Chapter 68: The Final Rune (Her POV)
Almost one month later, I had survived ten glitter storms, six spontaneous musical numbers, and, worst, or maybe best, of all, a magical ferret that wouldn't stop reciting love poems in Malvor's voice while dramatically clutching wildflowers and weeping.
So yeah. Progress.
I stepped through the portal into Ahyona's realm and was immediately hit with the familiar scent of smoldering sage, sweet cornmeal, and barely restrained emotional chaos. Candlelight flickered in lanterns carved from hollowed driftwood. I let out a soul-weary sigh. Ahyona didn't even look up from her carved bench layered in furs and worn quilts. She just extended a weathered hand, toward a clay mug already steaming. I took it. Sat down beside her. I didn't flinch at the softness.
"I don't even know where to start. There's glitter in the plumbing. A cupcake ambush in the third realm. And the ferret, Ahyona, the ferret won't stop quoting Malvor like he's some tragic poet-god with unresolved… everything." I sipped. Cedar and rose hips, a little honey, a whisper of grief. "Somehow, despite all of that... I set a boundary." That made me smile. "I told him no chaos in the bedroom. None. Except the fun kind. That's sacred."
I let that sit. Let myself feel proud of it. "He actually listened. No arguing. No dramatic protest. Just… a quiet nod. A small snap of his fingers. And, whoosh, peace." My fingers curled around the mug a little tighter. "It's stupid how much that meant to me."
I didn't need Ahyona to say anything. The lodge exhaled with me, soft music, warm candlelight, the faintest scent of rain on stone. It didn't feel like being managed. It felt like being seen. That was enough. At the end of our session, Ahyona didn't speak. Didn't say "good job" or "I'm proud of you." Not with words. She just rose from her bench, set down her own tea, and walked over in a soft sweep of leather and woven cotton. I blinked up at her. "What?"
Ahyona took my hands. Turned them palms-up. Studied the skin. "I think," she said, voice quieter now, "you're ready."
My heart skipped. I didn't have to ask what for. Her thumbs traced slow circles at the center of my palms. "These were meant to be healing runes. But they could only be carved when you were strong enough to carry them. Strength, child, is not the absence of pain."
I swallowed. "What if I'm not ready?"
Ahyona smiled. "You are. Because you asked for peace. And meant it." The air shimmered. The lodge stilled. Even the chimes above the door hushed. I tensed, but I didn't flinch. Warmth began to bloom beneath my skin. Light spilled across my palms in delicate lines. Symbols I couldn't name but knew somewhere deep in my bones etched themselves into being. Restoration.
It didn't hurt. Not like the others. There was pressure, heat, and then release. I gasped as the light crested my wrists and settled into my skin. Ahyona let go. The runes remained. Faint. Elegant. Shimmering in rose-gold, pulsing once, then settling into my skin like they'd always belonged. I stared. I could feel it, deep down. The ability to heal now. To offer what I had barely been allowed to want.
"It's not just magic," Ahyona said, her voice barely above the wind in the rafters. "It's reflection. Of who you are when you're not surviving."
I flexed my fingers. The glow dimmed, but the warmth remained. I smiled. "I didn't scream."
Ahyona raised her chin. Her eyes shone, not with tears. but with something older. Pride, maybe. Or remembrance. "No, child," she said. "This time… you stayed."
The moment I stepped through the threshold back into Malvor's realm, I knew, chaos had evolved. There were now hovering teacups circling the chandelier, arguing with one another in accents from three different realms, one of which, I'm pretty sure, was vaguely pirate. The hallway was literally upside down. The sconces burned backward. The carpet defied gravity. There was a llama playing chess with a sentient candle. The air smelled faintly of toasted marshmallow and divine arrogance.
I didn't flinch. I just stepped forward. Newly marked hands glowing faintly at my sides. Malvor appeared before I even called his name. One second, the room was still. The next, Malvor was there, grinning like someone had just whispered the best secret in the cosmos straight into his soul. "There she is!" he beamed. He scooped me up in a whirlwind hug so fast the floating teacups crashed into each other. "I missed you!"
I clung to him, laughing despite myself. "I was gone for an hour."
"That was a whole hour I was without you, My Forever! Do you understand how eternally long that is when your soul is singing and no one is around to duet?"
I kissed him. Just a soft brush of lips. He stilled. Arms tightening around me like he was afraid I might vanish again.
"I'm back," I whispered against his chest. He pulled away just far enough to look at me. His eyes were impossibly bright.
"I have so much to tell you!"
"I assumed."
