Raw Soul Magic snarls around her like a wild animal caught in a

  trap—brilliant gold, volatile, and bleeding with every ounce of

  stubborn will I have left. It’s not elegant. It’s not safe. But

  it’s mine. I twist it into a net with nothing but sheer intent,

  hurling it toward her, trying—begging—to anchor her essence to

  mine before it vanishes like mist in morning sun. My jaw’s locked.

  Muscles screaming. I’m one bad breath away from snapping in half.

  But I don’t let go.

  I won’t let go.

  And of course, right then—because

  timing is just another joke the gods like telling—

  [Divine Quest

  Received]

  

  From: Lady Ishtar, Your Patron of

  Bonded Souls & Delicious Chaos

  

  Title: A

  Most Persistent Suitor

  Description:

  Oh,

  Grant… you darling, reckless ox. “Death” isn’t so much a line

  in the sand for you, is it? More of a… flexible guideline. How

  charming. How messy. How utterly my type.

  You’re currently

  trying to soul-tether a dying woman with nothing but fire, grit, and

  romantic delusion. Bold of you. Deliciously chaotic.

  So here’s the

  deal:

  Make the bond. Save the girl. Try not to combust.

  Objective:

  –

  Bind her soul before it fades.

  – Resist the urge to apologize

  profusely.

  Rewards:

  ? An extremely intense soul-bond contract.

  

  ? Partial immunity to

  abandonment issues (Rez sickness and Soul Sickness).

  

  ? Her continued existence (you’re

  welcome).

  

  ? +1 to Being Unreasonably Hot (in her eyes) in any

  Situation.

  Failure

  Penalty:

  She dies. You spiral. I drink. (Nobody wants that)

  Accept this

  divine disaster?

  

  The prompt hovers at the edge of my

  vision like a hungry thing—its pink-gold text pulsing with a rhythm

  that’s almost flirty, if UI design could flirt. I want to tear it

  down, scream at the sky, maybe punch whatever server runs this whole

  divine matchmaking circus.

  This isn’t cute. It isn’t a story

  beat or a flirtatious dare.

  This is her life.

  And here comes Ishtar, all radiant

  cleavage and chaos kink, trying to make it a romcom side quest.

  My hand trembles. Not from the

  strain—okay, also from the strain—but mostly from that

  old familiar hesitance. The kind that whispers, You sure you want

  this? Because once I hit “Accept,” it’s done. No fine

  print. No reversal. No, “Oops, my bad.”

  The bond will be real. Divine.

  Irrevocable.

  And I don’t know what that means.

  Not for me. Sure as hell not for her. And what if saving her is just

  a more elegant kind of prison?

  What if I’m not rescuing her at

  all—just dragging her down with me?

  The box flickers.

  Thin threads of code crawl across the

  bottom, iridescent and alive, like ink bleeding through parchment.

  Quest is now

  SHARED

  

  Recipient: Elara

  

  Status: Awaiting joint

  consent...

  …And of course she did. The goddess

  shared it.

  My stomach turns inside out.

  She's made it her choice now

  too.

  I stare like an idiot, vision

  swimming—shock, maybe. Or just the fatigue, finally catching up. Or

  maybe it’s the cosmic joke of it all settling into my bones.

  Because now Elara can see

  it.

  Even now—barely tethered to this

  world, flickering like candlelight in a hurricane—she manages a

  smile. Faint. Crooked. Unbelievably beautiful in a way that hurts to

  look at.

  And then—damn her—she laughs.

  It’s soft. Raspy. Disbelieving.

  Pulled from the place between life and not, like it doesn’t belong

  here but shows up anyway just to defy everything.

  She sees the quest. The prompt. Me.

  The madness of it all. And she laughs.

  Not because it’s funny.

  Because it’s real.

  Because for the first time in what

  must feel like forever, something broke through.

  And I should be furious at Ishtar—at

  her meddling, her drama, her lack of boundaries—but all I feel is

  this quiet, aching shift. Like a weight’s been nudged, not lifted,

  but moved just enough that I can breathe again. That I’m not alone.

