Asha was still asleep, barely. One leg thrown out of the covers, hair an absolute nest of chaos, lips parted in the softest little exhale. I hovered. Not like a creep, okay, yes, like a creep, but a very romantic creep. I didn't wake her with words. I woke her with a kiss. Forehead. Temple. Lips. Soft. Slow. Like I was memorizing the taste of peace.
"I'll be back before you miss me," I whispered. Liar. She'd miss me in five minutes. I'd miss her in two.
I set her mocha on the nightstand. Perfect, still warm, in the mug that read: Gods, I Need Coffee. Left a note beside it. Four words: My Forever, always yours.
It was the fifth. Calavera's claimed day. So I let her sleep. I left went to unravel a god.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Navir's realm reeked of ink, ozone, and consequences. The office was exactly how I remembered it, too much brilliance, not enough warmth. Glass panels stretching forever, humming with equations no sane being should try to solve. Navir stood in the center, cocooned in screens of light. Symbols, equations, probability trees spun around him like cosmic confetti only a lunatic would understand. His fingers twitched through it all, muttering numbers like a man married to math. "…recursion strain at 1.6… variable Asha non-compliant… pattern collapse vector rerouting…"
Another sheet of glowing script shimmered into place. Divine architecture mapped on an axis I didn't care to count. He didn't even see me. I crossed my arms, chaos coiling lazy at my fingertips, not to strike, just… reflex. Because I wasn't sure if I was watching a prophet at work or a genius fray himself into madness. Finally, I cleared my throat. Loud enough to cut through his algorithms. Soft enough to drip smug. "Mmm… Navir," I drawled, stepping forward. "Talk nerdy to me."
The air flickered. His hands froze mid-equation. The screens stuttered like even they were reconsidering existence. He turned. So slowly. Eyes bloodshot. Coat half-burned, half-stained with ink. He looked like a ghost who hadn't decided whether to haunt or collapse. "Malvor," he rasped. "You're not... supposed to be here yet."
"Time's a suggestion, darling." I smirked. "You, of all people, should know that." Sharper: "Especially since you've been scribbling chaos into your walls like a first-year prophet on glitter meth."
A blink. One. Then his machine spun back into motion. "Did she hear it?"
"What? Your sexy math poetry?" I scoffed. "No. Asha missed it. She was a little busy surviving divine judgment and rewriting reality." That did it. Something snapped in the hum of equations. I stepped closer, smile thin. "You said a word, Navir. Just one." I tilted my head. "Axiom."
His gaze sharpened. Not arrogant. Just… factual. "You don't know what it means. Not yet."
"No," I said. "But you do. Lucky you for you, I'm in the mood for definitions."
He exhaled. Turned back to the code. "An axiom is a foundational truth. A starting point that requires no proof. It exists, therefore the system functions. It isn't questioned. It isn't tested. It simply is."
I lifted a brow. "Sexy."
"You asked."
"I did. Continue, professor."
His fingers twitched back into the code. A new projection bloomed, pulsing rings orbiting around a single glowing point. "Systems, mathematical, magical, divine, all of them. They all rely on constants. Axioms define the limits of change. When Aerion's realm collapsed, when Orion died, when the balance should have snapped…" He turned to me then, eyes heavy. "It didn't. Because she didn't."
The word sat between us like a live wire. "She's not chaos," Navir whispered. "She's not an anomaly. She's the foundation now. The system's fixed point. The constant that doesn't bend."
I didn't answer. Not yet. Because he wasn't looking at numbers anymore. He was looking at her with reverence usually reserved for cathedrals. "You wanted a definition?" His voice dropped. "Anastasia is the axis. She bends the infinite."
I stared at him. Silent. Because I was good at mess, good at jokes, good at chaos. But this wasn't chaos. This was structure. I didn't know whether to laugh or burn it all down. At first, I thought Navir had snapped. Too many equations. Too many loops. Talking to probability like it owed him money. I looked closer. The way his hands moved. The precision in every twitch of his fingers. The patterns forming and collapsing across the light-screens. Not random. Not madness. Genius. Raw. Terrifying.
I stepped forward, slower this time. No quip. No glitter. Just watching. The symbols flashed faster than I could follow, his mouth mumbling variables like they were prayer beads. His eyes were wild, yes, but focused. Not broken. Inspired. "You're not unraveling," I murmured. "You're igniting."
He didn't answer. Couldn't. He was too deep in it. His thoughts were lightning against glass, too fast for words, too big for breath. I tilted my head, studying him. "You didn't come out of that place broken, Navir," I said. "You came out curious." I stepped closer. "And that's so much worse."
