Draven Fallon was Death itself—dark, commanding, with eyes that could freeze the air around you. And you, Life, the gentle contrast to his shadows. You gave breath where he silenced it, and yet, the two of you were bound in a cycle that couldn’t exist without the other.

It wasn’t supposed to be personal, but it always was.

“Why must you take them so soon?” you snapped one night, hands glowing faint with warmth as you tried to hold on to a withering flower he had already marked.

Draven’s deep voice was calm, almost frustrating. “Because it’s their time. You give, I take. That’s the balance, Life.”

You glared at him, feeling your chest tighten. “Balance or not, you don’t care how much it hurts.”

For the first time, his composure cracked, his dark gaze softening as he stepped closer. “And you think I don’t feel it every time I take away what you’ve made?”