Chapter 35: The Edge of Chaos (Her POV)
The story of Aerion's spectacular failure spread like wildfire, and I savored every spark. Within hours, it had twisted into a dozen versions, some claimed he had recited bad poetry to a horse, others insisted he'd proposed before it bit him. Every telling was different, but they all had the same ending: Aerion was the punchline. For two full weeks, he was the favorite joke of the Pantheon. Even stoic Tairochi chuckled when someone quipped about "a ride worth remembering." Maximus nearly cried when someone left Aerion a golden horseshoe wrapped in silk. Through it all, Malvor and I grew closer.
I was proud of my revenge, righteously proud, and he adored me for it. The horse, now Karma, lived in his stables, tolerating Malvor but adoring me. I had never had a horse before, never the freedom to ride, to feel the wind against my face without duty or fear shackling me. Here, I laughed. Loud, real, unafraid. Malvor joined me often. Sometimes racing, sometimes conjuring obstacle courses just so he could show off, sometimes just walking beside Karma while I rode, his hands folded behind his head, his gaze lazily fixed on me. In twilight, we would rest in the grass by a shimmering stream, Arbor bringing snacks and drinks without being asked. Sometimes we read. Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we didn't. The silence was just as full. Something unspoken grew between us, stronger each day. In glances. In smiles. In heartbeats that weren't just for ourselves anymore.
The morning slipped in quiet and golden, sunlight filtering through Arbor's enormous curtains like it had been waiting for me. Something had shifted between us since that candlelit dance, not spoken, not named, but alive and undeniable. We didn't mention it. We just let it sink into our bones. Malvor handed me my mocha. Half coffee, half chocolate, cream just right, before flopping onto the couch with his usual dramatic flair. I curled into his side, still tangled in my pajamas, hair an untamable mess.
"This," I murmured, taking a sip, "is the best part of the day."
He hummed, brushing his thumb lazily over my arm. "My favorite too. You, me, coffee. No gods, no horse pranks, no parties. Just us."
I smiled into my cup. "You sound like a retired villain."
"Only semi-retired," he winked. "I'm still wildly attractive and capable of chaos." I gave him a look.
"And very humble," he added, solemn as a liar caught mid-theater. I snorted, shaking my head.
For a few quiet minutes, we sat like that, warm, pressed together, the world hushed around us. Then Malvor suddenly straightened, energy sparking through him. "Get dressed, flame-haired goddess of sarcasm. I'm taking you on a tour."
I blinked at him. "A tour?"
"Of my realm. Not the Carnival. Not the chaos. The rest. The parts no one ever sees."
I tilted my head. "You've never shown anyone?"
"Never," he said, then swept his hand toward me like he was summoning an audience. "Exclusive behind-the-scenes experience. Hosted by yours truly, Malvor the Magnificent, Lord of Snacks."
"Stop."
"Too late. Arbor, outfit me!"
A flash of light, and he stood there suddenly dressed in black slacks, impossibly stylish boots, and a deep blue tunic embroidered with silver constellations that shimmered as he moved.
I blinked. "That's… hot."
"I know," he said smugly. "Now hurry, Whimsical Wondercake. Time to go."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't fight my smile. The world shifted with a snap of his fingers. We reappeared at the edge of a cliff, and my breath caught. The sky swirled with purples, blues, and molten gold, soft as brushstrokes still wet. Below, floating islands drifted like daydreams. Some woven from shimmering clouds, others faceted crystal scattering light into rainbows. And among them floated bubbles. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Small ones, big ones, and inside each swam glittering fish that shimmered turquoise, magenta, gold. I stared, wide-eyed.
"Welcome," Malvor announced, gesturing with ridiculous flourish, "to the Edge of Chaos."
"It's…" My words faltered. "…beautiful."
"Isn't it?" His voice softened. "No one ever asks about this part. They only want the mischief. The laughter."
A bubble drifted near. A fish inside blinked at me. I blinked back.
"What are they?" I whispered.
"Dream fish," he said, slipping behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. "They live in unspoken wishes. They only exist if someone wants them to."
"That sounds like something you just made up."
"Would it matter?"