The air shivered as his screens rewrote themselves. He whispered, almost to the numbers: "The axis isn't fixed, it's flexing. The pattern wants to rewrite around her. Everything's shifting…"
I stayed silent. Just listening. Not because I understood all of it, hells, I didn't. But because the smartest god I knew was finally unsure of something. That meant the universe was changing.
"Navir," I pressed, my voice low. Nothing. "Hey." I leaned in, close enough that his equations lit my skin. "What did you see in there?"
That landed. His fingers froze. The projections stilled. For one breath, one heartbeat, everything went quiet. Then he whispered: "Infinity."
He wasn't looking at me. He wasn't looking at anything. His gaze was turned inward, like he was still trapped there. "I saw every outcome. Every branch. Every timeline this universe could take. Every variable collapse. Every domino that never fell." A pause. His voice broke. "I didn't just see the future. I saw all futures. Every divergence. Every path that ends in fire. In ice. In her."
My mouth opened. Nothing came out. "She was there in all of them," Navir continued, hands trembling, not from fear, but velocity, thought running faster than flesh could carry. "Not a ruler. Not a force. A constant. The tether. The reason things could still continue."
He swayed slightly, pale. "I thought it was all universes. But no, it was just ours. I think. I hope. I can't…" His eyes shut tight. "It was too much. Time didn't move there, it just was."
I reached out. My hand landed heavy on his shoulder. "She didn't mean to trap you there."
"I know." His voice cracked. "That's what terrifies me. She folded reality by accident. Knotted it into something no god can undo."
And I, me, Malvor, mouth forever full of clever, had nothing. No quip. No smirk. Just silence. Because he was right. She hadn't just survived us. She'd anchored us. Navir's voice fell to a whisper. "Does she know?"
"No." My answer was soft. Immediate. "She doesn't."A beat. "Neither did I."
His jaw flexed, filing it away like another equation. Another weight. Another inevitability. "What else?" I asked carefully. "What else did you see?"
But he was already slipping back into it. His eyes darted to the screens, fingers twitching. "If axis equals constant… entropy must bend… unless she is entropy, no, no, skewed ratios. Skewed by tether influence. She's not the cause, she's the calibration-"
"Navir."
"-she's not the cause, she's the calibration, she's-"
I sighed. Stepped back. Watched him drown himself in brilliance. Nothing more to pull, not now. I turned to go. But then, "Malvor." His voice was distant, cracked. "One more thing." I stopped. Waited. "In the fold… we weren't alone." Every muscle in me went tight. "There was something there," he whispered. "It didn't speak. Didn't move. Just… watched. It knew I didn't belong."
My throat clenched. "And?"
Navir's voice dropped to nothing. "I think it smiled."
For a long moment, I stood there. Listening to the hum of numbers. Watching the man who once mapped galaxies chase equations like ghosts. Finally, I said, "I'll come back."
He didn't answer. I left him there, whispering the name of the woman who didn't even know she'd tethered the universe around herself. "Axiom," Navir breathed. Over and over.
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I didn't return to Arbor with flair. No fireworks. No illusions. I just… appeared. The house felt me instantly. Runes glowing. Coffee brewing. Walls humming warm to greet me like a pet desperate for affection. But I didn't move. I stood in the entryway, cloak slipping, glitter still smeared on my jaw like an old war wound. Navir's words still echoed. "She's not the cause. She's the calibration. She's the axis."
I spent an hour doing nothing. Not my kind of nothing. No sparkles, no theatrics, no chaos. Just silence. Flicked a marble of chaos between my fingers. Cat. Crown. Star. Her eyes. Then tossed it across the room and let it vanish midair. When the portal hummed, I was on my feet before it finished. Asha stepped through, hair tied up, sweater soft, eyes tired but steady. My world clicked back into place. I pressed my face to her shoulder, just for a second. Like if I let go, I'd unravel too. "There she is," I whispered. "My axis of adorable."
Her brow lifted. "What?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just missed you."
The truth wanted out. The words pressed at the back of my throat. There's something I should tell you. Her hand brushed through my hair. Warm. Solid. Here. I couldn't do it. Not yet. "Later," I said instead. "It can wait."
Because right now, she was home. Everything else, the prophecy, the infinities, the smile in the dark, could burn a little longer. I buried my face in her hair, breathing her in. Warm. Real. Just Asha. Gods, it nearly broke me again. Because she'd bent the universe. Anchored it. Shattered gods. She still chose me.