Chapter Text
The soft click of Bloom's heels against the polished marble echoed through the long corridor, the sound a steady rhythm, like the ticking of a clock - counting every second, every year, every hollow moment...
It had been ten years since Domino had been freed from the suffocating grasp of Obsidian, ten long years since the dark spell cast by the Ancestral Witches had finally broken. The curse that had blackened her kingdom, sinking its claws into the very heart of the land, had been severed.
But the scars it left behind ran deep, on the kingdom, on her people, on her.
She still remembered the way her planet had looked when she first arrived - a ruined, frozen wasteland. The great Domino, once a beacon of magic and prosperity, had been reduced to a graveyard of ice and ash.
Streets once lined with bustling markets and golden banners had been shrouded in frost, their colors long faded, their sounds long silenced. Towers that once pierced the sky had crumbled beneath the weight of the storm that raged endlessly overhead.
But the worst had been her people.
They had not simply been cursed, they had been twisted. Transformed into dark, mindless creatures, their skin a sickly shade of gray, their eyes black pits of hunger.
Gone was the humanity in them, what remained were husks bound to the Witches' will, prowling through the snow-covered ruins like feral animals, their lips curled into permanent snarls, their nails blackened into claws.
They had not recognized their queen when she arrived.
They had lunged at her, snarling and clawing. Hungry for her magic. For her blood.
But she had seen the truth, even then, seen the flickers of pain behind their eyes, the silent screams buried beneath the curse.
They hadn't been monsters.
They had been victims.
Her people, stolen from her, torn from themselves.
But the curse was gone now. The chains that had bound Domino to Obsidian were shattered, and the kingdom had bloomed back to life.
The ice had melted. The eternal storm had broken the moment the Witches' dark magic unraveled, and with it, the skies had cleared, allowing the sun to touch the land for the first time in two decades.
Now, the once-desolate streets flourished with gardens of wildflowers - bursts of purple, gold, and crimson pushing through cracks in the stone, as though the earth itself had been waiting to breathe again.
The air no longer reeked of death and decay but of rain-dampened soil and the soft perfume of rebirth.
The people had returned - not as monsters, but as men and women who had learned to smile again, to dance in the city square, to love without the weight of a curse on their backs.
She had watched it all unfold, watched the way they had begun to rebuild not just their homes but their lives. She had seen them weep as they remembered what it meant to feel warmth, to hold their children without fear, to speak their names without the taste of blood in their mouths.
And their queen had led them through it all.
Queen Bloom of Domino.
She was not the girl who had once stumbled into this kingdom with hope in her heart and a dream of reclaiming her birthright. That girl had been young, too young, and she had thought that saving her kingdom would mean saving herself.
But the woman who walked these halls now, with a crown of gold resting upon her fiery hair, knew better.
Because saving Domino had not saved her.
It had saved her people.
And that had been enough.
It had to be enough.
"My darling."
The voice was silk and sin, a familiar purr that sent a jolt through her heart.
Bloom's heart stopped.
From behind a marble pillar, a figure stepped into the corridor - broad-shouldered, poised, a lazy smirk curving his lips. His pale hair framed his handsome face, his storm-grey eyes flickering with that quiet intensity that had once set her blood aflame.
He moved with effortless grace, falling into step beside her as if he belonged there. As if he had never left.
"You look positively stunning today, my darling," Valtor murmured, his voice a velvet whisper. "Though, I imagine you already know that."
Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
It was him. The sharp cut of his jaw, the glimmer of mischief in his gaze, it was all him.
Bloom didn't dare look at him again. She kept her eyes forward, her fingers curling into the fabric of her gown, white-knuckled, as though the sensation would anchor her to reality.
Valtor wasn't there.
He hadn't been there for ten years.
And just as swiftly as he had appeared, he was gone again. And the space beside her was empty once more.
No scent of smoke and spice. No brush of his magic in the air. Just silence.
Just the echo of his voice in her head, the same voice she had not heard in ten long years.
Her imagination was cruel. It always had been.
It conjured him when she was alone, in the quiet moments between ruling and resting. It showed him standing at her side, watching her with that promise in his eyes, the promise of forever, of what they could have had.
But there was no forever.
There was no him.
There was only Bloom, walking these halls alone. She didn't allow herself the luxury of breaking.
Not now. Not ever.
The doors to the Council's Chamber groaned softly as they opened, the sound reverberating through the vast, sunlit room.
Bloom stepped inside, her every movement measured, every breath a quiet display of control. She had long learned that a queen did not rush. A queen did not falter.
At once, the ten men and women seated around the long obsidian table rose to their feet, their heads lowering in a respectful bow. A soft chorus of "Your Majesty" echoed through the chamber, the title like a familiar ghost that still sometimes felt too large for her to bear.
She inclined her head, just enough to acknowledge them, and moved with steady grace to the head of the table.
Her chair was carved from ancient silverwood, its arms adorned with delicate etchings of dragons, their serpentine forms entwined - an homage to the Dragon Flame that burned within her blood.
She took her seat.
Only then did the council members lower themselves back into their own chairs, their eyes carefully trained on her.
Lord Alaric, a man whose presence was as unyielding as stone, was the first to speak. His voice - low, clipped, controlled - cut through the silence like a blade.
"Your Majesty, we've received word from King Terendor of Andros regarding the ongoing trade negotiations. He has agreed to reopen the southern sea routes for Domino's vessels, provided Domino grants a reduction in tariffs for imported magical resources."
Bloom nodded slowly, her fingers resting lightly on the arms of her chair. "A reduction by how much?"
"Twelve percent," Alaric replied. "King Terendor is firm on that number. He believes it is fair compensation for the risk Andros takes in allowing our air ships through their more vulnerable coastal territories."
