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Chapter 101 - Every Place We Loved (Malvor POV)

I woke to silence. Not the hush of morning, not the stillness before a storm. This was the wrong kind of silence, the kind that comes from absence. No glitter raining from the rafters. No ferret reciting sonnets in my voice. No enchanted record player attempting five genres in four seconds. Not even the scent of coffee brewing in some absurdly inconvenient corner of my Realm. Just the echo of breath. Mine. Her scent. Warm. Familiar. Anchored in the sheets. I sat up slowly, blinking dream-gold from my lashes. The other side of the bed was untouched. No Asha tangled in the sheets. No Asha tangled in me. Instead?

A slip of parchment. Enchanted. Rune-marked. The curve of the symbol was hers, neat, intentional. But threaded through it was mischief, spiraling, reckless. Mine. It pulsed once under my fingers when I touched it. Warm. Alive. I unfolded it slowly, already breathless. "You give me wonder. Let me give you something back. Follow the thread. Every stop is a piece of us. -A."

I swallowed. Turned it over. Scrawled in her smallest, messiest script: "Go to the first place we met."

I stared at it. Then smiled. A slow, reverent, terrified smile. Because I already knew, She was about to destroy me.

The Temple hadn't changed. Polished white stone. Gleaming pillars. Murals of gods rewriting their own history. And priests. Gods, the priests. Flocking like flies to shit. "Lord Malvor!" one gasped. Another bowed. "An honor, truly."

"Have you come to bless the harvest?" I smiled. Politely. Murderously. "No. I'm on a scavenger hunt."

They laughed. Of course they did. I was the god of chaos, every word I said might've been a riddle. A joke. A threat. But I wasn't laughing. They kept talking. Too much. Too long. And then it clicked. "She planned this," I muttered. "She knew you'd delay me. Buy her more time."

Of course she did. I flicked my fingers and the temple doors blew open. Scrolls scattered. Robes flared. Wind screamed. I moved like a shadow with purpose. Down. Beneath the stone. To the room where they used to keep offerings. The door groaned open. Nothing. Just cold air. Empty chains. Dust where life used to kneel. I stood there too long. Long enough for memory to catch up. To feel the echo of her there, chained, silent, unbroken. I stepped forward. Lifted the chains. Cold. Familiar.

Her voice. Not real. A recording. Magic. "You didn't touch me that day. You could have. Everyone expected it. You didn't even look at me the way they did. You asked for my name." Silence. Then: "The next place I ever saw… was your tree."

I ran my fingers along the bark. Jagged, swirling upward like a scream frozen in wood. There it was. Etched not in ink, but memory. Her voice again. "You took me from chains to roots. I didn't know which was scarier. But under this tree… I stopped waiting to die. Dig."

I crouched, chaos pulsing at my fingertips. The dirt shifted, reluctant to be disturbed by anyone but her. A small, dark box rose from the earth, chaotic sigils wrapped tight, but sealed with her rune. Delicate. Iron-strong. I opened it. Inside: a folded slip of paper. "Go to the one who always opens the door."

I appeared in a shimmer of chaos and mild exasperation, landing in the center of Arbor's entryway. The walls shifted, like a held breath. Lights dimmed. Then pulsed. Then flared bright, dramatic, and unmistakably judgy. "Oh, don't start…" I muttered. "She recruited you for this, didn't she?"

No reply. Of course not. Arbor didn't talk. Didn't need to. Warmth pulsed under my feet. A breeze curled through the air like a smug shrug. A rune etched itself across the mirror. Glowing. Graceful. Intentional. "You let me choose a room. A door. A space of my own. Now go back to where I first felt safe."

I closed my eyes. I knew exactly where she meant. I turned without a word as Arbor shifted behind me, walls softening. A light near the ceiling flickered briefly into a heart. I ignored it. Mostly. It was quiet. Untouched. Still carrying the scent of lavender, ink, stardust. I stepped inside like it was sacred. On the bed, perfectly laid out, was a note. Written in her slanted script. A callback to that first domestic morning: "I asked if you wanted to watch me sleep."

I stared. A second line shimmered into being as I held it: "Now go to the only altar you ever truly worshipped at."

The coffee station. I wandered the house the way she used to. Slowly. Intentionally. The library, where she read like she was starving, words, stories, life. Where she laughed, finally, like she didn't owe anyone silence. The pool, where our first kiss had tasted like chaos and sugar. The beach room, where she kissed me again, and cried. Where Anastasia cracked, and Annie was born. A sandcastle stood in the corner. A note buried in sea glass at its center: "You saw the storm and stayed."

Before I left, the door shimmered. Not a portal. An invitation. I followed. Straight into the Carnival of Chaos. The rides were still, but not dead. The carousel turned lazily, mirrors cracked, horses half-forgotten. A single teacup spun slow, creaking like it missed her laughter. The whack-a-mole blinked with broken lights, a mallet still bent from the day she smashed it in frustration and laughed until she cried. The Ferris wheel creaked once against the starless sky. It smelled like sugar and memory. Near the carousel, tied to a cracked pole, I found it: a ribbon. Hers. Twisted with a lock of golden thread, mine. A note attached: "This was the first place I chose to be happy. The first place I chose you." Beneath it, another line, smaller. Shy. "Go to the realm that turned gold when we walked in."

Luxor's realm. Gold sky. Gold sand. Gold statues of Luxor doing nothing modest. I almost smiled. We had solved a puzzle here together. My prize: a kiss that had been meant to tease, until it wasn't. "That was hot," she'd said.

I still wasn't sure which part wrecked me more. Near the obelisk, I found a scroll in a wine goblet, sealed with her rune. "Some puzzles weren't meant to be solved. Just shared. Go where I wore nothing but the sun."

I groaned. Of course. The villa greeted me with warm air, vines heavy with grapes. On the poolside table sat the swimsuit. Folded. Untouched. Tucked beneath a bottle of enchanted sunscreen. Because she knew I'd come looking. I took the long way to the winery. Through the vines. Past the shaded paths where our hands had brushed, pretending it meant nothing. The wind smelled like grapes and memory. This had been the place. Our first "couple" photo. Posed. Awkward. Ridiculous. I'd hated it. Called it stiff. Until I saw her eyes. She wasn't performing. She was present. I passed the table where we'd shared wine under starlight and tension. And there it was:

The photo. Framed. Living. Her eyes still on me. I touched it. Her voice, soft, threaded with laughter: "We never posed. But we showed up." Then the line that undid me: "Go back to the place where you fell."

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