“I really am sorry, Zylara. I mean it. I didn’t want any of this.”

  Aurelian's eyes were a fierce scarlet, and blazed with an intensity that seemed to ignite the very air between them as Zylara gazed into their depths. In that inferno, she discerned something unexpected, too: fear. It was not the usual trepidation she had expected, that of a warrior facing the battlefield's uncertainties, nor was it rooted in the consequences of war in any capacity she could identify.

  Instead and more surprisingly, it was a more personal terror—one wrought from the turmoil within his soul, and the insanity that had prefaced their current and bewildering circumstances in such a violent and visceral way.

  As if to punctuate that, Bahamut’s thunderous roar filled the area yet again.

  It had been continuous since the fighting had begun, and the fact that she was taking the field alongside a true Dragon still hadn’t fully sunk in.

  Sometimes when she saw the creature, she still felt like she was dreaming.

  Hearing Aurelian’s tale of how they had met, it seemed even more fantastical.

  The Reclaimer had laid bare his thoughts like he was stripping away layers of armour: his previous life, his first days in the Realms, meeting Tarixi and Bael’tharax, and his bond with Bahamut had all been revealed. So too had his theories regarding the newfound abilities he referred to as his 'gifts'; his explorations into the mysteries of Anima, the complexities surrounding his Arisen Legion, and the constraints on that same force which were imposed by the System.

  His revelations about what he intended for her and Karsys had been offered more nervously at first, but at her lack of negative reaction, had poured forth like waters bursting forth from a dam.

  “Enough,” Zylara said abruptly, her voice low and weary, as he parted his lips to offer yet another apology—probably the fifth or sixth, by her count. “I understand, Aurelian. Truly, I do.”

  And she did grasp his meaning, though perhaps not for the reasons he might have presumed, or even that he might have hoped for. Zylara Stormbow, after all, had not always been the fearless and bold adventurer she presented herself to be. Despite Aurelian’s assumption of a close bond between her and Karsys, in fact, even the stoic human knew little of her true origins.

  Zylara was more than an elf endowed with the prowess of lightning mana, more than a prolific hand with a bow, and more than just another loyal—and deceived, as she recalled with a flash of bitterness—daughter of murdered Elysea.

  She was the bastard daughter of a Lord Captain Commander of the Anointed.

  Her life had been a relentless pursuit of purpose, a journey to find meaning beyond the mere ambition to prove her worth. She had long struggled with her own sense of self, and waged a constant battle against feelings of inadequacy and the gnawing doubt of not truly belonging. In a culture like Sanctuary’s, where lineage and legacy dictated one's place; she—a bastard child sired by the enemy, albeit in secret—had always felt like an outsider looking in.

  “You are not alone in harboring secrets, Aurelian Lucis Imperius,” she said gently, and with a smile warped by bitterness. “Nor are you the only one tormented by the fear of what might happen should others uncover the truth. Your fears, in their own way, may seem more grounded—but I assure you, I found no hint of malice in what you proposed.”

  With a stifled groan, borne more from mental exertion than physical pain, Zylara's gaze drifted downwards to her ravaged legs. Her left leg, severed below the knee, and the twisted ruins of her right were stark reminders of the brutality they had endured. Even with her Mending skill and a surplus of potions, regrowing the former was beyond her means, and the latter remained a challenge for even the greatest of Healers, possibly an insurmountable one due to the System's enigmatic nature.

  Anything could be healed, but it was bound by temporal constraints, and there were punishments for exceeding those allotted, unspoken windows of opportunity.

  Cause and effect, after all, was everything in the Prime Material.

  Zylara turned her gaze from the remains of her shattered limbs, and instead directed it at the battlefield that sprawled before them. It was a grim canvas, painted with the aftermath of Aurelian's latest reality-defying skill, and almost seemed like a harbinger of their near and distant futures.

  The land lay transformed, warped, and calamitously devastated in a stark and terrifying testament to his formidable power. There was a part of her that found such strength horrifying, and another part of her—the part she derisively called her ‘elvish incorrigibility’—which found such a manifestation of strength, one which seemed to defy the very laws of nature, incredibly attractive.

  The natural drives of her species, truthfully, had been torturing her since she’d met him.

  It struck her as profoundly ironic that Aurelian, the Reclaimer, the lawful Imperator of Elysea; a man who had seemingly transcended the limitations of mortality—a feat she still grappled with comprehending—was plagued by the fear of her disapproval. The notion that such a formidable being, one who could bend the very laws that governed existence and space to his whim, would concern himself with the opinion of someone like her?

  It was as baffling as it was revealing.