I smiled faintly. "…No. It's poetic. And weird. Like you."
He kissed the top of my head. "I forgot how good it feels to share the weird."
Another bubble floated past, a phoenix-shaped fish inside winked. "Will you walk with me," he murmured against my ear, "through the most private corners of my soul?"
I tilted my head. "This is your soul?"
"Yes. Chaotic. Beautiful. Possibly filled with fish."
I brushed my fingertips against a bubble. It wobbled but didn't pop. "They don't burst?"
"Of course not. They're emotionally stable." I shot him a look.
"Fine," he sighed, grinning. "They're magic." I arched a brow, waiting.
He caved instantly. "Real story? These are all the ones flushed down toilets. Every goldfish, every betta. When mortals thought they died, they came here. Reincarnated. Fabulous real estate, bubble-chic."
I stopped mid-step. "…What."
"Yep. Afterlife for betrayed toilet fish." He gestured proudly at the drifting bubbles. "Now they're enlightened."
I narrowed my eyes. "You actually believe that."
"I do. Somewhere in the multiverse, it's true. Which means it's true here."
I laughed, shaking my head. "So we're surrounded by the ghosts of betrayed bathroom pets."
"Exactly. And they get revenge. Swim into dreams. Guilt trip closeups. Very cinematic."
I laughed so hard I nearly doubled over. He twirled me under a cluster of golden bubbles. "I brought you here to show you my soul, not to impress you with accuracy."
"I'm impressed," I admitted, still breathless. "With how committed you are to nonsense."
He stopped walking, brushing a curl from my face, his smile soft now. "No nonsense. Just you. Me. The edge of myself."
I felt it, through him, through the bond. Mischief, yes. But warmth. Truth. Something dangerously close to love.
When he whispered, "Come, my fish-whispering flamelet. There's more to see," my heart fluttered like the bubbles themselves.
Malvor led me deeper into the floating town, his steps more like a dance than a walk, tugging me past a parade of nonsense that somehow existed without collapsing in on itself. A fae in a top hat was teaching a piano to play Chopsticks. The piano floated a few feet in the air and kept sulking off-key. An anthropomorphic banana argued with a cloud about whether pudding could be made in space.
"Welcome to my chaos," Malvor announced with a wink, sweeping his arm as if unveiling art. A floating teapot landed neatly at my elbow with a soft clink.
I laughed despite myself, amusement bubbling up from somewhere I hadn't touched in years. "I'll never understand how you manage to create this… wonderland of nonsense, but I'm here for it."
He flashed me that maddening grin. "Nonsense? No, no, no, you're just not seeing the layers. This place is a divine cocktail of everything you didn't know you needed."
"And the main ingredient?" I asked dryly.
"Pure, unfiltered chaos. And a dash of questionable choices."
We ducked as a streetlamp wearing boxing gloves swung at a passing cloud, shouting about honor. I stared. Malvor just grinned wider.
"Let's get you something to eat," he said, snapping his fingers. A glowing booth shimmered into existence.
I eyed it warily. "If this food tries to form an emotional bond with me, I'm leaving."
"Relax," he purred, clearly entertained. "It's a food booth, not a dating service."
A menu appeared, written in glowing script I couldn't read. Malvor studied it with a delighted hum.
"How about the Divine Chaos Platter?"
My eyebrow arched. "And what, exactly, is on that?"
"Reality-bending pizza. A cosmic dumpling you can only eat during a solar eclipse. And a bowl of ice cream… but only if you respect its personal space."
I stared. Then laughed, sharp and unexpected. "You're serious."
"Absolutely." He snapped his fingers and the platter appeared, steaming and sparkling.
I picked up the slice of pizza first. It shimmered oddly in my hand, bending like it was allergic to gravity. "…How do you even eat this?"
"Don't think," Malvor said smugly. "Just bite."
So I did. My eyes widened. Every chew shifted the flavor. Comforting one moment, impossibly spicy the next, then sweet, then savory again. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep up.
"Told you," Malvor said, satisfied. "You have to let it take you on the ride."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Fine. That was… unexpectedly delightful. What's next?"
