The sky was cloaked in black clouds, as if even the gods feared what was coming. The four clans had gathered in a field soaked with ancient blood and broken promises. The banners flapped in the cutting wind, but all eyes turned to her.
Selene Valtieri.
The cursed bride.
The goddess in white.
Her dress flowed like a ghost among the living, and the first splashes of blood to stain the immaculate fabric were not her own. She walked among the fallen as if she didn't belong to this world, her heterochromatic eyes glowing with a dark power few dared to meet.
> "Valtieri has arrived. We're doomed," someone from the Ashen Clan whispered.
An enemy rushed toward her, spear in hand. Selene didn't flinch. She simply raised her palm, and the man's shadow rose from the ground like a living serpent, coiling around his neck until he collapsed, suffocated. Without a flicker of emotion, she moved forward.
Theron Vaern tried to confront her with his silver blade. He was fast. Experienced. But not enough. Selene spun in the air, her dress now tinged with scarlet, and when she landed, the shadow of her cloak engulfed him. A crack. Silence. Theron's head rolled to Dante's feet.
Dante watched from a distance, eyes like embers hiding a storm.
> "This woman will destroy everything," Malrik muttered beside him. "Including you."
> "Shut up," Dante replied, his fingers tightening around his sword hilt.
When the battle ended, the field was covered in corpses, and Selene stood at its center, her white dress now almost entirely red. The wind swept her hair as she closed her eyes, as if listening to the voices of the dead she had helped silence.
> "You've lost your mind," said a deep voice behind her.
Dante.
She opened her eyes slowly, and before she could speak, he grabbed her arm roughly and pushed her against the stone wall near the Valtieri camp.
> "What do you think you're doing?" she hissed, trying to break free.
> "You're out of control. I should chain you for this, if that's what it takes to remind you you belong to me," he growled, eyes locked on hers.
His fingers slid down her waist, smeared with blood, touching her body as if it were his.
> "Let me go," she spat, furious. "Or I swear you'll join the dead I raised today."
He smirked, cruel and unrelenting.
> "If you hate me so much… why do you still tremble when I touch you?"
> "Because you disgust me."
But her voice wasn't steady enough.
Dante leaned in, his lips grazing her neck.
> "One day you'll stop lying to yourself. And when that day comes… you'll beg me for more."
Before she could react, he stepped back—but not before casting a deathly glare at the warrior approaching her.
> "Selene?" asked the man, young, from the Silent Blade Clan. "Are you alright?"
Dante looked at him as if he already knew his fate.
> "Leave, Jareth," she said, trying to defuse the tension.
But it was too late.
Dante drove his sword through Jareth's chest without a word. Blood sprayed, splattering Selene's face.
> "YOU'RE A MONSTER!" she screamed.
> "Don't speak as if you're not just like me," he replied, disappearing into the shadows.
---
Later, the victory banquet took place in the ancestral hall of the Valtieri. Chandeliers cast flickering light over tables covered with wine, blood, and meat. The clans celebrated, but the atmosphere was tense.
Selene sat on the throne to the left of her father, now officially promised to Dante, who stood silently beside her, eyes fixed on the void.
Then the doors opened.
And she walked in.
Elowen.
Her dress was provocative, clinging to every curve in translucent crimson fabric. A black choker adorned her neck, and her flame-like hair lit her arrogant entrance.
She glided like a feline to the throne and, without asking, sat in Dante's lap. He didn't stop her.
Selene kept her gaze steady.
> "What a lovely scene," Elowen said, trailing a finger down Dante's chest. "The bride bathed in blood, the groom wrapped in shadows… and me, of course, the reminder of everything he could've had if he hadn't been forced into this tragic engagement."
> "Are you implying he had no choice?" Selene replied coldly. "Seems to me, the one who throws herself into another's lap like a bitch is the one without worth."
The hall fell silent.
Elowen laughed, but her eyes burned with rage.
> "No need to be jealous, darling. Just because he prefers the warmth of another's skin over the touch of a cold sorceress."
Selene stood. A dark veil rose around her. The torch flames flickered.
> "I am the heir of darkness. The living mark of death. If you dare provoke me again, Elowen, you won't feel warmth—but the eternal chill of an open grave."
The redhead paled.
Dante watched silently, but the corner of his mouth curled slightly. Pride? Or desire?
Selene sat again.
But deep down, her heart was a storm.
The feast continued, but Selene couldn't stand the stares, the whispers, the dried blood clinging to her skin. She rose, footsteps steady despite the whirlwind in her chest. She crossed the dark hallway of the Valtieri castle, climbing toward the upper chambers.
Behind her—footsteps.
She stopped in the hallway of ancient tapestries. The air felt denser there. Darker.
> "I told you not to follow me, Dante."
He emerged from the shadows like a predator, his eyes glowing with silent fury.
> "You don't command me, Selene."
She turned to face him, but he was already too close.
> "You challenged me in front of everyone. You threw poison with your eyes and your words… and still expect me to let you walk away?"
> "Yes," she hissed. "Because I am not yours."
He laughed—a low sound, thick with something she couldn't name—pain or pleasure.
> "Still lying?"
He slammed her against the cold hallway wall with a sharp crack. Selene tried to fight back, but something held her. Something inside her trembled. His shadows rose—ancient, primal, powerful.
> "Let me go, Dante, or I swear—"
> "You'll kill me?" he murmured, his face close. "Then do it. Use your shadow, Selene. Destroy me."
She raised her hand, darkness forming at her fingertips… but when she tried to strike, he smiled and whispered in the ancient tongue. Her magic dissolved into the air.
> "How...?" she gasped.
> "You're not the only one with forgotten gifts, my bride. I was forged in darkness long before you learned to walk through it."
He ran his fingers over the torn, bloodied neckline of her dress. With a tug, the fabric gave, exposing her pale shoulder. She tried to push him away, but he grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand.
> "You act strong for everyone else… but with me, Selene, you're just... flesh. Magic. Emotion. As human as I am. As breakable."
> "You're a monster," she spat, eyes wet but burning.
> "Then why does your skin burn where I touch it?"
He leaned in and kissed her collarbone, skin still stained with blood. Selene shivered—out of hatred, out of something she refused to name. He bit her skin slowly, marking her. She screamed, but he only smiled against her flesh.
> "I hate you..." she whispered, broken.
> "Lie to me one more time, and I swear I'll make you beg for every touch."
She struggled, summoning what strength she had left, and for a moment, he let her go—not out of mercy, but for control. She fell to her knees, gasping, dress torn, pride shattered.
> "You... you can't keep hurting me and pretending this is normal," she said, voice shaking. "I'm your fiancée by force. I'm not your possession!"
He crouched before her, cupping her face with cruel tenderness.
> "No. You're mine… because no one else would be foolish enough to endure what you carry. And because, even if you deny it, part of you already knows: there's no salvation without me. No light without shadow. And you were born to be within mine."
She stared at him, hatred and fear mixing in every tear that fell without permission.
> "I'd rather die than be yours."
> "Then pray I still want you alive," he murmured, before kissing her forehead like a sealed curse.
He rose and vanished into the darkness.
Selene remained on the cold stone floor, body trembling, soul torn. For the first time... she felt she was not the most powerful creature in this world.
And that terrified her.