"Verga Sherika Delena Brougue!"

The words cut through the haze like a whip.

Jafar's eyes fluttered open. "…Huh?"

"Verga Sherika Delena Brougue!" the voice repeated—louder, sharper, way too close.

He blinked, eyes adjusting to light. Not sewer muck. Not burning arena sand. Sheets. Smooth ones. Memory foam, maybe? The ceiling was gold-veined marble. The air smelled like flowers and disinfectant.

"Huh," he muttered, sitting up slowly. "Not dead."

Nice.

He glanced around. Definitely not hell this time, which was an upgrade from his first death. He smirked. Maybe this was heaven. Probably not, considering the life he'd led here—but a guy could dream.

Then he noticed her.

The woman standing over him looked… furious. Beautiful, but furious. She was holding a spoon inches from his face like it was a weapon.

She wore a fitted white-and-gold armored dress that shimmered faintly with runes. Her long white curls framed a face both regal and annoyed. Draped over her shoulders was what looked like the hide of a wolf-like creature, its glassy eyes catching the light. Her skin was pale grey threaded with glowing yellow veins that pulsed softly across her arms and cheekbones.

Jafar blinked again. "Who are you?"

"Bravooda!" she barked.

"What?"

She stepped closer, spoon still pointed at him like a blade. "Bravooda!"

He flinched back. "Hey, chill out! I just woke up! Who are you? And where's C?"

"Bah! Duiena Fusqerla!" she snapped.

"Okay, that last one sounded like a curse word," he muttered. "Well, fu—"

"Oh, you're awake," a calm voice interrupted.

Jafar turned toward the doorway.

There stood C—alive, annoyingly smug, and now fully dressed in Daqui attire. His blue robe had been swapped for a black-and-gold ensemble that actually fit the local fashion. He even had a wine glass in hand.

Jafar groaned. "Oh great. You're alive. Mind filling me in before spoon-lady here takes my eyes out?"

C sipped his wine with exaggerated patience. "Long story short," he said, gesturing lazily with the glass, "you lost, didn't die, and impressed someone important. Also, congratulations—you're a guest of the Daqui Empire now."

Jafar blinked. "Guest?"

C grinned. "More like specimen, technically. But let's not get hung up on labels."

The woman frowned, muttered something sharp in Daquian, and stormed out—her armored heels clicking against the floor like punctuation.

Jafar sighed and dropped back against the pillows. "I gotta stop making friends before I wake up."

C shrugged. "You fidget in your sleep. Plus your auto defense skills kicked in from time to time. She was tasked with dealing with you…"

"Yeah," Jafar muttered, rubbing his temple. "Well, she might just suck at her job."

C just smiled and raised his glass. "Welcome back, Red Prince."

"So who was that… definitely wasn't a nurse." Jafar asked, rubbing his eyes and trying to remember if spoon assaults were standard in royal hospitality. Definitely didn't remember seeing anything like that in Downton Abbey.

C swirled the wine in his glass. "Correct, she isn't but she's paying for her part in a recent assassination," he said, with the air of a man who'd just attended a lecture he didn't enjoy but absolutely memorized anyway, "Her name is Siumone Zola Daqui. And before you ask, yes—everyone's last name is Daqui."

Jafar blinked. "What?"

"Oh, it's a whole thing." C perked up, clearly excited to monologue. "You see, their ruler, Vari, began a hereditary naming structure when she founded the Daqui Empire about three centuries ago. Originally it was—"

Jafar raised a hand. "Stop. Just stop. I didn't ask for a TED Talk. What the hell did you do while I was asleep? And where's the golden princess chick who put me in a coma?"

C's smile faltered. "Rude." He set the glass down and gestured grandly. "But actually, it's what I did while you were awake. During your glorious brawl, I had the pleasure of speaking directly with Vari herself."

Jafar froze mid-stretch, cracking his neck. "…You what?"

"She's fascinating," C said, eyes lighting up. "Probably in the top twenty most intelligent beings I've met."

"Where do I rank?" Jafar asked automatically.

"Hmm. Top fifty."

Jafar scoffed. "Fifty? Fifty?! You just like insulting me."

C ignored him. "Anyway. She and I had a wager. I bet on the fight's outcome. And, well…" He took a slow sip of wine. "I knew you'd lose."

Jafar threw up his hands. "How!? How could you possibly have known that? You saw that match—it was basically a tie!"

"That," C said smoothly, "is the dictionary definition of coping."

"Excuse me?"

