Captured Sky

'Can he truly do nothing wrong in your eyes?' Anton spat, his whisper a razored edge to Naereah's ears.

Curled against the colosseum wall, Naereah sat with her knees drawn tight against her chest. Her gaze lifted to meet his—held for a moment—then fell away with a weary sigh.

'I do not want to hear—' she began.

'Yet you must!' Anton hissed. He gripped a tuft of his hair and began pacing, his breaths rough, his steps short and agitated.

He stopped abruptly and dropped to one knee. His hand fell heavy upon her shoulder, his refusal to look away drawing her gaze as a cliff draws the fall.

'He has done a wicked thing,' Anton said, voice steady, eyes burning with conviction.

Naereah brushed his arm aside and rose. She planted her palm against his shoulder, forcing him back a step, then thrust a hand toward the far end of the arena, where Havoc and Sedrick shared quiet words over stew; low, private laughter threaded between them.

'Sedrick still breathes, doesn't he?' she spat, driving a hand into Anton's chest. 'He wouldn't be…' she broke off, looked away for a moment, then met Anton's eyes again with steel. 'I couldn't save him—Havoc did.'

'But what he did to—' Anton began, before her palm struck again.

'Tell that to his sister,' she hissed. 'To his parents, to the Enforcer Prime. I am sure they will all think this the proper course—that he should rot beneath the earth because for you—' Her voice went venomous. 'That is justice, isn't it? That is the way that things should be.'

She was sick of it—sick of demands for excuses where none were required. Havoc Gray had saved a life, had saved others, and would save many more. What did the method matter? Whether by a blade brought to a villain's throat, by chains shattered from a slave, or by a Remnant wrested from an enemy and turned to good use—each act bent the same way: toward life. A heroic deed. Her hero. Her saviour—the man she had chosen to love and, if need be, follow into hell.

Anton stepped back, eyes wide, teeth bared beneath his lips. Slowly, he shook his head. He turned to leave—then froze, glancing back at Naereah, his head tilted to the side.

'Is there no depth you would not plunge if Havoc asked it of you?'

Naereah's eyes sharpened like a mythic blade. Her heart held steady, her words rang true, without hesitation:

'No there is not.'

Anton turned his back. His head rose and fell with gentle rhythm.

'Then together, you are both damned,' he said softly. 'Mark now my words: what he has done here today—what you have aided in seeing through—it will turn to rot.'

He said nothing more as he left, his boots striking heavy upon the stone while he moved toward the sleeping rolls laid out along the ground. He gathered one in his arms and lay down apart, by a lonely stretch at the far end.

Naereah exhaled heavily, her breath trembling as it left her. She slumped against the wall, sliding down until she sat once more—her gaze drifting to Havoc before settling on Anton, who sat in meditation with his back turned.

Footsteps caught upon a rattling stone, drawing Naereah's eyes to the priestess as she approached. Yet, loosed from her robes and clad instead in an ill-fitting cream shirt, buttoned to the throat and tucked into brown trousers held up by braces, Naereah was not sure the title of priestess suited her any longer. Having saved her life—and regrown her skin—it seemed only proper that Naereah learn the woman's name.

'Harper Cartwright,' the woman said, as though reading her thoughts.

She slid down the wall to rest beside Naereah, sighing deeply—shoulders slumping, chest rising and falling with easy breaths—an image of warm respite, bearing no sign that death's cold lips had brushed so close to her nape.

'You're one of the marriage-maggots seeking to wrest Havoc's hand while he slept,' Naereah blurted, then looked away, her cheeks flushing hot at having spoken so bluntly.

Harper seemed to take the barb in good humour, chuckling softly, a fist pressed to her lips.

'Were my intentions so clear?' she managed between laughs. 'I can hardly deny it—it's true. I wanted Havoc's hand for my own.'

'You—' Naereah began, yet held back her words at the surrendering rise of Harper's palms.

'Not anymore,' Harper said quickly. "Well… not entirely. But you've saved my life—it wouldn't be decent to keep chasing him.'

Godsdamned right, it wouldn't be decent, Naereah silently seethed, her lips scrunched into a tight pout.

'Having said all that,' Harper hummed. 'You can't really call me a marriage-maggot when there's no wedlock for me to burrow into.'

Naereah's pale-blue face deepened to sapphire at the words. For all her acts of love and devotion, Havoc had yet to make his intentions clear. That might have been excused mere weeks past—he was only fifteen, three years her junior in age, and aeons younger in emotional fruition. Yet that had changed with his time within the dream. His body stood unweathered, but in spirit, soul, and mind, he had long since outpaced her.

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Her gaze wandered to Havoc, watching as his longest friend clapped his palm across his back. She turned her focus back to Harper, who had been waiting—her smile broad, pressed to her eyes.

'In my faith, the woman selects the man,' Harper coaxed. 'His only response is to ask when—and how many will bear witness.'

'What are you saying?' Naereah asked, her gaze flicking toward Havoc, who now stood with Sedrick's hand upon his back, nudging him forward in unsteady steps.

'You've claimed him as yours, so claim him as yours,' Harper pressed, rising to her feet and reaching down a hand for Naereah to take.

Naereah now stood, absent her knowing. Led by the hand, she shuffled closer to Havoc as he shuffled closer to her.

Her thoughts spun, wild and unmoored, chasing the thunder of her heart. She loved him—of that, there was no doubt. They had endured much, though not for long.