A fair price, but a high one. Bloom's mind worked quickly, weighing the costs against the rewards. Andros was a vital ally, not only for trade but for strategic defense. Their waters were powerful, their mermaid forces unmatched. A stronger bond between their kingdoms would strengthen Domino's standing.
Still, Bloom would not be bullied into a deal that weakened her kingdom.
"Offer him eight percent," Bloom said, her voice steady, regal. "Remind the king that Domino stationed a battalion of our strongest magic-wielders along Andros' northern coast last year when their tides were threatened. We value our alliance, but let it be clear that we have already paid part of the price in protection."
There was a brief silence, the kind that often followed a firm hand.
"Of course, Your Majesty." Lord Alaric dipped his head, swiftly noting her response onto the enchanted scroll hovering beside him.
Lady Elira, seated a few chairs down, offered a soft smile before she spoke.
She was younger than most of the council, a talented sorceress who had risen through the ranks due to both her magical prowess and her unrelenting loyalty to the kingdom.
"There is also the matter of the upcoming celebration tomorrow," Elira said, her voice light. "The ten-year anniversary of Domino's revival. Preparations are well underway."
Bloom's fingers stilled against the wood of her chair.
The anniversary.
Ten years since the curse was broken.
Ten years since Valtor died.
The council called it a celebration of Domino's restoration, a way to honor the kingdom's return to life. But to Bloom, it was something else entirely.
Valtor had died in the Obsidian Dimension the moment the dark realm collapsed, choosing to sacrifice himself so that she could live, so that her kingdom could live.
He had stolen her choice. She hadn't chosen her people over him, she had chosen him, and he had ripped that choice away, stepping into death before she could follow.
Her fingers tightened ever so slightly around the armrest of her chair, a white-knuckled grip hidden beneath the graceful set of her hand.
It wasn't a celebration.
It was a funeral, masked by bright banners and fireworks.
Bloom's lips pressed into a thin line, but her expression never faltered.
And then she felt it again.
A shift in the air, a presence, warm and familiar, and from the corner of her eye, a figure stepped out from behind one of the great marble pillars.
Her mind screamed that he wasn't real.
He never was.
But still, Valtor crossed the room without a sound, coming to a stop just behind her chair, standing half a step behind her, like a silent protector, a shadow bound to her flame.
One hand, long-fingered and elegant, rested on the backrest of her chair. A phantom touch, yet it burned through her skin like fire.
He leaned in, his voice a soft purr, warm, smooth, and devastatingly gentle.
"A celebration calls for a new dress," he murmured, his lips just at the shell of her ear. "Something worthy of a queen... so that you may shine even brighter than you do now."
Bloom's throat tightened.
His voice was soft, not mocking, not cruel. Just... him.
There was no bitterness, only that quiet, tender indulgence he had always reserved for her and her alone.
"Perhaps," he mused, "I should gift you another one."
Her heart cracked open, a silent ache spreading through her chest.
She could still remember the last dress he had given her - a deep blue gown and tiny charms tinkling with every step, fitted with a precision that only he could achieve. She had worn it the night they had danced in the gardens of Solaria, beneath a sky lit with shimmering stars.
That night, he had kissed her like she was his universe. And now... now he was nothing but a ghost conjured by her own broken heart.
"Your Majesty?"
Bloom blinked. Lady Elira was watching her expectantly, waiting for a response.
She would not let the council see the grief that still gnawed at her heart, the pain that never truly dulled. So, she straightened her spine, keeping her voice even. "What of the guest list?"
Elira nodded. "Invitations have been sent to the ruling families of the Magical Dimension. King Cryos has already confirmed his attendance, as have King Radius and Princess Stella of Solaria. Princess Galatea has declined, as expected."
Bloom nodded absently, her mind half-tethered to reality, and half-bound to the ghost of a man standing silently behind her.
"The royal family of Eraklyon is still deliberating," Elira continued. "Prince Sky has expressed his desire to come, but it seems King Erendor has yet to agree."
She focused on the words - the guest list, the arrangements, the delicate planning that came with hosting a celebration of this magnitude. It was easier than focusing on the figure that only she could see.
Elira pressed on, her voice smooth, professional. "As for Andros, Queen Niobe has sent word that both she and Princess Layla will attend, though they request accommodations near the castle's eastern wing, something about easier access to the water channels."
Bloom nodded faintly. "That can be arranged."
There was a pause, a fraction too long, before Elira spoke again. "Your Majesty," she said carefully, "it has also been noted that this celebration marks not only the tenth year of Domino's restoration... but ten years since the curse was broken."
Bloom felt it then - the subtle shift in the air, the weight of unspoken words creeping in like a cold draft beneath a locked door.
Lord Taven, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat softly. "It is only natural that such a milestone leads to... reflection. The people view this as not just a celebration of Domino's rebirth, but of its future."
Bloom's jaw tightened. She could feel it coming.
Sir Caldor, his voice low and steady, added, "Which is why some among the nobility have inquired, once again, about the matter of a prince consort."
And there it was.
Bloom felt the slow, creeping heat rise within her chest, the familiar bite of anger, but she forced it down, clenching her jaw, her knuckles whitening where her hand gripped the chair's armrest.
Of course. Of course, it would come back to this again.
Her voice was even, but a thread of steel wove through it. "We've discussed this before," she said, the words measured, clipped at the edges. "Many times. My stance has not changed. I will not marry."
It was not the first time the issue had been brought up, not by a long shot. It was a shadow that lurked behind every council meeting, every royal event, every whispered conversation that stopped the moment she entered the room.
The Queen of Domino had no husband, and they would never let her forget it.
