And then he told me what I had done, the very act that ignited it all.
Tabitha Wysteria
No matter how many endless hours Mal bled into Allegra’s training, her witch powers remained dormant, elusive as smoke between her fingers. Impatience gnawed at her, a storm without mercy building deep within her chest, coiling tighter and tighter like a silent tornado yearning for its violent release.
How could she save her people, save the kingdoms, the world itself if she could not summon the magic that was hers by right? Both her godhood and her witchcraft were meant to entwine, two halves of the same destiny, yet one lay dormant, a hollow echo. With every passing day, worry festered until it hollowed her out, until words themselves abandoned her lipsentirely.
She sat by the window, a lone sentinel, staring out at a world she feared was crumbling because of her failure. How many lives slipped quietly into death while she sat idle? For as long as she could remember, she had felt less. A shadow beside brighter, surer siblings who had always known their place in the great weave of fate, whether they wanted it or not. Mal had never known hers.
But then, the Seer’s prophecy had come like fire in the dark, her name whispered as the one who could end the curse, who could tip the balance. For the first time, her existence had meant something, had burnt with purpose.
Now that fragile spark was dying.
Her hands curled into trembling fists, nails biting into her palms. She tipped her head back against the smooth marble column, closing her eyes to hold back the weight of despair. She didn’t move when Thanatos appeared, his presence an eclipse at her side as he leaned against the opposite column. His dark, fathomless eyes fastened onto her, stripping her bare, not of clothes but of armour, of pretence, until she was laid open before him, raw and defenceless, seen only by him, and him alone.
They sat together in silence. Mal with her gaze fixed on the dark sprawl beyond the windows, Thanatos with his eyes on her, as he always did.
This had become their strange ritual: him appearing wordless at her side, a silent sentinel to her fury and despair. At first, she had cursed him, spat her anger like venom, ordering him to leave. Later, she had simply ignored him, letting the quiet stretch unbroken between them. And now… now she almost welcomed his presence, as one might welcome the stillness before a storm.
Her eyes drifted to him, lingering on the way his black clothes clung to his lean frame, his shirt falling open just enough to reveal the suggestion of muscle beneath. That was when she noticed it for the first time. A necklace, a ring hanging from it, faintly glinting in the low light. Without thought, she reached for it.
His hand shot up, fingers curling around her wrist. Gentle, but firm.
‘I’d never noticed that before,’ she whispered.
His lips curved slightly, humourless. ‘I usually hide it better.’
Mal’s brow furrowed. ‘Why wear a ring on a chain?’
‘Why not?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘That’s a wyverian wedding band.’ She recognised the deep black forged in wyvern fire, the faint threads of blue that shimmered along the band when the light touched it just so.
‘Jealous?’ he asked, voice soft as silk.
Mal scoffed, turning back to the view, lips curling in something wicked. ‘Did you steal it from some poor mortal? Or better yet, charm one into falling in love with you first?’ The smirk on her face widened with the bite of the jest.
But he said nothing.
Silence pooled between them, heavy and unnatural, pulling her attention back to him. His expression was unreadable, save for the trace of sadness there, so subtle yet so utterly out of place on him.
And for reasons she could not name, Mal’s chest tightened.
‘It belonged to my wife,’ Thanatos said, his voice low and threaded with an old sorrow.
Mal froze. ‘You have a wife?’
‘Had.’
Her brows knitted. ‘What happened to her?’
He looked away, the depths of his dark eyes shadowed by a grief so profound it made Mal’s chest tighten in discomfort.
‘She died.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
Thanatos exhaled, slow and measured, as though releasing a memory too heavy to hold. ‘It was a long time ago.’
