He is not the one that will destroy everything.
She will.
Tabitha Wysteria
Mal forced herself to ignore the vice tightening around her heart as the veil of molten rock folded aside and delivered them once more into the bowels of the Underworld. Her task was done, yet Makaria remained its price.
They stepped straight onto the basalt floor of Tartarus. Zagreus waited there, a faint smile ghosting over his lips, the great white wolf at his heel. The smile evaporated when his mismatched gaze swept past Mal and found no trace of his sister.
His attention slid to Thanatos; an unspoken exchange crackled between the two immortals.
‘I was compelled to strike a bargain,’ Mal said, shoulders stiff beneath an invisible weight. Zagreus’ eyes flicked to the witch she had brought with her, then back again. No fury, merely a low, sardonic snort.
‘Curious how history loops back on itself,’ he muttered, voicethreaded with dark amusement. ‘Isn’t that so, Thanatos?’
Thanatos stepped forward, jaw iron-tight. ‘Hold your tongue, Zagreus. We do not speak of that.’
‘Perhaps we should.’
‘Perhaps,’ Thanatos said, his words edged with warning, ‘you should learn when silence is wiser.’
Zagreus’ grin sharpened, but whatever revelation he nursed remained unspoken. Instead he bowed, almost mockingly, and moved aside. Thanatos lingered a heartbeat longer, his presence alone a menace, until Zagreus lowered his head in wry submission.
Only then did Thanatos clasp Mal’s hand and draw her away from the prison’s yawning shadows. They traversed the gloom in silence, the witch and the giant white wolf following at their heels until the sombre towers of the wyverian keep rose before them once more.
‘You’ll get her back,’ Thanatos said with a languid shrug, his pale, elegant fingers disappearing into the depths of his trouser pockets, as though the world held little weight for him.
‘You seem to have a surprising amount of faith in me,’ Mal replied, her voice low, laced with scepticism.
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ he asked simply.
‘You don’t really know me.’ She watched him closely. The faint clench of his jaw, the near-imperceptible shift in his shoulders. Subtle tells, fleeting and carefully smothered, but there all the same. She was tempted to dig deeper, to unearth whatever truth he was so determined to bury. But she knew he wouldn’t offer it. Not yet.
So, she turned away, directing her attention instead towards the witch.
‘I’ll allow you the evening to rest,’ she said. ‘But come dawn, you’ll begin training me in the art of witchcraft.’ She did notwait for Allegra’s reply. With her head high and her steps certain, Mal strode down the corridor of the wyverian castle, the walls echoing her resolve. Whatever the witch did in the meantime was not her concern. Not now.
Thanatos fell into step beside her, his presence as silent and steady as ever.
‘What do you want?’ she asked without looking at him.
‘No words of gratitude for escorting you through the depths of Hell and back?’ he drawled, a wicked curve catching his lips.
She stopped, turning sharply to face him.
And there he was, this strange, impossible man. The one who wore Ash’s face like a borrowed memory. The one who bore the weight of death itself behind those knowing eyes. She studied him for a moment, watching as despite his sneer, his features softened, as they always did when he looked at her.
‘You’ll teach me to harness my power,’ she said instead, though it wasn’t what she truly wanted to say. She moved to leave, but his hand closed gently around her wrist, halting her.
‘Melinoe…’ Her name left his lips like a prayer half-forgotten, half-feared.
‘What is it?’ she asked, her voice soft, yet laced with edge, her violet stare dropping to where their skin met, where his grip still lingered, hesitant and cold.
‘I can’t…’
‘Can’t what?’
‘Teach you.’
