Chapter 50: The Plague of Fur and Flame - 3
And then—
They threw her in, the chains clanking as she plummeted into the void, her howls echoing upward like a curse on the world above, fading into the darkness until only silence remained.
Azareel fell to his knees in the mist, the illusion’s grip loosening, the vision fading slowly like a candle dying in the wind, the flames extinguishing one by one.
The real Nyxsha stood ahead of him, not wounded, not wild, but trembling, her black fur rippling with suppressed agony, her breathing ragged, her claws out, her golden eyes unfocused, lost in the echo of her own despair.
"...you saw it again, didn’t you?" she whispered, her voice a fragile thread, pain threading through every syllable.
Azareel rose, his footsteps soft on the mist-covered stone, the fog parting slightly as he approached.
He didn’t answer at first, the weight of what he’d witnessed pressing on him like the city’s unseen gaze.
He just walked over, his silver-white hair stirring in the mist, and gently wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his cheek to her soft chest, holding her like she wasn’t terrifying, like she wasn’t cursed, his warmth seeping through the barriers she’d built from pain and betrayal.
"...why?" she asked, her voice breaking, her body still trembling, her claws hovering uncertainly over his back. "Why... still...?"
"I’m still warm," he said softly, his voice a quiet anchor in the storm of her despair, his embrace steady, unwavering. "Aren’t I?"
Nyxsha froze, her golden eyes widening, tears spilling unbidden down her fur.
Her hands hovered over his back, shaking, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.