Chapter 44: The Price of Awakening (His POV)
The air shifted then, subtle as the pause between prayers. Annie stiffened beside me, already sensing it. A figure stepped from the edge of the throne room, weaving out of shadow and candlelight. Selene. Calavera's little Moonshade. Veiled in silk like mourning smoke, pale and iridescent like a pearl, eyes dark enough to swallow a man whole, but softer than her mistress. Not weak. Gentle. Compassion wrapped in silence. She walked without sound until she was kneeling before Annie. Lower. Reverent. "May I?" she asked softly, her eyes fixed on Annie's right arm.
Her first rune. Leyla's mark. Annie hesitated, then nodded. Selene's fingers brushed her skin like smoke. The glyph lit. Faint silver at the edges. Awake. Selene closed her eyes. "This one hums with potential. But fractured. It wasn't meant to be the first. It was forced. Leyla's magic… shadow, silence, fear… it was meant to guard the path, not open it." Her gaze lifted, steady, to Annie. "But it opened and it did not break you."
Annie stared at the mark like she was back on that temple floor, bleeding and shaking, eight years old with gods chanting over her. I swallowed hard. My rage burned hotter. Selene's touch lingered feather-light. "May I listen?"
Annie frowned. "…Listen?"
"The First Language sings," Selene whispered. "If you know how to hear it."
Another pause. Then Annie nodded. Selene leaned in close, ear nearly to Annie's skin. The whole room stilled. Candles froze mid-flicker. Shadows held their breath. And gods, so did I.
For a heartbeat, I felt it too. A hum beneath Annie's skin. Ancient. Not pain. Not chaos. Just… old. Like something remembering itself through her veins. Selene drew back slow, eyes wide, voice dropping low. "She is marked by more than gods. Something older lingers in her blood."
I looked at Calavera. She was already watching. Her eyes had narrowed. But she said nothing. Then she rose. Not walked. Rose. Like a shadow pulling itself taller. The whole room dimmed with her movement. She stood before Annie, all marigolds and bone, and said, clear as a tolling bell: "I will awaken it. But it will cost you."
I stiffened. Shadows curled close to my boots, ready. "Four days," Calavera said. "Four days a week, and you are mine."
My magic flared before my mouth caught up. "Absolutely not," I snapped. "Pick another fixture in your rites."
She ignored me. "Two of my choosing. Two of yours. That is the price."
I spun toward Annie, already knowing. Already feeling it. She was going to say yes. "Annie, no," I growled, stepping in front of her. "This isn't a fair trade. Don't let her steal that time from us."
"It is not a prison," Calavera said, calm as graves. "It is an agreement. I will not harm her. I will simply use what she is."
"That's worse," I spat.
"Mal…" Annie's voice came quiet behind me. Steady. Dangerous.
"No," I barked back. "No deal."
I turned to Death herself. "I'll split it!" Calavera tilted her head. "But you get less than you asked for. Three days. One day mine, of your choosing." I turned to Annie, firm. "Two days of her time. One that she chooses and one that you choose."
Calavera circled us like we were an amusing game. "A gamble. But you are not the one who came to bargain."
"You want her marked. You want her awakened. You want what she's becoming. Take the offer. We both know you will keep her death." I knew in my bones that she wanted this. That she would keep Annie's mortality and get a powerful ally out of it.
Her lips curled faintly. "I do want it."
"Then take it."
Annie stepped forward, between us both, calm as ever. "I agree. One of yours. One of mine and one of his. That makes three."
Calavera studied us. Long. Still. Then she smiled. A smile colder than silence, pleased all the same. "You amuse me, so be it. Three days each month, one taken, one gifted by the girl, one granted by the trickster."
The room shuddered. Thick with finality. The deal sealed itself in the marrow of the air. The runes on Annie's skin, they began to stir. Calavera lifted her hand, slow and ceremonial, and dragged a blade of bone and obsidian across her palm. Black blood welled up, thick as oil, gleaming under the candlelight. I moved before I thought, snarling, ready to tear the whole throne room down. But Annie's hand found my arm. Just a touch. Small. Steady. She was ready.
Death stepped forward and pressed her bleeding palm to Annie's back. To the runes carved there. The world broke. Annie's body bowed violently, spine arching as pain tore through her like a living thing. A sound ripped from her throat, half gasp, half scream, as her knees gave out. I caught her just before she hit the floor.
