I didn't need to ask. The rink was still alive with cursed disco and neon regret. Lights pulsed like a divine migraine, the music was… questionable at best. The floor gleamed, polished and chaotic. I had fallen six times. Possibly seven. She hadn't fallen once.
"God of balance, my ass," she'd muttered, skating backward, effortless, smug, ethereal. She didn't fall. I did. I hated it. And loved it. And her. By the lockers, I found a pair of skates, mine. Glittered, dented, as if the universe had tried to warn me. Inside: a note. "You kept falling. But you always got back up. Keep going."
The streets of my realm bent as I walked, twisting, reforming, parting like even chaos knew: this mattered. The restaurant was next. Tables shifted when I entered. The fruit shrieked when I glanced at them. Menus blinked their usual: you'll know when you see it.
She had. She always did. We'd eaten something here that turned our tongues blue. Something else that sang opera in our stomachs. She had tried to make sense of it, failed spectacularly, laughing so hard she clutched my arm just to breathe. On our table sat a napkin. Still stained blue. A message written in sauce:
"You let me laugh. You didn't ask me to stop. Go to the place where we dreamed out loud."
The park was quiet. The carousel stood still. The swings barely swayed. But the air still carried her voice. "Did you ever want kids?"
I hadn't. Not for centuries. But that day, with her fingers brushing the rune on my wrist, her eyes unflinching, I had wanted it. I wanted them. With her. Tied to the bench where we'd sat was a ribbon from her hair. Tangled. Familiar. As I touched it, a whisper moved through the air: "You said they'd be trouble. You smiled like you wanted them anyway. Now go to the place where the stars waited."
The Observatory welcomed me with velvet-dark and endless galaxies. Stars spun above and below. Nebulae swayed like silk unraveling. This place had always been mine. My quiet. My stillness. She had walked into it like she belonged, like she understood what it meant to stare at infinity and not be afraid. We hadn't spoken here. We had just… been.
At the platform's center, a glowing constellation bloomed. It took me a moment to see the shape, her hand, reaching for mine. In the center: "You made me want forever. But first, one more moment. Go to Ahyona."
I was unraveling. One memory at a time. One thread. One heartbeat. One whispered echo of her. I didn't want another clue. wanted her. Or just something to hold. By the time I reached Ahyona's realm, I was spent. Quiet in a way I rarely allowed myself. Her bench was empty. The tea on the table, still warm. Beside it, a final note. "Go as far north and east as you can in your realm."
I didn't walk. I couldn't. I tore through space in a crack of chaos, frantic, pulsing, desperate. North. East. Past the edges of my madness. Into the unknown.
I wasn't ready. Because she was there. Barefoot in the grass. Hair tousled by wind. Smile soft. She didn't speak. She just held out her hand. She pulled me toward a door. Not mine. Chaos-carved, but laced with symmetry. Balance. A blend of two hearts stitched in wood and magic. Hers. Mine. Ours.
When she opened it, I felt it. Magic. Memory. Time. The room wasn't massive. But it felt endless. A wall lined with living tapestries, silent loops of us flickering like memories too sacred to speak aloud. Our first dance in the hallway. The day she laughed so hard mocha snorted from her nose. Her, asleep on my shoulder, book open in her lap. Photographs. Enchanted. Alive. Her laughing. Me watching. Us, blurred and beautiful.
Statues, not of gods, but of moments: Her hands on my chest, fingers splayed over my heartbeat. Our foreheads touching, breath mingled after a fight. A tiny version of us curled on the couch, runes glowing comfort around us.
Objects, small but devastatingly intimate: A ribbon from her first dress. One of my cufflinks, bent from the day she yanked me into a kiss. A broken feather from one of my illusions, framed in gold as if it mattered.
Above it all, carved into the ceiling in delicate runes, Her eyes. Dozens of them. Every glance. Every look. Every time she had seen me. Not as a god. As Malvor. I didn't speak. Couldn't. Just breathed. Reverent.
Then she stepped behind me. Her arms wrapped around my waist. Her cheek pressed between my shoulder blades. "Happy Birthday, my chaos."
I exhaled like the wind had been ripped from me. "This… this is your gift?" My voice broke. "This?"
She smiled. I could feel it in her cheek against me. "No. This is ours. You gave me a place to be. I gave you a place to remember. Now you never have to forget us."
For once, I wept. Quietly. Gratefully. Like a god who had been worshipped for centuries…but had finally, finally, been loved.