The world was fire.
His hands scraped against the gravel, skin already blistering and splitting. Smoke curled from his sleeves. His legs dragged uselessly behind him, the left one twisted at a wrong angle.
The sun was everywhere.
Still—he crawled.
"I can't… I can't—"
His voice was hoarse, half-choked. His arms buckled beneath him as he scrambled across the cracked stone. He could feel bone poking through his fingers now—white and shining beneath flayed, blackening flesh.
From above, Alaric stood within.
Unmoved.
Then—his voice, cutting clean through the agony:
"Focus."
Eric wheezed, collapsing against the hot dirt. "W-What…?"
Alaric's voice didn't rise. It didn't have to.
"You're not human. Focus your essence. To your eyes. See."
Eric coughed hard, blood sputtering from his lips. His chest heaved with shallow, ragged breaths.
"I—I don't…"
"Focus."
Eric clenched his eyes shut. He didn't know what essence meant—didn't know how to control it—but his body did. Somewhere deep in the marrow of his reborn bones, the thing inside him answered. It curled, writhed, rose.
The world slowed.
When he opened his eyes again, everything shifted.
The sun was still blinding—but less. The colors dulled, the agony pushed to the edges. The ground turned ashen, shadows more defined. Everything lost its color except—
There.
Just a few yards away.
The ring.
A molten heart resting in the dust, pulsing with impossible light.
Eric's pupils shrank. The hunger, the pain, the panic—all narrowed into one thing.
He moved.
One blink, and he was there.
One snap of motion—like a slingshot pulled by rage, instinct, and starvation.
His fingers closed around the ring, skin smoking where they brushed the stone. The gem burned in his palm, but it was real. Solid. His.
"I got it," he whispered, disbelieving. "I got—"
And then his legs gave out.
He hit the ground hard, limbs buckling. The ring rolled from his grasp, clinking once against stone.
His vision blurred.
The pain came rushing back.
The sun tore into him again like knives. His flesh screamed. The bones in his hand were exposed, fingers shaking as they reached feebly for the ring.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
But then—
The sound of glass shattering.And a shape, falling,Alaric.
He leapt from the second floor window—landing softly without a sound.
Eric's vision dimmed. Heat blurred the edges of the world.
Alaric walked forward.
He stopped just beside Eric's twitching form, looking down at him with clinical stillness.Then, slowly, he knelt.
Eric tried to speak. Tried to beg. But his throat was raw, lips cracked open in silent desperation.
Alaric reached for the ring, still pulsing faintly near Eric's hand.
He picked it up between two fingers—graceful, delicate—and turned it once in the sun.
Then he looked at Eric.
"You came close," he said.
Not praise.
Just observation.
Eric whimpered, body shaking and Alaric studied him in silence for a moment longer. Then—
He leaned down and, with excruciating care, slid the ring onto Eric's finger.
The effect was immediate.
The burn stopped.
Air rushed back into Eric's lungs. His body, still broken, stopped searing. The smoke retreated. The pain faded from unbearable to endurable.
Eric gasped, his head lolling back.
Tears slid down his cheeks.
He was still alive.
He blinked slowly, his eyes stinging—not from pain, but from the golden light pouring down over him. It brushed against his skin with cautious fingers, no longer tearing him apart, but welcoming him back into something he'd thought he'd lost forever.
Life.
His arm moved before he could think. Slowly, shakily, he lifted it to shield his eyes.
The ring.
It gleamed a deep red, almost black at the center, set in a twisted silver band. It fit perfectly on his finger. His ring finger.
A strange flutter passed through his chest.
It looks like a promise ring.
He didn't dare say it aloud. Not with Alaric nearby. Not with that unreadable look still etched on his face. But the thought rooted itself deep inside him, strange and unshakable.
It felt like they belonged to each other.
Not just master and servant. Not killer and victim.
The silence stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The breeze moved gently through the trees. The grass hissed quietly beneath him. The sun stayed soft against his skin, held back by the magic of the ring.
Eric looked down at his hands.
They were still damaged—charred black, bones visible beneath cracked skin.
But even as he stared, the healing began.
Slow.
Excruciating.
