Yara glided toward us with her arms outstretched, every inch of her glittering body radiating self-importance. I smiled sweetly and inclined my head. "Yara. You look absolutely lovely tonight."
Malvor stepped forward, bowing just low enough to make the gesture insulting. "Yara-pearl, you have outdone yourself. So many… shiny things. Truly, you look like a treasure chest exploded. In the most dazzling way, of course."
She preened under his words, utterly blind to the venom wrapped in his silk. "I told my stylist," she said proudly, tossing her blue hair like a wave crashing over rocks. "'Give me drama, give me ocean, give me spectacle.'"
She twirled once, and the shell-covered hem of her dress clinked faintly together, like storm-battered windchimes. Malvor nodded solemnly. "And drama you received. A masterpiece of nautical ambition. You are like the very essence of a coral reef during mating season, radiant, wild, and just slightly dangerous to the ecosystem."
My lips twitched. Hard. Yara beamed. "You are such a flatterer, Malvor."
"Oh, but it is sincere," he said, hand to his chest. "Truly, no one else could carry that much… accessory and still remain upright. It is heroic."
I coughed into my hand, dangerously close to laughing. Yara struck another pose, delighted with herself. "Well, you know I like to make an entrance."
"And make it you did," Malvor said, eyes gleaming with mischief. "The sirens will be jealous. Poseidon himself might rise up and ask for fashion advice."
My shoulders trembled. Breath caught. He leaned closer, stage-whispering, "Careful, Sea Biscuit, if you compliment her too much, she'll start shedding pearls like a clam with performance anxiety."
I covered my mouth to smother the laugh, then grabbed his arm in a death grip. "We need to go," I hissed.
"Where to, my Sapphire Seahorse?" he asked, oh-so-innocent.
"Anywhere," I managed tightly. "Before I laugh and she realizes you're insulting her."
Yara, still oblivious, swept away to greet someone else, leaving a cloud of perfume and seashell clatter in her wake. The second she was out of earshot, I broke. Laughter burst out of me helplessly, my chest aching with the effort to hold it back for so long.
"Subtlety has drowned," Malvor muttered.
"Buried at sea," I agreed through tears.
He smirked, smug as ever. "She really did look like a decorative jellyfish. But in a celebratory way."
I swatted his arm, still wiping my eyes. "You are terrible."
"I know," he said, shameless. "But at least I'm your terrible."
We slipped deeper into the party, ducking beneath strings of floating pearls and sapphire orchids swaying in the enchanted currents. The music pulsed like a heartbeat through the waterlit club, lights shifting and flowing like tides. The bar curved like a crescent moon, its surface a ripple of deep-sea glass. Behind it stood one of the bartenders. An androgynous beauty with silver-blue skin, seafoam eyes, and sleek braids threaded with tiny shells. Their tailored suit shimmered like wet silk, hugging a statuesque frame that made me stare a second too long.
Malvor, of course, leaned on the bar as though he'd built it himself. "Two Ocean's Kisses," he purred, glancing my way, "one for my saltwater siren, and one for myself."
The bartender's lips curved slow, amused. "Flavored to your mood, you know. I wonder what yours will taste like."
"Sin and regret, probably," Malvor said with a wink. "Add something with bite. I want to feel it tomorrow. Yes, yes, I know, gods don't get hangovers. I enjoy the illusion."
They chuckled and turned, conjuring two shimmering crystal glasses. I caught Malvor leaning in to whisper something else, something that made the bartender grin, sharp and coy. I bumped his hip. "Flirting with sea spirits now?"
"Only the stunning ones." He slid a glance at me, wicked and warm. "But don't worry, my Whirlpool of Want. You're still my drink of choice."
I rolled my eyes, but smiled all the same, accepting the glass. The Ocean's Kiss changed flavors on my tongue, sweet, then spicy, then cool as mint. We were halfway through our drinks when laughter bubbled through the music like windchimes caught in a summer breeze.
"Malvor!" The sound rang bright, clear as mountain air.
His whole face softened, his smile shifting into something unguarded. "Ahyona."
She came twirling through the crowd, not in sequins but in a dress the color of twilight water, threads of beadwork glinting like constellations when she moved. A sash of turquoise hugged her waist, shells and feathers woven into her straight black hair. She spun once, twice, nearly toppled, and ended in a half-curtsy that wobbled on the edge of disaster.
"Oops!" she giggled, then winked. "Only two Shirley Temples, and already the floor's dancing under me."
I raised a brow. "Two?"
"They're mostly cherry juice and sparkles," she said gravely, sipping from a curly straw shaped like a feather. "A very advanced beverage. Only for the mature and wise."
Malvor crouched slightly to meet her eyes, his grin wide. "Ahyona, that is exactly how I'd describe you. Mature. Wise. Overflowing with elegance and poise."
She snorted. "You say that now, but last week you called me a baby."
"You were wearing a crown of dandelions," he said mildly, "and crying because your enchanted catfish ran away."
"It leapt away," she corrected, scandalized. "And it was a good crown."
He reached out, brushing a bead of glitter from her cheek. "And you were radiant. Like royalty. Sticky, tear-stained royalty."
