Disclaimer: I do not own One Last God Kubera. All rights belong to Currygom.


The first time Teo lays eyes on him, she knows him for what he truly is. Danger. Deep-sea gaze and siren lure and terrifying beauty – much too painful for mortal eyes to behold. Gentleness dwells inside him, deceptive. Breakable. Teo cannot tell if it is subconscious reaction or calculative act on his part, but it makes no difference. All she knows is that she does not regret the reckless gamble she takes at that moment, even if she later has to pay the heaviest price for one caress of his gaze.

Eye heavy-lidded, lips languorously curved, he tilts his neck towards her in an elegant arc, and Teo cannot help but linger when she sees herself reflected in abyssopelagic deep. She likens him to an ancient ocean, threatening to drown her if she dares venture too deep, beyond her mortal bounds. Shades of royal-blue and ice-green captivate her vision, yet lethal red lurks around the edges. Blood gleams crimson-dark against the paleness of his skin and she discards all useless thought at once.

It is a real pity he cannot grant her a name to call him by as he claims lethe when she asks, but he does not need one in truth. He is perfection, and perfection needs neither name nor memory. It simply is. Teo takes him to her city, her healers, her home, with no more questions asked. He is quiet and courteous and listens to her voice with deliberate intrigue when she speaks – and Teo loves that. Tendrils of regality cloak every motion he does and every word he speaks. Slowly, almost instinctively, she comes to regard him as a being who naturally possesses a higher quality. A king.

Unaware of the why or how or when, Teo shares fragments of her past with him – she answers the subtlety of his questions with cutting honesty, but it does not hurt as much as she expects. No…not nearly enough. His visible eye is aglow with knowledge of torment and she finds solace in his silence. Sympathy is not a foreign sentiment to her. Teo indulges in compassion on a constant basis, sponsoring abandoned children, even adopting a daughter of her own, wishing to fulfill a deep-rooted craving, but she has never been the recipient of it, only the giver. Attraction is not born of empathy, she knows, but she feels grateful to her merciful nature despite her ill-fated luck.

Nastika.

Gandharva.

What terrible luck she has indeed.

The day the lake of reflection reveals his well guarded secret is the day Teo wishes to erase, to forget. Kali is undeniably a cruel goddess, befitting the title of chaos, for even her gifts are designed to cause agony. Perfection does have a name…but it is not a name she can speak. Daring to voice his name will shatter the precious delusion she has allowed him to wrap her in so securely all this time – and Teo hates that. Laughter slips past her lips as she finally sees the silky webs holding her prisoner to him. It is melodious but hollow, no joy in the sound. Does he seek demise, desire death? For whom? Her people…her? Teo cannot fathom his heart's motives, even though he must surely understand hers – and so, she pursues him blindly.

Uncaring of shame, she listens to the cadence of his voice as he reveals truths that hurt worse than his lies. A perfect stranger is whom he chooses to confide in – and this hurts even more. Teo grants pardon to this slight because she cannot truly blame him, nor does she wish to. Her chest is laden with heaviness. Breath struggles in her lungs, and she averts her eyes to relieve the burden in her heart. Futile. Bitterness and sweetness lead her aimless steps while she wanders in a city she knows yet her eyes cannot recognize. A scintilla of sapphires filters through the dimness in her eyes when she regains her senses – and Teo sees a king at her feet. She would have thought him cold as ice if not for the searing heat she feels when he dusts her pant leg. His touch is soft and burns like wet fire, seeping through the thick fabric to soak her in rapture, but it is his smile that seals her voice. Devastating. Beautiful.

Gandharva –

Teo chants his name. Again, and again. And again. The hallowed sounds never spill out of her throat, never reach his ears. No…she keeps his name to herself because she treasures this transient moment far too much to ruin it with the foul taste of reality. He is a Nastika King and she a Priestess of Chaos, creatures never meant to exchange such glances, but she pretends they are Gandharva and Teo, man and woman. Surely, the gods will allow such a small favor, even the heartless Kali. They will be King and Priestess once more. Tomorrow. Not tonight.

The gods are not the benevolent beings Teo has vainly striven to make them be nor do they yield for the pleading of mortals. She should have known there would be a price for dallying with divine danger…and in the deepest confines of her soul she already does. If she has indulged a grave sin then Teo is willing to compensate for her alleged crime – the crime of being a woman. Dignity. Courage. Valor. The warrior residing within her body lives and abides by their essence, but she is a woman. And she has fallen victim to the predominant fate of their kind – to love a man. That her chosen man happens to be an unattainable dream she revels in for a fleeting time is merely a whimsical coincidence.

What hopeless dreams

I dreamed.

Ah…

I'm glad…

Maybe the weren't so hopeless…

after all.