"She actually was injured, yes, but only briefly. Down for a few hours, then back up again. I even had a few conversations with her. Lovely girl and definitely an Outlander. Meanwhile, you bled yourself unconscious for a day and almost evaporated your internal organs trying to 'dominion claim' an arena."

Jafar's jaw dropped. "You're making that sound way worse than—"

C cut him off. "Logically, a trained, conditioned warrior will defeat a self-taught brute who thinks blood loss is a valid combat strategy."

"I had a plan," Jafar muttered, folding his arms. "I was trying to do a…" He hesitated.

"A what?"

"A domain expansion…"

C stared at him. Then burst out laughing. "And that is exactly why I bet against you."

"Wow," Jafar said flatly. "Betrayed by my own nerd."

C waved dismissively. "You're fine. My wager earned us a prize. Vari offered to grant any request within her power."

Jafar perked up. "So what'd you ask for? Riches? Power? A way home?"

"No," C said, smirking. "I asked that we be treated as equals."

Jafar frowned. "Why the hell would you—"

"Protection," C said simply. "It means we can speak to her directly, without bowing, without servitude. It's leverage. Even if she likes us, she's still a being who could erase us with a thought. Equality gives us space to breathe."

Jafar thought about it, then grinned. "Clever. I like it."

"I know," C said, smug again. "And since you're with me, that makes you an honored guest. Though…"

"Though?"

"Well," C said, tone suddenly way too casual, "you might have to do a few experiments."

Jafar's brow furrowed. "Experiments?"

C's grin widened. "Vari's very interested in your blood. Apparently it's the first thing in centuries that's resisted divine resonance."

"…Meaning?"

C shrugged. "Meaning you're either the key to something monumental…" He took another sip. "…or tomorrow's autopsy."

Jafar sighed, lying back. "Yeah. Heaven was definitely too much to hope for." He sat up suddenly, a thought sparking in his mind. "Wait. What about the ruby?"

C paused mid-sip, brow raising. "You mean the Rubercautous Amulet of Tri-Goon."

"Yes, smart ass," Jafar said, glaring. "That's the whole reason we're here."

For a full three seconds, they stared at each other.

C blinked once. Then again. Then his face went pale.

"…Oh."

"Oh what?"

Without another word, C nodded briskly, turned on his heel, and sprinted out of the room.

"Dumbass!" Jafar shouted after him, falling back onto the bed with a groan. "He's supposed to be the smart one…"

He exhaled, arms behind his head, letting his thoughts drift. Despite the pain, he couldn't help but grin. That fight—that had been fun. Too fun, actually. She was strong, clever, and fast. Maybe even faster than him.

But C was right. He wasn't trained. His raw talent only got him so far, and she'd carved through his arrogance like it was tissue. Next time he saw her, he'd—

His thoughts cut off as he felt it: a presence. Pressure like the world itself had taken a breath.

The door opened.

Her.

And, unfortunately, the spoon-wielding menace from earlier—Siumone—was with her, gesturing wildly and talking in rapid-fire Daquian. Even if Jafar didn't understand the words, the tone made it sound like he was being accused of five separate crimes.

"What do you want?" Jafar asked, voice lazy but wary.

B'Raixa's eyes flicked toward Siumone. "Dorei Sha Da."

Siumone blinked, clearly unhappy about that order, and protested in a flurry of harsh syllables.

"Dorei Sha Da," B'Raixa repeated firmly, not raising her voice but making her authority known.

Siumone glared at Jafar—really glared—then stormed out, muttering under her breath.

B'Raixa turned back to him, arms folded, her gold-and-white dress catching the light. She walked closer, slow and deliberate.

"You're not gonna hit me, right?" Jafar said, raising his hands slightly.

Her lips curved faintly. "Why would I hit you, boy?"

"First off," Jafar said, leaning back against the bedframe, "I'm a man. Second, you didn't kick my ass. So don't talk down on me."

B'Raixa arched a brow. "One of us is walking around. The other is in a medical facility. I think handing you your ass is an understatement."

Jafar squinted. "Why do you talk like that?"

She blinked. "Like what?"

"Like you swallowed a Shakespeare play."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "And you talk," she said slowly, "like a drunken street rat trying to philosophize."

He grinned. "Better than sounding like a lecture in heels."

Her glare deepened—but the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying the faintest hint of amusement.

"Careful," she said, voice soft but dangerous. "Keep talking like that, and I might start to think you enjoy getting beaten."

Jafar smirked. "Maybe I do."

