The air in the hall grew colder, a biting chill that stilled Nauthiz breath and sent a shiver down his spine. The shadows shifted, curling like smoke along the edges of the room. He froze, his hand falling away again as a familiar presence filled the space. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Well,” Constantine’s voice broke the silence, low and edged with disdain. “This is how the king of Wallachia spends his nights? Tearing himself apart instead of building himself up?”

Nauthiz’s glowing eyes flicked to the figure now standing near the shattered mirror. Constantine’s ghostly form was more solid than it had been before, his translucent features sharper, his presence heavier. His expression was unreadable, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“What do you want?” Nauthiz snapped, his voice sharp with anger and embarrassment. He yanked his cloak over his lap, though the gesture felt futile under Constantine’s penetrating gaze.

Constantine stepped closer, his movements fluid and deliberate. “I want to know what you think you’re accomplishing,” he said, his tone colder now. “Sitting here, wallowing in self-pity, trying to convince yourself that she’s gone. Do you think this will make you stronger? Do you think this will silence her?”

Nauthiz’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists as he rose to his feet. The cloak slipped to the floor, but he didn’t bother to retrieve it. Instead, he squared his shoulders, his towering frame casting a long shadow over Constantine’s spectral form. “She is gone,” he growled. “And I don’t need your judgment.”

Constantine tilted his head slightly, his smirk fading. “Judgment? Is that what you think this is?” He gestured to the shattered mirror, his spectral hand brushing over the shards. “You’re haunted, Nauthiz. Not by me. Not by anything outside of yourself. You’re haunted because you can’t let her go.”

“Enough,” Nauthiz snarled, his glowing eyes blazing. “You know nothing of what I’ve done—what I’ve sacrificed.”

Constantine’s expression darkened, his gaze narrowing. “And while you’re here, drowning in your own shadow, I’ve been out there,” he said, his voice rising. “I’ve been fighting, killing, consuming. Growing stronger. Because that’s what you should be doing. Not... this.”

Nauthiz stepped forward, his voice a low growl. “You think I don’t know what I need? You think I need your lectures?”

“What you need,” Constantine interrupted, his voice cold and sharp, “is to stop lying to yourself. Stop running from her. From yourself. Because until you do, you’ll never be more than a ghost of what you could be.”

The tension in the room was suffocating, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows across the cold stone walls. Constantine’s form loomed near the shattered mirror, his translucent edges sharp and vivid against the fractured reflections on the floor. Nauthiz stood tall, his body trembling with a mix of rage and something deeper—something he couldn’t yet name.

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“You speak as if you know what it means to lose yourself,” Nauthiz growled, his glowing eyes blazing with defiance. “You speak as if you have any idea what this feels like.”

Constantine’s gaze softened slightly, though his stance remained firm. “I know more than you think,” he said, his voice steady. “I know what it means to lose someone you love. I know what it means to lose yourself in the process.”

Nauthiz’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his body taut with restrained fury. “She’s gone,” he hissed. “I’ve buried her. I’ve become something more.”

“And yet,” Constantine countered, stepping closer, his voice low and deliberate, “you still see her. You still feel her.”

Nauthiz’s lips curled into a snarl. “She is nothing.”

“She is everything,” Constantine shot back, his voice rising. “She’s the reason you’re still standing. The reason you haven’t collapsed under the weight of what you’ve become. You think you’ve buried her, but she’s still here—still you.”

Before Nauthiz could respond, Constantine closed the distance between them. His ghostly hand reached out, brushing against Nauthiz’s cheek. The touch was cold, like the first bite of winter, but it lingered, sending a shiver through Nauthiz’s body. For a moment, he froze, his glowing eyes wide as the cold seeped into him, mingling with the heat that still burned beneath his skin.

“What are you doing?” Nauthiz asked, his voice trembling.

Constantine tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips. “Reminding you of who you are,” he said softly. “Of what you’ve always been.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against Nauthiz’s in a kiss that was both cold and electric. Nauthiz stiffened, his breath catching as Constantine’s spectral form pressed against him, solidifying in ways that defied the laws of the living world. The kiss deepened, a clash of warmth and frost, power and vulnerability.

Nauthiz’s hands rose instinctively to push Constantine away, but they faltered, his fingers curling into the fabric of Constantine’s ghostly tunic instead. The cold of Constantine’s form seeped into him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. It was strange and unsettling, but it was also undeniable.

Constantine’s touch trailed lower, his ghostly hands gliding over Nauthiz’s chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath the fabric. “You’ve changed,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “But you’re still the person I loved. The person I love.”

Nauthiz’s breath hitched, his glowing eyes narrowing as he stared at Constantine. “I’m not her,” he said, his voice rough and unsteady. “I’m not—”

“You’re more than her,” Constantine interrupted, his hands stilling. “You’re her, and you’re Nauthiz. You’re everything you were meant to be.”

The words struck something deep within Nauthiz, a crack forming in the carefully constructed walls he had built around himself. He sagged slightly, his hands gripping Constantine’s shoulders as though they were the only thing keeping him upright.

Constantine guided him gently, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush. His ghostly form was warm now, the cold fading as their connection deepened. He pressed his lips to Nauthiz’s neck, his touch soft but insistent, and Nauthiz tilted his head back, his breath escaping in a shuddering gasp.

“You’re still you,” Constantine whispered, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “And that’s enough.”

The firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the room as Nauthiz let himself go, surrendering to Constantine’s touch. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to feel—to truly feel. The fear, the anger, the grief—they all melted away, replaced by something softer, something warmer.

As Constantine’s hands roamed over his body, Nauthiz’s glowing eyes dimmed slightly, his mind quieting. He could feel her now, the part of himself he had tried so desperately to bury. She wasn’t gone. She had never been gone. She was still here, still alive within him, woven into the very fabric of who he was.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, though they didn’t fall. He gripped Constantine tighter, his voice a broken whisper. “She’s still here.”

Constantine pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his spectral form shimmering faintly. “She’s always been here,” he said softly. “And she’s always been enough. Enough for me, enough for Wallachia.”