Nikandros occupied the couch as if it had belonged to him long before it ever existed.

  He was reclining with one arm stretched along the backrest, perfectly at ease. The black shirt he wore, buttoned only halfway, revealed the firm line of his chest and the beginning of a torso that looked as though it had been carved with deliberate care. A body built for war, now wasted in front of a television left on.

  His dark hair fell to his shoulders, a few strands loosely tied back in a careless half-tail. Beneath his left eye, a red mark stood out against his bronzed skin: two horizontal lines crossed by a vertical one, like a permanent strike-through.

  The television droned on about something irrelevant. He wasn’t listening.

  He tipped his head back and exhaled through his nose. At least now there was peace. No sarcastic remarks every other minute. No irritating presence roaming the house as if the air itself belonged to him.

  What a relief.

  He turned his head toward the empty side of the couch.

  Unbearable. A nuisance. An egocentric demon incapable of staying quiet even if stabbed through the chest. He had tried that once.

  Ekchron had left early, before he woke up. No doubt he was at that damned bakery again.

  Nikandros scoffed. Ridiculous. Since when did he care where that insufferable ginger spent his day, anyway?

  He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

  What a blessing not to have him hovering nearby. Silence. Space. Peace.

  He glanced toward the door.

  …Too much peace.

  He clicked his tongue and rose in a single fluid motion. The television continued speaking to itself as he walked out.

  The icy air hit his face the moment he stepped outside.

  He paused for a second on the step, looking both ways. The bakery was… to the right? No. Left. Probably.

  He started walking with his hands in his pockets.

  “Hey, tank!”

  A voice reached him from behind. Then another.

  “Hey! Grumpy giant!”

  Nikandros stopped. First he turned his head. Then his entire body, slowly.

  His golden gaze dropped onto a group of children gathered in the middle of the street. Far too small.

  His expression hardened instantly, brow furrowing as he looked at them.

  The children froze.

  Lyciah wasn’t entirely sure at what point she had agreed to be part of the plan.

  All she remembered was that suddenly Seliane was walking beside her with a suspiciously innocent smile, and that Elric had somehow convinced Caelan to come out “for some fresh air.”

  Too much coincidence. Far too much coordination.

  They were heading in the opposite direction when she spotted him in the distance. Lyciah recognized the silhouette before the face. Tall. Straight-backed. Impossible to mistake.

  Her heart lurched so violently she nearly stumbled.

  She brought a hand to her dress, smoothing it without realizing. Then did it again a second later, just in case. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Breathe. It’s nothing.

  When they were close enough, Caelan looked up and found her immediately.

  “Lyciah.”

  He said her name in that deep, steady voice that never seemed to waver.

  “H-hi…” she answered, softer than she had rehearsed in her head.

  She cleared her throat, mortified.

  “Good morning,” she added, trying to sound firmer. She failed.

  Heat crept up her neck to her cheeks. She lowered her gaze for a second, then lifted it again, not wanting to seem rude. Her fingers reached for another strand of hair… and, nervous, let it go almost immediately.

  Caelan’s eyes dropped briefly to the hem of her dress—just for a second—before returning to her face.

  “I didn’t expect I’d be lucky enough to see you today.”

  It wasn’t a grand sentence, but in his voice it felt like one.

  “O-oh? Really?” she asked.

  She regretted it instantly.

  “I mean… me too. I’m glad. To see you. I mean.”

  Perfect. Brilliant. Magnificent disaster.

  Unable to hold his gaze for more than two seconds at a time, she glanced toward Seliane… and then she knew. She knew the exact moment Seliane and Elric looked at each other. It was one of those dangerous looks. Confident. Far too pleased with themselves. Like two children convinced their plan was genius.

  “If we create the right situation…” Seliane began under her breath.

  “…the number will appear on its own,” Elric finished with a grin.

  A shiver ran down Lyciah’s spine.

  First attempt.

  (In which Seliane and Elric put too much faith in context.)

  “Oh, by the way,” Seliane said suddenly as they walked through the market, “Lyciah just got her phone recently, you know? She’s still a bit clumsy with texting.”

  Lyciah wanted to disappear. Or combust. Or both simultaneously.

  “That’s normal at first,” Caelan replied calmly. “It took me a while too.”

  He said it in that understanding tone of his. Then kept walking.

  Plan one: deceased.

  Second attempt.

  (Or unjustified optimism.)

  “We should go out sometime,” Elric suggested. “All of us. Do something. Have fun.”

  Seliane nodded instantly.

  “Yes, we should see each other more often.”

  Lyciah remained absolutely silent, as if any word might betray her.

  Caelan considered it for a moment.

  “I’m sure we’ll run into each other,” he said at last. “The city isn’t that big.”