Then the screaming started. Not mortal. Not divine. It was grief given voice. Pain stripped of language. Her back ignited, glyphs blazing like molten starlight, burning with loss. She clawed at my coat, fingers shaking. "Hurts," she sobbed, eyes already going glassy. "It hurts. Please."
"I've got you," I said, even as panic hollowed my chest. "I've got you. Stay with me."
Her body convulsed again, magic ripping through her like knives of memory. She screamed my name, once, and then she was slipping. "No," I whispered, dragging her tight against me. "No, don't you dare. You're stronger than this. You've survived worse. You always survive." That was the lie. I felt it, the edge of her. The moment before the fall. "Share it," I begged, voice breaking. "Please. Annie, share it with me. Don't do this alone. Let me carry it. Let me—"
The bond snapped open. Her mind slammed into mine.
Am I still me? The terror was immediate. Drowning. I'm losing me. It hurts.I'm not human anymore... I staggered under the weight of it, clutching her tighter as her thoughts poured through, unfiltered, frantic. I'm dying. The words sliced through me.
"No. No, you're not. You're here. You're with me." I tried to reassure her.
I don't want to die. Her fear was small now. Childlike. Not screaming, pleading.
My heart cracked. "You don't get to. You didn't deserve this. You never did. You were better than me. Better than us. Better than every god who ever touched you."
Her thoughts flickered, weak and fading. Malvor… I felt her slipping through my fingers, through the bond, through reality itself. I love you.
And then, Nothing. The closed bond went dead. Her body went limp in my arms. I felt for her pulse. Once. Twice. Frantic. Nothing. Her chest didn't rise. The truth hit me like a freight train. She was gone.
"No," I said hoarsely. I pressed my palm to her sternum. Nothing. Her skin was already cooling. "No," I whispered again, shaking her gently, like she might wake if I was careful enough. "Annie. Fire Heart. Please."
Silence. Ten seconds stretched into an eternity.
One: She didn't deserve this. Two: She should have lived. Three: She was kinder than me. Braver. Four: I was supposed to protect her. Five: The bond was empty. A hollow shell. Six: My magic screamed and found nothing. Seven: "I'm sorry," I whispered into her hair. Eight: "I should have saved you." Nine: The world tilted, wrong and broken. Ten: She gasped.
A violent, ragged breath tore into her lungs like life itself had punched its way back in. I broke. A sound ripped out of me, half sob, half laugh, as her chest hitched again. Weak. Fragile. But alive. I crushed her to me, shaking, forehead pressed to hers like I could anchor her here by force alone. "I've got you," I choked. "Gods, I've got you. I won't let go. I swear."
Her fingers twitched weakly, curling into my coat. "H-hurts," she whispered.
"I know," I breathed, tears blurring everything. "I know. I'm so sorry."
The room hummed. Her back ignited once more, silver-blue starlight racing across every carved line, Calavera's glyph blazing in full. Death stepped closer, reverent. "Congratulations. You have crossed the threshold." I didn't look at her. I didn't let Annie go. "You are immortal now. Time cannot touch you. Mortal death cannot claim you. But the divine still can."
I crushed her tighter to me, teeth grinding. "She is not fighting your wars," I hissed.
Calavera only looked at me, unblinking. "She is the war, whether she chooses to be or not." Then, softer, worse: "Every glyph you awaken chips away at what remains of her humanity. Hunger. Fear. Attachment. The gods are not heartless by choice, trickster. But by inevitability."
My chest went cold. Because for the first time, I realized, Calavera wasn't warning me. She was warning Annie. Annie was already halfway gone. Soft footfalls broke the silence. Selene stepped forward, veiled in silk that shimmered like moonlight poured into water. Always quiet. Always deliberate. Reverence was stitched into her bones. In her hand was a pendant, obsidian carved into the shape of a teardrop. She knelt beside Annie, touched her arm gently, too gently, and placed the stone in her palm. "For when you need to come back. This will always guide you here."
Annie blinked, dazed, lips parting like she almost recognized something in Selene. Something familiar. I hated it. That quiet fire in Selene's eyes was too knowing. Too close. Calavera said nothing, of course. But when Selene rose, she didn't step back to the shadow of the throne like a servant. No, she stood just ahead of it. Like she belonged there. I noticed. Calavera noticed me noticing. Neither of us spoke. Some truths aren't said aloud. They hang in the air like smoke. The throne room dimmed. Annie sagged against me, limp but breathing steady now. I gathered her into my arms, her head tucked beneath my chin, her fingers curling into my coat like she knew I'd never let go. Calavera drifted back to her throne. Shadows parted for her. Even death bowed. I didn't thank her. I never do. Selene appeared again, her voice as soft as her step. "I will walk you out."
