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September 12 - October 25, 2025
This is the tale of how a fallen one ascends. Long ago, I told you a tale of a chosen girl who fell to the darkness. Now I will tell you the tale of a boy who was born within it.
And he cared about none of it, because he was losing the love of his life.
This is the tale of how a fallen one ascends. He does it in countless cascading decisions, over years, over centuries. He does it with the desperation of a starving soul willing to sacrifice anything, everything, for a single chance at redemption. But in the end, he loses her every time.
Gideon had taught me that every weakness could become a strength if you embraced it enough.
“I’m giving credit to its rightful owner. I did not kill Atroxus. Mische Iliae did, and she deserves to have her name painted in the stars for it.”
Mische Iliae would be remembered by the bones of time itself, and I knew it because I would write her story there with my blood if I had to.
As if the gods had seen some beauty in mortality but failed to realize that the imperfection of it was what made it remarkable.
But this was not sunlight. I knew it because it felt nothing like what Mische had described. It feels warm and comforting. A fresh dawn makes you believe that the future can be better than the present.
“Billions of threads,” she murmured, “and not a single one where you say no.”
“Mische Iliae, Dawndrinker or Shadowborn, living or dead, I will never let you go.”
And a voice, quiet and booming at once, said, “Get your hands off my wife.”
It’s not about revenge, Asar. Sometimes mercy can get you further if you give it at just the right time.
“Because I’ve learned that you can’t live on grief,” I said. “It’s poison. It festers into bitterness and hatred. If you have nothing else to offer a heart, grief will just hollow it out until that’s all that you are. A dangerous thing for a god, no?”
“A bad lie still fulfills its purpose so long as everyone agrees to believe it.”
She looked at me with such abject, undeserved affection. It made me think of how a sunrise I’d never witnessed must feel.
“Words are never useless. And neither is compassion. This isn’t just about us.”
“We should all be afraid of power. Anyone who isn’t doesn’t deserve to wield it. This could destroy them, Vincent.”
“Some tales don’t deserve a hero.
“No. I’ve learned over the years that people think they want absolution. But that’s not what they really need to hear.” “What do most people need to hear?” For some reason, I had to speak past a lump in my throat. “They need to hear, ‘Even if it is your fault, I will love you anyway.’ ”
“For whatever of your mistakes, Mische Iliae,” he said, quietly, firmly, “for whatever of your faults, for whatever unintended pains you may bring this world, I will love you anyway.”
“And I will never stop telling you that you were incredible, because you were, and you are, and don’t you dare ever be ashamed of it,” he went on. “Now stop arguing with me and drink, so I can keep watching you bring the world to its knees.”
“Maybe greatness should come not from the sacrifices you make, but the ones you refuse to.”
“No matter what’s ahead, never sacrifice the messy parts of your mortality, Asar. I like those the best.”
“He makes me want a happy ending.”
“Grief has a way of sanding down all the complicated parts of a person in the eyes of the living. It freezes them to a single moment.”
Faith could be such a beautiful thing. It had saved me, once. Perhaps it had saved Kyrene once, too.
“You will make mistakes,” I murmured. “And I will love you anyway.”
“I never told you how much it meant to me,” he said. I smiled. “Yes, you did. Not with words. But with something even more valuable.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t enough to save you.” “Then we’ll try again. Together.” I held out my hand. “I will never promise you, Asar, that it won’t hurt, because it will. I will never promise you that we won’t fail, because we could. And that terrifies me, too. But it’s in that fear that we hold our greatest strength. We need yours, now.”
“She was no one,” Acaeja said dismissively. “But perhaps that is what makes her remarkable. Such is the glory of fate. It is forged, not born.”
But now, my husband, my partner, my ally, kissed me again, deep and soft and full of hope. As the lines of our spell dissolved into our kingdom, he lay me down in the poppy field, and here, in this moment, I understood what it was to feel complete. In the darkness, I found solace. In the underworld, I found hope. And here, in this twin soul, in this love we built together, I finally found it: Home.
