(Note: This chapter is cannon and has direct link with the story, I had this idea in mind. I hope you will enjoy it all.)
A few days before the ball…
The second layer of the abyss belonged to Zyra alone. Her domain stretched like an endless cathedral of living darkness — walls veined with slow-pulsing crimson energy that breathed in rhythm with her will. Deeper still, in the true abyss, the remaining army and Umbra continued their silent, ceaseless work, but here only two souls existed.
Althric stood with arms crossed, his towering frame casting a sharper shadow than the abyss itself. The air was cold, heavy, tasting of ancient stone and forgotten thunder. Faint winds whispered through the chamber like distant warnings.
Zyra turned from the two dresses floating in mid-air, black and blue silk shimmering with faint abyssal threads. She tilted her head, golden eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Well, Althric? Which one should I wear to the ball?"
He stared at her, patience already fraying. "You called me here… for this?"
"Absolutely," she answered lightly. "What do you think?"
"You said you had something important." His voice rose just enough to echo once off the walls. "I have work to finish, Zyra. The Ninth Sovereign's preparations do not wait. And you dragged me across layers just to choose between two dresses?"
"Don't be absurd." She waved a hand, the black dress drifting away. "Now tell me. Black… or blue?"
Althric exhaled through his teeth, turning his face away. "Huh. Just wear whatever you like."
"Ahhh!" Zyra's eyes lit up with triumph. "If that's the case, I already have the perfect one in mind. You'll love it."
She vanished into the side chamber with a swirl of shadow. The silence that followed was deeper than before. The abyss itself seemed to hold its breath — the crimson veins along the walls slowing, as if the domain itself waited.
Tap…
A single heel clicked against the obsidian floor.
Althric's eyes shifted, but he refused to turn. Not yet.
Tap… tap…
The footsteps came measured, deliberate — each one a quiet command. They carried weight, confidence, and something dangerously close to invitation. The rhythm was not hurried. It was meant to be felt.
Tap… tap… tap…
Closer now. The air grew warmer, charged.
"Are you not even going to look?" Her voice slid through the darkness like velvet wrapped around lightning.
Althric finally turned.
And for the first time he stare at her quietly.
Zyra stood bathed in the faint crimson glow of her domain. She had discarded both the black and the blue.
Instead she wore a deep maroon dress — the color of spilled blood and midnight wine. The fabric clung and flowed at once, woven with threads of living abyssal energy that shimmered like captured starlight whenever she moved. A high slit along one leg revealed a flash of pale skin with every step, dangerous and elegant. The neckline swept low across her collarbone, yet the dress carried the quiet authority of a queen who needed no crown.
Her long hair cascaded in soft waves, slightly tousled as though she had run her fingers through it on purpose. The faint crimson light caught every curve, every movement, turning her into something both regal and untouchable.
Tap…
Her heel clicked again. The sound echoed like a heartbeat.
"Well?" she asked, tilting her head, a faint, knowing smile curving her lips.
Althric remained silent one heartbeat longer than he should have. His golden eyes — usually cold steel — flickered with something deeper.
"…So this was your 'important matter'?"
Zyra let out a soft, musical laugh that seemed to warm the chamber.
"Of course it was."
She took one slow step closer.
Tap…
"You told me to wear whatever I liked… so I chose something you could not ignore."
His gaze lingered against his will — tracing the way the maroon fabric caught the light, the way the slit moved with her, the way the entire dress seemed alive with the same power that thrummed in her veins.
"You're wasting time," he said, voice calm, though the edge had softened. He forced his eyes away, but something inside him had already shifted.
Zyra stopped right in front of him, close enough that the faint warmth of her presence cut through the eternal cold of the abyss.
"Don't change the subject, Althric. It's a simple answer."
He met her eyes again, but said nothing.
Then, he spoke.
"If you want my opinion… you should not wear this. It's too revealing. And many will notice you in it. Besides… you will be presenting our Ninth Shadow Monarch. It is too much."
Zyra's smile did not fade. If anything, it deepened, slow and dangerous.
"In simple words…" she repeated softly, almost teasing, taking one final step until only inches remained between them.
"You are jealous."
The words hung in the air like a blade wrapped in silk.
The abyss itself seemed to go silent. The pulsing veins along the walls slowed to a crawl.
Althric's expression stayed stone, but something in his eyes flickered — a storm hidden behind centuries of loyalty.
"…Don't be ridiculous."
Zyra studied him for a long moment, then spoke again, voice barely above a whisper.
"Althric… Let's dance."
"What?"
He turned his face fully toward her now, genuine surprise breaking through the mask.
"I said… let's dance."
Althric's eyes narrowed. "And why me?"
Zyra did not answer with words.
Instead she moved.
One final step.
Close enough that the space between them nearly vanished.
Gently, she guided one of Althric's hands to her waist, while her fingers intertwined with his other hand.
"Because," she said softly, lifting her hand, "you're the only one here who won't lie to me."
The abyss pulsed once — slow, heavy — as if even the darkness itself was listening.
Althric stared at her didn't take of his hand.
Cold.
Steady.
A strange contrast to the warmth burning in her gaze.
For a moment he simply looked.
Then — without a word — he took it.
That single choice was answer enough.
A faint, almost imperceptible shift rippled through the chamber. The flowing veins of abyssal energy along the walls slowed… then began to move in perfect rhythm.
Like a heartbeat.
Like music only they could hear.
"…You planned this," Althric muttered.
