Snow kept Jo in his mind all the while, the glint in her eyes and the tantalizing pull of her smile, the soft curves of the body he’d become intimately familiar with in more than one life. He thought of her voice, both as Destruction and as Jo, remembered the softness of her hair and the bite of her sarcasm. He held tight to her memory as if nothing else mattered.
And then he let it go.
“Now, Eslar!”
It wasn’t a painful thing. His magic was taffy under the elf’s hands. Eslar pulled and drew. Despite Snow’s willingness, his magic reacted to the sensation defensively, unable to be soothed. It was like trying to convince himself to undergo a surgery without painkillers; his magic was used to being whole, and being ripped apart was met with vehement resistance.
Yet the ancient magics of the elves—handed down to them by the gods themselves for the sake of tending to the world in their absence—came through once more. Eslar pulled. He pulled and Snow willed his magic to heed his commands. As if sensing his intent at long last, his magic gave way. No longer a demigod, but a mortal. No longer one person, but two.
The sensation left him feeling hollow at first. He slouched and fell into something hard and sturdy; orange hair tickled his cheek. But as he opened his eyes, he looked to the hovering shell of Jo he had made, praying this final bid worked.
Magic filled the floating form of his love like a paint by numbers. Her long, dark hair bore streaks of vibrant color, her tanned skin glowing despite the lack of genuine life. His magic welled in the doll, filled to the brim thanks to Eslar’s efforts.
“What now?” Eslar panted. “Snow, I did all I could.”
“No. . . wait . . .”
A soft whisper of her magic chose the moment of his doubt to make itself known, followed by the familiar warmth of her presence pulsing from the fading outline of Oblivion and charging toward the magic he had imprinted in the doll to draw her essence like bait. It was a wave of sensation after that, her magic spilling into the new host with a weak but determined vigor. He could sense it settling beneath the doll’s skin—Jo’s skin, bringing color to her pallor, life into her dormant heart.
The world became real for her; she became real. No longer hovering, her bare foot touched down on the stony floor. Jo stood, naked as the day she was first born; on this day, she was born again.
“S-Snow?” she whispered, her eyes on his hunched form foremost. “What happened to me? Did I bounce back like bef—” Jo looked down at herself. “Why am I naked?”
The sentiment broke the deathly chill of panic with the bounding laughter of relief.
“Here you go, dollface.” Wayne shrugged off his coat. “Though, for someone just come back from the dead, sorry I don’t have something a little more flashy.”
Even as she slid her hands into the sleeves, her eyes stayed on Snow. “What did you do? I thought my destructive magic would be impervious.”
“Your magic was. The physical form . . . not so much.”
“Then?”
“I split my magic to make a host for you. Your magic . . . filled it,” Snow simplified.
Awareness widened her eyes and she quickly crossed the gap between them, raising her hands to his cheeks to gently cradle his face. Watching her move was enough to make his eyes go watery. “Then, if you split, you’re not a demigod anymore?”
“Neither are you,” he affirmed.
“You did that for me?” She still sounded fragile, unused to her new body and voice, but she sounded alive. She wasalive.
“I would do anything for you,” Snow said, meaning every word of it. He would do anything for Jo, for Destruction, for his other half and truest love. Even living out the remainder of his life as a mortal. A life with magic, yes, but not the infinite well of forever to draw it from.
Still, as long as he shared his life with Jo, no matter how long, it would be worth it. He would split his magic a million times, and she would still be worth it.
“What does this mean?” Jo asked after a long moment of tense silence, gaze still hazy but regaining its usual brightness. Snow didn’t care, not while she was living and breathing within his arms. But still, he gave her an answer.
“We live, my love. We simply . . . live.”
Epilogue
“We’ll be back as soon as we can to come and see you and Jo,” Samson said, pulling in for a tight hug.
Takako returned the embrace, feeling a little smile work its way onto her mouth at the mention of her and Jo, but no Snow. As if Jo would go anywhere without Snow again now that they had each other. Or, perhaps, that was just the craftsman’s way of communicating his priorities.
“What about me?” Wayne huffed from Takako’s side.
“You too, when you’re here.”
