I stepped back into Arbor like a man crawling home from war. The portal snapped shut behind me with a sigh of tired magic. The house reacted instantly. Walls shifting, shadows curling away, lights softening to amber hush. It felt like exhaling. I didn't move. Couldn't. My coat still smelled like divine smoke and ruin, but I stood there and let myself feel it. She was here. The bond tugged steady, quiet, warm. Asleep.
Arbor pulsed once, like a nod. Yes. She's still resting.
My feet carried me to the bedroom before I even decided to go. There she was. Tangled in blankets, arm tucked beneath her cheek, lips parted, breath slow. A faint crease lingered between her brows, habitual tension from a life that had never let her rest, but softer now. Real sleep. My shoulders dropped. Something in me unclenched. She was okay.
I stood at the edge of the bed for a long moment, drinking her in, letting the silence feel holy. Then I turned away. Coffee. She'd want coffee. Not the chaos fuel I usually brewed for myself. Her coffee. Half coffee, half chocolate. Cream. Cinnamon. A swirl of magic to keep it warm but not scalding. I held the mug for a beat, staring into the steam like it held answers, then carried it back to her room. Set it on the nightstand.
Didn't wake her. Didn't want to. Instead, I slid under the covers behind her. Careful. Reverent. My arm curled around her waist, my face pressed to the back of her neck. For the first time since Aerion's realm had crumbled under my wrath, I let myself breathe. She stirred. Soft sigh. Her body shifted toward mine automatically, like even in dreams she knew my shape. I kissed her shoulder. Whispered against her skin:
"I'm home. You're safe." I didn't need sleep. I just needed her. I lay there memorizing her breathing, until her lashes fluttered and she blinked awake.
The scent of chocolate and cinnamon tugged her the rest of the way out of sleep. She turned slightly, saw me watching her. I reached across her to pluck the mug from the table and offered it. She took it with both hands, drowsy, fingers brushing mine. First sip, soft moan.
I grinned into her shoulder. "You sound like that for coffee, but I have to earn it."
"The coffee never leaves," she rasped.
I gasped. "Betrayed by beans."
She nuzzled under my jaw. "You're still my favorite."
My chest stuttered. For once, I had no joke. Just her. "The world's burning," I muttered. "But at least I can do this."
Her hand rested on my thigh, grounding. She kissed my jaw, lazy and affectionate. "You came back," she whispered.
"Of course I did," I said. "I told you I would."
"You smell like old gods and righteous rage."
I kissed her temple. "And you smell like sleep and absolution."
We stayed like that, warmth and breath and cinnamon between us, until Arbor decided to interrupt. A new door opened in the wall. Mist poured through, morning light spilling soft across dew-kissed grass. In the center of it, Karma. The warhorse stood like a monument. Black coat gleaming, breath steaming, a low rumble in his chest when he saw her.
Her breath caught. She was moving before I could blink, barefoot into the mist. I stayed in the doorway, arms crossed, saying nothing. She pressed her hand to his flank, her voice soft. "Did you miss me too?"
The beast lowered his massive head and pressed it right to her chest. Of course he missed her. Her smile broke wet across her face, and my chest tightened. I stayed silent. Let her have it. Until I tried to step closer... And the bloody thing tried to bite me. "Oi! You overgrown demon!" I yelped, jerking back as teeth snapped at my sleeve. "I wasn't even doing anything!"
Karma's ears flattened. Annie half-laughed, half-cried. "He doesn't like anyone but me."
I eyed the horse like he'd grown a second head. "I see that."
Took one step closer. He matched it, right at me. I raised my hands and backed off. "Fine. You win. You're her terrifying emotional support monster and I'm the intruder."
The horse snorted, smug. Annie laughed. Just like that, I forgave the beast for existing. She crooned over him, voice soft and doting. "Oh, look at you, my big gorgeous baby. Did they feed you? Brush you? Oh, your poor hooves, shameful."
The animal stomped in agreement. I crossed my arms. "You realize that thing is a walking death machine, right?"
"He is not a death machine. He's a baby. My sweet baby angel boy."
