The arena buzzed with anticipation, nobles whispering, guards tensing. But the moment Seraphine stepped onto the ground, the crowd went quiet.
Her presence is thunder in silk. Fitted in her armor she marched forward, like a predator getting ready for it's hunt. At her sides - "Vermillion Fang, " her famed sword, forged from obsidian and dragonbone. A rare masterpiece that exudes dominance and allure. Sharp and unyielding, it hums with silent rage, as though remembering every soul it has taken.
The hilt bursts with a flaming red hue, not painted but living. It pulses faintly with her heartbeat, as if the weapon is alive - bonded to it's wielder's fire.
Winding around the hilt is a golden dragon , coiled with it's bare fangs and outstretched wings. The dragon isn't just a decoration - it's a symbol of Seraphine. Beautiful, dangerous , merciless and majestic.
A blade born not to protect, but to conquer.
Evander Thorne had faced a hunder warriors, a thousand blades, but none had ever looked like her.
None had ever been her.
Evander forgot to breathe. The world dimmed around her. She turned slightly, a lioness's deadly certainty. Evander felt his heart stutter.
This wasn't a woman to conquer.
She was a woman to worship, to fear... And yet to chase anyway, knowing she'd ruin him.
For a moment - dangerous and fleeting - Evander forgot the match, forgot his duty, forgot his vows.
He only saw her.
Evander was caught - trapped - in her aura.
It was magnetic, suffocating and magnificent.
His heart pounded in his chest, desperate to break free and kneel before her.
Then - She looked at him.
Those eyes.
Sharp as the edge of a blade, cold and burning all at once.
It wasn't a plea, nor a lure - it was a Command.
Fight me. Prove yourself worthy - or be forgotten.
She demanded not admiration. She demanded respect.
And for the first time, Evander wasn't sure if he wanted to conquer her or be conquered.
His grip on the blade tightened, "Don't go easy on me princess. "
"I don't know how. "
And the swords clashed. Evander was strong, trained by the best of kingdoms, but he was dancing. She was hunting.
Every strike,a warning. She was not a warrior trying to prove a point. She was the point.
"You're intoxicating. " Evander breathed between the strikes.
"And you're bleeding. "She replied,flicking her blade to his cheeks before spinning away. A drop of blood ran down his cheek.
He laughed, breathless wiping his blood by the back of his hand.
And then....it was over.
Vermillion Fang was at his throat. He blinked up at her stunned. Her eyes gleaming with triumph.
"You're not like other women. "
"It's because I'm not a woman, prince. I'm war wearing a crown. "
He laughs. He is falling. Fast.
But above - watching from the shadows of the balcony, his gaze is burning. Not from jealousy. Not yet. But Possession. She is strength,She is legend - now, he watches her not just with hunger, but reverence.
His ruin. His religion.
"She doesn't know it yet, " He whispered, his voice like smoke.
"She was carved from the bones of gods, for me. "
"Mine."
And Valen turns away - silent, unreadable.