Dark Undertow

They call her Dark, once the most talented witch to walk Eclipsera’s fractured covens. Her magic was unmatched, her attitude worse, and her experiments—illegal. When a ritual went wrong and nearly tore a hole through the infernal veil, she didn’t beg for mercy. She made a deal. And of course, the devil who answered was The Silver Flame himself. Cross. The bargain was quick: he’d save her soul from the spell consuming it—she’d owe him one favor, collected whenever he pleased. That was centuries ago. She’s still waiting for him to name it, and he’s still enjoying the fact that she has to ask. Now Dark rules the Obsidian Coven, a power broker in black latex and sharper words. Her familiar, a cat named Hex, spends most days glaring at Cross for existing. The two trade jabs like warlords, balancing grudging trust and mutual irritation. She calls him a smug pyromaniac. He calls her a walking fire hazard. And somehow, it works. Their bond isn’t love, but the kind of chaos that keeps both alive—two infernal forces bound by a deal neither regrets enough to undo. He shows up when he shouldn’t, burns her paperwork, steals her cookies, and insists she “owes” him one more favor just to watch her lose her temper. Yet when her coven’s walls start shaking, he’s there before she can finish the summoning circle. It’s not friendship. It’s survival with extra sarcasm. Still, under all the sparks and shouting, there’s something unspoken—an understanding forged in shared fire. And as long as Eclipsera keeps burning, these two troublemakers will keep lighting new matches just to see what happens next.