Fractured Composure

The platform still shimmered faintly with the remnants of battle magic. Frost clung to its edges, slowly melting in the rising sun. Solene stood at the center, her breath still coming in slow, steady pulses, her body radiating quiet power.

Above her, Nyxara descended from her perch in the sky, her staff lowering her gracefully to the platform. She appeared calm, poised as ever—but her golden eyes flicked to Solene with a hunger she couldn't quite bury.

Her legs pressed together subtly as she landed.

"Congratulations, Miss Cael," Nyxara said, clearing her throat, her voice strained with something she didn't want to name. "You have earned the right to... ahem... duel with Lira."

Solene raised an eyebrow, brushing frost from her shoulder. "A duel, huh?"

"Yes," Nyxara said quickly, eyes flicking to the others and back again. "If you win, you receive a reward. But if you lose... I get something from you."

Her tone was playful, almost teasing, but her gaze lingered on Solene for a moment too long.

Nerys tilted her head. "Something's off with you."

Seraphyne, still recovering from the intense spar, narrowed her eyes. "You're flushed."

Nyxara coughed.

"I... need to go take care of something. So the duel with Lira will happen tomorrow. You may have the rest of the day off."

She clapped her hands once, too sharply.

Then without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and vanished in a flash of radiant light.

---

She reappeared at the entrance to her private sanctum, nestled in the highest peak of Skyreach. Her boots clicked against marble tile as she swept down the crystal corridor and slammed the heavy doors shut behind her.

Click.

She locked them.

Nyxara leaned back against the door, breath shaking, the cool surface doing nothing to tame the fever rising in her skin.

Her magic pulsed around her in tight waves.

"Gods... what is wrong with me..."

She closed her eyes, dragging in a ragged breath, her hand trailing down her thigh. Her fingers trembled as she felt the slick warmth between her legs.

"All it took was a fight... a single fucking fight," she whispered, pacing now, hands flexing like claws. "The way she moved. That ice magic. The control... the fire in her eyes."

She stepped into the center of the room, magic sealing the walls to silence.

Nyxara shed her robe in a single motion, letting it puddle around her ankles. Her body was already flushed, thighs slick, nipples tight against the cool air.

She conjured a mirror—not for vanity, but for indulgence. Her reflection stared back at her, wild-eyed, mouth parted.

"Solene..."

She dropped to her knees before it.

And began to lose herself.

---

Back on the platform, the trio stood in silence.

"That was... strange," Nerys said, brow furrowed.

Seraphyne rubbed her neck. "She practically ran off. Did she look... uncomfortable to you?"

Solene said nothing, her gaze lingering on where Nyxara had disappeared. A strange flutter tickled her chest.

"Let's just... take the day. Rest. Regroup. I'll be ready for Lira tomorrow."

They turned and walked off the platform, arm in arm.

None of them realizing that far above, a dragon-shaped goddess burned with desire for one of their own.