"I'd move heaven and earth for him."
Rumi's voice was a whispered vow-sharpened steel sheathed in soft-spoken words. Her sword hung heavy in her hand, an extension of the fire searing through her veins.
"And that will cost you your life."
The warning was sincere, carved from pure concern, but it struck like a blade. She didn't flinch. Her eyes held storms and scars-a devotion forged in blood and shadow.
Fingers tightening on the hilt, she braced-not from fear of death, but from the terror of losing herself in a war that demanded everything, before she could even reach him to bring him back.
Still, her voice did not waver.
"Then let it cost me."
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The gods above and the demon underneath have sealed their fate as star-crossed lovers. But does fate write us, or do we write fate?