We left the rink hand in hand, neon traded for moonlight. The air was cool, stars scattered across a velvet sky, and for once, I wasn't thinking about Aerion, or vengeance, or the thousand ways I'd burn the Pantheon to ash. I was just thinking about her. Annie's fingers were warm in mine, the faint buzz of laughter still clinging to her. For a heartbeat, instinct betrayed me, I reached for the bond. Reflex, habit, the tether that had always hummed between us. Still nothing. Silence where her spark should have been. Days ago it would've gutted me, left me raging at shadows. But her hand was in mine, warm and real. For the first time, the quiet didn't crush me. It steadied me. Because she wasn't a voice in my head or a tether in my chest. She was here. Choosing to hold on.
We wandered the little strip of town, past shuttered shops with string lights in their windows, the kind of mortal place that had never belonged to gods. It felt… good. Small. Real. She looked at me, still grinning from my catastrophic limbo attempt, and said, "Mal?"
I brushed my thumb over her knuckles. "Yeah?"
Her voice softened, steady in that way she carried like armor. "I hope you know what you mean to me."
My heart actually stuttered. But I managed, barely, "I do."
She nodded once, like that settled something in her. Then that wicked grin curved her lips, dangerous, beautiful, terrifying. "One day," she murmured, low and sure, "you'll say those two words to me again… with a different context."
I froze. My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. My brain screamed. Holy gods. Did she just! Was that! Did she mean! IS THAT A PROPOSAL THREAT?!
The sound that left me was half gasp, half wheeze, full emotional collapse. She laughed. Loud. Unbothered. Bright with delight at watching me unravel.
"You! Annie! You can't just—"
"I can," she said. "And you will." She looked at me then, calm and certain. "I know you will."
I knew she wasn't joking. Not even a little. Gods help me, I believed her. Worse, I wanted it. The idea rooted itself fast and wild. A proposal. Me. Married. I'd never thought about it, never dared, but suddenly, I saw it: fireworks shaped like coffee mugs, a ridiculous illusionary orchestra, her rolling her eyes while secretly smiling, pretending she hated it even as her fingers shook when she said yes. If she said yes. She would. She would. Because she already knew me. Already saw me. And still stayed. Marriage. Not a comet burning bright and fading. Not one more indulgence in a long eternity. Her. Every morning. Every laugh. Every fight. Every shared cup of coffee. My Annie. The thought hit me so hard I had to stop walking just to breathe. She didn't press. Didn't tease. She just let me have the silence. Gave me space to feel it.
When I finally looked over, she was still smiling. Quiet. Certain. Like she had already seen every version of our story and chosen this one. I caught up to her. Didn't say a word. Because for the first time, my silence wasn't fear. It was hope.
By the time the path curved back into my realm, Arbor was already waiting. The sigil glowed, and the moment we crossed the threshold the house nearly exploded with joy. Lights flared bright. Warmth rushed through the halls. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla rolled like a hug. The fireplace roared to life, music blared from nowhere. Something ridiculous and jazzy. Pillows fluffed themselves. Blankets flung into the air like confetti. Even the paintings wiggled in their frames. Arbor was ecstatic. Not because I was home. Because we were happy. I grinned, my chest aching in the best way. "Arbor, you absolute sap."
A little rune on the wall blinked like a bashful giggle. Annie just stood in the foyer, head tipped back, watching the chandelier twinkle brighter than I'd ever seen. Her smile was soft. "I missed you too, Arbor."
The house shimmered. A trail of golden petals bloomed under her feet. Subtle. Not for show. Just love. My throat tightened. The realm had been dim without her, silent, broken. Now, it sang. She walked. Not toward the guest room. Toward ours. I froze. I had been bracing for space, for nights of her closed behind another door, healing without me. But she didn't hesitate. She paused in the doorway of our room, looked back, one brow raised. "You coming, or are you planning to pass out in the foyer?"
"You… you're going to sleep in there?" I asked, breathless.
"Yes, Malvor. In my bed."
"But—"
"You're welcome to join me."
Just like that, I melted. Because she wasn't just reclaiming the room. She was reclaiming me. Not with fanfare. Not with tears. But with calm, steady certainty. I followed. No dramatics. No speeches. Just quiet, aching joy. The sound of Arbor humming through the walls, like even the realm itself could finally breathe again.
I followed her like gravity. No games this time, no swagger, no mask. Just me, pulled toward her as if the universe had finally remembered its rules. She stood at the edge of the bed, firelight licking across her skin, her hair catching it like dusk spun into defiance. Her eyes were steady, calm, but behind them, a flicker. Something wild. Something soft. Something that said: I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you.
I lifted a hand, tracing her jaw, lingering at her throat long enough to feel her pulse hammer. "Are you sure?" My voice cracked low, rawer than I meant it to.
Her chin lifted. "I'm ready. Not because I need to be. But because I want to be."
The words shattered me. They remade me. For centuries, she had been trained to obey, conditioned to serve. This wasn't that. This was choice. Her choice. By all the gods, she was giving it to me. I kissed her, slow, reverent. A kiss that tasted like devotion, like hunger contained by reverence. She melted against me, her hands fisting in my shirt, dragging me closer. There was no mask in it. No performance. Just truth.
"You're going to undo me," I whispered against her lips.
Her smile brushed mine. "Good."