B'Raixa blinked—then, to her own surprise, laughed. "Insufferable," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Yeah," he said, watching her with a grin. "But you didn't deny it."

"I suppose it's because the Daqui language is… proper," B'Raixa said, her tone composed but edged with faint amusement. "Proper and foreign. There aren't many things you can translate cleanly into English. I'm quite astounded that your companion was able to speak it in only a few days."

Jafar smirked. "Yeah, well… he's still the smart one, I guess."

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He leaned back on his elbows, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. Maybe being in C's top fifty smartest people in the multiverse wasn't that bad. Especially since C was the one who actually figured out it was a multiverse. But that was a thought for later.

Right now, there was a gorgeous woman standing in front of him—possibly from Earth, definitely dangerous, and even more definitely staring right at him.

"So…" he started.

She looked at him expectantly. "Hmm?"

He grinned. "Wassup?"

Her head tilted slightly. "Hmm?"

"Oh, now we don't understand English?" Jafar said, raising an eyebrow. "Stop playin'."

Her brows knitted together, the faintest trace of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. "I'm confused by what you meant, you mongrel."

Jafar's jaw dropped. "Mongrel?!" He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. "Excuse me, princess, but last I checked, you're the "mongrel" that blew up her own arena!"

Her eyes flashed. She reached up and flicked her hand toward his forehead in mock chastisement—

—but he caught her wrist mid-swing.

For a second, they froze. Her pulse thumped beneath his fingers, her skin warm against his calloused palm.

She smirked first. "Bold."

He smirked right back, releasing her hand. "Like I said—you didn't kick my ass. So show a little respect before—"

"Before what?" she interrupted, stepping closer. Her voice lowered, tone playful and dangerous.

He met her gaze evenly, grin widening. "Oh, you're a devil in a dress, huh?"

B'Raixa chuckled, "Careful," she said softly, turning away, her dress sweeping as she headed for the door. "Flattery doesn't suit you, Outlander."

Jafar shot back. "We all gotta wear a bad fit every now and then."

She paused in the doorway, golden light outlining her silhouette. "Then train harder," she said without looking back. "Because next time, I won't hold back."

"Where are you going?" Jafar asked, leaning forward a little as B'Raixa turned toward the door.

"I have other things to attend to," she said, her tone clipped as she began to count them off on her fingers. "Training, reports for Vari, a meeting with the council of—"

"Stop playin' around."

She paused mid-step, glancing back at him, one eyebrow raised.

"You came here for a reason," Jafar said, that cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And I can guess what it is."

"Oh?" she said, crossing her arms. "Why's that?"

"'Cause I'm an Outlander—like you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You think I came here to—"

"So you can pretend you're not curious and leave," he interrupted, grin widening, "or you can come sit by old pappy's lap so I can tell you the story—"

"Shut up!" she snapped.

He laughed, hands up in mock surrender. "There she is. I was startin' to miss that voice."

B'Raixa sighed, rubbing her temple. "Fine. But be serious."

"Hey, you could at least ask my name before interrogatin' me," Jafar said.

"It's Jafar," she replied without hesitation. "Your comrade—what did he call himself? C—"

"Yeah, just call him C," Jafar interrupted. "His name's ridiculous."

"It is," she said, giggling before she could stop herself.

Jafar grinned. "There we go. Got you laughin', gigglin', and chucklin', yet I still don't know your name."

She smirked. "I also kicked your ass."

"We tied."

"You lost."

Jafar squinted at her. "Agree to disagree! What's your name?"

"B'Raixa Daqui," she said, with the same regal weight she gave everything.

"Okay, cool," Jafar said. "Not using our Earth names."

Her expression stiffened. "It's… well—what's your Earth name?"

"I asked fir—"

"I already spared your life," she interrupted, straightening up, chin tilted high. "Besides, I'm not just spilling information because we both might be from Earth. This will be a fair trade, you get what you give."

He chuckled. "Fair." He leaned back, arms crossed. "We'll keep it at our current names then."

She blinked. "Hmmm… must be an embarrassing real name.."

"Your current name sounds like somebody got bored halfway through a sentence."

Her aura flared.

He flared his right back, smirk deepening. "You can't insult me and think I'm just gonna take it. No sir-ree, not today."

"Whatever," she muttered, rolling her eyes. Then she sighed, visibly relaxing. "Let's start over."

She extended her hand, and he took it, his grip firm, both of their auras humming faintly against each other.

"I'm B'Raixa Daqui," she said evenly. "Vari's recently appointed Rank Two Duchess."