He handed me the suspicious "ice cream." It sparkled like a galaxy in a bowl. I took a spoonful, and nearly choked on a laugh. It tasted like starburst cotton candy and lightning, fizzing with energy that raced through my veins.
"That's… new," I managed.
"Magic ice cream," Malvor said, smug. "Perfect snack. Bit of chaos. Never boring."
I gave him a sidelong glance. "You've never eaten a normal meal in your life, have you?"
"Normal is dull," he said with mock gravity. "Chaos makes the best memories, Annie."
I licked stray glitter off my lips, smirking. "You're insane."
"And yet here you are, eating my chaos food and loving it."
"Am I?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation, leaning forward like we were conspiring. "And the real fun is just beginning."
I looked around at the floating town, the impossible buildings, the ridiculous creatures, the swirl of color and madness, and realized he was right. This place was absurd. Magical. Alive. Somehow, it was pulling me in.
"So," Malvor asked, eyes gleaming, "shall we go make some trouble?"
I grinned. "Lead the way, you divine disaster."
And together, we disappeared into the madness of Misfit's Landing, ready to make more chaos than the universe deserved.
By the time we finished, I was dazed in the best way, glitter still stuck to my mouth, stomach full, head spinning from food that may or may not have winked at me. Malvor stood, extending a hand. "Come on, Annie, my moonbeam of mayhem. You haven't seen the best part yet."
Still laughing, I let him lead me down a drifting walkway, the cobbles adjusting like a living sidewalk. Around us, balloon-like homes bobbed in the cosmic breeze, swaying as though tethered to nothing but whimsy. Then I heard it: the sound of a child's squeal. We stepped through an arch of glowing crystal vines and into the strangest, most wonderful park I had ever seen. The grass shimmered with faint light, tickling under my bare feet. Swings floated in looping circles. Trees with cotton candy leaves shaded upside-down fountains. A gelatin slide bounced squealing children all the way down.
The children themselves… gods, what even were they? One with wings too big for his body looped over a girl whose tail was made of starlight. A tiny child with hooves and flowers growing from her hair spun beside a boy made entirely of smoke and giggles. A dog proudly walked a toddler who looked suspiciously like a plant. Malvor settled onto a floating bench drifting lazily in midair and patted the spot beside him. I sat, unable to stop staring. "I could people-watch here all day," he said quietly.
I turned. He wasn't grinning. Not posturing. Just watching. There was something still, almost reverent, in his face. "Do you come here often?" I asked.
"Sometimes," he said. "When I want to remember that chaos doesn't always mean destruction. Sometimes it means… new things being born." He nodded toward the children. "None of them make sense. They're all glorious accidents. Yet… they laugh."
I leaned against him, resting my head on his shoulder. "This place is insane."
"It's mine," he said softly. "Now it's yours too. If you want it."
I closed my eyes, listening to the giggles and the whisper of candy leaves swaying in the breeze. I did want it. All of it. Even the gelatin slide. Especially that. The children darted across the playground like joy had never been caged. Some had wings too big for their little bodies, others had tails that glittered like starlight, and a few were made of pure mischief and light. I watched them, my heart aching in a way I couldn't quite name. "Malvor," I said softly, "do you have any children?"
He recoiled so dramatically I nearly laughed. One hand to his chest, eyes wide like I'd accused him of murder. "Absolutely not. Gods no. Chaos no. In so many gloriously loud and echoing no's… no. I have never spawned."
I blinked at him, amused. "That was… a lot."
He barreled on. "The idea of children has always felt like a long-term curse wrapped in tiny grubby hands. Do you know how loud they are? And sticky? Maximus alone has more spawnlings than I can count. Twenty-eight, Annie. Twenty-eight. Every one of them comes out with some ridiculous god-power. Have you ever seen a toddler who can shoot lasers from strange places? Disgusting. Dangerous. Disrespectful. Disaster."
My lips twitched, but my gaze stayed on the children. "Would you ever want them?"
That question changed him. The dramatic tilt of his head stilled. His voice softened. "I never did. Not once. Not in all my centuries." He hesitated. "But… maybe. With you. I might want something I have never let myself want."
