The portal hissed closed behind him, sealing the wound between realms. Malvor didn't move. He just stood there, shaking, the golden collar gleaming against his throat, a cruel brand of what had been stolen from him. I watched him from across the room. Silent. Steady. I didn't rush. Didn't call his name. I knew better. He was pretending again. Trying to summon my glittering king, my chaos-star, with a smile that was nothing but a shallow ghost. Rolling his shoulders back as if he could hold the weight of it all if he just lied to himself hard enough. But I saw his knees tremble. I saw his fists clenched so tight his nails broke his palms. Then I saw the collar, golden, cruel. It flared every time he swallowed down the scream trapped in his throat.
"Hello, my sweet," he rasped. That wasn't his voice. That was a ghost wearing his skin. I crossed the room. No hesitation. No fear. Just love, steady, ruthless, endless. He tried to stand straighter as I approached, like he could make this easier for me. Tried to be the shield instead of the ruin. The moment my hands touched his chest, He broke.
He collapsed into me with a sound that ripped the air apart, raw, gasping, nothing like the confident god who lived on swagger and chaos. His knees slammed the floor, hard enough that the ground itself shuddered. His arms crushed around my waist, dragging me down with him. His face pressed into me, my stomach, my ribs, my heart. Anywhere he could hide, anywhere he could pretend he could crawl inside me and escape the world.
The sobs came. They tore through him like a storm made of knives. Ugly. Helpless. Wretched. He made sounds I didn't think gods could make, like a wounded animal digging its own grave with broken teeth. Still, I didn't pull away. I didn't hush him. I just knelt there with him, stroking through his hair, down his spine, across the trembling planes of his shoulders.
"I know," I whispered, again and again. "I know. I know. I know."
Every tear that struck my skin cut me open. Every shuddering gasp broke me in half. He clung tighter. Like if he let go, he'd die. Maybe he would. Because Malvor hadn't bowed for himself. He had bowed for me. Minutes, or hours, bled away before his sobs dulled to ragged breaths. His hands still trembled against my ribs, but the frantic clawing was gone. He was just… here. Small. Human. Real. I pulled back enough to cup his face. He tried to turn away, tried to hide the shame burning in his eyes. I didn't let him. Gently, I tilted his chin up. My thumb brushed his bruised cheekbone.
"You don't have to pretend with me," I told him softly. It shattered something new inside him.
His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched against another sob, But the words escaped anyway. "I bowed to him." I stayed still. "I bowed," he gasped. "I bent my knee. I let him chain me." Silent tears cut down his face. "I would have fought. I would have died. Gladly." His forehead pressed to my chest, his voice breaking apart. "But if I had…" He choked. "…you would have died too."
The weight of it dropped between us like stone. Not revelation. Not secret. But truth, made unbearable by the sound of it leaving his lips. He hadn't just lost a fight. He had chosen chains to keep me alive. It had destroyed him.
"You're not weak," I told him fiercely, pressing my lips to his forehead. "You're not broken. You're not lesser. You are mine. And you came home to me."
He made a sound then, low, shuddering, fractured. His hands, bruised, battered, lifted to my face like I was the last star left in his sky. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "For not being enough... For kneeling... For letting them chain me again."
I kissed the inside of his wrist, soft, reverent. "You were enough the day you smiled at me," I said. "And you will always be enough."
My hands moved over him, searching. I found the collar first. Gold. Heavy. Wrong. It pulsed under my fingers, and he flinched. I didn't pull away. Then my hands traced lower, his runes. My heart split open. They were dead. Gray. Silent. Ash instead of laughter. Aerion hadn't just beaten him. He had silenced him. I swallowed hard, rage burning in my throat, but I didn't show it. Not yet. Instead, I kissed his collarbone. Soft. Slow. Right over the fused chain. "I see you," I whispered into his skin. "I see what you did for me. I am going to put you back together."
He made a sound then, half disbelief, half desperate hope. I summoned my magic, warm and golden, and let it flow through my palms. Not power. Love. I cupped his shoulders, his chest, his ribs, where bruises bloomed, where magic slept. I poured myself into him. Not demanding. Not forcing. Just offering. Deep inside, something flickered. A spark. A laugh remembered. He sagged into me, breathing out a sound that was almost a sob, almost a prayer. His arms circled me again, but this time, not to cling. To thank. To trust.
I cradled his head against my chest, my magic threading through him like silk over shattered glass. No demands. No expectations. Only love. Only healing. The wildest god in the realms curled in my lap like a boy who had fought too long and too hard. For the first time in what felt like centuries, Malvor slept. I kissed his hair. Soft. Sacred. "Rest now, my Chaos," I whispered. "I'll carry you the rest of the way." When he is whole again, I will burn the world for what they did to him.