  That was it. He added nothing else. Didn’t ask when, or how, or who should contact whom.

  Plan number two: buried beside the first.

  Seliane and Elric said nothing. They stood there staring into space with utterly defeated expressions. Their souls visibly leaving their bodies.

  Seliane collapsed onto a nearby bench as if her will to live had been extracted. Elric leaned against a lamppost, forehead pressed to the cold metal.

  Lyciah watched them from a few steps behind, unsure whether to console them or pretend she didn’t know them.

  “Lyciah.”

  The voice came from beside her. She jolted dramatically, almost jumping, hand flying to her chest.

  “C-Caelan?”

  He was there, at her side. Without making a sound.

  He looked at her for a second. Then, without ceremony, pulled a small folded paper from his pocket and held it out.

  “This is my number.”

  That was all he said.

  Lyciah froze completely. Her mind took several seconds to process the scene. The world kept spinning, but she did not.

  “Wha—?” she managed at last, barely audible.

  “In case something happens,” Caelan added in that same neutral tone. “An emergency. Anything.”

  Lyciah took the paper and clutched it far too tightly between her fingers. She lowered her head shyly and took a small step back, unsure.

  “And… and if…” her voice was so soft it almost disappeared, “if it’s not an emergency…”

  She stopped. Her shoulders tensed.

  “Can I…?” She lifted her gaze just enough not to meet his directly, her fringe hiding her eyes and the violent blush blooming across her cheeks. “Can I talk to you… anyway?”

  Caelan looked at her.

  “You can talk to me whenever you want.”

  The impact was devastating.

  Lyciah nodded far too quickly. Far too many times. Without saying another word and with her ears completely red, she turned and ran back toward Seliane and Elric.

  Caelan remained where he was.

  “So many detours…” he muttered to himself. “All you had to do was ask.”

  He didn’t understand why something so simple had required so much effort.

  Hearts beat far too loudly for bodies that small. Trembling breaths were held behind trunks and bushes.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Nikandros kept his eyes closed. He didn’t look like someone playing a game, but someone granting an extension.

  “Twenty-nine.”

  The number fell without emotion.

  “Thirty.”

  He opened his eyes. Then walked calmly toward a cluster of bushes… and parted them with unnecessary solemnity.

  Nothing.

  He frowned faintly, feigning doubt. Took a couple of extra steps, circled a different tree, checked behind a stone bench.

  Absolute silence.

  Then he turned sharply and, without warning, crouched behind the correct bush. There they were.

  “Hello.”

  A collective shriek erupted instantly.

  “NOOO!”

  “You’re cheating!”

  Puffed cheeks appeared as a universal defense mechanism.

  Nikandros observed them with a patience that wasn’t exactly tenderness, but not indifference either. Always the same. They always came back.

  He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, resigned.

  “I have to go.”

  The protests were immediate, though predictable. He waited for them to exhaust themselves naturally.

  “I have things to do.”

  And by “things” he meant supervising an ancient demon with a god complex who was probably, at that very moment, smiling far too much inside a bakery.

  Nikandros turned around. He hadn’t taken more than ten steps when something made him glance back: the children were waving their arms with chaotic enthusiasm, as if his departure were a solemn farewell instead of simply the end of a game.

  Nikandros exhaled through his nose as a small smile curved his lips.

  He resumed his path toward the bakery. Probably.

  Lorena was organizing bags behind the counter when Ekchron felt a faint pressure at the back of his neck. His spine tightened and a chill ran down it. He felt… in danger. And that danger had a name, golden eyes, and stood nearly two meters tall.

  She noticed the change in his expression.

  “Azul? Are you okay?”

  He looked at her with tragic intensity, pressing both hands to his chest in an act of completely theatrical suffering.

  “No,” he answered gravely. “I think I need a kiss to recover.”

  Lorena let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

  “Oh, really?”

  Ekchron held her gaze without blinking, absolutely convinced he had made a reasonable proposal.

  She walked toward him, stopping in front of his chair.

  Ekchron didn’t move, but something in his posture shifted: his back straighter, his gaze steadier… anticipation barely contained.

  Lorena leaned down until she was level with him. Her lips were far too close to his. Close enough for Ekchron’s useless heart to embarrass itself yet again.

  For one second—one full, glorious, dangerous second—he thought she would do it. That she would truly lean a little further and close the distance.

  His eyes dropped to her mouth. He waited. Lorena saw it and smiled.

  She lifted her hand. Ekchron didn’t pull away. On the contrary: he prepared.

  And then, with absolute composure, she pressed the tip of her index finger to his nose. A soft little tap.

  “You’re shameless,” she murmured, pulling back just enough. “You’d take any opportunity, wouldn’t you?”

  She straightened before he could process it.