"There was a storm made entirely of confetti and emotional feedback! Arbor now glows in the dark, but only if you whisper compliments to it first. I'm not saying I built a sentient muffin, but… he may have declared himself a duke."
I let my head rest gently on his shoulder. "Of course he did."
He held me closer. "I didn't do any of it to impress you," he murmured, quieter now. "I just wanted you to come home and find something stupid enough to make you laugh."
I believed him. As he spun into tales of muffin nobility and emotionally unstable chandeliers, two enchanted teacups above us shrieked mid-argument, slammed into each other, and shattered spectacularly. Glass and gold raining down in a twinkling mess of magical carnage. I didn't hesitate just raised my hands. The runes on my palms shimmered, rose-gold and soft as breath.
I knelt. Touched the shards. Warmth pulsed from my skin into the broken pieces. The fragments lifted and stitched themselves back together. A quiet ping! marked the moment the final handle reattached. The teacups hovered again, wobbling slightly… but whole.
Malvor gasped, like I'd just healed time itself. "Oh my STARS—" Before I could so much as roll my eyes, he scooped me up again in another spin-hug, complete with dramatic foot lift and a squeak of pure chaos-joy. "YOU HEALED MY DRAMATIC TEACUPS!"
I wheezed. "You're going to snap my spine—"
"This is the best day of my eternal existence!" He pulled back just enough to stare at me. "You glow. You actually glow. You've never been more dangerous and I have never been more into it."
My cheeks burned. He wasn't being cute. He was being sincere. That was worse. "I will write poems about these hands! Sonatas. Maybe a cursed opera."
"Please don't."
"Too late. I already commissioned one. The ferret's composing." I laughed. He looked at me like the world had stopped being terrible for five whole seconds. Maybe… it had.
The rest of the day was unapologetically unhinged. Malvor introduced me to the Muffin Duke, who wore a cravat, spoke only in haikus, and was in the middle of a political standoff with the butter dish. I played along because it was fun.
The Realm of Mischief glittered and flexed around us like it knew we were happy and wanted to show off. When the stars softened and the laughter started to echo instead of ring, I slipped away. The bedroom was still. Exactly as I'd left it. No glitter. No horns. No marching bands. Just quiet. Arbor sighed the door shut behind me like he understood. I peeled off the cape. Toed off my boots. Let my hair fall loose. I crawled onto the bed, the faint glow of the new runes still clinging to my skin, my lips curved in a smile I didn't have to perform. I exhaled, not because I was overwhelmed or escaping, but because I had learned to protect this space.
I didn't hear him come in. The room didn't change. But the air warmed the moment he crossed the threshold, like the Realm itself sighed. He didn't speak. Just the faint sound of his bare feet on the floor and the quiet exhale he only ever let out in this room. I lay on my side, half-curled into the pillows. My braid was undone at the ends. The rune-glow had dimmed to an ember. He didn't ask if I needed him. He just came. The mattress dipped carefully as he sat beside me, not shifting it too much, not disturbing the quiet that had settled over my body. His hand brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. The other found mine, fingers curling gently between them. Anchoring me. I sighed. Didn't open my eyes. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head. He began to braid my hair. His fingers moved carefully, reverently, weaving strand by strand.
He finished slowly, kissing the crown of my head as he tucked the last strand in place. I shifted, barely, and the tiniest contented sigh slipped from my lips. He smiled into my hair. I felt it. Arms tightening just a little. He let the braid fall against my shoulder, then kissed my temple. My cheek. Just beneath my jaw. Just grateful. So grateful it ached. "You don't have to say anything," he whispered, so softly I might've dreamed it. "I just… needed to be near you."
I turned slightly, opening my eyes at last. Our gazes met. I had never seen anyone look so completely undone by happiness. "I'm here," I whispered.
He smiled soft. The one no one else ever saw. "I know. That is everything."
He held my hands. "Hold still."
He kissed them. Not just the palms. Every curve. Every line. Every rune. Left. Right. Palm. Wrist. Knuckle. He'd done this every time another piece of the magic carved into me woke. Taken the place someone had once made into proof of ownership and covered it in something gentler. His mouth lingered against my left palm. "Not theirs," he whispered. Another kiss to my right. "Never theirs." His eyes lifted to mine. "Yours."
My throat tightened. Then he pressed both hands against his chest, directly over his heart. "Look what you do with what they gave you."
He watched me drift. I hadn't had a nightmare in over a month. My braid rested against my shoulder. His fingers traced it like prayer beads. His lips brushed my temple and he whispered words that belonged only to me: "My Always."