Zyra's smile was soft, victorious, and strangely tender.
"Of course I did."
She stepped back slightly, guiding him forward.
"Just follow."
The dance began.
Their first steps were slow, almost hesitant, as though the abyss itself had to learn a new rhythm. Althric's movements were precise and controlled — every shift of weight calculated, every turn executed with the same iron discipline he used on the battlefield. But there was no flow. He moved like a knight who had forgotten how to be anything other than a weapon.
Zyra led with effortless grace. Her maroon dress flared and settled like living shadow with each turn, the high slit flashing pale skin before vanishing again. The fabric shimmered with threads of abyssal energy, catching the crimson glow and turning every motion into something hypnotic.
"Relax," she whispered, her voice close enough that her breath brushed his ear.
"I am relaxed," Althric replied, tone flat.
"You look like you're about to execute someone."
"…Don't be absurd."
A soft laugh escaped her lips — genuine, warm, and far too human for a being who ruled thunder in the abyss.
Then she spun.
The maroon fabric bloomed around her like a flower carved from midnight. For one heartbeat the slit revealed the smooth line of her leg, the movement fluid and dangerous. In that instant Althric's grip tightened — not enough to bruise, but enough to anchor her, to keep her from drifting even an inch farther away than necessary.
Zyra's eyes flickered with quiet triumph.
"…See?" she murmured as she came back into his arms. "You don't want to let go."
Althric said nothing. But he did not deny it either.
The dance continued, slower now, closer. Their bodies moved in tighter circles. The distance between them shrank until the cold of the abyss could no longer reach them. The flowing veins of dark energy along the walls slowed to match their rhythm, pulsing like a shared heartbeat. Tendrils of shadow began to circle them — silent spectators that twisted and wove in perfect time, as if the abyss itself had decided to become their orchestra.
For the first time in what felt like eternity, the chamber did not feel cold.
It felt… alive.
Warmth radiated between them, fragile and rare. The crimson light softened, bathing their forms in a glow that looked almost gentle.
Zyra's gaze softened as she looked up at him.
"Do you ever get tired?" she asked quietly.
Althric met her eyes. "Of what?"
"Carrying everything."
The question hung heavy, stripped of all teasing. It was not a game anymore. It was a crack in the armor she had never dared show anyone else.
Althric's expression shifted.
"I don't carry anything," he said after a long moment. "I control it."
Zyra studied him, her hand still resting in his.
"Those are not the same thing."
Their steps slowed until they were barely moving at all. The dance had become something quieter, something deeper. The space between them vanished completely. They stood chest to chest; two ancient powers wrapped in a single fragile moment.
Zyra leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You know… for someone who claims not to care…"
Her fingers tightened gently around his.
"…you notice everything about me."
Althric's eyes darkened, the gold in them burning like distant stars.
"And for someone who talks too much…"
He stepped closer, voice low and rough.
"…you're very aware of it."
The silence that followed was thick, charged. The abyss held its breath with them.
Then Zyra spoke again, softer than ever.
"Althric… why won't you come to the ball and dance with me?"
This time his eyes widened — genuine surprise breaking through the mask.
"What's gotten into you?" he asked. "Today you are not acting yourself. What's wrong?"
Zyra's gaze never wavered. "I have taken a liking to you, Althric. The moment you were born from the Ninth King's shadow… I watched you."
"Watched what…?"
"You always put your orders first. Even when you walked in the human world, you never did what you wanted. You only ever swore yourself to your king. I liked that." She admitted it without shame. "In my entire life I have seen men drawn to me by my looks and my status. But you… you never did that. In fact, you made me feel comfortable when you were around. That is rare."
Althric stayed quiet, listening to every word as though each one carried weight.
"And what makes you think I am interested?" he asked at last.
Zyra's smile was small and knowing. "If you were not interested, you wouldn't have come here in the first place. And the moment I started showing you the dresses, you would have left."
He kept silent. He did not deny it.
"Well… that is your answer," she said softly.
Althric hesitated, the words leaving him with visible effort.
"I… I wanted to see you. And when I thought people would ask you for a dance… I didn't want you to be touched by anyone. It… it makes me uneasy to imagine that."
Zyra's smile softened, warm and surprised.
"So why don't you come to the ball and dance with me there?"
But Althric's mood turned serious again. "I can't."
"Why? You enjoyed this moment. I have never once seen you enjoy anything. So why not come with me?"
"It's not because I don't want to…" He paused, exhaling deeply. "It's because… what if the king didn't allow it?"
"So ask him," Zyra answered immediately.
"You don't understand, do you?" He shook his head. "I alone am loyal to my king. I cannot ask… or defy his judgment."
Zyra looked down, the excitement dimming in her eyes. For a moment the queen of thunder seemed smaller, almost vulnerable.
But Althric continued.
"I will try to ask him. Only if he allows."
Her head snapped up again, eyes bright with sudden hope.
"You promise?"
"I cannot agree or deny a promise," he said carefully.
"So… let's enjoy this moment if you don't come." Zyra stepped closer again, voice gentle. "But try hard."
"Alright… if you say so."
They began moving once more, slower than before, savoring every second. The dance was no longer just steps — it was a quiet rebellion against centuries of duty and darkness. The abyss continued its soft rhythm around them, shadows swirling like silent applause.
And with that, the Queen of Thunder and the Knight of Shadow shared their rare, stolen moment of peace — a single dance in the heart of the abyss, where even the darkness learned how to feel warm.