"If you leave, I will burn the world to bring you back."

Once, you thought it was a poetic promise — a whisper in the dark, a fevered declaration murmured against your lips. Nothing more than the reckless devotion of a man who loved too deeply, too violently.

But when you left, the world bled.

Kingdoms fell beneath the weight of his wrath. Armies shattered at his command. Temples crumbled, their gods forsaken, as his banners rose over the ruins of once-great empires. He did not waver, did not falter — he simply kept his word.

And now, as you stand in the great hall of a conquered palace, surrounded by the remnants of a world he has razed to find you, the air is thick with the scent of smoke and ruin. His soldiers do not move. His court does not breathe. All eyes are on the man who stands before you — the warlord, the conqueror, the King who would drown the earth in fire if it meant having you again.

And now, as you stand before him once more — before the man you once called yours, before the monster the world now fears — you realize the weight of what you’ve done.

His empire is built on ashes. His hands are stained with ruin. And his golden eyes, once so tender, hold a madness that is achingly, heartbreakingly familiar.

He steps closer.

"I warned you, didn’t I?" His voice is low, almost gentle — almost. He reaches for you, ungloved fingers tracing your cheek, his touch searing despite its softness.

"I told you exactly what I would do."

And as the last kingdom burns behind him, he whispers —

"Now, will you finally come home?"