Thanatos was nowhere to be seen.
A slow, creeping dread threaded itself through her veins, curling around her ribs like smoke. He was Death incarnate, surely he could not be harmed by mere water. And yet… something gnawed at her. A terrible, coiled anxiety that refused to be reasoned with.
She rose abruptly, eyes scanning the restless waves. Could he have drowned?
No, she told herself. No.It’s impossible.Yet Makaria’s mismatched eyes mirrored her own unease. Mal moved, heedless of her sister’s calls to stop, to wait, to think. Her feet pounded the damp sand, splashing through the shallows until the water lapped at her knees.
She froze.
A shape was emerging from the sea.
A head.
And in that instant, every breath left her body, and stillness claimed her like a spell.
Slowly, like a god risen from the belly of the sea itself, Thanatos emerged from the water, each step towards the shore asilent claim on the world around him. The ocean clung to him like a lover unwilling to let go, dripping from every chiselled edge of his face and body. His dark shirt clung to his chest and arms, soaked through and sculpting to the lines of muscle beneath. Water streamed from his spectral white curls, cascading in rivulets down his forehead.
He came to a halt mere inches from her, his fingers twitching at his sides as if they longed to reach for her but instead, he merely brushed a droplet from his jaw, his lips curved in quiet amusement.
‘Where were you going?’ he asked, voice a low purr.
‘Nowhere.’
‘Is that so?’ His chuckle was soft, wicked. ‘It looked an awful lot like you were racing in to rescue me.’
Mal rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t need rescuing.’
Thanatos smiled, slow and secretive. ‘Oh, Melinoe… trust me when I say I do.’ He leaned in, his breath grazing her ear like a ghost’s kiss. ‘From you.’
Mal turned sharply, brushing past him before the heat he kindled could curl any deeper beneath her skin. She strode back to Makaria, kneeling beside her sister with swift purpose, deliberately ignoring the burning gaze at her back.
‘This place…’ she said, casting a glance over her shoulder. She tried not to look at Thanatos as he tugged at his shirt, wringing out the seawater, though her traitorous eyes caught the brief glimpse of lean muscle beneath. They had not mentioned what had occurred in the ring of lust, and for that, she was grateful.
‘Don’t be deceived,’ he said, his voice now cool. ‘This isn’t the Kingdom of Darkness your father forged.’
‘Then why does it look like it?’ she asked, frowning.
Thanatos’ shoulders stiffened, a shadow crossing hisexpression. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘Which is to say,’ Mal said flatly, ‘you don’t want to tell it.’
He sighed, raking a hand through his wet hair. ‘The king of this ring is called Livyatan. This part of Hell is ruled by envy.’ His gaze drifted to hers, and in it, something glimmered, an emotion too complex for her to name. ‘This king and Hades share history,’ he added, the words weighted with meaning.
‘What sort of history?’
‘The kind that doesn’t end well,’ Thanatos replied, his tone dry. ‘Your father has a rather unique talent for offending beings he ought to have left alone.’
Mal was on the verge of questioning further when a harrowing sound echoed across the horizon, stilling her tongue mid-thought. Her gaze snapped to the sea, once a wrathful expanse of heaving, crashing waves that now began, with eerie slowness, to settle into an unnatural calm.
From the darkened deep, a creature unlike any she had ever witnessed began to rise, vast and ancient, forged from shadow and storm. It bore the shape of a wyvern, its head familiar, almost beloved in its resemblance to the winged beasts Mal had always revered. Its mouth opened wide, revealing not one, but many rows of teeth, jagged and endless, capable of devouring armies. And the rest of it, gods above, the rest was serpentine, its long, sinuous neck vanishing into the sea like the monstrous serpents spoken of by desert dwellers.
Mal’s purple eyes widened, awe and alarm blooming in her chest. The creature’s head alone overshadowed even the grandest of citadel towers; its mouth could have swallowed a fleet of dragons whole.
Thanatos stepped forward, his presence calm and unwavering, and motioned for Mal to do the same.
‘Livyatan,’ he called, voice firm, clear. ‘We have come seeking a soul.’
The beast’s immense head lowered with the slow grace of a falling moon, its serpent-like body coiling in the dark waters as it turned, fixing them with a single, ancient eye. Though its maw never moved, its voice thundered across the slate sky with godlike gravity.
