** Could an undying love blossom in the ruins of a shattered world? **
And so the world of men was lost
and a new one, our world,
was born.
- Morrígan
Goddess of the Battle
of the Túatha Dé Danann -
4th cycle anno Bellum.
The Second World War...
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The tension that crackled between them seemed to burn and could have fuelled an entire city. A silent rage flashed in him and Myreille, but it could only mask the storm of loss if one did not look closely. However, they were deceiving less the other than themselves.
Zane, too, was a blade forged cold and hot over decades. Merciless hammers had molded him, striking him whenever the battle raged. But that had been his sole purpose in life: Created for battle. The exact purpose she had served as a blood hunter. They were both puppets, moving as they should, not as they wanted.
She had her master. He once had his king, who guided his steps and sent him into battle.
Lives were extinguished. Existences shattered like waves on a cliff. It tore you apart, but there was no room for grief, for it weakened a warrior. And if there were one thing the Cait-Sith would not tolerate, it was weakness. So they gave in to rage, anger, and the thought of revenge. They let the wild, animalistic part of their soul take control and, indeed, became wild animals.
There was no space, no time, and no place for feelings.
And now the sharp blades met in the eyes.
„Regular?" Zane hissed dangerously quietly. He squeezed his eyes tighter, and they seemed to flare even more viciously as he drew in a sharp breath. His heart hammered wildly in his chest. He felt torn apart and like a ship at the mercy of a storm that tossed him to and fro.
What she said was deeply offensive. The accusation that his brother - the sun, the light to his shadow - had consorted with someone like her, even more so in a way her voice implied... was unforgivable.
Zane had nothing but loathing for beings like her. Those who sold their bodies or used them to their advantage. A seething rage flared within him, whispering in a low voice that he must not allow this undead bitch to sully his brother's legacy. It urged him to pounce on her despite his injuries and seize the opportunity that presented itself.
She was so close to him. He only needed a heartbeat to transform. Just a moment and his teeth and claws could silence this already dead heart forever.
But the thought, at the same time, felt as wrong as the act of the humans who had brought the Vaesen into this world in the first place. As out of place as his very existence in this place. As if this act would only end up taking away the last thing he had left to breathe or plunge a dagger into his own ribs. He wanted to slit her throat and kiss those sinful lips at the same time.
