A sound shattered the silence.
Sharp. Piercing. Not physical, but felt. Like the crack of divine thunder beneath his skin.
Malvor's eyes snapped open.
The bond between them trembled, not in fear, but in rage.
A golden light burst in the corner of the room. Not warm. Not welcoming.
Demanding.
A summons.
Elegant and terrible. The Pantheon's sigil flared across the air in sweeping script, the magic etched in blinding loops of power—official, binding, immediate.
Malvor's jaw clenched.
The lettering hovered mid-air, glowing with the weight of celestial law, each word as sharp as judgment:
Malvor, God of Chaos, you are hereby summoned to the Pantheon.
Attendance is mandatory.
Time: Now.
Purpose: Response required for destruction of the Citadel of Valor.
Wear something appropriate.
"Wear something—" he hissed, voice sharp enough to cut. "Are they joking?"
He stood slowly, careful not to jostle Annie. She stirred in his lap, breath evening again, still cocooned in fragile sleep.
He glared at the summons like it personally insulted his fashion sense.
Then, his voice dropped to a whisper so low it hurt:
"I swear to every gilded hypocrite up there, if they wake her…"
The air pulsed once more, urgent.
Malvor didn't move.
Didn't answer.
Didn't submit.
He reached out, fingers brushing through Annie's hair.
"She is sleeping," he whispered to the summons. "She is healing."
His eyes glowed faintly now. Not playful. Not mischief.
Warning.
The golden letters flashed again, more aggressive this time, adding a single word beneath the message in jagged script:
NOW.
Malvor growled.
"I hope you choke on the formality."
He stood, gently shifting Annie back onto the bed. She murmured something unintelligible, curling toward the warmth he left behind.
The bond tugged at him.
He didn't want to go.
But gods did not ask.
They summoned.
The soft cotton of his sleep shirt dissolved into something more appropriate—for a funeral or a coronation, depending on who was asking.
Emerald silk clung to his frame, layered with silver-threaded chaos runes that gleamed like captured starlight. A deep green vest hugged his chest, glinting with the sharp glimmer of diamonds and chainlink embroidery.
But it was the cloak that made the world hold its breath.
Peacock feathers spilled from his shoulders in a glittering, living storm, pinned in place by twin brooches shaped like mocking crowns. The feathers shimmered with every movement, a living tapestry of defiance. Every color a challenge. Every eye a dare.
His shoes gleamed, adorned with silver wings at the toes, as if mocking the gods' own hallowed sigils.
His cufflinks—because of course he had cufflinks—read in tiny, painstaking embroidery:
Mandatory This, You Self-Righteous Pigeons.
Malvor smiled at his reflection, the very picture of sin wrapped in silk and scorn.
The portal opened with a rush of air.
He didn't look back.
Didn't dare.
Because leaving her asleep and vulnerable, even in Arbor, felt wrong in every bone.
But as he stepped through the light, one final promise echoed behind him.
"I'll be back before she wakes."
Or I will bring the whole damn Pantheon down with me.
The Pantheon Hall shimmered with barely-contained instability.Walls cracked, divine wards hummed off-key, fractured light filtering through the broken dome above.
Malvor strolled in like he wasn't the root cause of a realm-wide meltdown.
If Aerion had been here, he might have tried to smite him on principle alone.
Which, honestly, only made the outfit feel more appropriate.
He moved with slow, predatory leisure, letting the full ridiculous spectacle of himself unfurl across the room.Peacock feathers rippled behind him in a decadent storm, each jeweled eye glinting with unspoken mockery.He was literally peacocking—and it was deliberate.
Distract them.Make them focus on the outfit. The arrogance. The insult.Anything but the real reason he shattered a realm.
Luxor's jaw tightened the moment Malvor entered, his hands curling into fists at his sides.Vitaria inhaled sharply, as if personally offended by the ensemble.Tairochi's face darkened into something that could have carved mountains.Brigitte looked down at her hands, refusing to meet his gaze.
Maximus, the only one who had the gall to be honest, raised his goblet in a lazy toast. "Fashionably criminal," he muttered with a smirk.
Even Yara gave a slow, sultry clap from her seat, amusement curling at the corners of her mouth. "Dramatic," she purred. "I approve."
Good.Let them rage. Let them sneer.Better they scorn him than start asking the right questions about her.
He offered a smirk sharp enough to draw divine blood."Well," he said, surveying the damage with a lazy sweep of his jeweled hand, "looks like someone threw quite the tantrum."