I turned to him, startled. That was when the ache hit. It pulsed through me, sharp and quiet, spilling down the bond before I could stop it. The pain of what I could never have. He moved instantly, wrapping me in his arms, pulling me into the warmth of him. "Annie," he whispered, raw, "I did not mean it like that." My hands rested against his chest. I couldn't speak. "Your value to me," he said firmly, "is not in what you can or cannot give me. It's you. Your mind. Your chaos. Your laugh. The way you look at me like I am worth something." I didn't cry. But I clung to him tighter. "And besides," he murmured with a faint grin, "in this realm of chaos, babies aren't always made the old-fashioned way."
That earned him a laugh, small but real. And for a while, it was enough just to let him hold me. We stayed like that, listening to the laughter of strange little beings who didn't care that they weren't supposed to exist. His thumb traced circles on my back until my breathing steadied. Then, because I couldn't help myself, I said, "Wait. You're an ageless being. How in all your existence have you not had children? You're not exactly celibate."
He gave me a flat, unamused stare. "Annie. That is not funny."
I grinned anyway. "Come on. Admit it. You've had plenty of chances."
"Yes. I have turned them all down."
"You said you never wanted children," I pressed, tilting my head. "But still. In all this time? Not once?"
"No." His voice was firm. "For a god to have children, they must want them. Our magic doesn't… slip."
I blinked. "So no accidents?"
"Yes and no."
My brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"
He sighed like I'd just signed him up for jury duty. "It means gods have urges, but creation only happens when we will it. There's no oops. If a child is born of a god, it's because someone chose it. Willed it. Made it so."
"Even if the parents aren't on the same page?"
He nodded. "Even then. If one wills it strongly enough, that is enough. But it is rare. Very rare."
I let that settle. "So all those divine children…"
"Every single one," he confirmed, "was wanted. Intended."
"You never did?"
"I never wanted to bind myself like that. Never wanted to be responsible for something permanent." His voice softened. "Until you."
He didn't say it aloud, but I felt it, deep and unshakable, thrumming through the bond.
And for the first time, the idea didn't hurt. Not because it erased what I couldn't have, but because he was here, with me, now, in a place where chaos meant anything was possible.
He must have felt the heaviness still lingering, because of course he did the thing Malvor always did when emotions pressed too close: he ran straight for nonsense.
"Well," he said, stroking his chin like a scholar of mischief, "the good news is, babies don't have to be made the old-fashioned way. We have options."
I arched a brow. "Options?"
"Option one: win one as a prize. There's a ring toss at the Carnival. Instead of a goldfish, you get a baby. Totally random. Could be a screamer. Could be the god of spreadsheets. Who knows?" I snorted. "Option two: build one. Like an Ikea kit. Probably missing a limb at first, but Arbor can fix that." I laughed. "Option three: cosmic wine, full moon, and, bam, a tiny version of us bossing the shadows by morning."
"Disturbingly plausible."
"Option four," he said, lowering his voice like it was classified, "plant one. Magical cabbage patch. Six weeks, a little emotional compost, very sustainable." I doubled over, wheezing. "And option five," he announced grandly, "steal one from Maximus. He's got at least twelve spares. Call it divine recycling."
Tears stung my eyes from laughing. "You're horrible."
"Innovative," he corrected proudly. The ache in my chest loosened. I leaned into him, still laughing, still warm. His smile softened, just for me. "I don't care how it happens, Annie. I care that it's with you."
I looked up, eyes shimmering. "Even from a cabbage patch?"
"Especially from a cabbage patch."
We left the floating town hand in hand, both of us still giggling about baby cabbages. The stars were already out, though technically, this place didn't even have a sky. Just endless shimmer, endless shifting light, as if the whole realm had decided to pretend at infinity. Malvor squeezed my hand, his grin sharp but softer than usual.
"You've seen a lot of my Realm now, Annie," he murmured, voice full of that theatrical weight he loved so much. "But I saved the best for last."
I arched a brow. "The best?"
"The absolute best." His wink glittered like starlight. "I call it the Observatory. Not because it watches but because it lets you see."