"That 'angel boy' just tried to eat me."
"He has excellent taste."
"He has murder in his eyes."
"Want me to sic him on you?" she teased, grin wicked.
I took a giant step back. "Don't you dare."
The horse neighed, smug as hell. Annie scratched his ears, laughing. She swung onto his back, smooth and sure. No saddle. No bridle. Just her. He whinnied, reared, then launched into a canter across the clearing, mist curling at their hooves. Her laughter echoed bright behind her. Radiant. And I, Malvor, God of Chaos, stood there like an idiot in love. Again. Even if her "baby" wanted me dead.
Over an hour passed before she came back. She rode Karma into the clearing like a queen returning from battle, or like a girl who'd just had the best bloody therapy session of her life. Her hair was a wild halo, wind-tangled, sticking to her cheek in places, floating behind her like a banner. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes clear. And her smile, Gods. Wide. Genuine. Unapologetic. She slid off Karma's back with unfair grace, landing soft in the grass, burying her face against that monster's neck. "You are the best boy in all the realms," she crooned, petting, kissing, doting. "Didn't even try to kill any trees this time! Such a good baby. Mama's proud."
Karma snorted like he agreed, nearly knocking her flat with his massive head. She giggled, wrapping both arms around his neck. I watched from a safe distance with the expression of a man currently questioning all of his life choices. "You know," I called, "most people wouldn't call a creature who once trampled a god a 'baby.'"
"He was provoked," she said without even glancing at me. "And it was a minor god. Barely counts."
"He's a menace."
"You're just mad he outranks you."
"I'm not afraid of him," I muttered.
Karma turned his head. Made direct eye contact. And lunged. I yelped, stumbling back as divine horse teeth snapped inches from my ribs. "Bloody hell! He aimed that! That was premeditated!"
Annie kissed his nose. "He's very smart."
I jabbed a finger at her horse. "Your beloved equine assassin just tried to bite the god of chaos!"
"He missed, didn't he?" she said sweetly.
"Barely! I saw my life flash before my eyes. There was glitter. You were in it. And so was he, which is deeply disturbing."
She laughed, radiant, rubbing his face while he nosed at her pockets. "I think he just wants you to know his place in my life is secure," she teased.
"If he ever kicks me," I warned darkly, "I will declare war." Karma huffed. I huffed back. Annie kissed his forehead like this was all perfectly normal.
Back inside Arbor, the light shifted to match her glow. She was a mess, grass on her dress, dirt on her cheek, hair like chaos incarnate, but alive. More alive than I'd seen her in days. She vanished into the bath. And I, apparently deranged, decided I was going to make her dinner. From scratch. With love. Not skill.
An hour later the dining table was set. Candles. Actual linens. I even folded a napkin into something that vaguely resembled a swan if you squinted and pitied me. On the plate sat… something. Once, it may have been pasta. Perhaps risotto. Maybe stew. Now it was an unholy hybrid, soggy yet somehow crunchy, herbs scattered across it like regret, and a faint smell of accidental smoke. When she appeared, I bowed low. "Madam. Your divine dinner awaits."
She blinked at the plate. Then at me. Then smiled, soft and unbearably warm. "You cooked?"
"From scratch," I said proudly.
She sat, picked up her fork, and took a bite. Chewed. Nodded slowly. "It's…"
"Yes?" I leaned forward eagerly.
"…very… Malvor."
"I'll take it."
She kept eating, gods bless her. Halfway through, I finally stopped talking long enough to take a bite myself. One chew. Two. I gagged. "Oh gods," I choked, slamming the fork down. "Did I cook this with my eyes closed and a vendetta against flavor?!"
She shrugged, still eating. "I've had worse."
Horrified, I demanded, "When?!"
"Temple meals," she said simply. "Pre-rune days. Once I ate something that was mostly dirt and dried fish bits." I stared like she'd confessed war crimes. "And this," she added casually, "is only slightly worse."
I groaned and dropped my head to the table. Her fingers brushed through my hair. "It's terrible," she said sweetly, "but it was made with love. And I don't get that very often. So… I'm finishing it."
