A story about a place that neither exists in maps or history books, this place was called Athame.

•••

"The root of every fear is the unknown, yet how can one fear what they cannot grasp? Tch... how misleading." His voice, deep and rough, sent an involuntary shiver through her as he closed the distance between them with deliberate steps, his presence suffocating in its intensity.

With a slow, predatory grace, his fingers brushed along her jaw, settling on a strand of her scarlet hair, his touch deceptively tender. "Knowing me will matter little," he whispered darkly, his breath warm against her skin. "For even in the shadows of uncertainty, you will come to fear... and desire me all the same."

•••

Aricia, born with extraordinary abilities in a world that fears anything out of the ordinary, was destined for a marriage alliance to secure peace between kingdoms. 

But on the day of her engagement, her entire family is slaughtered—by the very family she was meant to marry into. 

Grief-stricken and consumed by vengeance, Aricia swore to destroy those who betrayed her. She would wield the very power they had feared against them, seeking justice with no mercy. After years on the run, she found shelter within an elemental clan, hiding her abilities and keeping to the shadows.

But her carefully constructed peace shattered in a single moment. A burning touch, a chance encounter with his haunting gray eyes—an unknown force within her stirred, threatening to unravel her carefully guarded secrets and the fragile balance of magic, madness, and vengeance she had built....

Vengeance Through Passion

Aricia’s hands trembled slightly as she held the garments in front of her, the embroidered patterns glinting softly under the flickering candlelight. Her mind spun with a dozen excuses to justify her presence, but none seemed adequate enough to escape Lady Livia’s piercing gaze. 


"Oh… uh… I just…" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, like the timid rustle of leaves in the wind. She could feel her palms grow clammy, the fabric in her grip becoming uncomfortably warm. "Actually, Master Vincent had specifically instructed that I hand these garments over to Lady Nyphera." 


Livia’s sharp gaze narrowed further, her violet eyes gleaming like amethysts caught in the sun. The silence that followed her inquiry was more chilling than the winter winds, and the air seemed to thicken with the weight of her disapproval. 


"Brother?" Livia called over her shoulder, her tone deceptively calm yet carrying an edge sharper than a blade. 


Chapter 45| Five Stages Of Grief