  And I realize—maybe too late, maybe

  just in time—

  I’m not ready to say goodbye.

  Not when she can still fight.

  Not when she can still smile.

  So I look up. At the floating prompt.

  At the impossible mess this has all become. And with a voice cracked

  and raw and full of everything I don’t know how to say—I whisper:

  “Accept.”

  [SYSTEM

  NOTIFICATION]

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Quest

  Accepted

  “A

  Most Persistent Suitor” has been confirmed by both parties

  She gasps—sharp, fragile—like

  someone surfacing from a dream that forgot to let go. Her breath

  skips, catches, trembles on the edge of waking and vanishing.

  “Why?”

  The question lingers, delicate but

  cutting.

  I blink. “Why what?”

  “Why are you trying to save me?”

  And just like that, I’m undone. My

  mouth opens, but there’s nothing ready to crawl out. My thoughts

  scatter, startled—wings beating in every direction, all noise and

  no answers.

  “I… I don’t know.”

  A pause. Heavy. Hanging between us

  like a held breath.

  “Really?”

  She looks at me, unfocused but

  intent. Her gaze doesn’t pin me—it peers into me. Like

  she’s searching for something I didn’t even realize I’d lost.

  I breathe out, shaky and tight. My

  throat’s raw. “I already lost enough. I can’t…” The words

  crawl up and out, scraped bloody. “I can’t lose you too.”

  She laughs. It’s small.

  Disbelieving. Cracked in the middle like an old teacup—but somehow,

  it still holds warmth.

  “Ember’s going to be fine,” she

  murmurs.

  And that’s it. That’s the blow

  that finds its mark.

  I freeze. My heart trips over itself.

  “What? Ember—how do you—?”

  I never told her. Not her name. Not

  the shape of the grief. Not the guilt curled like rusted wire in the

  space behind my ribs.

  So how does she know?

  Is it Ishtar? Some divine sneak-peek

  at my insides? Or is it... this? Me, raw and open and reckless. Maybe

  she sees through the cracks because I never bothered to seal them

  shut.

  I turn to her, something sharp and

  terrified twisting beneath my skin. But she’s already

  moving—already upright.

  Her face is close now. Too close.

  Just inches. Her breath brushes my lips—warm, faintly sweet, laced

  with copper and some older kind of magic I don’t have a name for.

  Her skin glows soft gold, not from health, not yet, but from

  something else. Something ancient and coiled just beneath the

  surface.

  And then it happens.

  Like the snapping of a taut cord, a

  flood of heat and light rushes between us—no, through us—blinding

  and unbearable and perfect. My aura flares, gold and frantic, fingers

  trembling like I’m holding lightning by the throat. I can feel

  it—my magic pouring out, bleeding into the air, wrapping around her

  like a promise I didn’t mean to make but can’t take back.

  Too much. Not enough. Doesn’t

  matter. I can’t stop.

  Tiny paws press against her

  side—Rocky on one rib, Sprocket on the other, their bodies glowing

  with focused intent. Their magic weaves through her like light

  through stained glass, golden threads stitching flesh and soul back

  together. I can feel it. Not just them working—but believing. They

  believe she can be saved.

  The darkness clinging to her chest

  recoils. Just a flicker. A sliver. But it flinches. Death…

  hesitates.

  Then the world shifts.

  A wave of rose-gold crashes through

  me—silken and searing, like a sunrise wrapped in silk and dipped in

  promise. My skin prickles. The air thickens, fragrant with

  jasmine—ripe and decadent and almost smug. Beneath it, something

  heavier: incense curling through cold stone, the weight of forgotten

  temples, the hush of sacred things.

  And then—

  A voice. Not spoken. Not heard. Just

  known. It doesn’t enter my mind. It writes itself

  into me, etched along the inside of my bones like a signature carved

  in fire.

  “So it shall be. A bond forged in

  desperation, strengthened by the echoes of affection. May your

  intertwined destinies be blessed.”

  Damn it Ishtar.

