He knew Mal’s truth.
Just not the one that mattered most.
The truth of how to save her.
From herself.
Even cursed to love her, his devotion did not belong to Mal alone, it stretched towards someone not yet born. Their daughter. The child who, one day, could be the salvation of them all.
Ash shook his head, raking a hand through his tousled blonde hair as he stood before the assembled wolverians—youthful, uncertain, their pale eyes wide with an almostfragile hope. They looked at him as though he might shape their future with a single word, and he found himself wishing he felt worthy of such a gaze.
‘Don’t scowl so,’ Adriana said at his side, her voice laced with wry amusement. ‘You’ll frighten them before they’ve even lifted a blade. Not all hope is lost, Ash Acheron.’
His frown deepened, though he turned his head to regard her, the wyverian goddess wrapped in layers of secrets he would never dare to share, secrets that were hers alone to bear.
He let his attention drift back to the gathering.
Keir, gaunt and spectral, his body too frail to house the divinity coiled within, a god of such magnitude that mortal flesh cracked under the strain of holding him.
Bryn, a young prince poised on the edge of kingship, shoulders already bowed by the weight of what was to come.
Cronan, another god whose presence intrigued Ash; protector, shadow, and shield to Keir and Adriana alike.
And Adriana herself…
What a strange, unyielding little constellation fate had drawn around him, these unlikely companions, each with their own burdens, forced to endure him as much as he endured them.
How curious, fate.
Ash drew in a breath, forcing his gaze back to the expectant faces before him. He opened his mouth to speak only to feel that old, familiar chokehold of fear tightening its grip. The fear his father had beaten into him long ago, one built from years of sharp tongues and sharper blows. It curled cold fingers around his spine, whispering of laughter and scorn, of furrowed brows and judging eyes.
Mal had banished that fear once, if only in pieces. Her presence had been a salve, a small beacon that made this brutal world feel a little less jagged, a little more bearable. Because ofher, he had learnt to stand taller before those he trusted. But these… strangers? The ghost of old terror clawed back to life.
They were all staring now, wondering why he lingered in silence, why his knuckles whitened around the sword hilt.
Adriana parted her lips, ready to fill the silence for him, when a wolverian stepped forward. Young, no older than Bryn, his face calm yet resolute. The young man lifted his hands, fingers shaping silent words. Bryn watched him and gave a small nod.
‘He says ya ought not to fear,’ Bryn translated softly, glancing at his friend with a curious fondness. ‘He cannot speak either.’
Something hot and tight lodged in Ash’s chest.
The young man signed again, hands moving with steady confidence, and Bryn followed each gesture with quiet reverence.
‘He says not to worry if ya can’t use yer voice like others do. Not all of us can. Don’t force yerself to follow the world’s way.’ Bryn’s lips quirked faintly. ‘Let da world follow yers.’
Ash felt something loosen inside him, a weight uncoiling from his ribs. The ghosts of old cruelty, of ridicule and punishment, receded as though driven back by the warmth of a single flame. For once, he didn’t want to disappear into the safety of memory.
He smiled.
The expression felt strange, unpractised, yet real. Genuine enough to soften even the ache in his chest.
‘Express yerself yer own way,’ Bryn added gently. ‘Don’t mould yerself to da world. Let it mould to ya.’
Ash straightened, sword in hand, and for the first time in a long, long while, he felt free.
And smiling still, he began to teach them how to fight.
I don’t think anyone truly understands the cruelty of the gods.
