He was gone.
‘Silence, child,’ the Seer commanded, her voice dry as old parchment. She reached for a cup and, without flinching, sliced her arm. Blood as dark as wine trickled into the vessel. ‘Drink.’
Mal recoiled, shaking her head in protest.
With little patience, the Seer pressed the cup into her trembling hands.‘Drink.’
Reluctantly, Mal obeyed. The taste was thick, metallic, clinging to her tongue like rusted chains. Her stomach lurched, but she forced the potion down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. When she looked back, the Seer was watching her intently, head tilted like a raven assessing its prey.
‘You must go back now,’ the Seer said quietly.
‘Go back?’ Mal echoed, confused.
‘Wake up.’
Mal blinked, her gaze drifting over the room. ‘I don’t understand...’
‘If you don’t wake, you’ll remain here. Trapped. Forever.’
‘Melinoe, wake up!’
The voice was no longer the Seer’s. It struck like thunder, and the world around her shattered, collapsing like glass underfoot. A storm howled within her skull as she was dragged from the vision, pulled under and through.
She opened her eyes with a gasp.
Thanatos was crouched over her, his expression carved from worry. His ink-dark eyes searched her face, urgent and pained.
‘Are you back?’ he asked. She nodded faintly, though she wasn’t certain what ‘back’ truly meant anymore. The souls that had once dragged her into the dirt were gone like ghosts burnt to ash in the light.
Thanatos gathered her into his arms, her body limp againsthim. ‘Don’t say it.’
‘Wasn’t going to,’ she mumbled, resting her cheek against his chest, the beat of his heart faint but grounding.
Her eyes fluttered, the pull of sleep returning like a tide. Thanatos jostled her gently. ‘Don’t drift, Melinoe. If you return there again… I might not be able to bring you back.’
She nodded, lips dry. ‘Almost there?’ she whispered.
‘Almost,’ he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Talk to me. Keep talking.’
‘My father knew,’ she said. ‘He knew what I was. He said someone… someone put me there. But I don’t understand what he meant.’
‘Don’t worry about that now,’ Thanatos said, though his jaw clenched at the words.
‘You look like Ash.’
‘I know.’
‘I miss him,’ she breathed, her voice cracking. Her fingers reached for the button of his black shirt, something small and grounding to cling to. ‘I just want my love to be real.’
Thanatos stilled. His body tightened beneath her touch.
‘I know, Melinoe,’ he whispered. And for the first time, there was no mockery in his voice. Only sorrow.
At long last, the haze of exhaustion began to ebb from Mal’s limbs, and her vision cleared like fog retreating at dawn. Before them loomed a throne. Colossal in stature, towering like a forgotten monument from another age. It was carved from the same orange-tinged stone as the rest of this forsaken land, weathered and cracked with age. And upon it sat a king of ruin.
His beard cascaded down the length of his withered form, pooling like threadbare tapestry across the stone floor. His eyes were hollow sockets, void and echoing, and what remained of his hair clung in brittle patches to his mottled scalp. His crownhung askew, barely holding to the crown of his crumbling skull. He was not flesh nor bone, but something ancient and spent, sculpted from the dust of apathy itself.
‘Belphegor,’ Thanatos said beside her, steadying her with a hand beneath her arm. Makaria stood a few paces ahead, staring up in mute wonder at the desolate monarch.