"And you are?"

Jafar grinned. "Jafar. Red Prince of the Blood Realms."

She raised an eyebrow. "You made that up to sound cool."

"Okay, to be fair," he said with a mock-serious nod, "Blood Prince was on the table, but Red Prince just hits harder."

B'Raixa chuckled, shaking her head. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," he said, leaning forward slightly, "you're still here."

They spoke for hours without realizing it.

B'Raixa began first— She told him how she appeared in this world: how the Daqui had found her half-conscious in the grasslands after running from a monstrous bird, how she'd adapted to their customs, learned their language, and earned her station through strategy, combat, and restraint. It was a life built on structure, on composure, on knowing when to bend and when to break.

Jafar listened. For once, he didn't interrupt. Didn't tease. Just… listened.

Then he spoke.

And the things he said made her stomach knot.

His "arrival" wasn't a story of grace or guidance—it was survival. A plunge straight into madness. He told her about the Blood Realms, a place that sounded more like a punishment than a world. About the creatures that hunted anything that breathed. About how pain there wasn't an injury—it was a constant. About how five or ten years had passed before he even saw another human face, and how the only reason he survived was because he stopped trying to be human at all.

When he described the smell of that place—the iron, the rot, the heat that clung to your lungs like ash—B'Raixa found herself gripping her knees. Her throat felt tight.

He smiled through it all, of course. Like it was just another chapter in a story. But behind the grin, she could hear it—the exhaustion. The ache. The truth of someone who'd clawed his way through hell and somehow still found a reason to laugh.

By the time they both paused, the window light had changed. Hours had gone by unnoticed.

B'Raixa blinked, surprised by how quiet the world had become. "It's late," she said softly.

"Yeah," Jafar said, stretching his arms and cracking his neck. "Guess I make good company, huh?"

She smirked despite herself. "You talk too much."

He grinned. "So I'll see you around?"

She stood, smoothing her dress, already half-turned toward the door. "Of course," she said. "If you survive the experiments."

Jafar blinked. "Wait— experiments?"

But she was already gone, her laughter echoing down the corridor like a bell.

"…Oh, hell no," Jafar muttered, throwing his hands up. "C's dead to me."

The experiments weren't that bad in the end. Painful, sure—but not the flesh-melting, soul-shattering type he'd been bracing for. Mostly tests of his blood, his aura, and whatever strange reaction his energy caused when mixed with Daqui artifacts. Vari got her data, and C got another dozen notebooks worth of scribbles and diagrams.

That had been weeks ago.

Now C and Vari had taken a scouting party to investigate the god they'd stumbled on months prior—the one Jafar and C had accidentally "found." Jafar would have gone too, but… well, he was busy.

Busy training.

Busy sparring.

Busy talking—with her.

B'Raixa.

What started as tension became curiosity. Curiosity became banter. Banter became a routine. Somewhere between bruises and laughter, she'd stopped calling him "Outlander" with disdain and started using it with something closer to… affection.

He even started to fit in with the Daqui. He never learned the language but vibes and aura did wonders. The Twins had taken a liking to him, the warriors had warmed up, and even the aloof nobles had begun referring to him with something between respect and fear.

Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months.

C and Vari were still gone, but their magical letters arrived every few days—pages of progress reports, encrypted coordinates, and occasional sarcastic remarks. Jafar was glad C was enjoying himself.

Then came word that they were returning.

That same evening, after another battle to repel some beasts from the northern borders, Jafar sat perched on one of the castle's high ledges. The Daqui city glowed beneath him—bands of gold and silver light streaking through the fog. The wind cut across his face, tugging at his now-tailored Daqui attire. He liked this outfit more than he'd admit.

"You look like a main character," came a familiar voice behind him.

He smiled without turning. "Of course you'd find me. I'm just glad the side character's competent."

She chuckled. "You want me to push you?"

"I can fly," he said simply, "That threat doesn't work."

B'Raixa sat next to him, her presence warm despite the cold wind. Her armor glimmered faintly, catching the crimson-gilt ember hue of the horizon.

"You didn't even ask if you could sit," he said, feigning annoyance.

"This is partly my castle," she replied coolly. "I'll sit where I please."

He smirked. "You sound like a villain right before the betrayal scene."

She ignored him, eyes fixed on the horizon. "The battle today went well," she said after a moment. "Minimal casualties. You fought better than last time."

" It's almost like I've been training," he said, stretching his legs. "Getting tired of hearing you act surprised."

"You did lose."

"Debatable."

"Reality isn't."

