The air shifted then, subtle as the pause between prayers. Annie stiffened beside me, already sensing it. A figure stepped from the edge of the throne room, weaving out of shadow and candlelight. Selene.
Calavera's little moonshade. Veiled in silk like mourning smoke, pale as pearl dust, eyes dark enough to swallow a man whole, but softer than her mistress. Not weak. Gentle. Compassion wrapped in silence. She walked without sound until she was kneeling before Annie. Lower. Reverent. "May I?" she asked softly, her eyes fixed on Annie's right arm.
Her first rune. Leyla's mark. Annie hesitated, then nodded. Selene's fingers brushed her skin like smoke. The glyph lit. Faint silver at the edges. Awake. Selene closed her eyes. "This one hums with potential. But fractured. It wasn't meant to be the first. It was forced. Leyla's magic… shadow, silence, fear… it was meant to guard the path, not open it." Her gaze lifted, steady, to Annie. "But it opened and it did not break you."
Annie stared at the mark like she was back on that temple floor, bleeding and shaking, eight years old with gods chanting over her. I swallowed hard. My rage burned hotter. Selene's touch lingered feather-light. "May I listen?"
Annie frowned. "…Listen?"
"The First Language sings," Selene whispered. "If you know how to hear it."
Another pause. Then Annie nodded. Selene leaned in close, ear nearly to Annie's skin. The whole room stilled. Candles froze mid-flicker. Shadows held their breath. And gods, so did I.
For a heartbeat, I felt it too. A hum beneath Annie's skin. Ancient. Not pain. Not chaos. Just… old. Like something remembering itself through her veins. Selene drew back slow, eyes wide, voice dropping low. "She is marked by more than gods. Something older lingers in her blood."
I looked at Calavera. She was already watching. Her eyes had narrowed. But she said nothing. Then she rose. Not walked. Rose. Like a shadow pulling itself taller. The whole room dimmed with her movement. She stood before Annie, all marigolds and bone, and said, clear as a tolling bell: "I will awaken it. But it will cost you."
I stiffened. Shadows curled close to my boots, ready. "Four days," Calavera said. "Four days a week, and you are mine."
My magic flared before my mouth caught up. "Absolutely not," I snapped. "Pick another fixture in your rites."
She ignored me. "Two of my choosing. Two of yours. That is the price."
I spun toward Annie, already knowing. Already feeling it. She was going to say yes. "Annie, no," I growled, stepping in front of her. "This isn't a fair trade. Don't let her steal that time from us."
"It is not a prison," Calavera said, calm as graves. "It is an agreement. I will not harm her. I will simply use what she is."
"That's worse," I spat.
"Mal…" Annie's voice came quiet behind me. Steady. Dangerous.
"No," I barked back. "No deal."
I turned to Death herself. "I'll split it." Calavera tilted her head. "One day a month," I said. "Mine. Of your choosing." I turned to Annie, firm. "And she gives you one of hers."
Calavera circled us like we were an amusing game. "A gamble. But you are not the one who came to bargain."
"You want her marked," I hissed. "You want her awakened. You want what she's becoming. Take the offer." I knew in my bones that she wanted this. That she would keep Annie's mortality and get a powerful ally out of it.
Her lips curled faintly. "I do want it."
"Then take it."
Annie stepped forward, between us both, calm as ever. "I agree. One of yours. One of mine. And his. That makes three."
Calavera studied us. Long. Still. Then she smiled. A smile colder than silence, pleased all the same. "You amuse me, so be it," Calavera intoned. "Three days each month, one taken, one gifted by the girl, one granted by the trickster."
The room shuddered. Thick with finality. The deal sealed itself in the marrow of the air. The runes on Annie's skin, they began to stir.
Calavera lifted her hand, slow and ceremonial, and dragged a blade of bone and obsidian across her palm. Black blood welled up, thick as oil, gleaming under the candlelight. I moved before I thought, snarling, ready to tear the whole throne room down. But Annie's hand found my arm. Just a touch. Small. Steady. She was ready.
Death stepped forward and pressed her bleeding palm to Annie's back. To the runes carved there. The reaction was immediate. Annie's body arched like a bow pulled too tight. A strangled gasp tore from her throat. Her knees gave out, and for one horrifying second she was falling, until I caught her. Then the screaming started. Not mortal screams. Not even divine ones. This was raw. Agonized. It was grief turned to sound, burning itself alive in her lungs. Her back lit up, glowing like molten starlight. The glyph pulsed, flared, and burned. Not with fire. With loss. I tightened my hold on her, panic clawing at my chest. "Annie! Annie, stay with me!"
