Of all his brothers, Syraeth was perhaps the one he was least eager to ever meet.

Zhâine's whispers guide his blades, and his hunger for victory fuels his relentless pursuit of dominance. He is a terrifying figure, a whirlwind of steel and fury, a predator honed for war.

For centuries, Syraeth has reigned over the obsidian fortress of Morthuul. No challenger has bested him, no enemy has breached his walls. Some whisper of dark pacts made, of sacrifices offered to Zhaine in exchange for unnatural prowess. Others fear a warrior so consumed by battle, he has transcended mortality itself.

An unpleasant creature to be around, Syraeth is cold and abrasive; proud, possessive, jealous. Gluttonous in excess about the things he owns- about lovers and prey both.

He is soulbound to Vulrâen.

Ecstasy a black knife keeping him pinned to the sand. Enough to be captured beneath him. Even as the other tries to unhook himself- as Syraeth's claws tighten and twist into flesh to keep him held close.

"I will... I will have you..."

He groans in fear of the very words- in no howling fit but a torn panting. The pain shared. His pain- his own. He feels his own claws curl inwards to hold him. He could not. He could not.

His eyes roll in torture and his teeth bare as he tries to bite when Vulraen lifts away.