For a moment, the room was silent again, but it didn't last. The others had found their courage now.
"Your Majesty," said Lady Liriel, her voice soft but insistent. "Forgive me, but the matter of succession cannot be ignored. The kingdom must have stability, a clear line of heirs. It is not simply about marriage, it is about the future of Domino."
Bloom's jaw tightened.
The future of Domino. She had heard those words so many times they felt carved into her very bones.
Lord Taven, his hands folded neatly on the table, spoke again. "It has been ten years, Your Majesty. The people love you, they trust you, but they also worry. What would happen if..."
He trailed off, but the unspoken words hung in the air like a blade: What would happen if you died?
Because that was what this was about. Not love. Not companionship.
It was about heirs. About the bloodline. About ensuring that Domino would not be left without a ruler should something happen to her.
To them, her marriage was not a personal matter. It was a political necessity. A duty.
And she had chosen love over duty.
Bloom's grip on the armrest tightened further, the memory of Valtor's hand resting there only moments ago like a ghostly burn against her skin.
Her council did not see him standing behind her.
They did not know that the only man she had ever considered marrying, the only man she had wanted to marry, had died.
And they did not know that when they spoke of a prince consort, of a husband, Bloom heard nothing but the echo of Valtor's voice, his soft murmur about gifting her a dress for the upcoming celebration, his hand resting where it no longer could.
She swallowed the ache that threatened to break her.
"There will be no prince consort," she said quietly, but there was no softness in her tone. Only a queen's command. "There will be no marriage."
Sir Caldor, his voice rough with age and experience, leaned forward slightly.
"Your Majesty," he said, "this is not a matter we can simply abandon. The people speak of it, and they wonder why their queen remains alone. It is not merely a question of heirs. It is a question of strength. A kingdom without a prince consort can seem vulnerable to others. To those who might seek to exploit..."
Bloom's gaze snapped to his, the flicker of fire within her impossible to miss.
"Are you implying," she said softly, "that Domino appears weak under my rule?"
For a moment, there was silence. Absolute, suffocating silence.
"No, Your Majesty," Caldor said, his voice steady but cautious. "But perception is a weapon, just as much as magic or steel. And the perception of a solitary ruler-"
Bloom cut him off. "I am not solitary."
She saw the looks that flickered between the council members again, pitying and calculating.
Because to them, she was.
A queen without a husband.
A ruler without an heir.
Bloom could almost feel Valtor standing there still, his silent presence a cruel comfort, a reminder that she was never truly alone... and yet always would be.
Her voice, when she spoke again, was soft but unyielding.
"This discussion," she said, "is over."
Her council fell silent once more.
And though none dared to argue further, Bloom could still feel the weight of their unspoken words pressing down on her, as if the crown atop her head was growing heavier with each passing second.
She was their queen.
And yet, in this moment, as the ghost of Valtor stood quietly behind her, his hand still resting against the back of her chair...
Bloom had never felt more alone.
The grand throne room of Domino was a vision of opulence and elegance, a place where even the stars themselves seemed to bow in reverence.
The high walls were draped in rich tapestries that depicted the history of her people - battles fought, victories won, and the once-dying kingdom brought back to life.
Glittering chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, their crystal prisms catching the light and scattering it across the room like a thousand fractured dreams.
Silver and gold streamers, embroidered banners, and bright garlands of flowers adorned every pillar, every surface, making the room feel like a celebration not just of the kingdom, but of life itself.
Bloom sat at the head of it all, upon her gilded throne, that should have symbolized of her strength, but today was a reminder of the the burden of a life she had been forced to lead.
Beside her throne stood a second, smaller one, equally adorned with gold, velvet cushions, and beautiful patterns of gemstones. It sat empty. Always empty.
It was a throne that had never truly belonged to anyone else, but Valtor. It was meant to be his. It was meant to be shared, with him by her side, standing with her, ruling with her.
Today, it mocked her in its silence, a hollow space that felt more real than anything else in this grand room.
Bloom tried to focus on the grandeur of the celebration, to drown out the ache in her chest, to bury the grief that threatened to consume her.
This morning, she had dressed with him in mind.
Bloom had chosen to wear the dress he had gifted her for the princess ball on Solaria. It was beautiful, just as she remembered. It was a dress that had once made her feel like the center of his universe.
She had chosen to wear his gift today because she needed it, needed that connection, needed something that still tied her to him. She needed to feel like she wasn't entirely lost.
When she had first put it on, standing before the mirror with trembling hands, she had been struck by the whisper of his voice in her ear.
"Such a grand celebration," he purred softly. "Shouldn't my queen wear a smile to match her beauty?"
Bloom froze.
Valtor leaned against the mirror frame beside her, a gesture so casual, so familiar, it shattered her from the inside out.
Her throat tightened. She refused to blink, refused to let the tears pooling in her eyes fall, because if she did, if she dared to shed even one tear, he would disappear. And she wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
His hand, or the memory of his hand, brushed against her shoulder, a touch so faint it might have been the wind.
"And yet," he said, "you always call me back."
Bloom's fingers curled against the skirt of her dress, digging into the soft fabric as though the pressure could steady her.
"I didn't call you," she lied.
Valtor smiled - that soft, bitter smile he always reserved for moments like this, when they danced too close to the edge of something dangerous, something real.
"You didn’t have to say it, my darling," he whispered, his voice a gentle accusation. "I hear you, even when you don’t speak a word."
Bloom closed her eyes for a fleeting moment, her reflection shimmering in the mirror, and when she opened them again, he was gone.
There was only the mirror, only her, standing there in the dress he had once given her.
Her bedroom room was silent, save for the faint rustle of her dress as she drew in a slow, steadying breath.