He grinned. "See, that's what I like about you—you're "humble"."

She chuckled softly, then looked down at the city. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.

"C and Vari should arrive soon," she said eventually. "His last message said they were bringing back… things."

Jafar raised an eyebrow. "Things?"

"That's the word he used."

"Never a good sign," Jafar muttered. "Every time C says 'things,' I end up bleeding or arrested."

B'Raixa smiled faintly but didn't respond. The quiet lingered, filled only by the hum of the city and the distant sounds of Daqui soldiers drilling below.

Then she glanced at him, her tone softer now. "Jafar," she said, "what are your goals?"

He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

"My… goals?"

"Yes. Why you fight. Why you train. Why you stay. You've been here for months, and I've heard you talk about everything but that."

The question hung in the air between them, heavier than any weapon either had drawn.

"Wow," Jafar said, leaning back and smirking. "Take a guy out for a scenic view, and suddenly it's—"

"Can you talk without joking?" B'Raixa interrupted, voice firm but not unkind.

He blinked. "Where's this coming from?"

She exhaled, eyes fixed on the horizon. "You," she said quietly. "You've challenged me since the moment we met. You've heightened my resolve, pushed me to become sharper. And ever since you and C appeared here… I've been forced to see the world differently. Knowing others from Earth exist, knowing that entire realms exist—realms beyond even Vari's reach—" she paused, shaking her head. "You two are doing something extraordinary. Trekking through the unknown and making it known. But…"

"But what?" he asked.

She turned to look at him, her golden eyes steady. "You don't seem to be living in the moment."

Jafar just stared at her.

She stared back, waiting.

When he didn't answer, she frowned. "You're not responding because all you can muster right now is sarcasm."

"Shut up," he muttered.

"Am I wrong?"

"Shut. Up."

"We may not share true names," she said, ignoring him, "but we can at least share our goals. As a respectable riv—"

"We're rivals?" he interrupted, sitting up straight.

"Yes. What else would we be?" she said, her tone serious.

"I dunno," he said, rubbing his neck, "I thought we were friends…"

Her head tilted slightly. "Friends and rivals can't be the same thing?"

He frowned. "You're a serial killer. Being your rival is a death sentence."

"I'm not," she said, offended but amused. "I've adapted to the culture. Murder and assassinations aren't crimes here if done within the guidelines."

"Oh yeah, that makes it so much better."

"I'm just moving with the world," she continued, unbothered. "If one wishes to survive in the Daqui, they must understand its laws and spirit. This society rewards strength, cunning, and decisiveness. I simply embrace that."

He gave her a look. "You seem to enjoy it a little too much."

Her smile was small and sharp. "Maybe I do. I've always loved challenges. Pushing myself past my limits. The thrill of a fight, the edge of uncertainty. This world… fosters that. It's honest about what it values. Power. Skill. Resolve."

She looked back toward the horizon, the wind pulling at her platinum hair. "My goal is to become Vari."

Jafar blinked. "You what?"

"To become her," she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "To surpass her. To embody what she represents. If I can conquer this society, this way of life, then I will have completed the ultimate challenge."

He stared at her for a long moment before snorting. "You're crazy."

"Perhaps," she said with a faint smile. "But you of all people should understand. Back on Earth, I was an adrenaline junkie. Heights, races, fights—anything that tested my limits. That hasn't changed. The only difference is the stakes."

She looked at him again, softer now. "What about you, Red Prince? What do you want?"

Jafar didn't answer right away. He watched her—this deadly, beautiful, maddening woman—speaking about conquering an empire like she was talking about climbing a mountain. And yet… she meant every word.

He sighed, a weight settling in his chest that he couldn't quite name.

"…Yeah," he said quietly, looking away. "I get it."

He thought back to that cave.

The one in the Blood Realms. The one that had become both his shelter and his prison.

It wasn't big—barely wide enough for him to stretch his legs without scraping the walls. The stone was black and slick with condensation, always wet, always cold. The air hung heavy with the copper sting of blood that never seemed to fade, like the world itself was bleeding. He could hear it too sometimes—dripping, faintly rhythmic, echoing from somewhere deeper in the dark.

He'd been too afraid to go outside for weeks. Maybe months. The Blood Realms didn't forgive mistakes. One step in the wrong direction and something would find you—sniff you out, drag you into the crimson fog, and you'd never come back.

So he stayed.