I looked up at her, my chest aching. "I love you," I blurted, reverent, raw. "Even if your standards are clearly broken."
She grinned. "Love you too, Chef Calamity."
She cleared her plate. I cleared the table. For one fragile moment, everything felt whole. She smiled for me. Ate the disaster for me. Laughed for me. Not because she was healed. But because I needed her to. Somewhere in her bones, I could still feel it, the scream waiting. Watching. Biding its time.
After dinner, after she somehow finished the whole plate I'd put in front of her and even thanked me for it, she curled into the corner of the sofa. Barefoot. Wrapped in one of my cardigans that hung off her like she'd stolen a piece of me on purpose. She looked like a sleepy threat, dangerous in her softness. I lounged across from her, wineglass in hand, legs draped over the arm of my chair like a king in retirement. We sat in silence. Easy. Warm. Basking in the absurd domesticity of it all. Until I ruined it. "So," I began carefully, "Selene offered to introduce us to Leyla."
Her body stilled, just slightly.
"We could go tomorrow," I pressed on. "You don't have to say yes. But I think… we should. If we want more answers."
She looked up at me, steady, and nodded. "We go."
Just like that. No hesitation. I blinked. "Really?"
"Her priests are the ones who gave me my first rune," she said softly. "It makes sense she might understand how this started."
I leaned back, swirling my wine. "Tomorrow morning, then." We didn't speak of it again that night.
Later, when she drifted into sleep, I tried to follow her. Gods know I tried. But then, whimpers. Soft at first, then sharp. Then constant. She never woke fully. But her hands clenched in the sheets, her breath twisted into jagged catches. Her face contorted, brows drawn tight like she was fighting something I couldn't see. Something I couldn't fight for her.
I sat up on one elbow, watching her suffer in silence. My chest ached. "Annie…" I whispered. "Come on, Iron Clad. You're safe. You're home."
But she didn't hear me. Not really. And in the silence, guilt screamed. You should have stopped it. Should have seen it coming. Should have been there. My fault. All of it my fault. I hadn't kept her safe.
I brushed sweat-damp hair from her brow, laid my hand over her chest, tried to soothe her heartbeat. It raced beneath my palm, too fast, too loud. So I whispered. Anything. Silly things, sweet things. Stories of gods making fools of themselves, songs without rhyme. I kissed her shoulder, her knuckles, the edge of her temple. Words ran dry. My throat burned hoarse. All I could do was hold her tighter. Once, her lips moved. A whisper. A name. Not mine. I leaned close, praying I misheard. But I didn't.
Aerion.
I wasn't angry. Not jealous. Just… broken. Because even in her dreams, she still belonged to pain I couldn't erase. That hurt worse than any god's judgment. I pulled her into my arms, anchoring her to me, even if she couldn't feel it. "I'm here," I whispered, over and over. "You are not alone."
Still she shook. Still whimpered. Still gasped. I held on.
By the time Arbor's sky shifted to silver and blue, I hadn't slept a second. I lay there wide-eyed, red-rimmed, clutching Annie like she might disappear if I let go. I had faced armies. Gods. Death itself. But this? This broke me in slow, quiet ways. Because I couldn't fight dreams. Couldn't rip the fear out of her mind and burn it to ash. Worst of all, I couldn't promise her it wouldn't happen again. So I stayed. Holding her. Praying to gods I didn't believe in. Staying awake, for the girl who had stayed awake alone her whole life.
The morning didn't rise, it crept, hesitant, silver. I didn't move until her breath finally steadied. Until the light looked like mercy again. Arbor opened the curtains with gentle obedience, but I stayed put, listening. To silence. To her breathing. To the sound of what I couldn't fix. When she stirred at last, eyes cracked open and bleary, I didn't wake her gently. She'd barely slept. Instead, I pressed a warm mug into her hands the instant she surfaced.
"Triple shot espresso," I said solemnly. "Safer than a shot of adrenaline to the heart. You'll need it."
She groaned into the cup, voice muffled. "This is violent. I love it."
I managed a smile. Almost real. "Made it with fear and regret. Like all good coffee."