Ahyona beamed, bright as a sunrise over stone cliffs, then leaned against his side, sipping her drink with the kind of contentment only she could summon. "I like it when you're not being mean to me," she teased.
Malvor put on a mock wounded face, glancing at me as if begging for backup. "I am never mean to her."
"You put a frog in my bed for my birthday!" Ahyona gasped, pouting dramatically.
"That frog wore a crown," he countered, utterly serious. "And sang lullabies. You're welcome."
"I still hear him in my dreams," she sniffed, pretending to be cross.
His laugh came deep, warm, and utterly unguarded. I felt it ripple across the bond, genuine affection, not performance, not chaos, but something softer. He adored her. Not like the sly, flirtatious way he toyed with the Pantheon. Not like the dramatic, mocking way he pried at others. With her, it was different. Gentle. Pure. Protective. Then Ahyona turned those wide, sparkling eyes on me. "You look so pretty tonight. Totally giving river-princess but also secret-villain energy."
I blinked, caught off guard. "I… thank you?"
"It's a compliment," she said sagely, nodding. "If I ever turn evil, I want to look exactly like you."
"Too late," Malvor chimed, raising his glass. His smirk curved sharp, but his eyes lingered, softened. "She doesn't need encouragement to look that good. Or to be dangerous."
Ahyona leaned in, stage-whispering, "Hey, Malvor? You're not going to break her heart, are you?"
My breath caught. But Malvor didn't flinch. Didn't smirk. Didn't dodge. He looked down at her with a softness I'd never seen him show in public, quiet, unshakable, real. "No," he said simply. "Never."
Something in me stilled. Because he meant it. Ahyona studied him for a long moment, then grinned and patted his arm. "Good. Because if you do, I'll curse your dreams."
"You already do," he shot back dryly. "There was an entire week I dreamed in cupcake flavors. The plain ones were fine, but the glittery pink one? That was my favorite."
Ahyona's laugh rang out, bright as a drumbeat. "That was a gift, not a curse. The glittery pink one is the flavor of being alive." She twirled away, her hair flashing with beads and feathers, laughter trailing behind her like river light as she darted toward a glowing sculpture of jellyfish.
I watched her go. Then I looked at him. "You love her," I said quietly.
He didn't hesitate. "I do. She's one of the only people who makes chaos feel like innocence."
His words sank deep, reverent and real. Then, ever himself, he smirked. "Also, she's the only one who can outshine me in playfulness. That deserves respect."
I kept my eyes on the girl's beaded belt as it caught the light, turquoise strands flashing like water. She spun beneath a cluster of floating lanterns, laughter trailing behind her, bright and careless, like the world itself bent to keep her shining. She was so light it almost didn't seem real.
"Is she always like that?" I asked, sipping the last of my drink.
Malvor's smirk softened into something different, something unguarded. "Ahyona is… complicated."
I arched a brow. "Complicated?"
"She's ageless," he said, his voice dipping softer. "Not just immortal like the rest of us, carrying centuries like old coats. She flows. Shifts. Some days she's a child chasing fireflies. Other days she's a stormy teenager, moody and impossible. And sometimes, she'll speak like an elder who remembers when the mountains were still stone giants with no names. You never know which version you'll meet. The only rule is to honor it. If she wants to be sixteen today, then today she's sixteen. You don't argue. You respect."
I studied him, the fondness in his eyes, the way his voice gentled without him meaning to. "So what is she really?"
He shrugged, gaze still following the shimmer of her laughter through the crowd. "Her realm isn't just healing. It's life itself. Every spark, every thread, every root, every heartbeat. Ahyona can weave them together with a whisper, pull someone back from the edge with a touch. But she can unmake just as easily. A hand that soothes can stop a heart. A sigh can wither fields. She doesn't show it, not often. Doesn't like that part of herself. So she buries it under glitter and jokes. But it's there. All that sweetness, all that river-light, it covers a storm we pray never breaks loose."
I glanced back at her. She was under the lanterns now, pretending to juggle firefly-shaped sparks. Her dark hair spilled loose as she laughed, wild and sweet. Too bright. Too innocent. Untouchable.
"She's… terrifying," I whispered.
"Yes," Malvor murmured, a faint smile curving his mouth. "But also precious. One of the only ones I trust with the worst parts of me. She sees everything. And still chooses kindness."
He turned then, brushing a stray curl from my shoulder with surprising care. "She loves you already, you know. She doesn't say it, but she does."
I blinked. "Why?"
"Because you haven't run." His eyes held mine, steady. "And Ahyona knows how rare that is."
I let the words settle between us, heavy as stone. We stood there, watching her twirl and laugh, her light scattering across the sea of blue like she was born from it. Then, of course, Malvor ruined the moment. He lifted his glass with a flourish, his grin sliding back into place. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Sea Bunny, I promised you mischief. And another cocktail strong enough to make me forget my own name."
I rolled my eyes. "Gods help me."
"They won't," he said brightly, tugging me toward the glowing bar, "but I will. Probably. Maybe. No, not even I will."
And just like that, his chaos trailed behind us, glitter and laughter spilling into the tide.