Sporesby slapped the golden buzzer. Doug screamed. Tairochi slowly held up a chalkboard that read: "I concede."
The judges huddled.
Chaos murmured through the crowd as Sporesby let out the occasional enthusiastic "bloop," Doug doodled a crown on his scorecard like he was drawing for his liege lord, and Tairochi remained perfectly motionless—arms crossed, stone-faced, possibly asleep with his eyes open.
After several dramatic pauses, three unnecessary light shows, and one accidental firework (which Malvor swore was absolutely part of the ambiance), the verdict was announced:
It's a tie.
Malvor narrowed his eyes.
"I think someone tampered with the votes."
Doug shrugged. "You mean bribed? Yes. Vittia gave me a raisin and called me a good boy."
He looked off into the middle distance, dreamy.
"I am hers now."
Sporesby nodded solemnly and threw more glitter like a sacred offering.
Tairochi remained silent. But somehow, even his silence agreed.
Asha just smiled. Waved graciously. Like the radiant, self-possessed goddess she was.
And then—
Vittia reappeared.
Storming back onto the stage like she'd never left. Like this was her show. Like she owned the sun.
She twirled. Again. Harder. More violently.
Posed with her chaos wand—a glitter-smeared stick wrapped in duct tape and unearned confidence.
The crowd went feral.
Asha took a step forward to reclaim the spotlight—
And Vittia shoved her.
Casually. With the sheer audacity only possessed by a five-year-old raised on godhood, juice boxes, and total immunity.
Asha stumbled. Blinked. Looked down at the tiny tyrant with a stunned, slightly impressed expression.
Vittia stood her ground. Glitter clinging to her cheeks. Her gap-toothed grin sharp as a battle cry.
"I win now," she declared. Voice high. Certain. "Forever."
She raised the chaos wand high.
The crowd screamed. A bird exploded somewhere in the rafters. Sporesby wept with joy.
Malvor, voice cracking with pride:
"I've never been prouder."
The Realm was quieter now.
Most of the guests had staggered off—drunk on illusion wine, glitter-hungover, or simply too emotionally devastated by being out-Malvored.
The stage still sparkled. The air still shimmered. But in the quiet corners of the Realm, it was just him.
Malvor.
Alone for the first time all day.
The chaos had come and gone. The worship, the worshippers, the glory of being adored like the beautiful disaster he was.
And still—
He felt… emptied. Not broken. Just… still.
Then—
He felt her.
Not her magic. Not her chaos. Her presence.
Before she stepped into view, he felt her. Like gravity. Like breath returning.
Asha.
Still in the suit. Still sharp. Still chaos incarnate.
But her eyes—
They were soft now. And her smile wasn't for the crowd. It was just for him.
She walked over. Calm. Certain. Steady.
He looked at her like she was the only real thing left in the entire Realm.
He remembered the time she had been magically transformed to look like him. The memory made his knees weak.
She stopped in front of him. Tilted her head. Smiled.
"You survived your worship," she purred.
He let out a tired laugh. The kind that came from somewhere deep in his chest—half-exhale, half-surrender.
"Barely," he said. "You stole half of it just by existing in that suit."
She leaned in. Close. Closer than necessary. Close enough that the world dulled around her.
Her breath ghosted across his cheek.
She whispered:
"Happy birthday, my chaos."
And gods help him—
That was it.
The whole world melted. The Realm sighed. And Malvor?
He didn't need fireworks. Or applause. Or exploding glitter birds.
He just needed this.
Her.
And her voice in his ear.
Just for him.
✧༚⋆༚✧༚⋆༚✧✧༚⋆༚✧༚⋆༚✧✧༚⋆༚✧༚⋆༚✧✧༚⋆༚✧
He didn't speak. He just took her hand.
Firm. Steady. Like it was a promise.
"Come with me," he said, voice low and calm. "There's something I want to give you. Something only I've ever seen."
He stepped through a door she hadn't noticed before.
She stepped through the shadows like she belonged to them—and to him.Malvor didn't move. He didn't dare. Every frantic heartbeat in his chest quieted, falling into rhythm with the soft inevitability of her.She wasn't chaos here. She was certainty.His certainty.
There was no swirl of magic. No blast of color. Just a subtle shift—as if they'd stepped out of reality and into something softer.
The Room
It wasn't what she expected.
It wasn't red. It wasn't dark and brooding. It wasn't dangerous.
It was intentional.
Black walls, trimmed in gold. Warm, soft lighting. A scent like sandalwood and her perfume. And in the center of it all, a bed—large, velvet-sheeted, simple—but marked at the headboard with a single rune:
Trust.
Her breath caught.
Her fingers itched to touch the rune. To trace it. To ask a thousand questions she already knew the answers to.Trust.Not demanded. Not required. Offered.Asha had been claimed before. Branded. Bound.But never trusted like this.Her throat tightened, and she had to breathe twice before she could move.
He watched her take it in—every detail.
There was a small table to the side. Nothing overtly intimidating. A blindfold. A pair of silk ties. A closed box. A chair.
A full-length mirror stood in the corner.
"This is where I come in my mind," he said softly. "When I want more than noise."
He stepped behind her. Not touching—just present.
"Tonight isn't about performance. Or power. Or even pleasure."
A pause.
"It's about you. Letting go. Letting me… guide."
She turned. Their eyes met.
Her nod was small. Almost imperceptible. But the bond between them roared.A yes.A surrender.Not to him. To herself.
Malvor exhaled shakily, stepping closer like a man touching a star for the first time, afraid it might shatter if he breathed too hard.
Green.