With a flick of his hand, the floating chaos dissolved. The carnival, the laughter, the noise, it all vanished. We stood on a vast, glassy platform suspended in the middle of nothing. Or everything. Below us: darkness that felt endless. Above us: galaxies, planets, stars. Some pulsed soft and steady, others blazed red and furious. Nebulas unfurled in slow, swirling dances, glowing like cosmic silk. There was no wind. No gravity. Just stardust and silence. Somehow, impossibly, it was warm. I edged closer, toes curling against the glass, startled when I realized there was no edge. The platform stretched forever in every direction, but not in a way that made me feel lost. It felt safe. Cradled. The hum of magic wrapped around me like a heartbeat.
"This is…" I couldn't even finish. Words weren't enough.
"Here." Malvor's voice had gone low, reverent. He reached for me, guiding my hand toward a cluster of golden stars. The moment he did, that section bloomed larger, spilling into a massive illusion, rotating slowly, burning brighter.
"Every star has a story," he said. "Some are already dead. Some are just being born. Some hold worlds. Some hold dreams." His mouth curled into that crooked grin. "And some are only here to be pretty. Like me."
I snorted despite myself, but my hand kept reaching. When I brushed my fingers across the galaxy, the starlight responded, flaring brighter, spilling sparks of color across my skin.
"They respond to me?" I whispered.
"They respond to intention," he said, and for once there was no joke in his voice. Just quiet certainty. "And you, my Annie… you're very good at wanting things."
I let the starlight curl around my hand, my chest tightening. I wanted too much. Always had. And here, under this impossible sky, the wanting felt endless. He didn't interrupt the silence. For once, Malvor just stood there, watching me. Letting me breathe. Letting me look. Letting me feel.
"Why bring me here?" I asked finally, my eyes still on the galaxies spinning slowly above us.
He leaned close, his voice a low murmur against my ear. "Because when I built this, I thought it was for me. But now… I know it was for you."
I turned to him then, the words caught somewhere in my throat. My fingers brushed along the line of his jaw, soft, hesitant, but real. His forehead pressed to mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. Noses brushing. Breaths mingling. My heart hammering so hard I could swear the stars were echoing it. He kissed me. Not teasing. Not demanding. Not like all the games we had played before. This kiss was different. It was soft. Reverent. A question and an answer all at once. It wasn't about hunger. It wasn't even about passion. It was about belonging. My gasp broke into his mouth, my fingers knotting in his shirt. His hands slid to my face like I was fragile, like I was precious, like I wasn't carved from scars and survival.
The stars spun overhead, galaxies blooming brighter every time my lips moved against his. The platform itself seemed to hum beneath us, warm and alive, like the whole place approved. He kissed me like I was something holy. I kissed him back like he was something I couldn't bear to lose. When his mouth moved down my throat, pressing to the frantic pulse there, I shivered. When he traced his lips along my collarbone, when he pressed kisses into the scars I usually hid, I shook. He didn't flinch. Didn't look away. He worshipped them. Worshipped me. And I let him. My hands roamed his body with growing boldness, learning him, mapping him like constellations across warm skin. Every sound he made, every hitch of breath, every groan, every whisper of my name. I drank it in like I had been dying of thirst.
He laid me down, the glass beneath us glowed, catching the stars in my hair, scattering them like jewels across my body. It didn't feel like conquest. It felt like consecration. We unraveled each other slowly, carefully, reverently. My laughter tangled with my gasps, my moans slipped into his mouth like confessions. Every touch felt like truth. Every kiss, a prayer. When he sank into me, I broke. Not in fear. Not in pain. But in the way walls fall when you realize you don't need them anymore. The bond screamed alive between us, full of golden heat and impossible light, flooding every part of me until I thought I might burst. There was no past in that moment. No scars. No chains. Only us.
The stars spun, the galaxies breathed, and we moved together, slow, aching, holy. Until I cried out his name, until he whispered mine like it was the only word that mattered, until there was nothing left but light and chaos and love. When it was over, I lay trembling against him, his thumb brushing reverently at the corner of my mouth. My body still hummed, every rune on my skin burning with something other than pain. Hope. His eyes locked on mine, soft and endless, and I knew. This wasn't just want. It wasn't even just love. It was home.