  Ekchron remained still as the expectation evaporated in slow motion. His expression shifted through confusion, disbelief… and finally a disappointment so genuine it bordered on childish.

  He clicked his tongue, but this time not theatrically. The ancestral demon of time felt wounded and humiliated.

  Lorena was already laughing as she walked away.

  He stayed seated a second longer than necessary, indignation and defeat warring in his posture.

  And worst of all… ready to try again.

  He was about to deliver one of his grandiose lines to recover his lost dignity when something interrupted him.

  As Lorena returned to the counter, her body failed her. Her foot didn’t quite land properly. Her heel touched the ground, but her knee didn’t respond. It buckled. She tried to compensate with her other leg, but it didn’t hold her weight either.

  Her muscles didn’t react. Her body tipped forward, without strength, without coordination or balance.

  Lorena didn’t have time to understand she was falling. Ekchron did, and in a second he was there. He caught her before her knees hit the floor. It was too fast. Too precise.

  Too concerned.

  His heart slammed violently against his chest.

  Lorena took a deep breath, leaning on him as she regained her balance.

  “Thank you…” she murmured, still dazed. “It was just dizziness.”

  She looked up at him and saw it then: Azul wasn’t smiling, and he wasn’t wearing his usual mask. His pupils were more dilated. His jaw rigid. The fingers at her waist weren’t possessive—they were protective.

  “You got here very fast,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “How did you do that?”

  Ekchron didn’t answer. He kept staring at her as if he had just witnessed something incomprehensible.

  But it wasn’t because of the near fall… it was because of what he had felt.

  That sudden drop in his stomach at the thought of her on the ground. That brutal urgency that had pierced his chest before he even thought. That primal impulse that had nothing to do with possession, or games, or entertainment.

  Fear.

  She felt light in his arms. Fragile. And the idea that she might break had been… unacceptable.

  Lorena frowned slightly.

  “Azul?”

  His silence wasn’t calculated this time. It was shock.

  He released her slowly, making sure she could stand on her own.

  “I need air,” he said at last.

  Which was absurd, because he didn’t breathe—but he was already walking toward the door.

  “Azul, wait—”

  He didn’t look at her. He crossed the bakery in a straight line and opened the door before she could finish the sentence.

  The bell chimed.

  Ekchron didn’t leave the bakery entirely; he staggered a few steps and stopped beside the fa?ade.

  He didn’t understand why the possibility of his favorite thing breaking had hurt more than five thousand years of existence.

  The pills she took every day. The way she sometimes needed to discreetly lean on the counter. The exhaustion that clung to her skin even when she smiled.

  And now this. She hadn’t tripped or stepped wrong. Her knee had simply failed. Her legs hadn’t held her weight. Her body had shut down for a second, as if someone had unplugged the strength keeping her upright.

  Ekchron didn’t like not understanding why she seemed to wear down a little more each day.

  But what unsettled him most was something else entirely: he didn’t understand why he cared so much.

  “Nice face.”

  A deep voice pulled him from his thoughts.

  Nikandros appeared as if he had simply been strolling by and stopped a couple of meters away.

  Ekchron was still leaning against the wall, staring at nothing in particular. Nikandros noticed something off. Too quiet.

  “Hey. What’s wrong?”

  Ekchron took a second longer to fully return.

  “Nothing.”

  Dry. Automatic.

  Nikandros studied him properly this time. His gaze slid to the bakery door. Then back to him.

  “Does it have anything to do with your baker?”

  Ekchron clicked his tongue.

  “Shut up.”

  He pushed himself off the wall, clearly intending to walk back inside… but he didn’t make it a full step. Nikandros shoved him without warning.

  Ekchron’s back hit the wall with a dull thud. Nikandros kept him there, one hand braced beside his head, his body blocking any advance.

  Nikandros had to bend down quite a bit to reach him. He kissed him without asking.

  Ekchron went rigid—not from unfamiliarity, but from timing. He hadn’t expected this now. Not when his pulse was still uneven for a different reason.

  Nikandros’s lips were firm, warm, insistent. Not a gentle gesture, but possessive. A “look at me.”

  Ekchron tried to push him away.

  “Nik, what—?”

  He didn’t finish. Nikandros kissed him again, harder this time, gripping his jaw so he couldn’t turn his face.

  Ekchron’s heart pounded again with that absurd force. His fingers clenched briefly in Nikandros’s shirt. And then he gave in. He answered.

  For a second that stretched too long, there was no bakery. No fear.

  Only them.

  Then Ekchron heard the bell and his senses reacted before his mind did. He pulled back abruptly, shoving Nikandros away.

  He was flushed, irritated, unsettled.

  The door opened.

  “Azul…” Lorena’s voice came first, worried. “I wanted to wait until you came back, but I was concerned. Are you okay?”