We left in silence, footsteps echoing against bone-white marble. The skeletal dancers were gone. The candlelight guttered low. The air itself felt thin. At the great obsidian doors, Selene turned. Her eyes fell to Annie. Still clinging, but holding herself a little straighter with each breath. "There is someone else you may want to meet. Someone who can explain… more of the beginning."
Annie's eyes cracked open. "...Who?"
Selene's veil caught the twilight like spilled ink. "My mother," she said softly. "Leyla."
I froze. It hit like a knife between my ribs. Of course. Of course it was her. Annie nodded, like she already knew. Calavera's silence earlier. The reverence when Selene touched her rune. The way the shadows bent around her, not away. It all made sense. Too much sense.
"You're-" I started, but Selene nodded before I could finish.
"Daughter to Death and Shadow."
My jaw locked. My stomach turned over. "I should have known. That calm voice. That walking library of grief. It reeks of Leyla."
Selene actually smiled. Faint. Real. "She would be delighted to hear you say that."
Delighted. Gods. I wanted to laugh, but the sound would've broken something in me. Annie's voice, steady even through exhaustion, cut the silence. "Take us to her."
"Not yet," Selene said. "When you are ready."
The doors opened. Twilight spilled through, endless and waiting. We stepped out. Still bound. Still burning. But not broken.
Arbor breathed when we returned. Literally sighed in relief. The air warmed, lights flared bright, cinnamon and vanilla swept the halls like a tide. Home missed her. I could feel it. Annie collapsed into bed without protest. I brushed her hair back, kissed her temple, watched her chest rise and fall until I was sure. Until I believed she was still here. I slipped out. I needed air. The house gave me silence, wrapping around me like an old coat. I stood at the window, arms crossed, staring at the night sky as Arbor stitched velvet with too-close stars.
My thoughts spiraled. How did I miss this?
Calavera and Leyla had a child. Selene. A daughter born of death and shadow. Power layered so deep the walls bent around her. And I, god of chaos, cleverest bastard in every room, hadn't seen it. I'd smiled, I'd quipped, I'd dismissed her as background. Harmless. The quiet one. How blind could I be?
My fingers drummed hard against the frame. I thought myself the trickster, the one who knows all the secrets before anyone else. I was the knife behind the joke, the smirk that always saw two moves ahead. But Selene had been right there, carrying truths I never even suspected. Watching me, maybe even pitying me. I never noticed. I laughed once, low and ugly. Bitter. "Chaos incarnate, and I didn't see it coming."
The sound twisted in my chest. Because this wasn't the first time. I thought of Ravina. Ravina with her velvet laughter, her gardens of illusions, her vines that always reached too far. I'd told myself it was affection. Companionship. The closest thing to love I'd known. But it was rot. It had always been rot. I just refused to see it. I told myself I was clever, I could taste her poison and not swallow. All the while she was carving her mark into Annie. My Annie. And I hadn't seen it. I clenched my fists until my nails split skin. Blood smeared the glass.
I wasn't clever. I wasn't in control. I was blind. Blind to Ravina's betrayal. Blind to Selene's truth. Blind to my own arrogance. It took Annie, bloody, scarred, furious Annie, walking into my life for me to see what was real. To see how hollow my games had been. To feel what actual love is. Not Ravina's rot. Not my own illusions. Something stronger. Something terrifying in its simplicity. A woman who laughed at my chaos and called me hers anyway. Gods help me, the thought clawed at my throat: if I could miss all of this, Selene's parentage, Ravina's betrayal, my own heart, what else have I missed? What else is already written in shadows I never cared to read?
Another thought gutted me worse than all the rest. She'd been loving me longer than I ever realized. I thought I was clever, thought I was coaxing her open, winning her inch by inch with charm and chaos. But no, she had been waiting. Letting me stumble, letting me catch up at my own pitiful pace. Every eye roll, every laugh she let slip, every time she stayed when I expected her to run, it had been love already. I was the fool dragging my feet, and she had been patient enough to let me think I was leading. Gods, she'd been loving me while I was still deciding if I deserved to breathe the same air as her. That wasn't weakness. That was strength I couldn't fathom. And it made me hate myself even more, because she had given me grace I never earned.
