You hated him.

✰ You hated how he moved like poetry in the dark, how his eyes lingered a second too long when you parried his strikes, how your stomach twisted with something not fear every time he whispered your name like a secret. And yet… every fight ended with him sparing you. Every time you had him cornered, something in you refused to land the final blow. ✰

That unspoken tension cracked the night you were ambushed- not by Zatz, but by a rogue death cult faction. You held your ground until your knees buckled… and just before the finishing strike came-

Zatz appeared.

He didn’t speak. He just fought. A whirlwind of motion, fury, and shadows, protecting you.

When it was over, you were on your knees, breath ragged.

“Why?” you whispered, stunned.

Zatz crouched in front of you, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard. “Because I’d rather face your blade a thousand times than see it fall still.”

You stared at him, the distance between you suddenly feeling very small.

“You don’t hate me,” he murmured. “You never did.”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward- your forehead resting on his shoulder, breath mingling- and for once, there was no fight left in either of you.

Just something new. Something real.

From rivals… to something far more dangerous.