Luxor stood, the glow of his skin sharpening into something blade-thin and dangerous."You did this."
Malvor's grin widened, wicked and unrepentant."Did I?"
Vitaria's voice snapped like a whip. "The Citadel collapsed. Mortal temples are destabilizing. Elemental magic is leaking into the sanctuaries. This isn't mischief, Malvor, this is cataclysm."
"I'm flattered you think I'm that powerful."
Tairochi hadn't spoken yet.
But his silence was thunder.
Ravina did not speak. But the vine coiled around her throne turned black at the edges.
Brigitte's hands twisted in her lap, grief etched across her soft features.
Maximus finally looked up from his goblet. "We're not pretending this wasn't deliberate, are we? Because I love a man who commits to the bit."
Yara, perched like a sea-siren at the edge of her seat, lifted one painted brow. "Was it personal? Do tell. I live for scandal."
"Enough," Luxor said. His glow had sharpened into a blade's edge. "You owe us an explanation."
Malvor tilted his head and gave a smile that was all venom in velvet. "Sure. I did it."
A beat.
"I dropped the Citadel. Shattered it. Toppled a realm built on lies. What a shame."
Shock rippled, unspoken.
"You're admitting it?" Vitaria demanded.
Malvor shrugged. "Why lie? You'd blame me anyway. Might as well enjoy the credit."
"Where is Aerion?" Luxor's voice dropped low.
Malvor's eyes didn't flicker. "Not his keeper."
Luxor's voice sharpened. "Where is Orion?"
For the first time, Malvor's expression faltered. A crack, barely a breath, but there.
"Gone," he said. Quiet. Final.
Yara's smile slipped.
Vitaria's hands tightened into fists.
Even Ravina's vine twitched against her throne, curling tighter, defensive.
"You killed him," Tairochi said, voice devoid of surprise, only iron certainty.
Malvor lifted his chin, chaos flickering behind his eyes like a storm barely held back.
"He was the only good thing that bastard ever made," he said."And I still did it."
His gaze drifted—too casually—to where Ravina sat.
She stiffened.
Malvor's smile returned, slow and sharp as a blade slipping between ribs.
"Funny, isn't it," he drawled. "How we all have… skeletons. Some prettier than others."
His eyes gleamed—mocking, knowing, cruel.
"And some," he said, voice dripping sweet poison, "like to garden their rot. Pretend it's something green and growing."
He tilted his head, studying Ravina with mock curiosity."Tell me, blossom queen. How long do you think before your weeds strangle you too?"
His words hung in the air like poison mist.Ravina's vine twitched again—then retracted, curling protectively around the base of her throne.
Ravina shifted in her seat. Uncomfortable. Defensive.
No one else notices. No one but Calavera.
Calavera did not speak. She didn't need to. The candle behind her flickered once—then went out. A single marigold petal turned to ash in her lap.
Yara leaned forward, chin resting on her hand, tone silk-smooth. "So who was worth this little show of yours? Who's got you playing knight instead of jester?"
Malvor smiled like he knew a secret they'd all regret learning.
"Doesn't matter," he said simply.
"She must," Brigitte murmured, too quietly for anyone to answer.
No one said Annie's name.
But a few of them shifted, the kind of shift that meant they suspected.
Some turned away. Pretending not to know.
Tairochi finally spoke.
"Rebuild it."
His voice echoed with quiet menace. "You broke it. Now restore it."
"No," Malvor said.
Dead quiet.
Luxor's jaw clenched. "You refuse?"
Malvor's shadows coiled like smoke made of broken vows.
"I refuse," he said, voice smooth as a blade. "Because it shouldn't be rebuilt."
The room crackled with divine fury.
Maximus gave a low whistle. "Oooh. He said the quiet part out loud."
"Enough," Leyla said, not loud—but absolute. The kind of voice that stops time.
They stilled.
"The realm is broken. The god is missing. Restoration is secondary to survival."
No one argued with her.
Malvor stood still, hands loose at his sides, chaos thrumming beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. He met Luxor's glare. Tairochi's judgment. Vitaria's outrage. Ravina's silence.
He met it all.
And bowed.
Deep. Mocking.
"I'll take your fury. I deserve it," he said. "But I won't take it back."
He turned.
Walked out.
Didn't flinch when the doors closed behind him.
Didn't stop walking until he could feel her again.
Alive.
Warm.
His.
And none of them were going to take that from him.
Not now.
Not ever.