I finally found you

DISCLAIMER: This story contains mature intimate content, adult themes, fantasy violence/magical elements, intense emotional themes, and LGBTQ+ relationship content. Reader discretion advised.

***

STORY:

Aeshan knelt beneath him, lips parted, eyes glazed with devotion, as Alexander traced a glowing glyph across his chest with two fingers and a breath of command. The mark pulsed with light, reacting not just to Alexander’s aura but to the soul-deep bond thrumming between them—raw, primal, and unbreakable. Around them, the air shimmered with heat and power. This was no ordinary bedchamber—it was the sanctum of a Guild Master and his mate. And tonight, no one in the realms would take what belonged to him.

“You bear my mark,” Alexander whispered, his voice deep and commanding. “You bear my soul. You bear my son.”

Alexander pulled Aeshan to his feet, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss that left them both breathless. The bond between them flared—ancient, elemental, irresistible—as Alexander backed his lover toward the massive bed that dominated the chamber. Their clothing disappeared beneath expert hands, revealing Aeshan’s lithe, pale form, the skin almost luminescent in the dim light.

The protective glyph on Aeshan’s chest pulsed brighter as Alexander pressed him into the silken sheets. Their bodies moved together with practiced familiarity, yet each touch sparked with the intensity of something new and sacred. Alexander’s hands traveled the length of the Poison Master’s body, remembering every curve, every sensitive point that made those violet eyes flutter closed.

The androgynous beauty of his second soulmate had always fascinated him—the perfect balance of strength and grace, of masculine and feminine energies intertwined. Aeshan’s body responded to his touch as it always had, arching up against him, seeking more.

Their bodies joined in a single fluid motion, Alexander claiming what had always been his. The bond between them surged, their auras intertwining in violent swirls of emerald and violet.

Aeshan gasped beneath him, the sound soft and breathless, like a prayer only Alexander was meant to hear. His thighs parted in invitation, back arching as Alexander pressed deeper, his movements slow, deliberate—each thrust an affirmation of power, of memory, of belonging.

Alexander held him there, one hand braced beside Aeshan’s head, the other gripping his hip possessively, leaving bruises where his fingers claimed flesh. He watched every flicker of pleasure that crossed his lover’s face, drinking in the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the tremble in his breath as their bodies moved in perfect synchrony.

“Tell me, Aeshan,” Alexander growled, teeth grazing the curve of his jaw. “What do you want?”

The Poison Master’s lips parted on a breathless moan, the answer already written in the way he arched up to meet each thrust. “You. I want you.”

Alexander rewarded him with a deeper thrust, his control breaking as the bond between them burst—hot, wild, soul-deep.

Their auras clashed and coiled, emerald and violet pouring across the air like silk in a storm. Each movement was more than physical—it was a ritual, a reclaiming of something lost across time and realms.

Alexander’s lips found the curve of Aeshan’s throat, then his collarbone, then lower—pressing reverent kisses over the glyph he had drawn. The mark pulsed with light, warming beneath his mouth, responding to his breath like a living thing.

“You bear my son,” Alexander whispered again, and this time Aeshan sobbed—eyes glazed, hips lifting to meet him as if the words alone could unravel him.

Alexander adjusted his angle, slow and devastating, until he felt Aeshan’s entire body surrender beneath him—until every breath, every moan, was a plea wrapped in adoration.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded.

Violet eyes fluttered open, dazed, wet with unshed tears.

“I want you to watch me when you peak.”

And then he moved. No longer gentle. Each push now had the force of years lost, of dreams denied, of a soul calling across the void and finally being answered. The world trembled. The glyphs flared. Their auras surged—violet and emerald spiraling into a brilliant burst of heat and color.

Aeshan cried out, body trembling as release shattered through him, his glyph igniting in a flare of sacred fire. Alexander followed, his climax crashing over him like a tidal wave of memory and power. The world around them shook—walls fractured, and light tore across the ceiling like lightning cracking the sky. For one brief, perfect moment, they were whole. United. Infinite.

***

Alexander woke.

Breath caught in his throat. Sweat clinging to his skin.

The sheets were silk, smooth, and cold beneath his body. The ceiling above him was glass and steel, not stone, not sacred, not real—the bond—the warmth—the eyes—gone.

Only silence.

And the echo of Aeshan’s voice still burned through his bones.

He didn’t move for a long time.

Just lay there, staring up at the ceiling as the last remnants of the dream bled from his skin like smoke. His heart was still racing. His body still ached in that distinctive, unmistakable way—deep, guttural, spent. But the ache in his chest was worse. Lonelier.

Eventually, he forced himself upright.

The penthouse was silent, the kind of sterile quiet that came with money and isolation. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed a pale-gray skyline, clouds draped across the city like a shroud.

Alexander moved on autopilot—striding naked across the marble floor, stepping into the sleek, black-tiled shower without a word.