The celebration was in full swing with people dancing in the grand room, voices rose in cheer, and music filled the air, the clinking of glasses, the cheers of her people celebrating the rebirth of their kingdom.
But then, through the crowd, a ray of light cut through the dimness.
A laughter, warm and bright, lifted her spirits like a burst of sunshine breaking through storm clouds. Bloom's eyes snapped to the entrance of the room, where Stella entered with her radiant smile and golden locks flowing behind her like a halo.
Stella's presence seemed to fill the room with light, her very aura making the air feel lighter, more breathable.
Bloom, grateful for the distraction, pushed herself from her seat and began weaving through the guests toward Stella. Her heels clicked softly against the marble as she moved, her eyes locking onto her friend, who was making her way toward the center of the room.
But Bloom didn't get far.
Guests from every corner of the Magical Dimension - nobles, dignitaries, ambassadors - mingled in clusters of conversation.
"Your Majesty, what a spendid evening!" The voice was that of Lady Mirabelle, a courtier known for her over-the-top fashions and her equally exaggerated compliments. "I simply must commend you on your gown tonight. The charms are exquisite! I could only dream of having such impeccable taste. Truly, a royal vision."
Bloom forced a smile, nodding graciously as she tried to peel away from her. "Thank you, my lady. You are too kind."
"Not at all!" Lady Mirabelle continued, oblivious to Bloom's desire to move on. "I was just telling Lord Darrington over there that you've truly set the bar for all future royal functions. I daresay I'm envious."
She gestured over her shoulder to an older man, Lord Darrington, who stood with a glass of wine in his hand, looking at Bloom with a faint smile of approval.
Bloom gave him a courteous nod, but the distraction had already taken her away from the path toward Stella.
"Your Majesty," called Lord Trenton, another nobleman, bowing deeply as he stepped forward. "I must say, the evening seems to be as splendid as your reputation. A true credit to the crown."
Bloom returned the bow with a practiced smile, her voice soft yet firm. "You are too kind, Lord Trenton. It is my duty, of course. I hope you are enjoying the celebration?"
"Oh, quite so, Your Majesty. The wine is superb, as always. And the company..." He glanced at Lady Mirabelle, "Well, the company is even more delightful."
Bloom nodded politely, her smile never wavering as she offered a few more pleasantries before excusing herself.
She moved on, the room a blur of faces, each more eager than the last to make their mark upon the Queen's attention. She exchanged brief pleasantries with a few more courtiers, her eyes scanning the crowd, searching for Stella.
It was then that she found herself face-to-face with a young man she didn't recognize, though she had heard of him before. Ser Raynor, the son of one of Domino's wealthiest merchants, his dark hair immaculately combed back, and his eyes glittering with ambition.
"Your Majesty," he began with a bow, his voice smooth and eager. "It is a true honor to be in your presence tonight. I must confess, I've always admired the way you carry yourself. Truly, a queen in every sense of the word."
"Thank you, ser," Bloom replied, her tone gentle but distant. "I'm glad you could join us this evening."
Raynor smiled broadly, his eyes lingering a little too long. "If I may, Your Majesty, I wonder if perhaps you might consider granting me a private audience? I would be honored."
Bloom's smile tightened ever so slightly. She had long since grown used to such advances, always politely deflecting them.
But the conversation was growing tiresome, and she could feel the weight of the room pressing against her chest. "I appreciate the offer, but I still have many guests to greet," she said, her voice quiet but firm.
Raynor, though taken aback, quickly recovered. "Of course, Your Majesty. A queen's duties, no doubt."
Bloom offered him a quick nod, and with a soft murmur of farewell, she continued her path through the room, the conversation already slipping from her memory.
As she moved deeper into the crowd, more young men appeared before her, each one offering their compliments, their polite greetings, their subtle hints at wanting more.
There was Lord Caelan, with his pale blue eyes and princely demeanor, who spoke of his admiration for her bravery. There was Lord Ashton, who spoke of how he had long wanted to meet the Queen of Domino, and how he thought her reign had been so wise and just.
Each time, Bloom responded with a kind smile, a gentle word, but inside, she was retreating further into herself, wishing she could disappear from their eager eyes.
Another young man, one of the many sons of Domino's noble families, appeared before her and blocked her way, a shy but eager smile playing on his lips.
"Your Majesty, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Ser Caspian, the nephew of your council member Lord Alaric. It would be my utmost honor to share a dance with you," he said, his voice filled with hope.
Bloom froze for a moment, caught in the suddenness of the request. Her gaze drifted down to his outstretched hand, his youthful face bright with anticipation. The boy seemed to hold his breath, waiting for her answer.
Before Bloom could even think of a response, Lord Alaric who had accompanied Caspian, stepped in. His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension with practiced ease.
"Boy," came the reprimanding growl of Alaric. He stepped forward, placing a hand on his nephew's shoulder, his face a mask of disapproval. "You would do well to remember your manners. Her Majesty does not dance."
Cedric's face flushed crimson, and he quickly stepped back, mumbling a hasty apology as Lord Alaric placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
The older man turned to her, his smile polite, but his eyes sharp. "My apologies, Your Majesty. My nephew is young and still learning the finer points of etiquette."
Bloom nodded stiffly, her smile forced as she tried to smooth over the situation. "No offense taken, my lord," she said.
She smiled politely and wanted to wish them a good evening. The words hung on the edge of her tongue, but they never came.
Because in that fleeting moment, as Caspian's hopeful smile faded and Lord Alaric's polished mask of propriety settled back into place, Bloom's mind betrayed her.
She didn't see Caspian anymore, nor Alaric, nor the grand ballroom shimmering with gold and crystal.
