Healheaven

In a world where desire is power, Selene Valtoria, a fallen noblewoman, is cursed with a body that no man can resist and a mind sharper than any blade. Betrayed, sold into slavery, and forced into submission, she awakens an ancient, forbidden magic that allows her to turn the tables on those who seek to use her.

Now, with lust as her greatest weapon, Selene must navigate a world where men crave her, women envy her, and enemies fear her. But as she walks the path of seduction and destruction, she must choose—consume the world in passion and vengeance, or surrender to a love that threatens to tame her darkness.

Ashes of Temptation: The Forbidden Lust

The city of Varethas loomed before them, its towering spires reaching toward the storm-laden sky. The streets were alive with murmurs—rumors of the Marked One, whispers of rebellion, and the growing shadow of war.

Reinhardt and Selene moved cautiously through the narrow alleyways, their cloaks drawn tight. Soldiers patrolled every corner, their armor gleaming under the flickering torchlight. Wanted posters bearing Reinhardt's likeness were plastered on the walls, his name now spoken as both a curse and a prophecy.

Selene smirked as she glanced at one of the posters. "They made you look more menacing than you actually are."

Reinhardt shot her a look. "Not the time, Selene."

She chuckled but kept her voice low. "They fear you. That's good."

Fear could be a weapon—one they would soon need.

The Tavern of the Black Thorn

They slipped into a dimly lit tavern at the edge of the market district. The scent of ale, sweat, and conspiracy hung heavy in the air.

A group of cloaked figures sat at the farthest table, their voices hushed but their eyes sharp. One of them—a woman with a scar tracing from her brow to her jaw—watched them enter.

Selene led the way, sliding into the seat across from her. "Isolde."

The scarred woman raised an eyebrow. "Selene. I thought you were dead."

Isolde's gaze flickered to Reinhardt. "And this is the one who started it all?"

Reinhardt met her eyes. "I didn't start this."

"No," Isolde mused, "but you'll be the one to finish it."

She gestured to the others at the table. Warriors, spies, rebels. A force waiting to be ignited.

"The city is ready," Isolde continued. "People are tired of the Empire's rule. If we strike now—"

Reinhardt held up a hand. "We don't strike until we know what's coming."

Selene folded her arms. "And what do you think is coming?"

Reinhardt's jaw tightened. "Aldric."

Sir Aldric—the Empire's blade, Reinhardt's former commander, and now his relentless hunter.

Isolde leaned back, considering. "If Aldric is coming, we don't have much time."

Reinhardt nodded. "Then we prepare."

Far beyond Varethas, in the Imperial Citadel, Aldric stood before the High Council, his crimson cloak billowing.

"They will resist," one of the elder seers warned.

Aldric's expression was unreadable. "They will fall."

With a swift motion, he donned his helm, the steel glinting under the torchlight. The hunt had begun.

As night fell over Varethas, the rebels armed themselves. Knives were sharpened, arrows fletched, spells prepared. The city's silence was deceptive—beneath it, the storm brewed.

Selene stood beside Reinhardt on a rooftop overlooking the city.

"You're ready for this?" she asked.

Reinhardt's gaze was distant. "I don't know."

She smirked. "Good. Only fools rush into battle without fear."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "That makes two of us."

Below them, torches flared as the city's defenders gathered. Somewhere beyond the gates, Aldric was coming.

The fight for Varethas was about to begin.

The Gathering Storm