The first step into Luxor's realm blinded me. Light didn't just shine here, it devoured. It poured into my skin like fire through glass, filled my lungs until I nearly choked on radiance. Every cell screamed. Too much. Too bright. Too open. And still, I didn't flinch. I never flinched.
The warmth didn't soothe. It seared. I walked barefoot across golden stones that burned like truths I hadn't spoken. Columns climbed endlessly, wrapped in sunlight and illusions that shimmered when I tried to look too long. Statues watched me, still and shifting, their eyes following whenever mine dared stray. In the distance, eternal festivals thrived. Laughter echoed like hymns for gods who no longer answered.
There he was. Smiling. Radiant. Golden-eyed, tan, dripping in divinity like it belonged to him. Luxor. The God of Light. The First Sunrise. The Beacon and the Blade.
"I was expecting you, Sunshine," he said, his voice warm, honey poured over gold.
My jaw tightened. The nickname stung. A reminder of something soft I hadn't been in weeks. The same nickname Malvor used for me here. I didn't answer. He stepped closer, gaze gentle but sharp, head tilted like a curious cat who already knew how the story ended. "You've come for your favor," he said.
"Yes." Flat. A shard of glass wrapped in velvet.
"You want your rune activated."
"Yes."
"And you understand what that means?" Soft again. Too soft. Like pressing a thumb into a bruise.
"Yes."
He studied me, the way I stood like a soldier, back straight, fists hidden in my sleeves. The way my eyes refused his. The tremor beneath my skin, buried, but not gone. "Anastasia…"
He said it like silk, like memory. I hated it. Hated the way it curled in my gut like a ghost. That wasn't my name anymore. Not here. Not for this.
"Do it," I said, clipped. "Use sex. I don't care."A lie. Of course it was. That was the point.
The room was gilded in gold. The bed, silk and satin. Even the shadows glowed. It should have been perfect. He was perfect. Golden. Gentle. Built of sunrises and soft revelations. He touched me like I was worthy. Like my scars were scripture instead of shame. His mouth praised, his hands worshipped. He kissed me like I mattered. I let him. I kissed him back like it meant something. Like this was intimacy, not penance. Every sigh, flawless. Every gasp, calculated. Every moan, perfect. Because that's what I'd been trained to be. Perfect. My hip rolled when I knew it should. Not because of pleasure, but because my body remembered what men liked. I hated that it still remembered. I hated more that he believed it. He whispered something beautiful against my throat, and I almost sobbed. Not from joy. From exhaustion.
I gave him everything. Except the truth. Because inside? Inside I was still screaming.
Gods, I was good at pretending. So good even the God of Light wanted to believe. He wanted to believe my tremble was want, not ghosts. That my nails in his back were need, not memory. That my perfect sigh was desire, not survival. But the light sees all.
Where it touched me, it did not glow. It burned. He felt it, the hollowness in my hips, the stillness behind my eyes. He saw it, the fracture in my smile, the mask with a heartbeat cracking underneath. Still, he didn't stop. Because I'd asked. Because I'd chosen. Because for once, it wasn't taken. Gods don't intervene where choice reigns.
The rune ignited across my arm, shoulder to wrist, hand to fingertip. Golden fire. Sacred geometry. Light made flesh. Beautiful. Intricate. Divine. I stared at it like it belonged to someone else. Would Malvor still look at me the same? Or would the light blind him before he saw the girl who crawled into the sun just to be burned?
Luxor pulled me into his arms, not as a lover, but like a balm. As if he could bandage wounds he'd only traced. I let him. Just for a moment. Let him whisper safe into my hair. But I thought of Malvor. His warmth. His chaos held still for me. His mouth near my temple. I hated myself for wanting it.
"You were luminous," Luxor murmured.
I closed my eyes. Pretended it was true. Pretended I was. But the lie settled like ash. I pulled away. Slow. Deliberate. Untouched. My body moved with mechanical grace as I dressed. No fumbling. No shaking. He watched with dimming light. A sunrise swallowed by storm. "You came," he said softly, "but you didn't feel."
I paused. Turned my back. "I don't want to."
I had already laid myself bare once in Luxor's bed. The light hadn't saved me. It had measured me. Watched me. Marked me like a relic for display. Now I carried its verdict like a brand, etched judgment into my skin. Whether Malvor would still touch me…That wasn't my choice anymore.
I walked through Luxor's golden halls, the rune glowing up my arm like liquid sunlight. Beautiful. Elegant. A masterpiece. And meaningless.