Instead, she saw the last person she had danced with.
His hand, strong yet gentle, resting against the small of her back. The way his touch had sent an uninvited thrill down her spine, the unspoken tension crackling like a storm between them. His grey eyes - always so intense, so watchful - softening just for a moment as they moved in perfect rhythm.
And the way the world had seemed to blur and fade, leaving only the two of them, bound by something far greater than mere love.
Bloom's heart lurched. Her breath caught in her throat. She could almost feel the ghost of his hand in hers, the memory burning hotter than it should have.
The throne room suddenly felt suffocating. The air too thick, the candlelight too bright, the crowd too loud.
Stella... she had been looking for Stella, hadn't she? To share a laugh, to push aside these dark thoughts for one night. But Stella's name was now a distant echo, a forgotten intention swept away by the storm rising inside her.
She needed air. She needed distance.
"Enjoy your evening, my lords," Bloom finally murmured, or thought she did, the words brittle and distant as if they belonged to someone else.
Without waiting for a response, she turned swiftly, her gown whispering against the polished floor, and made her way toward the far side of the ballroom. Each step felt heavier, the crowd a blur of faces she didn't bother to acknowledge.
The balcony doors stood open, a silent invitation to escape.
The cool night air hit her like a wave as she stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat within. The balcony was a quiet haven, the sky above vast and star-strewn.
A few guards stood at a respectful distance, their gazes fixed on the gardens below, paying no mind to the Queen slipping into the shadows.
Bloom moved to a far corner, where the marble railing curved into a secluded alcove. Here, finally, she stopped, her hands gripping the stone, her knuckles white.
She closed her eyes, letting the chill night air fill her lungs. But no matter how deeply she breathed, the memory still lingered.
"Would you not even dance with me, my darling?"
His voice - smooth as silk, dark as midnight, a cruel melody she had heard countless times in her dreams - echoed through the silent gardens.
Her chest tightened as if an invisible hand had clenched around her ribs, crushing them inward, forcing the air from her lungs.
But he was not here, she whispered to herself. He was not real.
Her fingers curled into the folds of her dress, but she did not turn around. She refused to look.
She kept her head high, her lips pressed into a thin line, and pretended she had not heard. It was a cruel trick of her heart. That was all. Just another cruel trick.
But then, he spoke again.
"I had hoped for a dance," his sinful voice drawled, cutting through her heart like a blade of ice. "After all, the journey to join your celebration was a long one."
Bloom's throat closed. Her pulse pounded like a war drum in her ears. His voice was velvet wrapped around steel, carrying that familiar mocking lilt, the one that made her heart ache even as it sent a thrill of pain through her.
No.
No.
She didn't turn. She didn't breathe. She didn't move. Because the hallucination would pass, just like it always did.
"Will you not even look at me, my darling?"
"Go away," Bloom whispered, her voice hoarse, barely more than a breath. "Leave me alone."
The words were meant to be firm, unyielding, but they cracked at the edges, betraying her.
Silence.
For a heartbeat, she thought - dreaded and hoped - that the voice in her head would vanish like smoke, that it had never truly been there at all.
A low chuckle, smooth and soft, like the purr of a predator. "Oh, my darling Bloom..."
And then she heard it, the sound that unraveled her.
Footsteps. Her blood ran cold.
Slow, deliberate, echoing against the marble floor of the balcony - a steady rhythm of heel against stone. Each step was louder than the last, a dark metronome keeping time with the frantic pounding of her heart.
In her visions, he had never made a sound when he moved. He had been a silent specter, an ominous presence that loomed at the edges of her mind, a shadow just out of reach.
But this... this was real.
The boots were too loud, too solid.
Her body locked in place, her fingers tightening around the stone railing, as though she could anchor herself to the cold marble and somehow stop the world from spinning.
Her mind rebelled against the truth, screaming that it was impossible, that this was just another cruel fantasy conjured by her broken heart.
She had dreamed of him too many times before, seen him leaning against doorways with that familiar, lazy smile, heard him whisper her name in the lonely dark of her chambers, felt the ghost of his touch on her skin when sleep betrayed her.
But this time, she had heard him move.
This time, he wasn't a phantom haunting the ruins of her heart.
The floor beneath her feet seemed to tilt.
The rustle of leaves in the night breeze, the distant chirp of crickets - it all became a distant murmur, a faint echo lost in the roaring silence inside her mind. Her vision blurred at the edges, and for a single, excruciating moment, she thought her heart had stopped beating entirely.
This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a cruel trick of her imagination.
Valtor wasn't a ghost conjured by her grief.
He was real.
And he was standing behind her.
Her fingers, still clutching the fabric of her dress, began to tremble - a violent, uncontrollable quiver that started in her hands and spread like poison through the rest of her body.
Every bone felt as though it had turned to ice, her blood frozen solid in her veins, as if the very essence of her had been yanked from reality and thrust into some cruel, waking nightmare.
It was impossible.
He had died.
She had not seen it, not witnessed the moment his body crumpled and the light dimmed in his grey eyes.
No, it had been so much worse than that.
She had felt the thread that bound him to her through the Dragon Flame - that ancient, unyielding bond between their souls - snap. It had ripped through her like a blade of fire, a searing, unbearable pain that left her hollow and broken.
She had felt his life seep away, felt it drain from him like water slipping through her fingers, until there was nothing left but silence.
And in that silence, something inside her had shattered, something deeper than bone or flesh, something vital. When his flame had gone out, it had taken half of her soul with it.
The gardens blurred at the edges, the light too sharp, the air too thin. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, not from fear, but from a sickening, twisted hope that threatened to drown her.
She didn't want to turn around.
