The soul remembers what the flesh dares not.
The night was quiet in a way that made the skin prickle. The crickets dared not sing, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath, listening to the secrets that stirred beneath the earth.
Alaric stood outside the spirit hut, his gaze fixed on the dark sky. The Codex pulsed a soft, warm rhythm beneath his ribs, a living part of him now. The faint glow of the sigils he had begun to sketch seemed to rise from the pages of his journal, though no ink had touched them. His mind, the mind of a scientist, should have been filled with complex formulae and intricate diagrams.
Instead, it was consumed by her.
Amarachi.
He thought of the soft feel of her voice wrapping around his name, a melody that resonated deep within him. The way her presence seemed to slow time, making every moment with her feel like an eternity. The way her eyes, ancient and knowing, burned with a light that seemed to see straight into his soul.
Though he was supposed to stay away he still found himself walking to her hut.
When he stepped inside the hut, the sight of her undid him all over again, a quiet surrender of his heart. She sat near the fire, her legs folded gracefully beneath her, the flickering light casting golden shadows across the rich, dark silk of her skin. Her wrapper had loosened around one shoulder, baring the graceful line from her neck to the gentle curve of her breast. But it wasn't just the sensuality of her body that held him captive; it was the sheer gravity of her soul, a profound depth that pulled him in.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, her voice soft, not looking up, as if she knew he was there without needing to see him.
"No," he admitted, moving closer, drawn by an invisible thread. "Too many thoughts."
"Of the Codex?" Her lips tilted slightly, a hint of a gentle smile.
"Of you," he said, his voice raw with honesty, the truth pouring out of him.
That made her still. The air in the small hut seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken emotions. When she finally looked up, the fire reflected in her eyes like molten stars, ancient and beautiful. "This can't be," she whispered, her voice barely audible, filled with a deep sorrow.
"But it is," he countered, his own voice steady, unwavering. There was no denying the powerful pull between them.
"You are not from this land. You are not born of our gods," she reasoned, her voice tinged with a painful practicality, a gentle restraint that warred with the undeniable connection between them.
He moved closer, compelled by an irresistible force, and knelt before her, his eyes pleading with hers. "Maybe not. But I feel them when I'm near you. I see visions when I dream of you. Maybe I'm not here to observe the Codex. Maybe I am a part of it. Maybe I'm here because of it."
Amarachi looked away, her jaw tight, a battle raging within her. "The gods are cruel," she murmured, her voice laced with bitterness. "They show us the sweetness of love but demand we taste only ash. They show us a path, then force us to walk another."
He reached for her hand, his fingers gently closing around hers. "Let them rage, then. Let them demand what they will. But I won't walk away from what I feel. I won't pretend this isn't real."
She didn't pull her hand back. But her body trembled, a delicate tremor that ran through her, and he couldn't tell if it was from desire or fear, or perhaps a mixture of both. It was the fear of losing control, of succumbing to a love that history had shown to be perilous.
"I remember you," he said softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. "In fragments. A kiss once shared under a different sky.
A promise whispered on the wind.
The searing heat of fire. Your body, warm and real, in my arms. Our souls bound by something older than death itself."
Tears rimmed her lashes, glistening like dew in the firelight. "Then you remember how it ended," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You chose love. I chose duty. And the world burned. Everything we cherished turned to ash around us." It was a reminder, a warning, a plea for restraint.
"I'll choose you again," he said, his voice firm, unwavering in its conviction. "Even if it burns again." His love for her was a fierce flame, willing to endure any consequence.
He cupped her face, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears. She closed her eyes, a silent acceptance. Their lips met. It was not frantic or rushed, not a desperate grab for what was forbidden. It was slow, like a song once forgotten but now remembered in full, every note perfect, every harmony rich. Her body softened against his, heat blooming where their skin met, a gentle warmth that spread through them both. The kiss deepened, a tender tangle of soul and hunger, a silent conversation between two beings eternally bound. His hands slipped to her waist, drawing her closer. Her fingers, delicate yet firm, gripped his shoulders.
But just as his breath broke against her throat, just as the moment threatened to consume them wholly, she pulled away, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
"No," she whispered, her voice filled with a profound sadness.
"I can't. Not yet."
He paused, breathing hard, his heart aching with the sudden distance.
"Why?"
"Because I want to give you all of me," she said, tears now falling freely down her cheeks, glistening in the firelight. "Not just my body, not just this fleeting moment. And right now, my soul is not mine to give completely. It still belongs to prophecy. To fear. To gods who haven't yet made peace with our love, who demand our suffering." It was her deep restraint, a sacrifice for a greater purpose.
He leaned his forehead to hers, their skin warm against each other. "Then I'll wait," he vowed, his voice husky with emotion. "I'll fight for it. For us. For you."
A long silence passed between them, broken only by the gentle crackle of the fire. The air was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of ancient destinies and burgeoning love.
Then she stood, her wrapper sliding higher over her shoulder, a glimmer of light reflecting off her dark skin.
"Sleep," she said, her voice soft but resolute.
"you need to rest your mind."
And she left him there—his heart full of a love so profound it ached, his body aching with unfulfilled desire, his soul trembling with the weight of destiny—with a promise etched into his very spirit:
He would not lose her again.