  Her eyes turned to drink him in again, and she noticed the way he remained silent and patient, while his gaze kept darting across her—not lecherously, but fearfully. He worried she would die, she knew, before they could reach an accord.

  A quick glance at her numbers told her otherwise.

  Health: 32/590 | Mana: 301/301 | Stamina: 275/275

  She was by no means out of immediate danger, thanks to the ‘Condition: Bleeding (Moderate)’, ‘Condition: Concussion (Mild), ‘Condition: Spinal Injury (Mild)’, and ‘Condition: Dismemberment (Severe)’ statuses populating her vision—but she was not in immediate risk of death. Her natural healing was fighting the blood loss, and her leg had stopped costing her blood when she’d forcefully cauterized it with lightning.

  That had been… unpleasant. Necessary, though.

  It had also gained her almost enough levels in Pain Tolerance to ascend the skill to Adept tier.

  That, of course, helped immensely in allowing her to ignore her body’s current state.

  “Perhaps it is destiny that I find myself at your side, Aurelian,” Zylara mused aloud, her voice laced with a hint of bitterness. “Who else would be able to weather your self-recriminations while half-dead on the ground? Fighting with you gives me real purpose.” she sighed, and chuckled mirthlessly. “In truth, I have never truly belonged anywhere. Even Sanctuary felt more like a place that tolerated me than a true and genuine home.”

  Her heart had decided on receptive understanding for his own outpouring of truth, and now with her own brutally honest admission, it held a reflective and melancholic mix of emotions.

  “My life has been a continuous struggle for validation. It’s been a quest to carve out a niche in a world that, honestly, seemed to have no place for me in its vast expanse.” her eyes scanned his, and she smiled with warmth she felt to her core. “But here, with you? Even in the midst of this turmoil, I feel a sense of worth and value. I feel needed, no matter how fleeting that need may be."

  She kept her eyes on Aurelian’s, blue on scarlet, and her expression hardened with resolve at the same time as her heart filled with determination. “I did not—do not stand beside you solely because of your title, nor simply for glory. I am here because in your quest, and in your fears and uncertainties, I find a mirror to my own. Serving a cause greater than myself, being part of something that challenges the very fabric of our reality, I—” she paused and reached out to take his right hand in hers and squeeze it reassuringly.

  “It gives me a reason to exist, Aurelian. It gives me a reason to move forward."

  Zylara's voice grew stronger and more assertive when she continued.

  “Do not mistake my willingness to aid you as a sign of weakness or dependency, though. I am Zylara Lyse Stormbow, and my strength is my own—hard won and earned on my own merit.”

  She turned away from him again and gestured with her left hand out at the eviscerated battlefield. “But in this journey with you, in the heart of this maelstrom you've created?”

  Zylara shook her head and smiled despite the seriousness of her words.

  “In this insanity, Aurelian, I find not just a role to play—but a validation of my existence. For once, Aurelian, I am not just a lost elf searching for her place and pretending at selfless valour. I am a warrior with a cause, a purpose beyond that which has been spoon fed to me my entire life. I am standing beside a man who, despite his immense power, understands what it is to be afraid—not just of esoteric and distant divinities, but of your own reflection.”

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  Her gaze swept across the battlefield, and she assessed the vast expanse of destruction with a critical eye. “In your quest and in this strange, tumultuous world you're shaping, I am starting to believe I have found not just a place to be needed, but a meaning to my existence.”

  Zylara turned back to him, and she smiled warmly. “And for that, I am willing to face whatever comes our way.” her voice faltered and she smiled with an echo of the self—denigrating fear she still felt. “If you’ll have an outsider that nobody else wants, at any rate.”

  Aurelian watched her in a way that made Zylara want to run her hands through his windswept, blood-matted platinum hair—and when he spoke, she felt her heart racing.

  “No, Zylara, I’m the outsider. I’m the oddity in this world."

  The Reclaimer’s voice was a mixture of acceptance, resignation, and was buoyed on an underlying current of on-going internal conflict. "Since arriving here, I've tried to adapt and make this realm my home. Yet, a part of me constantly feels out of place, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong jigsaw."

  He paused after he said the words, and his scarlet eyes reflected a turmoil that seemed disconnected from the chaos around them. “My death on Earth,” he continued, the name 'Earth' hanging in the air like an alien invocation, “was both the greatest tragedy and the most incredible blessing of my short life. It's a paradox I struggle with every day.”

  Zylara listened while still grappling with the revelation of his origins: a world entirely unknown to her, where metal boxes raced faster than any horse, and larger boxes conveyed people across vast swathes of land high in the clouds. A realm where no Soulforce existed, yet small pieces of glass created moving light-captures, and smaller pieces of glass and metal allowed you to speak to someone across the oceans as if they were beside you.

