But fear died that day.
It burned away beneath the roar of clashing steel, drowned in the cries of the fallen. And in its place, something else took root—a hunger, a knowing, a certainty. Battle was everything. The fight, the skill, the relentless pursuit of mastery. It becamea game, one where wit, strength, and sheer will determined who stood victorious and who bled out in the sand.
I never feared death again after that first battle. It had merely been an appetizer. A taste of something I craved for the rest of my life. I had tasted it, laughed in its face, and walked away the victor.
And so I won. Again. And again. And again.
Because I could. Because I refused to be anything less than what I was born to be—a victor!
But... this?
This small, trembling woman pressed against me, seeking comfort where others had only ever sought mercy. This wasn't a battle. Not a war. Not a test of strength or a game where the victor walked away and the weak perished.
Roweena was not an enemy to be conquered. And yet, as she clung to me in the storm-tossed cabin, I felt something I had not felt since that first battle. Something I had long since thought dead.
Not fear. No, never that.
But the unmistakable knowledge that something inside me was shifting. Changing. And I asked myself if I would walk away the victor this time.
Because this was different. She was different.
Vaelora had never feared anything. She had been brought into existence as a goddess, untouched by a mortal's weakness, unshaken by the weight that mortals carried every day. She had never trembled in fear beneath my hands, never gasped for breath, never sought comfort in another's presence—not even mine.
But Roweena did. And against all reason, I found that I did not mind. More so, against all logic, against the very core of who I was, I felt the need to soothe her.
The ship pitched again, and she lost her grip, her balance stolen by the violent motion of the sea. Before she could hit the floor, I caught her. She crashed against me, her breath warm against my chest, her fingers fisted in my tunic. She was small, so small, fragile in a way so different from Vaelora, even though their bodies were the same. I expected her to pull away—to recoil, to curse me, to shove at my chest in another feeble attempt to defy me, but she didn't.
Instead, she clung to me.
Her forehead pressed against my collarbone, her body shook harder with every passing minute, and her breath was shallow and ragged. I shouldn't have felt anything—I was not a man. I was a god, a being forged for war, for destruction, for conquest. My purpose had never been to soothe, to comfort, to protect.
And yet, I tightened my hold.
"Easy," I murmured, a foreign word on my tongue. "You're safe."
She let out a shaky breath, but there was no relief in it. She was still fearful, like a rabbit facing a jackal.
Another violent jolt sent us rocking sideways, and I turned, bringing her fully into my arms, pressing her against me as the ship fought against the storm's wrath. She trembled, and her hands still gripped my tunic as if letting go would send her into the abyss.
"I hate this," she whispered, her voice so small, so unlike the woman who had challenged me at every turn.
I didn't know how to respond. Storms reminded me of battle, they were a raw, unrelenting power—something to be endured, something to be respected, but never feared.
But she wasn't a warrior. Or a goddess. Not now.
So I lowered my head, my lips near her temple. "No harm will come to you."
Her breath hitched.
"I swear it to you."
I felt it, the way her body stiffened for a fraction of a second before some of the tension melted away. Her fingers slowly unclenched from my tunic, resting against my chest now.
For the second time, I thought that Vaelora would never have done this. Vaelora had been a force of nature, distant, untouchable, immortal. She never wavered.
Roweena was a storm of a different kind—not violent and commanding, but wild and human, fragile but unyielding, soft yet unbreakable. A new, foreign emotion twisted inside me. A sensation I didn't have a name for.
It was more than protectiveness. It was a need to shield her, to keep her, to possess her in a way that went beyond body and claim.
