After dinner, after she somehow finished the whole plate and even thanked him for it, Annie curled into the corner of the sofa, barefoot, wrapped in one of Malvor's oversized cardigans like a sleepy threat.
Malvor lounged across from her, wineglass in hand, legs kicked over the arm of the chair like royalty in retirement.
They sat in easy silence for a while, basking in the domestic absurdity of the day.
Until he broke it.
"So," he said carefully, "Selene offered to introduce us to Leyla."
Annie stilled. Just slightly.
He watched her closely. "We could go tomorrow. You don't have to say yes. But I think… I think we should. If we want more answers."
She nodded slowly. "We go."
Just like that.
No hesitation.
He blinked. "Really?"
"Her priests are the ones who gave me my first rune," Annie said softly. "It makes sense that she might understand how this started."
Malvor leaned back. "Tomorrow morning, then."
They did not speak of it again that night.
Malvor tried to follow her into sleep.
He could not.
Not when she started whimpering.
Soft at first. Then sharp.
Then constant.
She never woke. Not fully. But her hands clenched and unclenched in the sheets. Her breath hitched, twisted. Her face contorted, brows furrowed like she was fighting something he couldn't see.
Something he could not fight for her.
He sat up, propped on one elbow, watching her suffer in silence.
"Annie…" he whispered. "Come on, Iron Clad. You're safe. You're home."
But she was not hearing him.
Not really.
You should have stopped it. Should have seen it coming. Should have been there. He berated himself over and over.
His fault, all of this is his fault. He did not keep her safe.
His guilt curled sharp in his chest, cold and sour.
He brushed sweat-damp hair from her brow and laid a hand over her chest, trying to soothe her heartbeat. It was racing.
Too fast.
Too loud.
He whispered anything he could think of. Silly things. Sweet things. Stories of gods making fools of themselves, songs that didn't rhyme. He pressed soft kisses to her shoulder, her knuckles, the edge of her temple.
He whispered himself hoarse. Ran out of words. And just held her tighter.
Once, her lips moved. She whispered something. A name. Not his.
He leaned closer, praying he misheard.
But he didn't.
Aerion.
He wasn't angry.He wasn't jealous.He was broken.Because even in her dreams, she still belonged to the pain he couldn't erase.
That hurt worse than any god's judgment. Nothing stopped the twisting.
He pulled her into his arms, holding her through it, anchoring her to the present even if she could not feel it.
"I'm here," he whispered. Over and over again. "You are not alone."
But she still shook.
Still gasped and whimpered.
And all he could do was watch his Storm-born girl.
By the time the sky outside Arbor began to shift into soft blues and silver, a sign of morning, he had not slept a second.
He lay there, eyes wide and red-rimmed, Annie clutched against his chest like she might disappear again.
He had faced armies.
He had faced gods.
But this?
This broke him in slow, quiet ways.
Because he could not fight dreams.
He could not rip the fear out of her mind and burn it to ash.
And worst of all—
He could not promise her it wouldn't happen again.
So he just held her.
Prayed to gods he did not even believe in.
And stayed awake, for the girl who had stayed awake alone her whole life.
The morning didn't rise, it crept, slow, silver, uncertain.Malvor stayed curled around her until her breath stopped hitching in sleep.Until the light looked like mercy again.
He didn't move when Arbor opened the curtains.He just listened.To the silence.To her breathing.To the sound of what he couldn't fix.
Malvor didn't try to wake her gently.
She had barely slept.
Instead, he placed a warm mug in her hand the moment her eyes cracked open.
"Triple shot espresso," he said solemnly. "Because gods know you are going to need it. It is also safer than a shot of adrenaline to the heart." He tried to smile at his own joke.
Annie blinked blearily, took a sip, and groaned into the cup. "This is violent. I love it."
He smiled wider, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I made it with fear and regret. Like all good coffee."
By the time she was dressed, dark, sleek, prepared. Selene was already waiting just outside Arbor's walls, draped in a cloak of shifting shadows that never quite settled into one shape.
"I will take her," Selene said quietly.
Malvor did not like it. Not one bit.
He pulled Annie aside before she left, fingers brushing her arms.
"Listen," he murmured, eyes locked on hers. "Leyla's realm… it's not like the others. It doesn't try to scare you. It just knows you. It reflects things. Memories. Fears. You'll feel things that aren't yours, or that you buried for a reason."
She nodded. "I can handle it."
He hesitated. Then kissed her brow. "I know."
But he didn't go with her.
He could not.
No god but Leyla entered the Abyss without permission. And that permission had not been extended to him.
So he watched her go, watched the darkness rise up like smoke, swallowing her and Selene both.
There was no gate. No door.
Just… black.
Velvety, vast, unending black.
As soon as Annie stepped forward, the world vanished behind her. No floor. No walls. No sky. Just shadow beneath her feet and above her head. A soft hum of magic vibrated in her ribs, and everywhere around her—
Whispers.
Familiar voices.
Some hers.
Some not.
A memory flickered beside her. The bedroom inside Ravina's personal home. Her knees giving out. Blood on the floor. Aerion sneering down at her.
Another, her first rune, carved by Leyla's priests. Pain, sharp and bright, her scream echoing.
She flinched.
The shadows pulsed.
Another illusion bloomed like smoke:
She was sixteen, back arched, screaming silently while Calavera's priests worked for hours across her back. Her hands bound, her mind trying to escape into the dark.
It was like walking through every room of her worst memories, but all she could do was move forward.
The whispers got louder.
Not mocking. Not cruel.
Just true.
They knew her.
They always had.