  The concept that he had lived an entirely different life before this one, complete with family, friends, education, and such wildly different technology was as shocking as it was intriguing.

  She wanted to know more. She wanted to hear everything.

  It had seemed fantastical and mad when he’d told her about it, and she’d felt a soul-deep sense of empathetic sadness when he’d spoken of his mother, and father, and a sister that it clearly broke his heart to not have around.

  That love, so pure and uncomplicated, stirred something in her—likely in response to the fact that she, herself, was the daughter of a man that did not know she existed, and a mother that was considered a woman of loose morals even when measured by elven standards.

  Her mother had done what she’d needed to in order to provide for both of them, but even still Zylara felt a sense of anger toward the woman who’d raised her. If she had never fallen in love with the elf she’d been sent to spy on, Zylara’s life of whispered scorn and subtle prejudice never would have eventuated.

  Then again, she’d never have developed the rare gifts, and genetic skills that had qualified her to go on the mission to meet Aurelian, either.

  Her mind refocused on the Nephilim while he spoke, and she could see the internal battle raging within him.

  “I am the Nephilim," Aurelian continued, his voice tinged with a weariness that seemed too heavy for any one person to bear. “And it’s a title and prophecy I never asked for, and frankly, I’m still a bit pissed off that it was thrust on me without my consent,” he continued with an edge of frustration.

  “In the short time since I transmigrated to the Realms, I’ve lost two people I came to see as mentors, and more than that, as friends. Every day I walk this world, I confront this new identity, wondering if I am truly capable of fulfilling the destiny that has been kicked at me like an unwanted football."

  His eyes lowered to look at her legs, and he grimaced in what she recognized as guilt. “This happened because I was chasing my own desires. I left you alone, thinking you would be fine because you’re past your First Temper. Regardless of your capabilities, that was selfish—more than that, it was cruel. No one should have to walk through his hellscape of a land alone, and letting a ranged fighter—even one as talented as you—stand alone was asking for disaster. I’m sorry for that.”

  “You don’t have to—” she started, only for him to cut her off.

  “I know, but I will anyway. You’re my friend, Zylara.” he said fiercely enough to make her blink, and send heat to her cheeks. “You’re my companion. I should have had your back, not gone gallivanting off to play Arthas Menethil and the Nerubians.”

  “Who is—?”

  “Forget about it.” Aurelian muttered with a quiet shake of the head. “It’s not important. Karsys and Bahamut are still holding the majority of the swarm, and Bahamut has informed Karsys that you’re okay. They’ll need our help soon, though, so…” he sighed. “I have to go back to what I first asked, and I’m sorry for pushing the issue. Have you had time to consider my proposal?”

  Zylara’s mind drifted to what he’d already proposed: the Sanguine Kiss.

  A means by which he would imbue her with the Sanguinated trait.

  It was a power that would turn her into a creature supposedly like a Vasiri, but far greater and more potent—and absent the vigorously evil predisposition.

  Truthfully, she was both fascinated by the idea and terrified by it.

  The power she would gain would be immense, and given what Aurelian could do with Anima; she had no doubt that if she gained similar powers, she’d be able to mend her body wholly—or the System might even do it for her, as part of the transformation. In the rare instances she’d witnessed, or more specifically, heard of such things transpiring; a full transformation of the body almost universally meant a full restoration… though it took the shape of whatever final form suited that transformation.

  Therein lay the rub. What would the Sanguine Kiss mean for her?

  In a way, Zylara had no choice in the matter regardless.

  She was broken.

  Aurelian may have contributed to that, but she was a soldier—a warrior that had far more experience than the handsome Nephilim, no matter what reality-warping powers he had managed to acquire. For her, the wounds she’d sustained were less of a horror and more of an expected inevitability. She’d always known she’d die fighting, or at least be crippled due to it. In many ways, it had been a twisted kind of relief to finally know how it happened.

  And now, Aurelian was offering her not just a way to overcome that realised fate, but to potentially prevent it—and death itself—from ever holding sway over her again.

  To say she was tempted would have been to say the Sun was a little bright.

  “What is the process?” she asked finally. “You launched into your guilt-ridden explanation of everything before you even covered that.”

  Zylara’s words were intentionally softened by a smile when she delivered them, but remained true. He had failed to specify the exact nature of what she was walking into—she glanced down at her legs with a mental snort—in a manner of speaking.

  Aurelian smiled weakly when she posed her question. “It's not some Twilight thing, I promise.”

