The world was silent when Kazimir opened his eyes.
Moonlight spilled through the tall glass windows of the penthouse suite, bathing the room in a pale, silvery glow. It caught the edges of the curtains, the lacquered wood of the floor, and the soft folds of the sheets tangled around him. But more than anything, it caught her.
Riah.
She was curled at his side, her breathing slow and steady, one hand resting gently against his chest. Her hair—a brilliant cascade of red and white, like wildfire streaked with purity—fanned across the pillow between them and spilled down onto his arm. In the low light, it shimmered like embers in snow.
Kazimir didn't move. Not yet.
The ache in his body lingered—echoes of wounds that even time hadn't fully erased. A dull, distant pain settled in his ribs, his back, behind his eyes. The cost of fighting alone. Of carrying too much.
And still… he'd do it again.
But now, lying beside the woman who once cut him down to stop him from killing himself with glory, he was forced to confront a different kind of weight.
She had saved him—not from an enemy, but from himself.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at her. Her expression in sleep was softer, more human than divine. No fire in her eyes, no holy wrath in her presence. Just breath. Just skin. Just Riah.
He moved a hand gently to her hair, brushing a few strands back from her face. The red reminded him of her fury, her pride. The white, of her grace, her impossible strength. She was a phoenix in every sense—fire and rebirth, pain and salvation.
"I don't deserve you," he whispered into the dark.
Riah stirred slightly, her brows twitching in her sleep. She mumbled something, voice low and quiet—"Kaz…"
He exhaled slowly, holding her a little tighter. "I'm here," he whispered, the words falling from him like an apology. "You don't have to fight for me tonight."
And maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to fight for the world—tonight.
He looked up at the ceiling. Beyond that, stars he once bent to his will. The gods that pulled his strings. The divine titles and infernal responsibilities that wrapped themselves around his soul like shackles.
The Eye of Nullity..
All of it was still there.
But right now, none of it mattered.
Because wrapped in moonlight and the quiet warmth of the woman who never gave up on him, he wasn't the weapon, or the myth, or the mistake.
And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to sleep—not to escape, not to retreat, but to rest.
Beside her.
Kazimir stirred in the stillness, the faint hum of the night brushing over his skin like a whisper from the stars. The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of Riah's breathing, and the steady thrum of his heartbeat—one he sometimes wondered was still his own.
He blinked once, then twice.
The pain… it was gone.
His hands slid beneath the sheets, fingers tracing along the length of his arms, his ribs, his chest. Where there once were old battle scars—torn skin, burns from imaginary essence backlash, and lashes from gods and monsters alike—there was now only smooth skin. Untouched. Reborn.
Kazimir's breath caught in his throat.
She had done this.
He turned slightly, eyes landing on Riah's sleeping face. Her lips parted just slightly with each exhale, lashes resting like soft feathers above her cheeks. Her red-and-white hair flowed over his chest like a silken veil, glowing faintly under the moonlight, almost holy in its presence.
Somewhere along the sleepless nights and shattered bones, she had silently given him peace.
Her flames—phoenix-born and divine—had done more than cauterize wounds. They had purified them. Erased them. Every old ache, every split muscle, every inch of cracked spirit had been burned away by her touch and rebuilt with something gentler.
A single tear slid down the side of his face, uninvited, but not unwelcome.
He had always thought some wounds weren't meant to heal.
That some pain was meant to stay. To remind him of the cost. To keep him grounded. Angry. Focused.
But she had disagreed.
She hadn't just healed him—she forgave him.
And more than that, she made him forgive himself.
With a trembling hand, he reached for her. Just lightly, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. She stirred again, a sleepy noise escaping her throat as she buried her face into his chest with a small sigh.
Kazimir closed his eyes.
"I see now," he whispered. "It's not my power that keeps the world safe…"
"It's you."
He wrapped his arms around her, carefully but fully, pulling her close. No armor. No masks. No pain.
Only Riah—and the warmth of her flames still lingering in the places he once believed broken beyond repair.
In that quiet moonlit room, for the first time in what felt like years…
Kazimir was whole.