I force myself to stand, putting necessary distance between us before my resolve crumbles completely. The chains beneath my skin pulse once—a reminder of what I am, what I'll always be.
"I will return to collect when the time comes."
I don't name the price. Can't bring myself to speak of taking her soul when she's already given me so much more than anycontract could demand. The year stretches ahead of us both—finite, precious, borrowed.
Before I can step away, before I can retreat into shadow and spare us both this agony, she rises and moves to me. Her hands frame my face with devastating gentleness.
"Azrath."
The nickname breaks something inside my chest. She kisses me then—soft, lingering, tasting of tears and goodbye. I want to pull her closer, to hold tight and refuse to let go. Instead, I remain perfectly still, letting her lead, letting her choose.
When she releases me, her fingers trail down my jaw before falling to her sides.
"Go."
The word is barely a whisper, but it is dismissal. Of choice freely given.
I disappear into shadow.
Three weeks.Twenty-one days since I left her in that kitchen, sunlight streaming through windows I'll never see again. I count each one like a prisoner marking time on cell walls.
The Scorching Peaks of Vel'tar stretch endlessly before me, volcanic glass reflecting the blood-red sky. Another contract awaits collection—a fire djinn who thought himself clever enough to outmaneuver infernal law. They always think they're clever.
I tear open the rift with more force than necessary, stepping into the djinn's crystalline palace. The heat should be unbearable to most beings, but it barely registers. Nothing registers anymore.
"Lord Azrathiel." The djinn bows low, flames dancing across his translucent skin. "Surely we can reach an arrangement?—"
"Your year expired at midnight." My voice carries none of its usual controlled menace. It sounds hollow even to my own ears. "Payment is due."
The djinn launches into desperate bargaining—offering treasures, territories, the souls of his enemies. Standard procedure. I've heard these pleas a thousand times before, but now they feel like background noise against the constant ache in my chest.
Where is she? What is she doing? Has she thought of me even once since I left?
The djinn attempts to flee through a mirror portal. I bind him in shadow without conscious thought, muscle memory taking over where my focus fails. His essence dissolves into the contract, another debt settled, another meaningless victory.
The silence that follows feels suffocating.
I return to the infernal plane and consult my ledger. Two more contracts expire this week—a sea witch in the Bitter Straits and a necromancer hiding in the Whispering Marshes. Tasks that once brought satisfaction now feel like elaborate distractions from the growing void inside me.
The celestial chains beneath my skin pulse weakly, no longer pulled taut by binding magic. They've grown dormant without her presence, like flowers wilting without sunlight. The freedom I thought I wanted tastes like ash.
Call for me,I think desperately as I step through shadows toward the marshes.Just once. Say my name.
But the connection remains silent.
The necromancer proves more entertaining—he actually manages to surprise me with a bone construct that nearly catches my arm. For a moment, the thrill of combat distracts from the constant hollow ache. Then it's over, and the emptiness returns with crushing force.
I collect his soul mechanically, filing the contract away with the others. Another mark in the ledger. Another step further from her.
This is madness.I stand on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Weeping Falls, watching water cascade into mist far below.She's a mortal. A human girl who lasted barely a month in my presence before choosing solitude over?—
Over what? Over a demon who can offer nothing but violence and eventual death?
The sea witch's collection takes three days. She hides in underwater caverns, protected by kraken spawn and tidal magic. I hunt her with methodical precision, my shadows cutting through water like black lightning. When I finally corner her in the deepest trench, she laughs.
"You look terrible, Lord Azrathiel." Her voice bubbles through the crushing depths. "What mortal has gotten under your skin?"
I devour her without responding, but her words echo in the darkness long after her essence fades.