Winter in Crossroads wasn’t snowing. It was attacking.

Golf-ball sized flakes hammered the streets, fat, fluffy, and so bright-white they felt like flashbangs from the sky. The cold sliced through your clothes, your bones, your soul—like the weather had personally decided to ruin your day.

You stomped through the slush, muttering curses into your scarf, clutching your bag like it owed you money.

By the time you stumbled into Hotel Elephant, you were half-frozen and fully done with life.

The lobby was warm. Too warm. Like “someone paid extra to be flamboyantly rich” warm.

You paid for a room—your wallet cried, the front desk smiled politely—and dragged yourself upstairs. The room was gorgeous and massive, decorated like an overly dramatic palace.

You didn’t care.

You beelined for the wide sofa by the window, collapsed into it like a dying animal, and instantly melted. The seat cushions swallowed you whole. Heat seeped into your frozen fingers. Your eyelids drooped—

So close. SO. CLOSE. To sleep.

Then your phone EXPLODED in your hand.

You jerked upright with a curse that probably summoned something demonic.

Notifications. Hundreds of them. From PHightNet, the official social media for your job.

You squinted at the screen.

FIREBRAND has posted about you. “This little spark walked straight into me today. Cute.” — @LordFirebrandOfficial 🔥 78,912 likes 💬 3,001 comments 👀 Everyone is tagging you

You felt your soul eject from your body.

FireBrand. THE FireBrand. God-king of flames. One of the SFOTH deities. The guy you accidentally barreled into earlier like a drunken pigeon.

You didn’t even get to scroll before your phone rang.

Unknown number.

But somehow… you already knew.

You sighed, dying inside, and answered.

“...hello?”

The voice on the other end was velvet smoke and molten gold.

“Little spark,” FireBrand purred, “I trust the cold hasn’t killed you yet.”

You sat up straighter immediately. He sounded amused. Too amused.

“…FireBrand?” you asked, already regretting life.

“Mhm.” You could hear the smirk through the receiver. “I noticed you’re staying at Hotel Elephant. Cute. Overpriced. Dramatic. You’ll fit right in.”

You blinked. “What—? How did you—?”

“Divine senses. Heat signatures. Boredom.” Then, sweeter: “And besides… I wanted to call.”

Great. A god was stalking you through the blizzard. Awesome.

“What do you want?” you groaned.

A soft rumble of laughter rolled through the phone, warm enough to fog your screen.

“I want you to pack your things.”

Your heart stopped.

“…Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, tone shifting from playful to commanding in a single breath. “You’re being assigned to my domain. The Fire Domain. My castle atop the volcanic throne.”

You stared at the swirling snow outside your window.

“…that’s—hot.” You winced. “I mean—figuratively! Not—literally—I just—”

His laugh crackled like embers. Low. Pleased. Dangerous.

“Oh, it’s literally hot, little spark,” he teased. “Try not to melt too quickly.”

You scrubbed a hand over your face. “Is this optional? Can I decline? Because I have a room, I already paid—”

“No,” he said gently. But firmly. Like the sun telling the moon to move.

“You belong with me.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’ll send a transport in ten minutes,” he added. “Warm up while you can. My domain is… intense.”

He hung up.

You sat frozen on the sofa (again), surrounded by falling snow outside and the faint smell of heat through your phone.

You had no idea what you just got pulled into. But one thing was clear.. FireBrand had chosen you. And gods help you. he wasn’t letting go.