the shattered grounds of the Rune Coven. The snow was gray with soot, melting in uneven patches that glistened faintly beneath the fading sun. Hades stood among the ruins with the others — Ares barking orders, Lycan clearing debris, and the Rune witches sketching protective sigils in the dirt.
Hazel lingered beneath the great willow Alyssa had led her to earlier, the scene of their private conversation still whispering through her thoughts. The serenity of the grove had done little to calm the storm inside her. Her heart beat like wings in her chest, fragile and uncertain.
When her gaze drifted toward the clearing again, her eyes found him.
Hades.
He was bent slightly, one knee pressed into the dark snow as he lifted a fallen marble beam with his bare hands, muscles coiled and straining. Dust smeared the side of his neck, ash clung to his silver hair, and the faint lines of exhaustion etched his brow — yet somehow he looked impossibly serene, as if chaos itself bowed to his stillness.
Her breath hitched. He wasn't supposed to look like that — effortlessly composed even when surrounded by ruin.
Something warm fluttered painfully inside her chest, but the image of the dream struck again — his heart, still beating, heavy and warm in her trembling hands. His blood staining her palms. That broken smile he gave her before the light went out of his eyes.
Her throat tightened. Alyssa's voice echoed faintly in her memory: "Dreams at times could be something bound to happen, have happened, or a memory of something long forgotten."
If that dream had been a memory, if she was truly capable of killing him — she didn't want to know.
But as she watched him brush the snow off his shoulders, she realized something far more frightening — she could not imagine a world without him.
Before she could stop herself, she walked toward him.
Hades straightened at her approach, his sharp eyes softening the moment they met hers. His armor was streaked with grime, his gloves torn, his expression unreadable but strangely calm.
Hazel hesitated a moment, then reached out — her fingers brushing through his messy silver hair, dislodging flakes of ash that caught the faint sunlight like gray glitter. His breath hitched, but he didn't move.
Her fingers were light, almost reverent. "You're a mess," she murmured with a half-smile, dusting at his cloak and shoulders.
He swallowed, pulse thrumming in his throat. "I wasn't aware my Queen had taken on the role of my attendant," he said, voice low, teasing — though his tone faltered somewhere between surprise and disbelief.
"Don't flatter yourself," she replied, still brushing at him. "I just couldn't stand to see you looking like the ruins you're standing in."
That made him laugh — quiet, rough, genuine.
It startled her. Hades didn't laugh often. When he did, it was like thunder rumbling far away — warm and unexpected.
He caught her wrist before she could pull back. His hand was cold, but his grip gentle. "You shouldn't touch me like that," he murmured, gaze dropping to where her fingers lingered near his chest. "I might get used to it."
Her heart skipped. "Maybe that's not such a terrible thing."
For a moment, the world seemed to still. Even the wind forgot to move. His eyes — dark as shadowfire — held hers with an intensity that made her skin hum. There were no crowns between them, no power, no prophecy. Just two people, standing too close, breathing the same fragile air.
Ares' voice broke through the silence. "Oi, Your Majesty," he called, leaning against a broken column with a smirk, "if you're done being dusted off, some of us are actually trying to work here."
Lycan snorted. "He's not dusted off, he's being admired."
Hazel rolled her eyes and stepped back quickly, cheeks tinged pink. Hades' lips curved — faintly, but unmistakably.
"I was smiling before," he murmured to her, "but now I'm grinning."
She shot him a playful glare that didn't quite hide her racing heart.
That evening, the Rune Coven hall glowed with soft candlelight. The long silverwood table stretched across the room, laden with food — fragrant, steaming, impossibly inviting. Roasted lamb glazed with honey and herbs. Warm bread scented with rosemary. Goblets filled with crimson wine that shimmered faintly under Alyssa's enchantments.
After days of storm, ruin, and tension, the meal felt almost surreal. The sound of laughter — hesitant at first, then freer — filled the air.
Hazel sat beside Hades, Alyssa across from them, Lycan and Ares flanking either side. The table felt alive with quiet conversation and flickering smiles.
For once, Hazel felt something close to peace.
