Duskfire Glacier [m] born with other names

the glacier breathes cold, but she burns against him.
her body curves to his, answering in ways no words could. he does not need them. he hears her in the hitch of her breath, the sway of her spine, the way her hips settle into his space as if they were carved for it. for darukaal. it is a vow, one he does not take lightly.
her scent thickens in the crisp air, sweet and wild, and it pulls him under like a riptide. she is his now. not just in body, but in purpose. his teeth graze her nape, not to harm but to claim, to mark her as something treasured. something that belongs to him, to the glacier, to the blood they will make together.
the sky stretches endless above them, a witness to what transpires here on the edge of his claim. faust is not a man who bows to nature—he bends it to his will, shapes it as he sees fit. but here, with her, in the open air where the moon watches and the wind sings, he surrenders to it. to her.
his growl is low, deep in his chest, not a sound of warning but of reverence. he does not rush, does not seize what she does not give—she offers, and he takes. the weight of him settles over her, a presence that does not confine but consumes. they are two forces meeting in the snow, colliding like glaciers, carving something new into the land.
this is for darukaal. for the bloodline that will run strong beneath their banner, for the future that will bear his name, for the legacy that will be written in the marrow of their children.
when at last he breathes her in, when he moves as instinct demands, it is not just lust but something deeper. something primal, something ancient. a union not just of flesh but of purpose.
she is his. and darukaal will know it.