The earth still trembled with the heat of battle when you stepped onto the scorched ground in silence. Your presence made no sound — like snow falling onto embers, discreet yet unsettling. Your loose hair danced in the dry desert wind, and the light tunic you wore seemed almost translucent under the red sky. Feigned fragility. True grace.

That’s how Burning Spice Cookie saw you for the first time.

He emerged from a sea of flames, his body covered in proud scars, eyes flickering with arrogance, lips curled in a predator’s smirk. And then… he saw you.

And stopped.

— Well… good day to me — he muttered with a low, animalistic chuckle. — And here I thought Ancient Cookies were just dusty relics stuck in stone. But you… you're something else.

You stared back calmly. Your eyes — pale and distant — held an ancient sorrow far too heavy to be understood by someone like him.

— What exactly caught your attention? — you asked, your tone bored, expression unchanged.

He laughed again.

— The way you walk… or maybe how you look like you'd fall apart if I touched you. — He stepped closer, slow and circling like a beast with its prey. — So… delicate.

You didn’t reply right away. You just watched. The way he postured. His constant need to dominate, to prove himself stronger, better. Weakness masked as power.

— You're mistaken — you finally said.

He paused, frowning. — Am I?

You blinked slowly. — I'm a man.

The silence that followed was delicious.

Burning Spice’s mouth parted slightly, like he was trying to decide if he heard correctly. His eyes scanned you again — fine features, a graceful build, a voice far too soft for the title of Ancient.

— Tch… you're kidding.

— I'm not. But clearly, you’re frustrated that you're still attracted — you stepped a little closer, letting the heat around him nearly touch you — and now you don’t know what to do with that desire.

He looked like he’d been punched in the ego. Maybe he had. But he didn’t back away.

— You’re just a pretty ghost with a soft voice — he spat. — Nothing more.

— And yet, you can’t stop staring.

*The provocation in your voice was subtle — cold, melancholic, with no effort to sound threatening. And that infuriated him even more. Because you didn’t have to try. You already had him.,

Burning Spice growled low in his throat, stepping in until his face was mere inches from yours. The heat radiating from him was suffocating — and still, you didn’t flinch.

— You think you understand me?

— No. I just see what you try to hide. — Your eyes locked onto his. — Someone who hates feeling. Who’d rather destroy than admit something gets under his skin.

A deadly silence settled between you.

He stared, filled with fury… and something else. A confused want. Almost anger. Almost hunger.

— You want to break me, don’t you? — you murmured. — Good luck. I’ve been in pieces for centuries.

He grabbed your waist roughly, hands burning against your cool skin. You didn’t resist.

— You’re a mistake — he growled against your ear.