She returned home to Arbor.
No fanfare. No portal flare. Just… arrival.
The realm responded instantly, soft lights blooming across the ceiling like dawn cracking through clouds, the air warm and cinnamon-sweet. Her room, their room, waited exactly as she left it: one side slightly messier than the other, pillows stacked with architectural ambition, a mug on the nightstand labeled "Gods, I Need Coffee."
Asha stepped in and let the door close behind her.
She was home.
She didn't speak aloud.
She didn't need to.
She just opened the bond and whispered across it:
My Chaos… I'm home.
He was there immediately.
Like the bond had summoned him, body, magic, and absurd levels of sparkle.
He arrived in a blur of sound and color, crashing into the room with glitter clinging to his hair, goo smeared on his sleeves, and at least two small sentient cupcakes stuck to his leg. They squeaked and fell off when he ran to her.
"My Eternity." His voice cracked, barely a whisper, barely a breath. "You came back."
He didn't ask questions.
Didn't crowd her.
He just wrapped her in his arms, pressed his forehead to hers, and breathed her in like he hadn't exhaled since she left.
And then she showed him.
No words.
Just memory, poured into his mind through the bond like a story told in color, scent, and pain.
The devastation of Aerion's realm.The walk through ash and absence.The Room.
He froze.
His whole body went still, like his chaos itself had stopped humming.
And then the rage came.
Slow. Silent. Nuclear.
His disgust when he felt what she had felt in that room, not just her pain, but the pain of all the others.
His fingers twitched.
The bond surged with heat, fury, and heartbreak.
"He made you bleed there," Malvor whispered, voice so low it didn't carry through the air, just through the magic.
Then came the rest.
Aerion. Navir. The fight.
Malvor watched it unfold like it was being projected straight into his mind, front row seat to her stand, her resistance, her rise.
At first, his magic flared. Chaos reacting to every blow she took. He paced the room, hands in his hair, muttering prayers to gods less dramatic than himself.
"No, no, no! Block left, block left! YES! That's my girl!"
When she twisted her sword, when she flipped the fight, he cheered like it was the final round of divine pay-per-view.
"You beautiful Queen! That pivot? That parry? Chef's kiss."
But when she turned the wind—
When she stole the air back—
When she stood over Aerion, calm and sovereign—
Malvor stilled again.
Not with worry.
With awe.
He pressed a hand to his chest, like his heart had just seen something it would never recover from.
"You didn't just win," he whispered. "You unmade the script."
The memories reached the end, Aerion gasping, choking, Asha turning away, Malvor watched her walk out of the ruined realm…
And then, there it was.
That flicker of data. That voice.
Navir.
"...1.002 to 1... 17% chance of recursion failure... Constants maintained. One fixed point. One axis... Axiom."
Malvor's eyes widened.
Just a little.
Barely.
But Asha didn't react.
Didn't blink.
Didn't seem to hear it at all.
She missed it, he thought. She missed the whole damn word.
And it wasn't just any word.
It was a name.
A title.
A prophecy.
He didn't say anything. Not then. Just held her tighter, hand gently sliding up her back like he was memorizing the way she felt at rest.
But behind those warm eyes and soft hands?
The storm was already building.
Because if Navir knew something—
Malvor would find out.
And ask was such a generous word for what he had in mind.
Malvor was still pacing, hands in his hair, absolutely vibrating with secondhand adrenaline.
"You! You absolute menace!" he spun to face her, eyes wide, smile brighter than most comets. "That blade? That stance? The divine pivot?"
He threw both hands in the air, then dropped into a dramatic bow so deep it nearly took out a bookshelf.
"I am in the presence of glory. Of violence. Of terrifying, sexy, entropy-born precision."
Asha just rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged up.It was impossible not to smile when he was like this.
"You watched the whole thing?"
"Watched it? I narrated it. I choreographed it in my mind. I'm considering composing a musical number."
He launched himself across the room, flopping onto the bed like a glitter covered starfish.
"You know what we should do?"
"Sleep?"
"WRONG! We should celebrate. And by celebrate I mean SHOWER! Because I am disgusting and I smell like war crimes committed by frosting."
She laughed.
Actually laughed.
He perked up at the sound, then grabbed a pillow and hurled it toward her chest, lightly, lovingly, with the grace of someone who had weaponized fluff.
"Shower it is," she said, catching it with one hand. "But I swear, if there are sparkles in that soap again—"
"I make no promises." He winked. "Come on, Eternity. Let's go rinse off our trauma in style."
═══⋆★⋆ ═══ ⋆★⋆ ═══⋆★⋆ ═══
The shower was quick.
Efficient.
Not because they weren't tempted, because they were both covered in sweat, battle residue, and the emotional aftermath of divine nonsense. Malvor shampooed her hair like she was sacred. She returned the favor by flicking water in his face every time he got too reverent.
He kissed her shoulder once.
She told him to focus on the soap.
They cleaned, rinsed, shed the night off in steam and soap. The fight was over. The world was still.
And then—
The bath.
Asha stood at the edge of the enormous porcelain tub, staring at the abomination Malvor had prepared.
"This is… a war crime."
"This is art," he corrected.
The bubbles were obnoxious. Towering. Iridescent. Overflowing like whipped cream possessed by chaos. There were sparkles. Confetti. A tiny rubber duck in a pirate hat floated solemnly on top.
"Why does it smell like strawberries and sin?" she asked.
"Because you deserve both."
She sank into the water with a sigh so deep it might've cracked time.
The warmth soaked into her bones. The glitter stuck to her skin. The silence, soft and bubbly, wrapped around her like a hug.
Then—
He climbed in behind her.
Wrapped himself around her like a blanket made of smug affection and slightly pointy knees.
"My Eternity," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. "You are an entire religion to me."
His hand drifted.
She caught it mid-slide.
"Bath. Not battle."
"I'm tactically appreciating your thighs," he countered.
She rolled her eyes, reached out—
And smashed a handful of bubbles directly onto his head.
It dripped down his face. Into his eyes. His mouth.
"Pffft! My nostrils! How dare you!"
"Tactically appreciating that?"
"Oh, it's war now!"
What followed was pure, glittery, aquatic chaos.
Bubbles flew.
Water sloshed.
Malvor dramatically fake died at least twice.
She ducked underwater to escape a sneak attack and came up laughing so hard she accidentally inhaled a foam flower.
He tried to declare himself the "God of Bubble Supremacy" until she dunked him.
And when it was over—
When the tub was a mess of popped bubbles and spilled stardust, when their cheeks hurt from laughing and their skin glowed like they'd bathed in joy—
They collapsed into each other.
Soft. Safe. Soapy.
Asha rested her head on his shoulder. Malvor nuzzled her temple and let out a long, happy sigh.
"This," he murmured, "is my favorite divine ritual."