She reached for a dish — a golden plate of fruit tarts glazed with something she couldn't name — and, without realizing it, offered one absentmindedly toward Hades.
He didn't move.
Her gaze lifted to find his already on her, dark and steady. It took her a heartbeat too long to realize what she was doing — holding the tart between her fingers, practically feeding him like some delicate ritual.
Her face flushed instantly. "Oh—sorry, I didn't—"
But before she could pull her hand away, he leaned forward.
And took the bite.
The sound of laughter died around the table.
Ares froze mid-sip, eyebrows raised. Lycan tilted his head, clearly amused. Alyssa's lips pressed into a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with restrained delight.
But Hades — Hades said nothing. His jaw moved slowly, deliberately, his gaze never breaking from hers. That silent, magnetic intensity said more than words could.
Hazel forgot how to breathe.
She turned away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by her cup, but the warmth creeping up her neck betrayed her. Hades only smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth curving like he knew exactly what effect he had on her.
"Enjoying the meal?" Lycan asked, biting into a piece of venison with a too-casual tone.
"Very much," Hades replied smoothly, finally looking away — though his fingers brushed Hazel's under the table, whether intentionally or not, neither could tell.
It was a small touch, brief and electrifying.
The night deepened. Snow fell again outside, softer this time, blanketing the ruined gardens in silver.
Hazel sat by the window of their guest chamber, knees drawn close, watching the flakes melt against the glass. Her candle had burned low, the flame trembling weakly. She couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that dream — the blood, the flames, the way his smile broke even as he died in her arms.
The thought of sleep terrified her.
The door opened quietly behind her.
Hades stepped in, his hair damp from the cold night air, his presence filling the small space effortlessly. He saw her seated there, the faint shimmer of moonlight brushing across her face, and something in his chest tightened.
"You're awake," he said softly.
"So are you."
He moved closer, his footsteps quiet against the stone floor. "You've been acting strange," he said after a pause, tone careful, not accusing. "If I didn't know better… I'd think you were saying goodbye."
Her hands tightened in her lap. "Maybe I'm just… tired."
He sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "Hazel," he said, voice lower now, "what's really bothering you?"
She turned toward him slowly. The words trembled at her lips, raw and unguarded. "I'm terrified."
"Of what?"
"Of not knowing who I am anymore." Her voice cracked softly. "Every day I feel like I'm losing pieces of myself — like there's something waiting to take over, something that doesn't belong to me. And when it happens… I'm scared I won't remember what it feels like to be me."
Hades looked at her for a long time, his expression unreadable — then his hand found hers, warm and grounding. "You're still you, Hazel. Whatever's changing inside you — it doesn't erase what's real."
She gave a shaky laugh. "You say that like you've never been afraid."
"I am," he admitted quietly. "Every time I look at you, I'm afraid. Because everything I've ever cared about turns to ash. And I…" He stopped, exhaling hard. "I wouldn't survive losing you too."
Her throat constricted. "Hades…"
His gaze met hers — storm-dark, raw, and filled with something she didn't dare name. "You don't have to be brave all the time. You don't have to fight this alone."
Her breath trembled as his hand brushed her jaw, thumb tracing the faint curve there, gentle and deliberate. The touch was grounding and dizzying all at once.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other — no words, no titles, no world between them. Just two souls caught between fire and shadow, clinging to something fragile and forbidden.
Her voice broke softly. "Do you ever wonder if… we were never meant to find peace?"
His lips curved sadly. "Then let's steal it while we can."
The words hung there, fragile as the candle flame.
Hazel leaned into him slowly, and he met her halfway — not with hunger, not with fire, but with something deeper, quieter. Their foreheads rested together. Her tears dampened his skin, his breath mingled with hers.
They didn't kiss that night. They didn't need to.
Instead, they sat by the window, the snow still falling softly outside, his arm around her shoulders, her head resting against his chest. The silence between them was full — of everything said and unsaid.
And when she finally drifted into sleep, it was in his arms.
Hades stayed awake a while longer, watching the snow beyond the window, tracing the rhythm of her heartbeat beneath his hand — steady, alive, precious.
He whispered something she never heard.
"I'd burn the world before I let it take you."