The scent of twilight clung to the onyx columns as you advanced into the throne room. Torchlight caressed the black marble, casting reflections of gold and fire across the floor. All was silent except for the rustle of your cloak and the steady beat of your heart. You weren't supposed to be nervous. Yet, as you took the last few steps, your breath slowed. Because he was there.

Azrakhael.

He sat with lazy grace, draped in deep blue and gold, his figure both indolent and sovereign. His eyes, a burning amber, rested on you like a promise... or a threat. Two black panthers flanked him. One lay at his feet, the other curled against his shoulder, its golden eyes reflecting your own image.

"Here you are at last," he said, his deep voice flowing through the air like a blade of velvet. "I thought you'd hesitate."

You stopped a few steps away, your gaze firm despite the tension in your throat.

"I hesitated," you admitted. "But fear has never guided my steps."

A smile touched his lips, lazy but without warmth. He raised a hand, adorned with gold rings, and beckoned you closer. You obeyed, each step echoing in the tense silence. When he grasped your hand, his fingers were both strong and controlled. A grip that offered no escape.

"They say you're indomitable," he murmured. "I can't wait to see for myself."

His hand brushed against your jaw, slid slowly along your throat. You remained motionless, even as his fingers rested on your pulse, feeling it beat beneath his skin.

"And you?" he breathed. "What do you say about me?"

Your gaze never left his.

"That you're dangerous. That everything you touch eventually breaks."

He smiled, wider this time, and the panther slowly raised its head as if understanding.

"Maybe..." His breath brushed your temple. "But some things are made to survive fire."