But her body betrayed her. Slowly, dread and longing tangling into one unbearable knot in her chest, she began to turn.
It was a delicate, hesitant movement, like a fragile petal bending beneath the weight of a storm. Her vision wavered, and for a horrible second, she thought maybe her mind would break before her heart did.
But then, her gaze lifted-
And there he was.
Valtor.
He stood there, alive, a dark vision of sinful beauty that made her breath catch like a sob.
The years had not changed him. He looked exactly, painfully, devastatingly, like the last time she had seen him.
The black coat accentuated his broad shoulders, its rich red lining flashing beneath the dark fabric like a flicker of fire. The crisp white shirt, unbuttoned just enough to hint at the hard muscle underneath, was a cruel reminder of the man she used to touch, used to know.
His fitted black pants vanished into knee-high leather boots, each polished to a sinful shine, the entire image of him both elegant and dangerous, an echo of the man who had once ruled both her heart and her ruin.
But it was his face - oh, his handsome face - that destroyed her.
The same long, pale hair cascaded down his back, framing his sharp jawline, a halo of light against the shadow of the man himself. And his eyes, those storm-grey eyes that had once burned with magic and mischief, were staring at her now, twinkling with some dark amusement.
But there was something else hidden in their depths, something deeper, something raw.
Love. The kind of love that hadn't faded even in death.
A slight smile played on his lips, that infuriating, familiar smirk - equal parts amusement and adoration - the one she had once kissed away in the quiet hours of the night.
Bloom's heart didn't just break. It imploded, a silent, brutal collapse inside her chest.
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't think.
She couldn't move.
But there was an ache, a violent and consuming ache, to touch him.
Because if he was a ghost, if this was another cruel trick of her mind, then she needed to know. She needed to feel it, to confirm it, to shatter herself completely.
Her hand rose slowly, so slowly trembling in the space between them.
She didn't blink, didn't dare breathe, as her fingertips brushed against his cheek.
Warmth.
He was warm.
Not the cold, empty chill of a spirit.
Not the lifeless touch of a dream.
But real, skin and blood and heat.
Her palm flattened against his face, her fingers spreading along his jawline, as if her touch alone could anchor him to this world, to her.
A soft, broken sound escaped her lips, something between a sob and a gasp, and her vision blurred with tears she couldn't stop, didn't want to stop.
"Bloom, my darling," he whispered, his voice softer this time, a whisper meant only for her.
Her heart twisted, and a sob clawed its way up her throat.
He was real.
He was here.
And the last ten years of mourning, of emptiness, of grief that had gnawed at her like a hungry beast... it all unraveled in an instant, leaving her exposed, raw, and bleeding.
Because he wasn't a ghost.
Valtor, the man she had loved and lost, was alive.
And Bloom didn't know whether to kiss him or to break apart right there, in the middle of the royal gardens, as she crumbled beneath the weight of a single word:
His name.
And her hand was on his cheek, warm skin beneath her trembling fingers, when the rage struck.
It was sudden, violent, and all-consuming. A roaring fire inside her chest that burned hotter than the Dragon Flame itself.
And before she even knew what she was doing, before the heartbreak could swallow her whole, her hand rose.
And then she slapped him.
The sound cracked through the night air like a whip, sharp and merciless.
Valtor's head snapped to the side, his pale hair falling across his face in a tangle of silken strands. The imprint of her hand, a fierce and angry red, bloomed across his cheek, vivid against his pale skin.
He didn't move. He didn't retaliate.
For a long, breathless moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then Valtor huffed, a soft and almost resigned sound, and wet his lips. His tongue darted out to the corner of his mouth, tasting the sting of her fury.
"I deserved that," he murmured softly, his voice hoarse, not from anger, but from something deeper. Something raw.
It only fed the storm within her.
The fury that had been simmering beneath years of grief, the fury she had buried alongside him, now erupted like an unstoppable inferno.
Bloom stepped back, her hands now ablaze with the untamed, blistering heat of the Dragon Flame.
Her magic flared violently, glowing brighter than the stars above, the air crackling and shifting with every furious beat of her heart.
"How dare you," she whispered at first, a broken sound, but filled with venom.
And then it exploded from her, each word a scream. "How dare you!"
Her first blast of flame shot toward him, a spiraling orb of white-hot fire, but Valtor didn't move, didn't lift a hand to shield himself.
The magic died inches from his chest, fizzling into harmless embers before it could touch him.
Her fury only grew.
"How dare you leave me like that?" she cried, her voice shaking. "How dare you die without saying goodbye!"
Another flame, larger this time, wild and reckless, hurtled at him.
Again, it dissipated before reaching him. His magic quietly unraveled hers, unyielding, but never striking back.
Valtor's eyes never left her, storm-grey and unblinking.
"You are a coward," Bloom spat, her voice breaking. "You didn't even tell me. You didn't even say a word, you left me with a letter, a fucking letter-"
Her chest heaved, the fire in her veins threatening to consume her.
"And you broke my heart," she whispered now, tears burning tracks down her cheeks. "No... you didn't just break it."
Another ball of flame tore from her palm, searing through the air between them, larger and brighter, a desperate, unrelenting fury.
"You took my heart, Valtor."
The flame vanished before it could touch him.
"You ripped it in half-"
Another blast.
"And then, you destroyed what was left of it."
Her magic flared so brightly that the gardens felt as though the sun itself had descended into the night sky.
The royal guards finally stormed in, swords drawn, a chorus of shouts echoing through the air.
"Your Majesty!" one of them bellowed.
Another drew his blade, ready to step protectively between Bloom and Valtor.
But Bloom whirled on them, eyes blazing with fire.
"Stay back!" she roared, her voice a queen's command, unyielding and absolute.
