The air thickened.
The chamber didn't pulse anymore—it waited.
Annie turned slightly, and the motion said everything: it was time.
She stepped forward, slow but unafraid, and laid her free hand on Malvor's chest.
His breath hitched.
He didn't ask what she wanted.
He knew.
What followed was not frenzy.
It was surrender.
It was poetry.
It was ritual written in the language of skin.
Annie moved first.
She guided him with fingertips down his chest, to the knots of his coat, unfastening them one by one. Each movement deliberate. Every moment slow, sensual, sure.
She unwrapped him like she'd waited lifetimes to do it right.
Malvor's hands found her waist. Slid up her back. Down her hips. Reverent. Tethering. She wasn't trembling. Neither was he.
But the air between them did.
When they came together—finally—it was with aching slowness. Skin against skin. No rush. No demands. Just the steady unspooling of tension that had waited too long to break.
Vitaria's hand remained on Annie's back, grounding her as Maximus moved in front—no longer teasing, no longer testing, but simply… there. His lips found her collarbone, her jaw, her shoulder. Never lower. Not yet. Not without invitation.
And she gave it.
Not with words.
With movement.
With breath.
With the way her eyes closed, her spine arched, and her hands reached for all of them at once.
Three gods.
One woman.
But she wasn't theirs.
They were hers.
Time blurred.
Touch and worship tangled.
No one spoke.
They didn't need to.
There were hands in her hair, lips on her neck, fingers tracing the paths of her glowing runes like they were reading scripture.
Maximus's voice came in low, thick with reverence: "You don't belong to us."
"No," Malvor whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth. "We belong to you."
And Annie—
Annie smiled.
Eyes still closed.
Hands open like she was holding the stars.
And then—
The light exploded.
The rune surged with such force it knocked Maximus back again. A flash of divine fire erupted from her skin, pulsing out in radiant waves. Vines. Power. Sovereignty. Claim.
Annie didn't flinch.
She bloomed.
The chamber fell still.
No more movement.
No more heat.
Just breath.
Heavy, holy breath.
She wrapped the black silk dress around her hips like a trophy—but for one heartbeat, one breath, her fingers trembled.
Just once.
She crushed the feeling before it could surface, smiled, and kept walking
She didn't look at Maximus.
Didn't bow to Vitaria.
She turned to Malvor.
And smiled.
That smile.
The soft one. The real one. The victorious one.
She reached for his hand.
He didn't hesitate.
Fingers laced. Hearts echoing.
And as they ascended the steps together, her hips swayed like she still owned the temple.
Because she did.
And Malvor?
He followed her, dazed.
Hand in hers.
Eyes full of firelight and devotion.
And a quiet, soul-deep ache in his chest.
He didn't understand it yet.
But it felt like falling in love with lightning…
…and then walking away with thunder still in his bones.
They returned to Arbor in silence.
No shimmer, no divine fanfare. Just a soft blink—like a held breath finally exhaled—and they were home.
The velvet weight of Maximus's realm was gone. So was the heat of Vitaria's hands. In their place: cool twilight, flickering fireflies, and the soft thrum of Malvor's magic, woven into the bones of the house.
Annie didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Her hand was still in his, fingers warm, steady.
But her posture had changed. Shoulders loose, gaze soft. Her steps slower now. Not tired. Just… settled. Like the curtain had closed on a show no one knew had been for her.
Malvor stayed quiet, guiding her through the familiar halls with reverent fingertips. His eyes kept flicking to her like he couldn't believe she was still there. Still glowing. Still his.
Arbor listened. Adjusted.
The bathroom was already warm.
Golden candlelight danced across the tiled walls. The scent of eucalyptus and storm rain curled in the air like a memory. Water poured from the overhead rainfall shower—hot, heavy, steady.
Annie stood at the edge, still wrapped in the black silk she'd draped around her waist like a trophy.
The glowing rune across her abdomen had dulled now—no longer fire, but quiet embers beneath her skin. A whisper instead of a scream.
Malvor came up behind her, his fingers finding the tie and undoing it with a care that felt like prayer.
"You were beautiful," he murmured, voice as soft as the candlelight. "Terrifying. Glorious."
She turned to face him.
Smiled.
A real one. Small. Sure.
He stripped off his shirt in a single motion and let it fall.
Then, together, they stepped into the shower.
The water hit her first.
She tipped her head back, eyes fluttering closed as it streamed down her shoulders, her spine, her chest. Her curls soaked instantly, clinging to her cheeks like ink across marble.
Malvor stepped in behind her, slower, quieter.
He didn't touch her at first.
Just watched.
Like if he moved too fast, she might disappear.
But she didn't.
She stayed.
And so—gently—he picked up the cloth.
Ran it across her skin.
Shoulders. Arms. Spine. Hips.
Not with lust.
Not with need.
With worship.
He followed the paths of her runes, each one like a verse he was memorizing with his hands. His fingers trailed water down her arms, to her wrists, to her open palms.
Then he dropped the cloth, laced their fingers together.
"I need you to know," he said, voice thick, low, "I'm proud of you. Not because of what you did."
A pause.
"But because of who you are."
Her eyes opened.
She signed:
I'm okay. Really. I wanted it.
"I know," he said.
She reached up. Touched his face. Brushed beneath his eye with her thumb.
You're quiet.
A crooked smile. "Just thinking."
About what?
He hesitated.
Then: "How the gods keep touching you like they deserve you."
Her breath caught.
He stepped closer, brushing his knuckles along her jaw. "But I'm the one who gets to stay."
Something in her eyes broke open—but not in pain. In understanding.
And then he kissed her.
Not like a god.
Like a man who had already chosen her, and would do it again a thousand times.
When they finally parted, she rested her forehead against his chest. Arms wrapped around him, loose, trusting.
He held her like she was an answer.
And whispered into the steam:
"I'll follow you anywhere. But if this ends… if whatever this is becomes something bigger than us—promise me you'll come back."
She didn't sign anything.
Didn't speak.
She just nodded. Once.
And that was enough.
Later, after the candles had burned down to wax puddles and the steam had faded into memory, they crawled into bed without ceremony.
No illusions.
No crowns.
Just limbs tangled beneath soft sheets.
Her damp hair spilled across his chest. One leg draped over his hip. His arm curled around her like he was holding gravity in his hands.
She was half-asleep.
But when he whispered:
"I'm still mad about the dress…"
She let out a tiny, sleepy noise. Somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.
He smiled into her hair.
"You broke theology in that thing."
She mumbled something incoherent against his skin.
He closed his eyes.
They didn't talk about Maximus.
Or Vitaria.
Or power.
Not tonight.
Tonight, she was just Annie.
And he was just hers.
And for one heartbeat, one breath, one night—
It felt like the world might let them stay that way.