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“An ancient power…loosed…from thrall. Two worlds smothered…by a pestilent…pall.” The Lyverian mother’s words were broken by her dying breaths. “From the tree of rot…the insects…crawl. Decay and blight…unslain by steel…will bring…the strongest men…to kneel.”
Cadavros threw me into a vein when I was only an infant. He believed the marking was the only reason I survived it.
“Seemed he was angry about this marking.”
“Beyond the confines of consciousness and sleep,” the stranger answered in a deep, raspy voice. “Caligorya.”
He’d heard of Caligorya before—a place in the deepest part of the mind where healers sometimes sent those who’d been gravely injured. The Shadow Realm. A place of quiet without pain, but also darkness. A lawless hellscape for some.
Few gods take physical form, but this one lives within you.” Zevander puzzled his words. “Who?” “Deimos. The god of sablefyre and destruction.”
“Morsana. The one who’s come to me each time I’ve fallen into Caligorya.”
they don’t fear the abyss, however vast it may be. That bliss you described is what matters, even if love itself is fleeting. Its worth isn’t diminished by impermanence. Sometimes it’s best not knowing what lies below.”
Every piece of him that Maevyth touched had been rewritten into something he didn’t recognize. Something that felt like an unraveling, a faltering grip of the man he used to be. A corrupted soul not yet beyond redemption.
Those of us who remain must learn how to bend. How to choose our grief. The weight of a chain grows heavier with time.”
Alastor Calzareth - spindling.
“The name given to Cadavros at birth.
Maevyth. She’s a critical piece in all of this.” “How so?” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, “I believe she’s the only one who can keep him from slipping into madness.”
“He didn’t get where he is without betrayal. It is the only path to elevation.”
“You don’t…deserve the mortal…or your…forced bond.”
Each piercing will come with an enchantment. A promise that you will carry to the afterlife. After tonight, you will never know pleasure without pain. Love without suffering. You continue to defy me, but this is when I take everything from you.”
Channel that rage into your power. Make it stronger. Give it teeth. And I promise you, one day you will have your vengeance. Your wrath will know no bounds. And every soul who has ever harmed you will suffer.”
“I think love is more important now than ever before. Love is what grounds us. Gives us hope. It reminds us that, even when the world is slowly crumbling away, love is everlasting. But what do I know? I’ve always been impractically in love.”
“And yet, I bear the marks of a slave.” “You bear the marks of a warrior unbroken by the kind of pain that would’ve destroyed lesser men.”
I’ll tear the world asunder to feed this relentless ache carved by your hands.”
How could the face that’d come to mean everything to him, that’d pulled him from death’s grasp all those years ago, have faded like ash in the wind?
“You changed her fate. She was once a simple mortal. Harmless and temporary. Now she belongs to death.”
To take from fate means you must be willing to give in kind.”
He’d stayed awake for hours, watching his mate sleep, recalling every visit to Caligorya, every detail restored in his memories.
“The night I kissed you in that cell. The moment I crossed that boundary, you were chosen by the gods. Marked by Death.”
“Do not imagine there’s anywhere you could go, anything you could possibly say, to keep me away from you
Fate is not a flitting rope, but a knot that grows tighter with time. Bound by twists and loops not easily unraveled. The change you speak of was fated. The gods diverted your path, yes, but it returned you to the place you were always meant to be.
You were not meant to become a delicate flower, but the frost that wilts the vine. It is your strength in a world that seeks warmth and frailty in a woman. Steel your bones, and do not bend, or break to their will. Accept what you are and what you will become.”
“What am I to become?” “Vindicated.”
This wrath that lives inside of me isn’t capable of love. It hides inside my skin, waiting for the day when it can destroy. When it can ruin you.”
“You’re the fragile thread anchoring me as this endless night approaches,” he said raggedly against my lips. “My mind’s only tether in a maddening abyss.” With my face held delicately in his strong hands, he stared back at me, brows pulled tight. “I loved you before I even knew your name.”
“I’ll never look upon them as a painful memory. Those wounds mark the first time my heart beat for something more. The first time I gave willingly.”
I could burn every village and person in it, and it would be as effortless as blowing out a candle. But I do not possess the power to let you go.”
“This flesh is temporary, but what you’ve awakened in me is eternal.”
“I would call you the soft glow of moonlight in a pitch-black world. A prayer I never spoke aloud, but somehow the gods answered anyway. The strike of lightning I dare to behold without flinching.” His brow flickered as he ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “The reason I breathe.”
While his body reacted to her abuses by ejaculating, it wasn’t the same as the binding essence between mates. A silvery opalescent fluid that, upon entering a mate’s body, was known to be the most transcendent pleasure in existence. It required a very sacred ritual and the exchange of blood.
The only circumstance that would prevent a bond is another mate.
Alastor reached out a rough, tessellated hand. “If you die…I die,” he rasped.
Living was far more painful than dying.
an eldritch glyph that’s apparently powerful enough to bring down the Umbravale.”
“The world has taken everything from me. My morals. My body. My fucking soul. You’re all I have, moon witch. The only thing that gives me worth, and if it takes my life to keep you safe then I will gladly surrender it. For you.”
“I was told that my ancestry is Corvikae. Is it possible that I might be Lyverian?” “They are the same. As I said, Corvikae came here from Aethyria.”
“You are Vasmora.” “Vasmora?” “A death vessel for the goddess. It seems you were chosen to serve as her corporeal entity. Through you, she has power in our world.”
it is not a simple blood magic that you possess. It is eldritch. Ancient. Yes, the power of a goddess.”
You were chosen.” “Chosen for what?” “To fulfill her promise.”
“They were Hollowyns. In the early days of man, Magekae, the god of creation, bestowed immortality upon the mancers. And Morsana, the goddess of death, gifted the Corvi people with the ability to rise from the dead. In times of war and plague, our Hollowyns protected us.”
“Our fates are written the moment we are born. The gods cannot change that. Unless …” She paused, brow raised. “One’s fate is altered. The veil between what is and what will be is shattered.”
Was it possible that Zevander’s interference with my past had allowed Morsana to choose me as a vessel? “And, so, what is this promise that I’m to fulfill?” “You will restore our bloodline.”
“Language is arbitrary to a goddess. A clumsy human design. Or mancer, if you will. You are Vasmora and therefore, do not require interpretation from one form of a word to another.”
“Through the pain, you came to me.” He kissed my jaw. “An elixir in my blood.” Lips trailed down the column of my neck, and he kissed the base of my throat. “A calming breath to this rage that seethes inside of me. You quiet the noise in my head. The ringing and screaming.” He ran his palm over my shoulder and kissed the curve of my bone. “I can’t find peace without your touch.”