  The reference, which she understood to be a recollection from his past life, hung between them; an inside joke to which she had no context and one which left her feeling more mystified than amused.

  The Nephilim cleared his throat at the same moment as he flushed endearingly in embarrassment, and then launched into an explanation.

  “The Sanguine Kiss," he began with an expression of focus and recollection she recognised as that of someone reading System information while speaking, “isn't exactly as straightforward as I initially believed. The System demands that I, uh, share a part of my essence, apparently, with you directly.”

  Before he could delve further into the intricacies of the ritual, Zylara saw an opportunity for mischief and interjected despite the seriousness of the situation. She couldn’t resist stirring him up a little bit. “Do you mean... are we talking about sex?”

  To ensure it had maximum impact, she even placed her right hand on his chest suggestively—just the way she’d seen women do in Sanctuary when flirting with the Aegii or Legionarii.

  Aurelian's reaction was as swift as it was profound.

  It was also rather flattering, given her state of mutilation.

  A crimson tide of shock and embarrassment washed over his face when she finished speaking, and the composure he so often wielded like a shield crumbled under the unexpectedness of her bold assumption. He even seemed completely flummoxed by the hand on his chest, and seemed to just sort of freeze. "No, no, it's not that!" he stammered, while tripping over his words in his haste to correct her.

  The sight of him, so visibly flustered and caught off guard, was a rare and endearing departure from his usual invariably confident demeanour.

  The fact he didn’t pick up on how incredibly inexperienced she was with the whole concept and nature of that manner of flirtation was also somewhat mollifying. Part of her didn’t know if it was a good thing, of course, but she chose to believe that his lack of awareness of her total inexperience with true physical intimacy was a point in favour of her outward confidence.

  Collecting himself with a visible effort, he endeavoured to clarify—his tone striving for a clinical detachment that his reddening cheeks betrayed.

  "It's a ritual of blood exchange. Blood—” he emphasized while continuing “—and only blood. We need to combine mine with yours, allowing me to infuse some of my Soulforce into your being, which will in turn carry a mirror of the Sanguinated trait to you."

  Pausing as if to gather his scattered thoughts, his eyes betrayed a remnant of shy embarrassment. "The ritual requires the joining of two open wounds. It’s my unique position as a Primogenitor which grants me the ability to infuse a portion of my Soulforce—and the Sanguinated trait—into your essence. From there, the System will orchestrate the complexities of whatever happens next."

  A shadow of concern crossed Aurelian's face, and he spoke again quickly.

  “It's expected to be quite painful, though, if it’s anything like what I went through. I'd probably suggest we use our palms for the exchange. The natural grip will ensure a secure connection, and help in preventing an unexpected disconnect which could jeopardize the process."

  Zylara, seizing the moment with her characteristic audacity, couldn't resist teasing him just a little more, situation be damned. "So, there's no sex involved? What a disappointment," she quipped, her eyes dancing with mischief.

  Her playful remark only seemed to floor Aurelian all over again.

  He regarded her with a look of such forced imperiousness that she had to control herself to prevent from laughing at him. “Zylara, you're being utterly ridiculous,” he chided, though the curve of his lips betrayed a suppressed amusement, and a hint of warmth flickered in his eyes.

  Warmth, and perhaps more interest than he intended her to see

  That was interesting.

  The gravity of their situation notwithstanding, the fleeting exchange of light-hearted banter wove a thread of intimacy into the fabric of their bond. Aurelian's rare display of shyness and vulnerability, so at odds with the formidable Nephilim fa?ade, only served to endear him further to her; and revealed a more relatable, mortal aspect beneath the layers of his enigmatic existence.

  It had been fear of the monstrous nature of the Vasiri that had largely stayed her hand from accepting his offer initially.

  In many ways, his flustered and somewhat innocent reactions to what she would consider reserved teasing only worked to reassure her that he had not been turned into just such a creature beneath it all, especially when paired with the raw, and genuine emotion he’d demonstrated throughout the few scant minutes they’d spent talking upon the ruined bones of Albion.

  Aurelian had earned her trust. More than that, he’d earned her loyalty.

  Becoming the first of what she knew would be several direct subordinates, especially when considering the fact she’d be gaining a fraction of a Nephilim’s power, didn’t strike her as a bad notion at all.

  With Aurelian being the Reclaimer, it also meant she’d finally and irrevocably belong.

  “Okay,” Zylara said with as much confidence as she could muster, and with a slow and calming breath. “I accept, Aurelian.” she graced him with her warmest smile, and offered him her right hand expectantly.

  “It would be my honour.”