Mae felt the world hush around them, the glowing runes along the sacred stone flickering in soft rhythm, responding to her choice, to him. Ashar stood before her in the warm stillness, his golden eyes searching hers for any hesitation. He found none. Without speaking, he reached out, fingers brushing the hem of her shirt. He paused. "May I?"
Mae nodded, heart thudding against her ribs. His hands moved slowly, reverently, lifting her shirt over her head, baring her skin to the cool air and the shimmer of starlight. She shivered, not from cold, but from the gravity of the moment. He let his eyes drink her in, not like a man hungry with lust, but as one who'd wandered an eternity and finally found water. Mae looked away for a second, her blush creeping across her cheeks and neck. But Ashar's hand gently touched her chin, tilting her face back to his.
"You're beautiful," he said, simply. Then he unfastened her pants, slow and precise. His touch was warm as he slid the fabric down her legs, leaving her bare before him. Mae's breath caught. When Ashar stepped back and removed his own clothing, she saw him, fully. Broad. Powerful. His body marked with the faint glow of his lineage, lean muscle carved in graceful strength. And yes, larger than she'd imagined. Her eyes widened instinctively. Ashar noticed. He smiled softly. Not cocky, gentle. "We'll go slow."
She nodded, flustered, but her body already felt the heat blooming deep within. He stepped to her again and lifted her effortlessly, placing her on the low bench at the center of the stone circle. It was warm beneath her skin, alive somehow, humming in tune with their breathing. Ashar leaned over her, bracing himself on his forearm as his lips met hers. The kiss was molten. Deep. His hand slid down her side, fingers trailing over the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. Then lower. When he found her, wet and ready, he paused only to watch her eyes flutter shut. "Mae," he whispered against her neck, voice nearly undone. "You're shaking."
"I want you," she whispered. "Please," Ashar moved slowly, positioning himself, letting her feel him against her first, just there, warm and thick. Their eyes met. The world around them felt like it slowed. Then, gently, he pressed forward. Mae inhaled sharply, hands clinging to his arms as her body stretched to accept him. He stilled, letting her adjust, kissing her softly through it. "We stop whenever you say," he murmured. "Don't," she moaned out. Their bodies found rhythm, slow and sacred. The bench beneath them lit faintly, golden-white lines illuminating under Mae's back, pulsing in time with each movement.
Every thrust, every breath, every soft cry of hers seemed to echo through the stone, mirrored in the glowing runes across the clearing. It wasn't just physical. It was spiritual. With each rise and fall, their connection deepened. Not just bodies, but souls reaching, curling around each other like roots in sacred soil. Ashar touched her face like it was made of starlight, kissed her like he had never known warmth until now. Their bond pulled tight, woven between them, anchored in love, longing, and fate.
When Mae finally broke, shaking under him, crying out his name with a rawness that broke something inside him, Ashar held himself back, forehead pressed to hers, trembling with restraint. "Mae," His voice was hoarse. "I love you."
She whispered back, her hand on his chest over his heart. "I know. I love you too." And then he let go. As their climax met, light burst from the stone circle around them, not blinding, but warm. Holy. Pure. They collapsed into each other, breathless and wrapped in silence. This was the moment fate had been sealed. Not broken. Bound. Just as Mae shifted to sit up, her limbs still wrapped loosely around Ashar's waist, the ground beneath them glowed. Not softly. It ignited.
A radiant pulse surged through the sacred stone, golden light rushing in jagged paths across the circle. Symbols once faded flared to life, too bright to look at directly. The runes pulsed beneath her spine, casting a searing warmth through her skin. Ashar turned, shielding her eyes with his hand. The air shimmered, like the world held its breath, and then rumbled with a deep, earthbound groan. Mae blinked against the sudden light, her breath catching in her throat. "Ashar, what is this?" He didn't answer. Because he felt it too. It wasn't danger. It wasn't magic. It was, calling. A pull between them stronger than before, like the bond had only begun with their first union, and this, this, was its awakening.
Ashar looked down at her, golden eyes wide with awe. "It's responding to us." Mae reached up, her fingers brushing his jaw, tracing the lines of tension and wonder etched into his face. "It wants us to finish it," she whispered, breathless. Ashar's lips parted slightly, and he nodded once, not as a man giving in to lust, but a soul surrendering to fate. The light bathed them both in warmth. Their bodies, already flushed, seemed to hum together. The glow beneath them spread upward, outlining the curve of Mae's back, the broad strength of Ashar's shoulders. His markings shimmered like stardust in motion.
There was no rush this time. No urgency. Just need, and reverence. Ashar leaned in and kissed her again, slower, deeper. His hands caressed her sides with infinite care, like he was afraid she might break. But Mae had never felt stronger, never felt more alive. When they moved together again, it was in perfect sync, like their bodies remembered a rhythm from a time before time. The sacred circle pulsed with them, each movement echoing into the air, sending ripples through the reality they stood within.
Mae clung to him, not in fear, but in belief. Whatever they were becoming, whatever they had awakened, it was real.
And it was theirs.