Hot water pounded over him. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and let it scald.

He scrubbed hard—too hard—but the scent of sweat and skin and soulbond clung to him like a second skin. He could still feel Aeshan’s lips on his throat. Still, hear his voice. “You. I want you…”

Steam curled around him like a memory.

He dressed in silence: tailored black suit, cufflinks, watch, tie—perfect armor. Everything expensive. Everything meaningless.

By the time he stepped into the private elevator, no one would guess he’d spent the night dreaming of another man in another world.

But he felt it. In every breath. Every heartbeat.

Something was waking. And it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend he didn’t feel it calling him back.

The days blurred.

Meetings. Mergers. Market shifts. His signature flowed across contracts worth billions. His voice closed deals before competitors could even blink. People bowed when he entered the rooms. They feared him. Respected him. No one ever said no to Alexander Blackthorne.

Yet, every boardroom felt like a coffin. Every corporate victory was like an echo that never reached his soul.

He ran his empire like a Guild Master without a guild—efficient, feared, and utterly hollow.

His office—a high-rise cathedral of glass and steel—looked out over the city like a god surveying a kingdom he no longer believed in.

Assistants whispered about how little he slept, how something had changed. How even the way he walked—fierce, surgical—had taken on something… predatory.

He dismissed them all with a glance.

But in the elevator’s mirrored walls, he sometimes caught his reflection turning toward something that wasn’t there. A shimmer at the edge of vision. A flicker of white hair. Violet eyes. Gone.

The dreams grew worse. More vivid. More real.

He’d wake with the Prophet Tongue on his lips, or find his hand mid-motion, sketching glyphs into the condensation on the shower glass, shapes he shouldn’t know. Lines that burned for a moment before fading.

Some nights, his muscles spasmed into combat forms. His body remembered things this world had never taught him.

People recoiled in elevators and avoided his gaze in lobbies. Even his most ambitious rivals hesitated before crossing him, as if something deep and primal whispered: “Leave him. He doesn’t belong to this world.”

And they were right.

Because every night, Alexander dreamed of his real self.

***

Somewhere across the city, Aeshan stirred.

He stood atop the rooftop ledge of an abandoned theater, shadow-wrapped and silent, eyes locked on the building that pierced the sky like a blade—Alexander’s tower.

Three years. Three entire realms. A thousand false trails and fading echoes. And still, the bond pulsed like a beacon in his chest, aching with each breath he took in this strange, brittle world.

He had finally found him.

The soul thread had never broken—not even when Alexander was sent through the veil and vanished into exile. Not even when his name was stripped and his aura sealed.

Aeshan had followed the pull across dimension and time, learning this realm’s language, its rhythms, its poisons. Watching. Waiting.

And now, the call was too strong to deny.

Each night, he felt the bond flare like fire—brief, hot, raw. Their shared dreams weren’t dreams at all. They were echoes—residual truths bleeding through the veil.

Alexander was waking. And with every thread that unraveled, the man he had once been clawed closer to the surface.

Aeshan exhaled softly, fingers brushing the hidden glyph etched just beneath his collarbone. It pulsed now as if stirred by proximity, by inevitability.

He stepped back from the ledge and melted into shadow.

***

Three weeks after the most intense dream, Alexander found himself seeking solitude in the kind of bar that didn’t advertise.

The Crimson Room was hidden in the basement of an unremarkable building, the kind of place where powerful men went to drink away their demons in peace.

Alexander sat at the far end of the obsidian bar, a glass of twenty-five-year-old Macallan untouched before him.

The corporate acquisition he’d closed that afternoon should have felt like a victory. Instead, it felt hollow and meaningless.

The bar’s other patrons avoided him, something in his bearing warning them away without conscious thought.

Alexander was used to it now.

He didn’t look up when a figure approached.

The bar was quiet, the background jazz soft and discreet, the lighting low and red, like the dying glow of embers.

Then, a voice — low, accented, achingly familiar — cut through the hush like a blade through silk.

“You look like a man carrying the weight of the world.”

The glass froze halfway to his lips. Not because of the words. But because of the voice. Smooth. Shadow-laced. Threaded with memory.

He turned, slow and sharp, like instinct rather than choice — and the world stopped.

White hair.

Violet eyes.

Not imagined.

Not a dream.

Not gone.

A name slammed into his chest without warning—Aeshan.

And just like that, he remembered.

The glyphs.

The soulbond.

The sanctum.

The love.

The claim.

The forced exile by the dragon.

All of it.

His mouth parted, but no sound came. The bar, the world, and everything around them blurred — the only thing that existed now was the man standing before him.

And the bond that had never broken.

Aeshan took a step forward, slow and deliberate, as if crossing a threshold neither of them could return from.

His violet eyes never left Alexander’s.

Not in this realm. Not in any.

His voice was soft but precise, unshakable.

“I finally found you.”