The black crust peeled away in flakes. Flesh writhed beneath it like it was being knit back together by invisible threads. Muscles twitched. Bones pulled themselves into place with a grinding sound that made his jaw clench.
It hurt.
It hurt like hell.
But he didn't look away.
Because it meant he was alive.
No. Not alive.
Reborn.
Bit by bit, the hands became his again. Paler than they used to be. Thinner. The veins darker, more pronounced. But whole.
He flexed his fingers slowly, exhaling shakily.
Behind him, Alaric remained silent.
Eric didn't speak.
He wasn't sure he could.
He wanted to say thank you.
He wanted to say what now?
But neither felt right. So instead, he just sat there in the grass, the sun washing over him, the ring warm around his finger—
Eric stood in the sun for what felt like hours.
But Alaric didn't move.
He stared at Alaric's face, searching for something—anything—beneath the stillness. A look of approval. A flicker of warmth. A word.
But there was nothing.
Not even a nod.
Had he done something wrong?
Eric's breath hitched. His throat burned from the inside out, and the taste of blood still lingered at the back of his mouth. His cracked lips trembled, torn and swollen from the heat.
Say something.
Please.
But Alaric didn't speak.
And something inside Eric broke.
He finally moved towards him and collapse near his feet.Where he belonged.
His knees hit the grass with a soft thump, and he folded over, bowing his head.
And now Alaric wouldn't even look at him properly.
Did I fail?
Did I displease him?
Am I still not enough?
Eric's breathing grew shallow.
He didn't care if the sun scorched him again.
He didn't care if Alaric hated him.
He just—couldn't bear the idea of being left alone.
Slowly, he lifted his head, red eyes glassy and wide. He looked up at Alaric through his lashes, dazed, lips parted and bleeding.
He looked like a ruined thing.
Like a stray dog begging not to be abandoned.
"Please…" Eric rasped, voice splintered and hoarse. "If you're going to leave me…"
His throat closed, strangling the rest.
Tears welled and spilled down soot-smudged cheeks, carving trails through the grime.
"…then just kill me."
Alaric stilled.
His breath hitched—barely there—but Eric caught it. Felt it. Like a thread tightening between them.
The words had struck something.
Alaric didn't move for a long time. He just stared—eyes cool, unreadable—watching Eric crumple into himself, fingers clawing at the grass, knuckles white. Every inch of him begged, shaking and small and leaning forward like he might break apart if Alaric didn't touch him.
Eventually, Alaric exhaled.
Low. Tired. Almost disappointed.
And then—he knelt.
His hand rose, fingers grazing Eric's jaw like he was inspecting something pitiful. His thumb pressed over the split in Eric's lower lip—hard enough to make him flinch.
"You're pathetic," Alaric murmured, voice cold and cruel. "But you're mine."
Eric shivered. The tears kept falling—slower now—but he nodded.
Eager. Desperate.
"I don't care what I am," he whispered, trembling. "As long as I belong to you."
Alaric's expression didn't soften. If anything, it grew sharper.
Then he kissed him.
It wasn't gentle.
His mouth crashed into Eric's, all teeth and blood and punishment. Eric gasped against him, pain blooming as Alaric's lips split his again, as their mouths fought like animals. The iron tang flooded his mouth.
And Eric took it.
He moaned—soft, needy—his hands fisting in Alaric's shirt, holding on like he'd drown without it. The pain made his spine arch. It hurt, but he liked it. He wanted more of it. More of him.
Alaric's teeth were sharpening—fangs dragging along Eric's lower lip like a warning.
And Eric followed.
His own teeth shifted in kind, the beginnings of something monstrous catching up to his need. He leaned in and licked along Alaric's teeth—tentative, reverent—but too rough.
His tongue caught on a fang.
It sliced deep.
He whimpered—but didn't pull away.
Alaric growled, low in his throat, and grabbed him tighter.
Then he sucked Eric's tongue into his mouth, drinking in the fresh blood like it was a gift.
Eric moaned into it—lightheaded, aching, but alive in a way he hadn't felt in days.
He was still healing. The pain hadn't stopped.
But in Alaric's mouth, pain meant something.
It meant he was wanted.