The Flame Beneath the Bone

From Mira's Perspective

There were moments when Mira forgot that Xerces was dead.

Not because he pretended otherwise—no, his skeletal form made that impossible—but because of the way he moved, the way he looked at her. There was still intention behind his actions, still a mind that calculated, hesitated, and protected.

That wasn't the behavior of a monster. It was something else. Something… human.

And now, as they stood beneath the shrine in that vast, cold chamber carved into the bones of the world, she saw it again.

He stood at the center of the stone platform, his back to her, the green necrotic light pulsing around his fingertips like a storm barely held at bay. He was stronger now—after the battle with the Devourer's spawn. He'd let go of the illusion. Shown them what he truly was. A lich. A being of death and fury.

And yet, when she looked at him now, she didn't see the bone and fire.

She saw the way his shoulders rose and fell slowly. Like he was still breathing.

Mira stepped closer, careful not to let her voice tremble. "You're quiet."

"I'm thinking," he said.

"About what?"

"About whether I should have let you see me for what I am."

She frowned. "Too late to take it back."

His voice was low, hollow. "Perhaps not too late to regret it."

She walked toward him slowly, her eyes on the worn obsidian under their feet. "You think I regret it?"

"I'm not what you hoped I'd be."

"I didn't know what to hope for," she said honestly. "But I know what I feel now."

Xerces turned toward her, his skull tilting. "And what do you feel?"

"I feel… safe," she whispered. "Even now. Especially now. After everything."

His head dipped, almost imperceptibly. "You shouldn't."

"But I do." Mira reached out and took his hand. Cold bone. Sharp edges. No pulse. "You don't scare me."

"You should be terrified," he said. "Do you know what I've done? The power I command? The magic in my blood isn't just unnatural—it unravels things. It breaks rules. Corrupts."

She didn't let go.

"Then let it corrupt me," she said softly. "If it means standing by you."

He jerked his hand back, but not fast enough. Her fingers lingered on his.

"You don't understand," he hissed. "I wasn't made for this. For closeness. I'm a monster stitched together by death and fury. There is no softness left in me."

"Then explain why you hesitated to kill that darkling. Why you nearly burned yourself out saving me." Her voice was rising, not with anger, but passion. "You think I don't see it? The way you look at me when you think I'm not watching? You pretend to be a walking weapon, but it's a lie. You're not empty. You never were."

Silence. Only the gentle, hungry pulsing of the magic in the walls.

Mira stepped closer again, until she was right in front of him. "Why are you really afraid, Xerces?"

He answered after a long pause.

"Because I don't know how to be seen."

Mira's heart cracked a little at that. "Then let me be the first."

She touched the side of his skull—not afraid, not hesitating—and leaned in close. Her breath hitched.

"I see you," she whispered.

He didn't move. But something shifted in the firelight. A tension uncoiled in his stance. A breath he could no longer take escaped him, not from lungs—but from memory.

"You make me want to be more," he said. "Even when I know I can't be."

"You already are."

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Her hand still rested on his cheekbone. His eyes—those twin flames—burned with something far more complex than power.

Longing. Grief. Wonder.

And… something dangerously close to love.

Then, above them, the earth groaned.

A tremor passed through the chamber.

The altar flared faintly again, pulsing once, then going dark.

Whatever had been buried here, beneath the shrine, was stirring again. A reminder that this wasn't just about the two of them. That something far worse was waiting below.

But Mira didn't look away from him.

And for the first time in centuries, Xerces didn't look away either.