She didn't wait for their response. With a flick of her wrist, a wall of fire erupted between her and the guards, a towering, roaring barrier of golden flames.
The guards stumbled back, heat licking at their swords, but none dared cross the line.
It was just her and Valtor now.
And as she stood there, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, the fire still glowing in her palms, Bloom saw it.
The pain.
Not in his stance - for Valtor was still, calm as ever - but in his eyes.
Behind the flicker of his storm-grey gaze, there was a grief that mirrored her own, a silent agony that spoke of years of longing, of regret, of a wound that had never truly healed.
He had taken every blast of her fury without a word.
But she could see how each accusation carved deeper into him.
And somehow, it only made the ache in her chest worse.
Valtor didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stood there, that cursedly beautiful face still turned slightly from the last blast of her magic, the faint red imprint of her hand still vivid against his cheek.
He hadn't tried to stop her.
He hadn't tried to defend himself.
Because this, this wasn't a battle.
It was a reckoning.
"Say something," Bloom choked, her voice breaking on the last word. "Damn you, Valtor. Say something!"
Her magic surged again, another blazing sphere of golden flame building in her palm, but this time, it quivered - unstable and quickly faltering - because her hands were shaking too much to control it.
But before she could release it, before she could burn another part of her pain into the air, Valtor finally spoke.
His voice was soft. "I am sorry, my darling."
It shattered her.
Because he sounded... tired. No, not tired. Worn. As though the same grief that had gnawed at her for years had been feasting on him too.
"Tell me why," she said, her voice hoarse, her throat raw from the force of her rage. "Tell me why you left me with nothing but a letter, Valtor. Tell me why you didn't say goodbye."
Her voice cracked.
"Why didn't you let me hold you one last time?"
His eyes darkened, the flicker of pain in them more brutal than any flame she could conjure.
Bloom's fingers twitched at her sides, and another tear spilled down her cheek - molten, silent, unrelenting.
"I would have followed you into death," she whispered. "I would have burned the whole world down to keep you alive."
Valtor flinched, barely, but she saw it.
And that slight crack in his perfect mask only stoked the fire in her chest.
"But you didn't let me." Her voice rose again, sharp as a blade. "You chose death over me."
Another orb of Dragon Flame burst from her palm, but it fizzled out midair, his magic unraveling it once more, silent and careful, like he was afraid of hurting her with even a single ripple of power.
"You didn't fight to stay," she snarled. "You didn't even try."
His lips parted, his jaw working soundlessly for a moment, and the storm in his gaze raged beneath his calm exterior.
Bloom stepped forward, the wall of fire behind her flickering with every unsteady breath she took.
"I felt you die, Valtor." Her voice cracked again.
He swallowed hard, so hard Bloom saw the bob of his throat, but he didn't speak.
"I felt the thread between us snap. I felt your life leave me."
Valtor's jaw tightened, his teeth pressing together like he was holding something back, words or tears, she didn't know which.
"And you left me," Bloom whispered. "You left me to drown in the silence."
Her hands still trembled at her sides, not from magic or from rage, but from the unbearable ache clawing through her ribs.
Then... then there was nothing but silence. And the wreckage of two hearts still bleeding for each other.
The flames in Bloom's hands flickered - once, then twice, and they finally died.
Her magic, once a raging inferno, sputtered out like a candle in the wind, leaving behind only the smoldering embers of her grief and fury. The fire wall separating them from the rest of the gardens faded, but the guards still didn't move. No one dared.
It was just her and Valtor.
Her vision blurred with fresh tears, and her knees threatened to buckle beneath the crushing weight of her emotions. Every inch of her screamed to pull away, to run, to protect what little remained of her shattered heart, but she couldn't move. She couldn't breathe.
And then, Valtor crossed the distance between them.
Slowly, carefully, as though afraid she might ignite once more and burn him where he stood.
But Bloom didn't move. She just watched him, silent and wide-eyed, as he reached for her.
His hands, warm and steady despite the tremor in his fingers, gently cupped her tear-streaked face. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, wiping away the tracks of grief she could no longer hide.
His touch burned, but not like fire - it was a different kind of heat, something warm and familiar. Something that made her chest ache even more.
"Bloom," he whispered, his voice rough, like it hurt to speak. "Leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever done."
Her lips trembled, and the sob she'd tried to choke back broke free.
Valtor's face - his beautiful, devastating face - was a mask of anguish. His storm-gray eyes, usually so unreadable, were bare now, open.
"Do you think I wanted to stay behind?" he asked, his voice cracking just slightly. "Do you think I wanted to push you through that portal and let you go without me?"
Bloom shook her head, violently, desperately. "You didn't tell me! You didn't say goodbye!"
"Because I couldn't," Valtor rasped, his forehead nearly resting against hers now. "Because if I had said the words, if I had even tried to explain... I wouldn't have been able to do it."
Another sob tore from her throat.
Valtor's hands didn't leave her face - they only held her tighter, like she was the only thing keeping him standing.
"I never knew," he whispered, "that I could love someone as much as I love you."
Her heart shattered.
She broke, utterly and completely, and the tears came again, harder this time, her whole body shaking. Valtor's hands slipped from her face to her shoulders, holding her steady as if she might collapse.
"It felt," he said softly, "like ripping my own heart out when I pushed you through that portal to safety."
Bloom's knees buckled.
But Valtor caught her, he always did.
His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, steadying her as her sobs wracked her frame. Her hands, once so desperate to hurt him, now clung to his shirt, fisting the soft white fabric like she might fall apart if she let go.
It was too much.
All of it, too much.
"How?" she finally whispered, her voice so small, so broken. "How are you here? How- how did you come back?"