The stars pulsed too close, too bright. And I hated that for once, I didn't feel like the master of chaos. I felt like its prey. For the first time in centuries, I wasn't laughing at fate. I wasn't mocking destiny. I was afraid of it. I pressed my forehead to the glass, shaking, whispering to no one. "You fool. You arrogant fool. You thought you were clever. You thought you were in control. But it took her to show you the truth."
The morning after was heavy. I felt it before I even opened my eyes. Annie was awake, lying stiff beside me, her breath steady but wrong. Too even, like she was holding herself together just to keep from splintering apart. I reached for her instinctively, half-asleep, my voice still gravel. "Annie…"
She didn't answer at first. And then she whispered it, words that cracked me clean through. "I wanted to kill them." I stilled. My chest tightened. "I needed to." Her voice was thin, stretched raw. "They deserved to burn. To suffer. I thought that was why I survived. That if I just stayed alive long enough, I could end it. End them."
She broke then, not in fury, but grief. Quiet. Hollow. Empty. "But now I know. If I take their lives, I take mine too."
Calavera's words haunted her the way they haunted me. If they die, you die. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into my chest, burying my face in her neck just so she could feel it. My breath stuttering, my body breaking for her.
"You deserved vengeance," I whispered, voice low and shaking.
"I don't get it."
"No," I rasped. "But you deserve it."
She sank into me, and I thought maybe that was enough. But then she added, soft, quiet: "Calavera said I'm a key. That the shadows marked me for something. I believe her. But I don't want revenge anymore. I want to be strong enough to protect the people I care about."
Her lips brushed my jaw, barely there. "Mostly you."
My heart slammed in my chest so hard I thought it might stop. For once, I had no joke, no nickname, no sarcasm to hide behind. Just her. "Come here," I whispered.
She blinked. "I am here—"
"No." My voice cracked. "Turn over. Please."
She hesitated, then slowly rolled onto her stomach. Her back caught the soft morning light, all scars and runes and holy damnation carved into skin that was never theirs to touch.
"I want to remember this," I murmured.
"What?"
"Your back. Every scar. Every line. Every rune. If you carry this, I want to carry it too."
I kissed her. The nape of her neck. Her shoulder. The first rune. Slow. Reverent. Worshipful. My tongue traced the lines, warm and deliberate, memorizing pain turned into survival. I kissed down each scar, each cruel mark made divine by her simply surviving it. Whispering her name between every one, whispering nothing at all when words would have cheapened the silence. By the time I reached the small of her back, my hands were trembling. "They'll never know what they did to you," I said, voice breaking. "But I will."
I kissed the base of her spine. "I will remember."
She didn't cry. She didn't need to. Because I already was. I worshipped her like that for a long time. Mapping her body as if it were sacred ground. No hunger. No pressure. Just awe. Just grief. Just love.
Later, I made her water. Toast. Sat beside her in bed while she ate a few bites. Told her some stupid story about Maximus getting trapped in a mirror maze with five reflections of himself, each equally confused and equally horny. She smiled. Gods, she smiled. Then slept.
Two days, she stayed in that bed. Healing. Silent at first, dreamless. I never left her side. I read aloud. Sang off-key. Brushed her hair, rubbed her feet with oils that smelled like wildflowers. Whispered the names of stars I invented just for her. It felt… normal. Peaceful. I almost believed it would last.
The second night, she screamed. I bolted upright, chaos already flaring in my veins, reaching for her. Annie clawed at the sheets, eyes wide, chest heaving, sweat soaking her skin. Her breath came too fast, too shallow. She looked wild. Lost. Like she didn't even know me.
"Annie!" I caught her shoulders, my voice urgent, breaking. "Hey, hey, you're here. You're safe. Look at me!"
She blinked at me, trembling, breath ripping from her lungs. "No, no, it wasn't just a dream. They were in my head again. All of them. I felt them—" Her voice cracked.
Her nails dug into her palms. I pried her fingers open, lacing mine with hers. "Shh. It's over. It's done."
But she kept shaking. So I pulled her into my lap, her legs awkwardly folding around me, and rocked her. Gently. Like she was breakable and infinite all at once. I pressed my lips to her temple again and again, whispering anything, nonsense, lullabies, her name, always her name.
"I'm here. I've got you, gem heart. You are not alone." Her breath slowed. Just a little. She curled against me, burying herself under my chin, clinging like she wanted to disappear into me. I held her. Until the trembling stopped. Until sleep pulled her back under. Until dawn touched the curtains. Even then, I didn't let go.