Yet—

It was far from unusual among human customs for two to wed after meeting only once or twice. They had shared far more than that. Even by her own people's measure, the time between them was ample for wedded bond. But to be so bold as to force the forging of intentions…

She could not do it. It was not her.

Still, she edged closer to meet Havoc's approach.

'I can't do it,' Naereah whispered, voice trembling.'

'You can,' Harper said, and shoved her forward with a firm hand between the shoulders. 'And you will.'

Awash in the cerulean glow of the ceiling crystals, they met at the centre of the arena—Naereah and Harper on one side, Havoc and Sedrick standing opposite. Naereah began to turn away, but Harper caught her by the shoulders, steadying her in place until her gaze met Havoc's.

He was beautiful.

His olive skin glistened beneath the crystal light; his midnight-black mane framed his face with effortless grace, turning at the ear to rest like raven's wings upon his nape. Even in simple dress—chocolate-rich trousers buckled to his shoulders over a bone-cream shirt—he carried a quiet nobility. More noble than any of the hyborns she had ever met. They had seen her chained as a slave; he had struck those chains free. This was the man she loved, and she would have him acknowledge it before the world.

'He cleans up nicely, wouldn't you say?' Sedrick chimed, slapping a hand against Havoc's back. 'Cuts quite the man—when he isn't elbow-deep in blood, that is,' he added with a wry, warm chuckle.

'Field Captain Bogata, I'm inclined to agree,' Harper cooed, sliding behind Naereah. She rested her hands on Naereah's shoulders, leaned from behind, her lips to Naereah's ear. 'If you don't make your move, by the chime of seven bells, I will call him fair game.'

Sedrick cleared his throat, drawing every eye to his pale-faced grin.

'Field Captain Cartwright, I think it best we leave these two to talk,' Sedrick drawled, peeling away from Havoc and joining Harper's side. 'We'll discuss strategy—yes, strategy. That sounds official enough.'

'Better than rank gossip,' Harper quipped, giving Naereah one last nudge before trailing after him, her boots tapping a retreat.

They were alone. Naereah drew a quivering breath and clenched her fists tight. She met Havoc's gaze—deep and black, like the unending void. Her lips parted; words brushed her tongue. But before she could form them, her lips were given to a more thrilling task—locked with Havoc's, his hands sliding to the small of her back.

'I love you,' he said, then looked aside. 'But—'

'No,' Naereah gasped, cupping his face and drawing his gaze back to hers. 'Don't look away. I haven't—I never will.'

'Naereah…' he paused, his eyes wavering before hardening to ice. 'I'm not going to stop—I can't. I will hunt the monsters that burned down my world. I'll climb every peak of power. I will put our—' he faltered, jaw tightening. 'My survival first. And I'll rattle the chains that bind the world to what it is. I'll strain against them—forever—or until I see them break.'

'I know,' Naereah breathed, Havoc's shirt balled in her fist.

'I'll never find peace… I've had time to come to terms with it. But it's not what I want for you.'

The fabric slipped from her grasp. She stepped back, tears glistening in her eyes. A sleeve swept across her face; she exhaled, her head dipping and rising in a gentle nod. Then she struck.

Her palm clapped against Havoc's cheek. She struck again—harder. She drew back her hand for a third blow, but it never reached his face. Instead, her fingers caught in his raven locks, fisting at the back of his head as she pulled him in and pressed her lips to his.

'I'm no longer a slave who cannot choose for herself,' she said, Havoc's hair slipping from her fingers. 'I choose you—already have. Every crooked turn, every blood-soaked trail. If you truly want what's best for me, then let me decide what that is. Help me seize it—and make it mine.'

She cupped his face, her gaze locked on his, refusing to look away.

'Havoc,' she breathed, her heart thrumming, her breath catching. 'Be—'

'No,' Havoc cut in, the word struck like a whip, and Naereah's heart whimpered like a beaten pup. 'No. Be mine. I'll fight to the end for what is mine.'

She nodded, and they kissed. Her heart swelled to bursting, joy tearing at its seams—more than she had ever dared hope for. She belonged to him, and he to her. Wherever the path led, it would lead them side by side.

She could not have asked for more.

Their lips had scarcely parted before Sedrick's laughter broke the air. He clapped a hand to Havoc's back, then pulled him into an embrace. Turning to her, he did the same, drawing all three together as his wild laughter echoed around them.

'What did I tell you?' Sedrick roared, a belly laugh shaking his frame.

He lunged toward Harper and lifted her from her feet. With a twirl, he spun her about, laughter booming as he did.

'Yes, very nice. Now put me down,' Harper spat, bringing her fist down upon his back.

'Pray tell me—what's the date? Spring and summer are most yearned for, yet I see you wed beneath the gentle touch of snow,' he rattled out. 'And that I live to see the day! Havoc, thank you. From the bottom of—'

He froze. His eyes bled red, pupils slitting vertically.

'—my heart,' he finished, in a voice not his own.

Cold dread pierced Naereah's chest. She looked to Havoc—his gaze sharp as blades, his chest rising and falling with barely contained fury. Cold power surged from him; a greatsword took shape in his grip.

'Oh, Havoc. It is good to see you again. Not in a dream this time, but face to face. Granted, not my own—but a face you so kindly contributed to me.'

'Let him go,' Havoc growled, black plate rising over his form.

'No,' Dracule averred through Sedrick's tongue.