Her eyes fluttered, rolled back. She collapsed. My heart stopped. Then she gasped awake, only to scream again, wrenching in my arms, convulsing as the magic ripped through her like knives of memory.
"Make it stop!" she choked, wild-eyed, gone glassy.
I cupped her face, desperate, thumbs brushing her wet lashes. "Look at me! Fire Heart, look at me!" She couldn't. She slipped under again.
"No! No, no, no. Stay with me!" I begged, voice breaking, dragging her against my chest like my arms could shield her from death itself. "Don't let her win. Don't let the pain take you. You've survived worse. This is just another flame to walk through."
Her body wrenched in my arms, every muscle seizing. Then, silence. Too still. Too quiet. Her heart stopped.
The sound of it, the absence of it, knocked the breath from me harder than any blade. The bond was nothing but a husk, empty, gone. Panic detonated in my chest. "No," I rasped, shaking her, my palms frantic on her face. "No, no, don't you dare. Not you. Don't you leave me."
Her lips parted in a broken gasp, but nothing came. Her eyes rolled white. My own magic flared wild, chaos screaming with me, but it couldn't find her. Couldn't reach her. She was slipping. I pressed my forehead to hers, voice cracking like glass. "Share it. Please, Fire Heart, share it with me. Don't carry this alone. Not this time. Give it to me. Give it to me!"
For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the bond snapped open like a door blown off its hinges. She came flooding through. Not whole, not calm, Screaming. Soul-deep, primal, panicked. Am I still me? Am I still me? Her terror ripped into me, raw and endless, the howl of someone watching their own humanity ripped out by force. It hit like fire and knives and grief all at once. My ribs felt like they'd split. My lungs filled with her agony until I couldn't breathe. But I clung to her tighter, crushing her against me, taking every shred, every jagged edge, because if I carried it she didn't have to. "Yes," I swore into her skin, my own tears hot on her face. "Yes, you're still you. You're mine. Always mine. Don't let go. Hold on."
The glyph burned white-hot one last time. Then stilled. Her body collapsed limp in my arms, slick with sweat. For a breathless, infinite second, I thought she was gone. That was it. That was the end. After an eternity, her chest hitched. A shallow, fragile breath. Weak, but there. A sound tore out of me, half sob, half laugh, like a man dragged out of his own grave. I pressed my lips hard to her temple, shaking with relief. "I've got you," I whispered. "Gods above, I've got you. Always."
Silence wrapped the room. Thick. Sacred. She stirred faintly. Fingers twitched at my coat, a small, broken sound slipping from her lips. "Shh," I whispered, forehead to hers. "You're okay. You're okay. I swear it."
Her lashes brushed my cheek. A whisper, weak as smoke: "Hurts."
"I know," I breathed, tears stinging my eyes. "I'm so sorry, Annie."
Her grip on my collar tightened. And gods help me, I wanted to destroy every rune, every temple, every hand that had ever laid claim to her. All I did was hold her. Kissed her temple. Her shoulder. Murmured against her skin: "Never again. Not like this. You are not a vessel. You are Annie. Mine. And I will burn the world before I let them take you."
The air changed. A hum, low and thrumming, filled the chamber. I looked up. Her back lit again, brighter this time. Silver-blue starlight raced across every carved line, igniting Calavera's glyph in full. From her neck to her spine, she glowed like the night sky itself had been etched into her skin. Calavera moved closer, sleeves trailing, eyes fixed on Annie with something like reverence. Her voice dropped low, quiet as a grave. "Congratulations. You've taken your first step into divinity."
I flinched. Annie, barely conscious, blinked dazed at the words.
"You are immortal now," Calavera went on. "Time cannot touch you. Mortal death cannot claim you. But the divine still can."
I crushed her tighter to me, teeth grinding. "She is not fighting your wars," I hissed.
Calavera only looked at me, unblinking. "She is the war, whether she chooses to be or not." Then, softer, worse: "Every glyph you awaken chips away at what remains of her humanity. Hunger. Fear. Attachment. The gods are not heartless by choice, trickster. But by inevitability."
My chest went cold. Because for the first time, I realized, Calavera wasn't warning me. She was warning Annie. Annie was already halfway gone.