I woke to a sound that didn't belong. Not the hum of Arbor. Not Malvor's usual restless shifting. A choked breath. A tremor.
"No!" "Don't!" "Please!" "Stop!"
I bolted upright. Malvor thrashed beside me, limbs jerking like he was being ripped apart in his sleep. The golden collar around his neck glowed, dull at first, then sharp, vicious. His back arched, and I saw the scream clawing up his throat, trapped, strangled. The collar flared. Too late, I saw it. Light exploded out of the chain, cracking through his tattoos. His chaos script, once alive, once dancing. lit up like molten glass. Not with power. With pain. The runes screamed before he did.
It hit him, my untamable, glittering god whimpered like a child. I didn't think. I lunged, pressing my palms to the collar. The divine metal hissed under my touch, burning me instantly, but I didn't care. I shoved my healing into him, forcing golden light against that cruel chain. The collar fought me. Bit me. Seared my nerves. Still, I held on. My skin blistered, blood filled my mouth, copper and ash sharp on my tongue. Malvor gasped. His eyes flew open, wild, glassy, terrified.
"Asha—?"
I was shaking, crying, my hands raw and red, but I didn't let go. "I wasn't going to let it hurt you," I whispered, even as the pain flayed me.
He blinked at me, dazed, saw the burn marks crawling up my palms. The collar dulled beneath my touch, its hunger cut short. He reached for my hand, trembling, and pressed a kiss to the ruined skin. "I—"
I brushed his cheek with my fingers. "You're safe," I told him.
I meant it. Even if I had to bleed to keep it true. He sagged into me, his whole body hollowing with the words he forced out: "I bowed to him..."
My hands found it, the collar. I traced it with shaking fingers. Golden. Heavy. Wrong. It pulsed once, vile and alive, and he flinched. But I didn't let go. He didn't tell me right away.
"I didn't tell you," he said suddenly, voice low.
I blinked. "Tell me what?"
His hand lifted, slow, shaking, to the collar around his neck, touching it like it was both sacred and damned.
"These," he said, rough, "weren't always chains."
I stared at him. "They weren't a punishment. Not at first."
His eyes closed briefly. I could feel the shift in him, the quieting of his chaos. The weight of memory.
"They were me," he said. He took my hand and guided it to the base of his neck, where the first link shimmered, almost like a brand. My fingertips brushed metal, cool, dulled, heavy with something ancient.
"They were chaos," he murmured. "Living, breathing. Symbols written into my being. They shifted with my emotions. They laughed when I laughed."
My heart ached. I'd seen them so many times. Alive. Vibrant. Moving like they were part of him.
"They used to glow," he said. "Not with pain. With life. With magic." I watched his face shift. The grief there wasn't sharp. It was old. Familiar. Tangled with love. "They were beautiful," he whispered.
He laughed. Not joy. Bitterness. A hollow sound. "I used to say they made me look dramatic as hell." I smiled. Barely. "But they weren't for show," he went on. "They were a gift. A reminder. A symbol of what I was made for."
I asked quietly, "What were you made for?"
He looked at me. No smirk. No pretense. Just Malvor.
"Balance," he said. He exhaled hard. The collar caught the low light. "The Creator Itself made me."
I didn't speak. Just listened. He needed this. "I wasn't born," he said. "I was forged. Designed. Chaos given shape. Given laughter. Given a mouth too big and a heart too soft." He ran a hand through his hair and winced when his fingers brushed a healing burn. "But I wasn't alone." I stayed still. Didn't breathe.
"There were two of us." I knew before he said it. "Aerion," he whispered. "The other half." His fingers brushed one of the dull runes along his ribs, more ghost than touch. "Where I was chaos, he was order. Law. Structure. The unmoving line to my spiral. The blade to my flame."
He exhaled again. Slower. Heavier. "We weren't enemies then. Not even rivals. We were function. Balance. I unraveled. He restored. I broke the cycle to begin again. He kept it stable." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I danced. He held the rhythm."
Gods, my heart hurt.
"He didn't hate me at first," Malvor said. "He didn't fear me. Not yet. We understood each other."
"What changed?" I asked.
He met my gaze. Steady. Sad. "I did."
I swallowed hard.
"I evolved," he said.
"I watched mortals stumble and rise. I changed. Not because I had to, because I wanted to." His voice softened. "They laughed in the fire I started. Made art from rubble. Told stories of gods they'd never seen. Me. They whispered my name in alleyways and cathedrals." He paused. "And I fell in love with them for it." My throat closed. "I wasn't supposed to change," he said. "I was supposed to be the destroyer. The undoing. But instead..." He shrugged, helpless. "I became something new."
"You became better," I said.
He didn't respond. Not right away. Because he wasn't finished. "But Aerion-" his voice fractured a little. "He didn't change. Couldn't. Wouldn't. He stayed what he was made to be. Pure order. Fixed law. He stayed still because he thought he was already the answer." Silence stretched. "He looked at humanity and saw rot. I saw potential." Malvor's hands clenched, then eased. "He saw emotion as instability. I saw it as evolution. Love, pain, pleasure, loss, they move us forward. He wanted to freeze the divine as it was. I wanted to keep it dancing." His voice hollowed out. "And so... he called it corruption."
I inhaled slowly, grounding myself against the weight of his words. "He didn't see you as his opposite anymore," I said. "He saw you as his flaw."
Malvor nodded. "He decided balance was a mistake." He stared at the ceiling, as if trying to read constellations only he could see. "And domination... was the correction." His expression was distant. "He didn't betray me because I was dangerous. He betrayed me because I was different." He touched the collar again. "Aerion didn't forge new chains. He just whispered the old commands."
I laid my hand over his. It didn't burn. "He couldn't understand you."
"He didn't try," Malvor said. His voice had no sorrow now. Just truth. "I wanted balance. He wanted obedience. I wanted to break patterns. He wanted to preserve them." His gaze found mine. "In the end... I became the chaos he feared most."
I dragged my fingers along his collarbone, down to one of the broken runes. "Because you didn't just break the world," I said. "You adapted." His breath caught. Just a little. "And he never forgave you."
I leaned over him. My lips brushed the hollow of his throat. "You're not the failure, Malvor. You're the evolution."
He made a sound then, half disbelief, half desperate hope. I lit my palms with healing, soft gold light spilling from me into him. Not force. Not power. Love. I touched his shoulders, his chest, his ribs. Poured myself into the bruises, the silenced runes, the broken edges of his being. Deep inside, something flickered. A whisper of chaos. A laugh remembered. Malvor sagged into my hands with a sound that broke me open, half sob, half prayer. He looped his arms around me again. This time not to cling. To trust. I cradled his head to my chest, my magic threading through him like silk woven over broken glass. No demands. No expectations. Only love.
The Trickster King, the god of laughter and storm, curled in my lap like a boy who had fought too long and too hard. For the first time in what felt like forever, He slept. I kissed his hair, soft and 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.