He stayed in that damp, stinking hole with a pile of bones that didn't belong to him, with rot climbing up the walls like mold. He'd scrape the moss from the rocks when hunger clawed too hard, drank the vile condensation that gathered on the ceiling when thirst bit deeper than fear. His skin cracked from the heat, his clothes shredded long ago.

There were no days or nights there. Just the red haze outside and the dim black inside. Sometimes, when the wind screamed through the cracks, it sounded like laughter. Like the realm itself mocking him for still trying to exist.

He'd mutter to himself. Then laugh to himself. Then argue with himself. He named the rocks, the shadows, the damned dripping sound that became his only heartbeat in the silence.

He stopped keeping track of time when his nails started growing long enough to cut with.

Sometimes, he'd crawl to the mouth of the cave and stare into the red mist, his body trembling between starvation and terror. The shapes that moved out there—hulking, crawling, whispering—would pause when he did, as if waiting. As if daring him.

And every time, he'd pull himself back inside, whispering, "Not today," through cracked lips.

He rotted there. Starved there. Thought he'd die there.

Until one day, something inside him snapped—not from fear, but from the unbearable stillness. He walked out.

And he didn't come back.

"I came here protecting my sister," he said, voice low and steady. "I don't know if she's here or not—but I've been looking for her."

B'Raixa sat up, the casual poise folding into sharp attention.

"If she came here, she could be dead," he went on. "But I have to find out what happened. That's my first goal." He inhaled, eyes fixed on some private horizon. "While looking for her I realized… this world is made to cage and kill. It tried to snap me. So I'm going to bend it and break its spine. I'll make it bleed for what it did—whatever it takes. I'll do the impossible: find my sister, and become a force this world can't ignore."

He looked at her then, all humor gone. The wind took his words and flung them across the land like a challenge.

B'Raixa's skin went suddenly cold beneath her armor. The light in her eyes sharpened; the jokes and jabs fell from her like the cloak she'd shrugged off hours before. Sitting beside him, she felt—only for a sliver of a breath—like standing beside Vari: a pressure, an authority, a current of intent that altered the air. It was brief and dangerous, and it made her heart thrum with something that wasn't fear, exactly—respect, maybe, or a grudging recognition.

For a moment neither of them moved. Below them, the city hummed; above, the moons wheeled in indifferent silence.

"But you're right. I'm now going to have proper fun doing it." Jafar's grin flashed in the moonlight, easy and fearless.

Something in her chest fluttered before she could stop it. Damn him.

He made everything sound so simple. So alive.

She turned away, trying to still the rush of warmth in her veins. This man—this impossible, blood-born fool—was dangerous in more ways than one. Fascinating, yes, but she had duties, titles, and an empire's worth of expectation pressing against her shoulders. Feelings could wait.

"Don't you forget to have fun as well," his voice cut through her thoughts, softer this time.

Her gaze flicked back to him.

"People like us," he continued, eyes fixed on the city below, "we're crowned by silence, not by hand. To get what we want, we'll have to make some brutal choices. So when you're out there trying to take down Vari, don't get caught up in the politics. Enjoy it. Makes life a hell of a lot more entertaining."

For a heartbeat, she just stared at him. The words sank deep—past armor, past discipline. Something wild and unfamiliar clawed up from her chest. Her pulse quickened; the wind seemed to still.

Before she could think, she leaned in—just a fraction at first, then fully—closing the space between them. Her lips found his.

It wasn't careful or calculated; it was instinct, raw and dizzying. He froze, startled, then kissed her back with that same reckless energy that defined him.

When they finally pulled apart, neither spoke. Their foreheads almost touched, breaths mingling in the chill air. Her heart hammered in her ears. His eyes, storm-dark and burning, met hers with the faintest, knowing smile.

A distant horn broke the moment.

"They're back," she said, steadying her breath.

"C and Vari?"

She nodded, standing too quickly. "Their convoy just crossed the outer gate."

"Guess that means the god trip was a success," he said, smirking. "Hopefully C brought back something that doesn't explode this time."

"Or something that does," she countered, straightening her cape. "That usually makes things interesting."

He chuckled. "So, uh… about what just happened—"

"Never happened," she said quickly, though the faint color in her cheeks betrayed her.

"Right," he said. "Never happened." He grinned wider. "Unless it happens again."

She shot him a look that was half threat, half amusement. "Focus, Jafar. Don't be so easily distracted."

He followed her down from the ledge, both of them pretending to ignore the way their hands brushed. Whatever they were—friends, rivals, something more—would have to wait.

Because now, C was returning with knowledge from a god.

And that knowledge would be the true beginning of their legacies.

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