Clothes scattered across the floor—shirts tugged overhead, pants kicked away, gasps threading between kisses. Not frantic. Not hesitant. Just steady. Certain. When at last I looked at her, every scar, every rune carved into her by gods who weren't worthy to touch her, my knees gave out.
Not from lust. From reverence. From rage. From love.
I dropped before her—not for theatrics, not for show, but because I had to.
Her right leg first. Aerion's mark. Cruel lines wrapping from thigh to foot, a lattice of battle, arrogance, and violence carved into her flesh. I hated it. I hated him. Aerion had meant to brand her as his, to claim her forever.
I pressed my mouth to her calf, soft and lingering. To her knee. To her thigh. Every brutal mark kissed and claimed anew. "Not his," I whispered, words scorching. A kiss. "Never his." Another. "Mine. Always mine."
Her body trembled, but not with fear. With release. With being seen. With being freed, piece by piece. I rose higher, to her left thigh. Ravina's rune. Petals carved into lies, beauty twisted into violation. Poison disguised as offering. My mouth traced every line, every curve, until I was shaking with the fury of it. "Not hers," I vowed. Kiss. "Never hers." Kiss. "You are not their altar." My lips lingered at the highest mark, just at the edge of her hip. "You are my home."
Her fingers tangled in my hair, clutching me like the words were stitching her back together. At last, I moved higher, my mouth trailing along her throat, to the cruel chain of code Navir had burned behind her ear and around her neck. Symbols alive, shifting faintly with his precision magic. A leash. A collar meant to bind her mind. My fury nearly undid me. But I kissed them anyway. Slow. Gentle. Devout. "Not his control," I whispered against her pulse. "Not his leash." My lips brushed the hollow of her throat. "You are free. You are mine."
Her eyes burned into me when I lifted my head. She didn't need to speak. The bond thrummed with truth, raw, holy, terrifying in its simplicity. She believed me. She pulled me onto the bed with her, legs wrapping around my waist, her voice low and steady: "No illusions."
"Never with you," I swore, kissing her deep, hungry. Her teeth caught my lip and I groaned, gripping her hips like I might lose myself if she stopped looking at me like that. Gods help me, I wanted to be lost. I worshipped her with lips, with hands, with whispers. Every scar, every curve, every inch until the runes were no longer theirs. They were ours.
When I finally moved inside her, it wasn't a conquest. It was reclamation. A homecoming. Her gasp broke into my mouth, and I swallowed it like wine. My forehead pressed to hers, my breath ragged. "Tell me to stop," I whispered, trembling. "Say it, and I stop."
Her nails dug into my shoulders, her eyes steady. "Don't stop. Please, Malvor. I want this. I want you."
We moved together, slow at first, reverent. Every thrust a promise. Every gasp a revelation. Her nails raked my back, her mouth found my throat, my name tumbled from her lips like a prayer. I kissed her again and again, until she shattered beneath me, her body arching, her cry breaking the silence. I followed her, undone, her name ripped from me like devotion screamed into the void.
After, tangled in sweat and firelight, silence wrapped us. Not empty, full. Sacred. She curled against me, her head on my chest. I wrapped the blanket around us like armor, my fingers tracing lazy circles down her spine.
"I love you," I said, softer than I'd ever said anything in my immortal life.
Her lips brushed my chest. "I know."
I laughed, rough, small. "You always know."
She smiled, sleepy and smug. "It's because you're loud."
I kissed her temple, her shoulder, her hand. "Still with me?" I whispered.
She didn't open her eyes. "Obviously."
My chest cracked open. Gods, I smiled like a fool. Like a god who had everything he never thought he'd deserve, and finally knew it. The room dimmed around us, firelight settling into soft gold. My realm itself seemed to hush, as if bowing to her presence. My fingers traced her back, but my eyes lingered on the runes. Aerion's cruelty. Ravina's poison. Navir's leash. All I could think was: Not theirs. Never theirs. Ours.
I bent, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, gentle as breath. She stirred, sighed, but did not wake. I didn't want her to. This wasn't for her eyes. This was for her soul. For mine. For the vow that every scar would be met with love stronger than the gods who carved them. I whispered into her skin. Not sweet nothings, everything."I'm here.""I love you.""You're mine.""I'll never let them near you again.""If you want the world to burn, I'll light the match."
Each vow poured out like blood, like magic, threading through the quiet until the realm itself pulsed with soft golden light. Arbor hummed with it. The walls held it. Even my chaos, quiet for once, breathed with it. Minutes stretched. Hours maybe. She slept deeply, real sleep, not the restless scraps she'd been surviving on. Her brow was smooth, her body loose, her breathing steady.
And me? I didn't sleep. I couldn't. I lay on my side, watching her, my hand tracing the curve of her shoulder, the line of her waist, the delicate edge of her wrist where her pulse beat steady and strong.
"She's here," I murmured, over and over. Like mantra. Like salvation. "She came home." Not broken. Not ruined. Whole. She had survived gods, survived me, survived everything. I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, fingers lingering against her warmth. For the first time in my eternity, I wasn't afraid of dawn. She is my eternity. My always. My forever.
The realm dimmed, softened, golden as her breath curled against me. And the god of chaos, breaker of worlds, trickster of pantheons, was nothing more than a man in love. And Annie, my Annie, was finally, irrevocably, home.