Night draped itself over Pride Ring like velvet soft, heavy, deceptive.
The city below still burned neon: drunk imps yelling, sinners bargaining, nobles pretending they weren't anxious about the tower and the clock ticking above them.
But here, in the private Ouroboros balcony?
Silence ruled.
Malerion stood with both hands resting lightly on the railing, posture relaxed but mind far from still.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
He didn't have to turn.
Verosika's presence always arrived like heat before sound.
She stopped beside him, shoulder brushing his.
Close enough to feel intentional.
"Twenty minutes," she murmured.
"Same skyline. Same expression. I'm trying to decide if you're thinking deeply…"
She smirked.
"…or trying to look intimidating for dramatic effect."
He didn't look away from the city.
"…Both."
She huffed a quiet laugh.
"Of course."
Silence again but not awkward.
Not anymore.
Just shared space.
Finally, Malerion spoke.
"Even after six years of shifting power, restructuring the rings, stabilizing territory… some things refuse to change."
Verosika tilted her head.
"Meaning?"
"Patterns," he said quietly. "People. Paths."
His jaw tightened not in anger, but resignation.
"Blitzo still runs from anything resembling emotional vulnerability. Even when it stares him in the face."
Verosika blinked.
"You actually keep track of that clown?"
"No," he replied.
"I hear things. Vael brings updates."
She snorted.
"Ah. Hell's favorite gossip relay."
He didn't deny it.
"And Stolas?" she guessed.
A slow nod.
"Still trapped in the same performance with Stella. No change. No movement. No courage."
Verosika frowned not judging Stolas, but recognizing the weight in Malerion's tone.
"So you're frustrated the universe isn't lining up with your expectations?"
He hesitated.
Then:
"No."
She waited.
"It's not that the universe isn't changing."
His gaze remained fixed on the skyline.
"It's that individuals refuse to."
Verosika shifted, leaning both hands on the railing, mirroring him.
"Maybe some people don't change until it hurts enough."
He didn't respond but she saw the thought land.
Then her voice softened.
"You're still doing it, you know."
"What?"
"Carrying the whole damn future like it owes you an explanation."
His eyes narrowed not defensive.
Aware.
"And," she continued, nudging his hand lightly with hers,
"you still haven't told me what really started all of this."
For a heartbeat, he didn't breathe.
Then:
"…I did tell you."
"No," she corrected gently.
"You told me pieces."
Silence lingered.
Then he finally turned to her.
And memory pulled him backward.
RETROSPECTIVE Six Months Ago
It was late. The headquarters was sleeping except for Quill muttering to himself three floors down.
Malerion sat at the edge of their shared bed not touching her, not distant just waiting for the right second to exist.
Verosika, half-asleep, half-aware, murmured:
"You're thinking again."
"Yes."
"About?"
He was quiet long enough she almost thought he wouldn't answer.
Then:
"…What I am."
Her eyes opened fully.
She shifted, sitting upright beside him—not interrupting, not joking.
Listening.
"I wasn't meant to be here," he said quietly.
"Not in this world. Not in this version of Hell."
Her breath stilled.
"I remember another one," he continued.
"Not lived but known. Seen. As if watching someone else's story."
He exhaled slowly.
"In that version, nothing changed. Hell ran the same patterns forever. People made the same mistakes. No one evolved."
He swallowed.
"And you… you broke."
Verosika stiffened not hurt but alert.
"In that world," Malerion said, voice low, steady,
"you burned out. You unraveled until nothing remained except pain and bitterness."
He looked at her really looked.
"And I refused to let that outcome exist again."
Her voice barely reached a whisper.
"So you rebuilt Hell because of me?"
"No," he said gently.
"I rebuilt Hell because it deserved a different script."
Then softer:
"But you were the first proof that the script could be changed."
She hadn't responded not immediately.
Instead?
She touched his cheek.
And whispered:
"Then don't carry it alone."
PRESENT
Back on the balcony, Verosika reached for his hand again this time taking it fully.
"You told me the truth," she said quietly.
"And I'm still here."
Malerion finally looked at her.
Really looked.
"You weren't meant to stay," he said softly.
Verosika smiled not fragile.
Ferocious.
"Then the universe can learn to deal with disappointment."
His lips twitched almost a laugh.
She leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched.
"So tell me one more thing," she whispered.
"Does the script say how this ends?"
Malerion didn't hesitate.
"No."
"Good," she breathed.
"Then we write it."
Below them, the tower clock ticked:
359 Days.
21 Hours.
04 Minutes.
But for the first time
it didn't feel like a countdown.
It felt like a warning.
And a challenge.