Valtor's lips hovered above her hairline, his breath warm against her skin.
And then, in a voice so soft it was almost a prayer, he said:
"Not even death can keep me from you, my darling."
Her heart stopped.
The world stopped.
She wasn't sure if it was his words - those impossible, devastating words - or the way he said them, his voice raw with a love that cut deeper than any blade.
Her fingers, still knotted in the fabric of his shirt, trembled. "You... you died, Valtor," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I felt it. I felt you die."
His forehead remained against hers, and for a moment, all he did was breathe - a ragged, uneven sound that felt like it belonged to a man who had lived a thousand lifetimes of pain.
"I did," Valtor finally said, his voice like smoke and velvet. "I died."
Bloom flinched, her entire body tensing at the confirmation. It was one thing to know it, to have felt his life slip from the thread that connected their souls. But to hear him say it, so calmly, so painfully, shattered something inside her all over again.
"Then how?" she choked out. "How are you here?"
Valtor's thumb brushed a stray tear from her cheek. "Because," he said softly, "death didn't break the bond between us." His storm-gray eyes met hers, filled with a quiet agony. "I was lost, Bloom. Trapped somewhere between existence and oblivion, but I still felt you."
Her lips parted, a silent sob threatening to rise again.
"I felt your grief," Valtor whispered. "I felt the way you mourned me, the way you cursed me for leaving you, the way you... still love me."
Bloom let out a strangled sound - half a sob, half a breath - because it was true. She had never stopped loving him, no matter how much she hated him for leaving.
Valtor's hand slid from her cheek, resting against her neck, his thumb idly tracing the line of her jaw. "It was that love," he said, voice breaking, "that pulled me back."
Her heart pounded.
She couldn't breathe.
"Every time I thought I would slip away for good, I heard your voice," Valtor continued, his hand tightening ever so slightly against her skin. "I felt the part of you that still clung to me, even though I didn't deserve it."
Bloom shook her head, fresh tears spilling down her face. "Don't-"
But Valtor didn't let her finish. "It brought me back," he said again, his voice a whisper of a storm. "You brought me back."
Her legs gave out, but Valtor was there, catching her, holding her, keeping her together even though he was the very reason she had fallen apart.
And then - before she could think, before she could stop herself - Bloom's hand shot up to his chest, over his heart.
She pressed her palm flat against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Real. He was real.
Warm skin, strong muscles, a steady pulse, all of it so painfully, agonizingly real. She could feel the Dragon Flame stirring deep inside her, restless, alive - roaring, yearning.
Everything she had felt before - all the anger, all the pain, all the grief - melted into something else entirely. Something that burned hotter than the deepest inferno, something that twisted inside her, urgent and hungry.
He was alive.
"Valtor..." she breathed, her voice trembling on the edge of desperation, raw and real. She could feel the heat radiating from him, his body close to hers. And yet, it was never enough.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, as if she could somehow merge their two broken pieces, as if the two of them together would become whole again. She was trembling, every inch of her body alive with the crackling energy between them.
"Bloom," he whispered, his voice thick with pain, love, and something that burned hotter than the anger she'd carried for years.
She saw the raw, desperate need in his eyes. He had come back from the edge of death itself for this, for her. And she realized that nothing else mattered.
Not the past. Not the pain. Not the years apart. Only this. Only now.
Her heart hammered in her chest, every beat reverberating through her, and without thinking, without hesitation, she pulled him toward her.
The kiss was pure fire - desperate, hungry, raw.
The moment their lips met, it was as if a thousand sparks exploded between them, igniting a fire that consumed everything in its path. His mouth moved against hers with a fierce intensity, as if he was reclaiming something he had lost, something he had been waiting for.
His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her flush against him, his body a solid wall of heat and strength.
She responded in kind, her hands threading through his hair, tugging him closer, if that was even possible.
She needed him, all of him.
And in this moment, he was hers.
Valtor's kiss was everything. It was the fire of the Dragon Flame that burned through her, searing her soul with every second. His lips were a perfect blend of passion and dominance, coaxing, claiming, taking, but with a tenderness that nearly broke her.
His tongue traced the curve of her lips before sliding deeper, and she met him with equal fervor, the kiss deepening, the hunger growing.
It was slow at first, teasing, exploring, the brush of their tongues a tantalizing promise of what was to come. But it didn't stay slow for long. Her heart was pounding, her body trembling with want, her hands gripping him as though she could never let go.
His hands slid up her back, pulling her tighter against him, until there was no space left between them, just the heat of their bodies and the fire in their souls.
Every kiss, every touch was a promise - a promise that this was real.
That he was real.
That they were real.
And with every pass of his lips, every caress of his hands, she was reminded of everything they had been, and everything they still could be.
When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, their foreheads pressed together, their breaths mingling in the space between them. Bloom's eyes were wide, lips swollen, heart racing. She couldn't think, couldn't speak. She was drowning in him, in the fire, in the heat, in the love.
Valtor's thumb brushed over her swollen lips, his voice low and ragged. "I am yours, even when I am nothing, my darling," he murmured, his eyes dark with passion.
Bloom closed her eyes, breathing him in, the remnants of his kiss still lingering on her lips. Her heart was still racing, but now, it was a different kind of ache. A kind of ache that only he could heal.
"Even in the darkest moments, I will always love you," she whispered back, her voice barely audible, her hand rising to touch his face, to feel the warmth of his skin, to remind herself that this wasn't a dream.
And then, without another word, their lips collided again, this time with even more desperation, more hunger, more love.
A kiss that was as hot and beautiful as the fire they created together, a kiss that spoke of everything they had lost, and everything they had found again.
And it was just the beginning.