He is the God of Turbulence. He created darkness and light, two opposing forces that fight to swallow one another.
He opens his palms: one fills with a light so bright, I am momentarily blind. The other with a void so dark it pulls my body closer. With a wave of his fingers, the darkness and light clash.
His magic purrs as the battle in his palm takes center stage. It drowns out the sparks of my fire, a heat so intense no elf could survive entering this forge. I used to sit for hours after we made love, watching him make this symphony that lulled me to sleep.
“Such is life; what shall you have me do?” he murmurs in a relaxed tone, as if he’s on a shore listening to waves, entirely untouched by the haunting purr of war drums pounding outside our walls.
When an immortal discovers they can be killed, they either swallow the pill like Lucian has or reject it like the others. I’m lost in the middle; the pill sits on my tongue, for I am unwilling to swallow it but not foolish enough to spit it out.
“Fight for it!” I hiss as I grab my hammer.Fight for me! So we can have an eternity together!
Water hitting molten steel is how his eyes douse me, begging me to stop, to cool. The steam his acknowledgment produces rolls off me. “I might have reached my end, but I’m still an ember. I still live!”
A tear rolls down my cheek. It pulls him up as his shadows reach to catch me. “I am lit, I am here! I’m trying to mend what I broke,” I cry.
I blink and he’s in front of me. “Do you wish me to lie to you, Amariel?” A rough hand cups my cheek as he speaks.
Quivering, I shake my head. “Don’t start now.”
He guides my eyes to his. “You move around this forge like sparks desperate for the hearth, for a purpose. But everything you touch is turning to ash. Fire, creation—it’s wonderful, but sometimes that fire burns out of control. I do not blame you for what has happened. But we can not defeat the elves. Numbersdowin a war. We…” he pauses, eyes blistering with rawness, “grow less each battle.”
Not even Lucian can voice how many of us remain. The truth is too painful to declare.
Soon, we will be none.
“We cannot win. There is honor in truth, Amariel.” He speaks as one sinks into a hot bath. Relaxed. At peace.
Yet all I feel is cold water. Another reminder: this is my fault.
Lucian has remained by my side, but I hate it. I deserve the death the other gods have faced.
“If whispers could shape truths, I’d press my lips to your ear and speak them into existence. But I am war; I am grit, terror,and honor. I am brutal honesty. It’s time to accept that our time is coming to an end. Cushions do not help the blow; they make death more prolonged.”
This is why I love him. He’s not a lifeboat—sometimes boats never reach the final destination. He’s the monster lurking beneath the waves, ready to carry me away.
How badly I wish to be plucked away from this life, to have all my mistakes wiped clean.
But I have a stubborn flaw: I’m a fixer. Another flaw is that I break the things I fix, which allows me to fix them again, then shatter them. It’s a terrible cycle. So why can’t I step back and let someone else fix my mistakes?
“What would you have me do?” I whisper, tasting salt on my lips. “Hand myself over?”
“No.” He glides his lips over mine. I inhale sharply. “If I have one more night left to live, I want every moment to be spent holding you, tasting you, making love to you. I want the memory of you to transcend the trauma and agony of death.”
He seizes my lips with a passion that invades my mind. The heat of his tongue curling and sucking on mine melts my willpower, butI’ma master at molding objects, not him. I know what he’s trying to do. I won't allow it, but I indulge for one second.
I kiss him back, pushing up on my toes, snaking my hands around his muscular shoulders. His invisible chaos runs through my body, wetting my core, trembling my knees. My palms slide down his chest. I push him back, admiring him from a distance.
“I’m not ready to die,” I declare, licking my lips and savoring his taste.
He’s a tide that comes back; his arms ensnare me as an anchor halts a boat. “Neither am I, but hopes and dreams have no place in war.” He lowers his mouth to mine.
How badly I want to have his lips silence me, to smother out my problems.
I twist free and walk back to the fire.
His growl is a hiss of metal that is quenched, hardening, but then he tempers himself, ensuring his determination is not too brittle after my rejection. His walk back to his spot is a long voyage.
“We are biding time, Amariel.” Refusing to leave my forge, he glares at me. Those eyes, two orbs of pure black with streaks of light, have seduced me more times than I am willing to confess. “Life is precious, and if I have to kill a thousand to spend one more day, one more hour, or second with you, then I will, but I am not blinded by love like you. I know the outcome of this war. We can not win.” He levels me with an honest stare. “I have come to terms with that because I know each day I survive is one more night with you. You can toil away in here, but before our two suns rise, I will have you under me and then on top. I will have you every way I can dream of. There is one thing the elves can not slaughter, and that is my dreams. For I will dream of you always. In life. In death. You are my dream, and I refuse to watch you transform into a nightmare, Amariel.”
