A cold, wintry day
Life befalls Death
Death befalls Life
For true balance
Makes no sacrifice
Love, love, love blossomed here
In ruins of white and eyes wide and clear
The Fall was heard, the battles were waged
Mortals deceased, lands wept in rage
A perfect utopia crumbled to dust
Where Mortem did fall and a heart did lay
Love, love, love was slain
The price was too high
The cost was too much
The exchange of Eternity demanded just
Life demands Death
Death demands Life
For true balance
Makes no sacrifice.
The exchange of eternity—taking a god’s heart and, thus, his power and immortality—meant the goddess had to lose her life. Dread lifts the hairs on my neck, and I glance at the silent skull on the table, startling as blue fire ignites in its eyes. Its sparks light the incense around it until the room smells of sandalwood and roses. Like me, Zephyra watches it burn.
“If Mortem and Vila were in love, why did she take his heart?” Gavriall asks, studying the last of the tiles.
Vesper huffs and points to the bruises on Vila’s flesh. “Does that look like love?”
He cocks his head, thinking. “It—”
“It’s obsession,” Zephyra finishes with a cool glance at the historian. “Merrow are told of the legend from birth. Mortem was obsessed. He wouldn’t leave Vila alone. Death chased life until life allowed him to claim her. And when she ended him—he ended her as well.”
“But if helovedher,” Gavriall says, his brow knotting tight, “isn’t that enough?” He looks to Zephyra, and hope burns bright in his gaze. “Love conquers all. My mother told me that, used to sing a lullaby at night about love fixing every wound, healing every hurt.”
“Your mother was wrong,” Zephyra says. “Love can’t heal on its own. Love is not enough. And it can’t exist without consent.”
Gavriall quiets as Amaya stalks forward to pry up the tiles. Her bag weighs low, dragging along the floor as she glances at the statues, deciding whether they’re worth carving too. When Zephyra and Vesper glare daggers at her, she turns back to the tiles with a sigh.
If she doesn’t do it now, I’m certain she will do so when her crew returns, after she sails out of here and comes back with more men. With more ships. Soon the entire world will know the true story of Abysses. Of Mortem’s deception, the Goddess of Life, and the utopia that was shared between humankind and merrow.
“It’s okay, Arion,” Zephyra says, wandering toward me. Her fingers stroke the tables as she passes, though she stops before she reaches the skull. She licks her thumb and index finger, then snuffs out the incense. She blows out the flames too. And then she moves that same finger to the crease between my brows. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t know. Your whole kingdom—no oneknew. Don’t beat yourself up about it now.”
That’s unacceptable.
