Morning found Lena at the barn.
The air smelled of hay and damp earth, the wooden bucket heavy in her hands as she lowered it into the well. The rhythm of work grounded her—pull, breathe, lift. Simple. Honest. Nothing like courts or prophecies or demon kings.
She had just hoisted the bucket free when the temperature dropped.
Not cold—weight.
Her shoulders stiffened.
"You move early," a voice said behind her.
Lena didn't turn. "Animals don't feed themselves."
Footsteps crunched softly over straw.
Kairos stopped a few paces away, tall and dark against the morning light. No guards. No nobles. Just him—and that pressure that bent the air without touching it.
"You avoided the palace," he said.
"I work," she replied flatly, setting the bucket down. "That's what maids do."
Silence stretched.
Then—too close.
She turned sharply. "Back up."
Kairos studied her with a look that made her skin prickle. Not anger. Not contempt.
Calculation.
"You resisted me," he said. "That should not be possible."
"Get in line," Lena snapped. "Everyone keeps saying that."
His gaze dropped—not to her face, but to her chest, her arms, the line of her throat. It made something hot and sharp flare in her stomach.
"Don't," she warned.
Kairos stepped forward anyway.
The barn seemed to shrink.
"I need to be certain," he said.
"Certain of what?" she demanded. "That you can scare me? Hurt me? Already tried that."
His hand came up.
Fast.
She swung.
Her fist connected with his jaw—solid, satisfying. He barely moved.
Before she could strike again, his fingers closed around the front of her shirt and ripped.
Fabric tore with a sharp sound, buttons scattering into the hay.
Lena froze—not in fear, but shock and fury colliding so hard her vision went white.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR—"
He ignored her, eyes blazing as he shoved the torn fabric aside, his gaze sweeping her collarbone, her shoulder, the skin over her heart. His power surged—not crushing this time, but probing, searching.
Invisible pressure skimmed her skin like icy fingers.
Ashikai snarled from behind the stall. "Get away from her!"
Kairos didn't hear him.
"There," he muttered. "Show yourself."
Nothing happened.
No sigil.
No glow.
No mark.
His brow furrowed.
He pressed harder, power flaring, the air vibrating with restrained violence.
Still nothing.
Lena's shock hardened into something lethal.
She drew back her hand.
And slapped him.
Hard.
The sound cracked through the barn like a whip.
For a heartbeat, Kairos didn't react.
Then he blinked.
The pressure vanished.
The air rushed back in like a held breath finally released.
He stared at her—truly stared—for the first time, not as a threat or a riddle, but as a person who had just crossed a line and been struck for it.
Lena's chest heaved. She shoved the torn shirt together with one hand, eyes blazing. "You don't get to touch me," she hissed. "Not ever."
Ashikai pressed against her leg, fur bristling, teeth bared.
Kairos slowly raised his hand—to his cheek.
A faint red mark bloomed where she had struck him.
Silence roared.
He looked… shaken.
Not by pain.
By defiance.
"You found nothing," Lena went on, voice shaking with fury. "Because there's nothing for you to take. No mark for you to cage. No destiny you get to own."
Something dark flickered behind his eyes—then vanished.
He stepped back.
Once.
Then another step.
"I lost control," he said quietly.
Lena laughed—short and bitter. "No. You showed it."
The barn door creaked as a breeze slipped through. Dust motes danced in the light. Somewhere, a horse snorted uneasily.
Kairos straightened, composure sliding back into place like armor, but the crack remained. "You will be compensated," he said stiffly. "For the… damage."
She stared at him. "Get out."
His jaw tightened. For a moment, it looked like he might argue.
Then he turned.
As he walked away, his voice drifted back, low and unreadable. "If the mark reveals itself… it will not be by force."
Lena hugged the torn fabric closer, hands trembling now that the danger had passed. Ashikai looked up at her, eyes fierce and worried.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
She nodded once. "Yeah."
Then, quieter: "But if he ever touches me like that again…"
Her jaw set.
"…I won't stop at a slap."
Ashikai's tail flicked. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."
She managed a thin smile.
And somewhere deep within her—unseen, unmarked—something stirred, not in response to fear or domination…
…but to refusal.
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