  Ekchron turned toward her sharply, still red and clearly flustered.

  “Perfectly.”

  Lorena frowned and looked at Nikandros. He was hard to miss. Tall. Broad. A fridge with legs that occupied space even when standing still.

  She noticed they weren’t exactly separated. The distance between their bodies wasn’t that of strangers who had just crossed paths.

  “And he…?”

  “He’s just a frie—”

  Nikandros grabbed his arm.

  “We’re leaving.”

  And started dragging him down the street without ceremony.

  “LET GO OF ME!”

  Ekchron struggled, trying to dig his heels into the ground with dignity that no longer existed.

  “Don’t touch me in public, ill-mannered monster!”

  A few heads turned from the opposite sidewalk. Nikandros didn’t slow down.

  “I’ll rip your arms off and use them as coat racks!” Ekchron added with genuine fury. “I’M WARNING YOU!”

  Nikandros simply kept pulling him as if nothing were happening.

  Lorena witnessed it all—every humiliating second, every insult—and looked away. She accidentally made eye contact with a woman passing by with grocery bags, who gave her a look heavy with judgment. Lorena cleared her throat with dignity, as if none of this had anything to do with her.

  She rested her hand on the door handle, still slightly weak.

  Her mind returned to a second earlier. She shook her head faintly, trying to piece it together. She couldn’t shake that small unease.

  The expression she had seen on Azul’s face when he caught her… it had been shock. Pure and undisguised. As if he had discovered something he hadn’t wanted to know.

  Lyciah walked a few steps behind the group, trying not to let her smile show too much.

  Up ahead, Elric and Seliane were arguing about something utterly irrelevant.

  Caelan walked between them and Lyciah.

  She watched his back. She wanted to say something—anything. She said his name silently in her mind. Rehearsed a sentence. Discarded it. Tried another. Worse.

  She just had to speak. It wasn’t that difficult. She’d done it before. Several times. Normal conversations.

  She quickened her pace slightly until she was walking beside him.

  “Cael—”

  Her voice came out far too soft. She cleared her throat, feeling ridiculous.

  “Caelan…”

  He turned his head just enough to show he was listening.

  “I… wanted to…”

  Her mind went blank. Why was speaking so complicated when it came to him?

  She took a deep breath and looked at him properly.

  Caelan seemed… focused. His expression was more closed-off than usual, his gaze fixed ahead as though he were assessing something invisible.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, shyly.

  He took a second before answering.

  “I’m thinking about Ekchron’s curse,” he said calmly. “It may be the only way to defeat him and drive him out of Spain.”

  Lyciah nodded quickly, even though she felt as if she was always half a step behind his reasoning.

  Caelan kept walking.

  “Another problem is that he isn’t alone.”

  That made Lyciah frown.

  “I’ve sensed another constant presence,” he continued. “Nikandros.”

  She looked at him, confused.

  “Nik… what?”

  Caelan finally met her eyes.

  “Ekchron was alone for millennia. Nikandros’ appearance brought that isolation to an end.”

  His voice lowered slightly as he slowed his pace. Seliane and Elric drifted ahead without noticing.

  “He’s a hybrid,” Caelan went on. “Human and demon. He has walked beside Ekchron for roughly 1700 years.”

  A faint chill ran through Lyciah. Hybrid. She was one too. An aberration, according to most.

  “Ekchron has chosen to keep him at his side for centuries… even though he’s a hybrid?”

  “Precisely because of that, he’s known.”

  He said it the way one might refer to a dangerous phenomenon.

  “Most demons don’t live past five hundred years. Internal conflicts. Lumens. Disputed territories. Short, violent lives.”

  He came to a complete stop. His gaze hardened.

  “If Nikandros, despite being a hybrid, has reached nearly two thousand years, it’s because Ekchron has protected him.”

  Lyciah lowered her eyes briefly. She knew what that meant: among demons, longevity translated directly into power.

  “And that means he’s extremely dangerous now…” she murmured.

  She was about to add something else when she felt it—that familiar presence she didn’t need to see to recognize.

  Sorian stood before them, motionless.

  Caelan reacted instantly, stepping in front of Lyciah without hesitation. Seliane and Elric moved back to stand on either side of her.

  Sorian made no gesture. His gaze passed over Caelan… and settled on his sister.

  Lyciah felt her shoulders tense.

  “Sorian…”

  For the first time, his name felt unfamiliar in her mouth.

  He stepped forward a few paces and stopped a short distance away.

  “Lyciah.”

  His voice was calm. Very different from the last time.

  “I just want to talk.”

  Lyciah hesitated. Instinctively, she moved closer to Caelan, as if her body remembered where it felt safe.

  This time, however, Sorian hadn’t come as Heliora’s general.