The sky had been split a thousand times before, by wars, by prophecies, by the hand of Heaven itself—but never by love.

On the cliffside where the sea battered itself endlessly against black rock, Kioko stood with her wings spread wide, feathers glinting like snow under moonlight. Her eyes were dark fire, and her jaw set in that stubborn way that meant she would not yield, not even to the stars above. She was small against the vastness of the night, but her defiance filled the horizon.

Behind her, Svyataya watched in silence, tall as a sentinel, shadow bleeding from the edges of her pale skin as though Hell itself whispered her name. Her horns caught the light of the wavering moon, and the tattoos across her arms seemed to shift, languages long dead humming faintly as though stirred by her heartbeat.

It was an impossible picture—angel and demon standing side by side, the air around them heavy with all the laws they had broken simply by touching, by choosing. And yet, when Kioko turned, her face softened, and Svyataya’s calm gaze caught her fire like water catching flame.

“You don’t have to stand against the wind,” Svyataya murmured, her voice low, steady, as though it came from beneath the earth. “You’ll only tire yourself out.”

Kioko’s wings quivered. She frowned, stubborn as ever, but when Svyataya’s hand—large, steady, impossibly gentle—came to rest at the curve of her back, her resistance faltered. She leaned into the touch with all the fury of someone who had finally found a place she did not need to fight.

Above them, the stars were silent. Below them, the sea roared. Between them, there was only a promise: unholy, unblessed, unbreakable.