The battlefield was long behind them, now only a smear of blood and smoke on the horizon. Kael and Eira left no trail, no witnesses—only a legend whispered in fear among the scattered remnants of the Holy Knights.
They traveled eastward, into the jagged wilds where ancient spirits still roamed and few dared to tread. In a forgotten valley nestled between obsidian peaks and mist-choked forests, they found peace. For a time.
The ruins of an old elven temple stood there, choked with ivy and silence. Eira restored its heart with enchantments, and Kael fortified its surroundings with shadow barriers, warding off both man and monster. It became their haven—a kingdom of two.
Days passed in quiet labor. Nights in whispered dreams.
Here, they were not soldiers.
They were simply Kael and Eira.
---
On the thirty-third night since the massacre, beneath a canopy of silver stars, Eira stood barefoot in the moonlit garden. She wore no crown or armor, only a simple dress of white and silver, her hair cascading like starlight over her shoulders.
Kael approached in silence, clothed in black as always, but the fire in his eyes was soft.
She turned to him, and without a word, they stood together under the ancient arch of the temple. No priests. No audience. Only the spirits watching from the mist.
“I have no kingdom to offer,” he said. “Only a blade, a name, and the darkness that follows me.”
Eira stepped closer. “And I have no dowry but fire, scars, and forbidden power. But I would share all of them with you.”
He took her hand.
“In this world,” she said, “where gods are cruel and kings are mad—I choose you. Not as a weapon. Not as a savior. But as my husband.”
Kael leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.
“Then let all heavens and hells hear this vow,” he whispered. “I am yours, Eira Valcrest. In shadow and storm. In war and in peace. As long as my soul endures.”
They sealed it with a kiss—not born of lust or sorrow, but of a love stronger than the world’s hatred.
---
That night, they lay together in the sanctuary of their ruin-home. Not as warriors, but as lovers.
Kael traced the runes on Eira’s back, etched there through years of magic and pain. She touched the scar across his chest, left by the day his village died. They shared laughter, silence, stories. And then, between kisses and whispered promises, they made love—not to forget the world, but to defy it.
In their union, something ancient stirred. A power not of bloodlines or spirits, but of fate itself.
For in that valley of forgotten gods, a new legend was born:
The Demon King and his Witch Queen.
And the stars bore witness, unmoving and eternal.
Their names, once cursed, now echoed like a prophecy.
In silence, the world shifted, sensing the rise of something unstoppable.
A love forged in fire. A reign destined in shadow.
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