The King who feared no flames

The world moved on.
Empires rose. Cities crumbled. Gods fought over ashes.But in the far south, where the skies bled fire and the earth wept black, there remained a single figure—kneeling at a grave with no name.
The Lover from Hell had not moved.
Until the king came.
He was not a man of piety or mercy. The Perfect King, they called him—born without divine power yet feared by gods and monsters alike. His crown was forged of broken oaths, his armies made of silence.
And he did not kneel to heaven. He challenged it.
The king had conquered half the world. But the other half? It remained untouched because of one shadow—one legend—that made the skies flicker when spoken aloud.
The Lover from Hell.
So the king went to see him.Not with an army. Not with fear.But with curiosity.
When the king arrived, he found him just as the tales said—silent, armored in grief, with one wing of scorched fire and a grave behind him that pulsed with untold power.
“Why do you kneel?” the king asked.
The monster did not reply.
“She’s gone,” the king said, stepping closer. “You could burn the heavens. You could take my throne. Why remain here?”
Still, no answer.
So the king did something no one else dared.
He knelt beside him.
For one heartbeat, the world stilled.
Flame did not devour him. The wind did not rise.
And in that quiet, the king whispered, “There is no peace in the heavens. There is no mercy in the stars. But we—monsters, kings, forgotten souls—we don’t need mercy. We make our own story.”
He rose, placed a sword in the ground before the grave, and left.
He did not turn back.
That day, the Lover from Hell finally stood.
He did not speak. He did not scream.
He simply looked at the world—and it looked away.
He had once been a man who loved a girl in a garden.Now, he was the quiet between wars.The flame that gods feared to name.
A monster, yes.
But one whose love was so fierce, it scorched the sky.