  Before I can blink—before the

  thought even gets its boots on—something shifts. Not in

  the world exactly. Closer. Intimate. A heartbeat between us. A

  current threading through our skin, under the ribs, nudging—not

  pulling, not pushing—just... coaxing. Like the universe just leaned

  in and whispered, Go on. Don’t screw this up.

  Her face tilts toward mine.

  Deliberate. Barely moving, but known. My breath catches,

  trips over itself like it’s never had to breathe in

  someone else’s air before. Her eyes—half-lidded but steady—find

  mine and hold. There’s something there. A spark. Recognition, yes,

  but more than that. Something soft. Something sharp. Something that

  looks too much like hope.

  I try to speak. Really, I do. But my

  throat’s thick and my cheeks are—

  Wait. Are those tears?

  Tears.

  Since when the hell am I crying?

  Doesn’t matter.

  None of it does. Not the chaos

  outside, not the gods above, not the war waiting to resume the second

  this fragile moment dares to end.

  What matters is her. Here.

  Breathing. Glowing faintly with life she wasn’t promised. I don’t

  want her to stay because I need her. Not because I’m broken or

  desperate or clinging. I want her to stay because she deserves

  to. To laugh again. To be alive again.

  And somehow…

  Somehow, we’re about to kiss.

  It’s not one of those grand,

  sweeping moments you’d find in a hollowed-out paperback on a rainy

  afternoon. There’s no orchestral swell, no camera tilt. Just us.

  Hesitant. Unsteady. Like two souls leaning too close to an open

  flame, not to feel heat, but to see if it’s real.

  It’s not passion. Not yet.

  It’s acknowledgment.

  “You’re still here”

  “I guess… I am.”

  A breath shared on the threshold of

  oblivion. A kiss not born of desire, but of defiance. Against fate.

  Against death.

  The rose-gold light pulses—thick

  and syrupy and impossible. Like a heartbeat too big for one sky. For

  a moment, the world forgets to exist. Everything else folds down to

  this singular, quiet moment of warmth, and glow,

  and the deep, thrumming hum of something holy being rewritten.

  Then it fades.

  Softly. Like the last light of

  morning mist curling off a lake’s surface.

  But the warmth—that stays.

  Inside me. Threaded between us. Not

  just magic, not just divine interference. Something older. Heavier.

  Binding.

  I know, in the marrow of whatever

  I’ve become, that something changed. Something clicked. Some tether

  slipped silently into place and refused to come loose.

  Something sacred.

  And absolutely terrifying.

  Across the room, Rocky freezes

  mid-chant—paws still raised, his fur standing on end like static

  just body-checked him.

  His jaw drops. Cartoon-level

  astonishment.

  Sprocket doesn’t even blink. Just

  sighs, lifts a paw... and covers Rocky’s eyes like a scandalized

  chaperone from a very uptight finishing school.

  [Ishtar’s

  Blessing Applied]

  “Fated

  Union” — active

  "AHEM."

  We flinch.

  The moment shatters like spun glass

  dropped on tile.

  I jolt back, spine straightening like

  someone yanked me off a high ledge. And right on cue—

  “Madam. Mi’Lord,” Spuds says,

  clearing his throat with way too much satisfaction. “There are

  children present.”

  Elara and I whirl around in tandem.

  The crew is spread out across

  Nike'Deimus’ back like they’re lounging in a skybox at some

  romantic stage play.

  They're eating popcorn.

  Popcorn.

  Where. The hell. Did they get

  popcorn.

  Twitch stares like a man who’s just

  discovered kissing is real and deeply uncomfortable. His

  whole face is the emoji for “I wasn’t prepared for this.”

  The Nutcrackers?

  Oh gods.

  They look like die-hard romance novel

  readers who have waited a lifetime to watch their OTP finally kiss

  after eight slow-burn volumes and three near-death experiences.

  Their mouths hang open in reverent awe. One of them dramatically

  wipes a tear from her cheek like it’s the closing scene of a

  telenovela.

  They exchange one sacred glance.

  “DAMN IT, SPUDS!”

  they all shout in perfect unison.