I had begged the light to save me. Blind me, I'd thought. Wash me clean. So I gave the only thing I still had control over, my body. If I gave it away, maybe I wouldn't feel the weight anymore. Maybe the ghosts would shut up. Maybe the dream would stop. Maybe I'd feel clean.
But all I felt was exposed. The light hadn't saved me. It had shown me. Shown the hollowness. The cracks. The part of me that still believed pain was penance. I hadn't come for pleasure. I'd come for punishment. Luxor had given it, wrapped in gold, wrapped in kindness, wrapped in gods-damned gentleness that made me want to scream. I would return radiant. Even if I had to set myself on fire to glow.
You wanted control, my mind whispered. So you gave yourself away. Just like always.
The worst part? I had left Malvor. Not because I didn't love him. But because I couldn't let him see me like this. Not broken. Not begging. Not powerless again. I would return shining. Perfect. Controlled. Radiant. Because that's who he loved, wasn't it? Not the girl with bruises buried in her soul. Not the dreamer choking on nightmare ash. He loved Annie. Not Anastasia. So that's who I would be.
I didn't say goodbye. Not to Luxor. Not to the realm. Not to myself.
The golden halls parted for me like reverence. Or maybe guilt. The statues bowed. The air held its breath. Even the light dimmed as I passed, just slightly. As if the realm itself could feel what had been taken. What had not been given. I stood at the edge of the realm. One foot in gold, the other in grief. Luxor didn't call after me. Didn't try to stop me. That hurt more than it should have.
I had wanted someone, anyone, to say: Stay. To say: You don't have to earn your place in the light. But he didn't. He just watched me walk away like morning always does. Soft. Quiet. Final. Maybe… that was what I deserved.
So I lifted my chin. Straightened my spine. And walked through the light as if it couldn't touch me. The portal shimmered. Welcoming. Final. I didn't flinch. I never do. Arbor welcomed me back in silence. No flourish. No fanfare. No judgment. Just the soft click of the front door behind me, and the scent of magic in the walls, warm, familiar. Malvor was still asleep. Even the house didn't ask where I'd gone. Didn't need to. I moved on instinct, past the hall, up the stairs, into the bathroom. I peeled my clothes off slowly. Carefully. Like fabric might tear something inside me if I moved too fast. My reflection didn't blink. Didn't flinch. The golden rune blazed across my skin. My left arm shoulder to wrist. Beautiful. Terrible. I stared at it like it belonged to someone else.
The bath filled itself before I even asked. Arbor was merciful like that. Warm. Ready. Waiting. I sank beneath it. Eyes open. Lungs full of silence. Exhaled underwater. Watched the bubbles rise like words I never said. The rune flickered faintly. Not like light. Like a scar. An echo. A verdict. A brand. A badge. A lie. This time when I sank, I didn't rise. Not in my mind. I let myself drift. Dissolve.
The glow didn't guide me, it mocked me. It was not salvation. It was a mark. Maybe if I stayed here long enough, maybe I'd surface as someone new. Someone clean. Someone he could love without question. Someone who hadn't chosen to be touched just to feel untouchable. But the truth pressed in from all sides. The water didn't numb me. It amplified. Every place his hands had touched still remembered. Not with heat. With hollowness. The silence wasn't kind. It was a mirror.
I curled my knees to my chest beneath the surface. Arms tight. Not hiding. Bracing. Like a house in a storm that already knows half its windows are gone. I didn't cry. I'd already wasted those tears on stages no one applauded.
Later, I sat by the fire. Wrapped in one of Malvor's robes, too big, too soft, smelling like mischief and mocha. The heat kissed my legs. But it didn't reach my chest. I traced the embroidery on the sleeve, the little stitched chaos symbol he'd added just for me. He thought it was funny. I thought it was sweet. Now? I didn't know what I thought. Only that it didn't make me feel anything. Not yet. Arbor dimmed the lights, sensing me. The fire crackled low, shadows dancing without joy. Rain tapped the windows, soft, steady. Someone else's storm.
I stared into the flames. Not thinking. Just… holding myself together. Thread by thread. I don't know how long I sat like that. Long enough for the bond to stir. For that faint tug in the back of my mind to flutter open like a wound. He knew. He knew I was home. Worse, he knew I had left. But he didn't come rushing. Didn't panic through the bond. Didn't demand my story. He just… let me be.
That, more than anything, nearly broke me. Not the silence. Not the storm. Not the firelight bleeding across gold and ash. But the grace. The way he gave me space when I no longer knew how to fill it. A sound broke the quiet. Barely more than a creak. I turned.
Malvor.