The candles flickered quietly in the royal guest chamber of the Kingdom of Maymun. The walls were gilded in pale gold and carved sandstone, glowing softly with the warmth of magic-infused crystal sconces. A hush had settled over the room as if the very palace held its breath.
Kelsey lay asleep on a bed of silk and ornante threaded linen. Her face, though at peace, was paler than Mike remembered. She looked weightless, almost transparent in the half-light.
Mike sat at her side.
He hadn't moved in hours.
One hand rested gently atop hers. He watched her chest rise and fall, steady but shallow. His draconic blood, raging and volcanic, had gone quiet around her. Like even his inner beast knew this moment required stillness.
Bahamut stirred in the back of his mind.
"She breathes, but she is not whole."
Mike clenched his jaw. "I know."
"Come. You are needed in the other chamber."
"No." The word came out low, final. "Not until she opens her eyes."
For a few beats, there was silence. Then, a familiar thumping noise came from the hallway.
Mike turned his head just as the door creaked open. A tortoise wearing a leather satchel with ceremonial beads peeking from the top stepped into the room.
"Binyai," Mike said, weary.
"Mike," Binyai replied in his half-humming, half-squeaking voice. "The council of the Djinn awaits you. The matter involves Kelsey."
"I'm not leaving her side."
"You must," Binyai replied gently, but with firm finality. "There are choices to be made, and no one else can make them for her. Or for you."
Mike looked down at Kelsey one more time, then stood slowly. "Tell me this isn't something I'll regret."
"You'll regret not hearing it more." The tortoise turned and plodded ahead.
The inner sanctum of the Kingdom of Maymun resembled a radiant desert temple, an open circular room beneath a crystalline dome, the walls lined with ancient hieroglyphic mosaics. At the center was a massive sun-shaped table etched with runes that pulsed softly under the light of floating golden orbs.
Seated at the table were the faces Mike expected, and a few he didn't.
Hamza was there, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Next to him was Dina, the girl Mike had rescued from the Pit, her golden eyes lowered but focused.
And there was King Maymun himself, seated in a throne made of fire-woven gold, his bronze skin shimmering and golden eyes focused on him.
But one chair sat empty.
Maymun raised a hand. "He is here. At last."
Mike took a few steps in and nodded to Hamza. "You said this was about Kelsey."
"It is," Maymun replied, voice warm but heavy with unspoken weight. "But first, we must acknowledge your victory. The death of the Crone and Mother aspects of Hecate has disrupted the witch's power. Delaying her opening Tartarus."
"That's great," Mike said. "But Kelsey's not whole either."
Maymun's form shimmered into stillness. "Exactly. And that brings us to the cost."
"What cost?" It was Dina who spoke next, her voice surprisingly strong. "No one has ever survived domination before. The process usually burns the soul out, makes the body a hollow conduit for the god's will."
Mike's stomach twisted.
"She didn't survive by chance," Maymun continued. "She held her soul together with strong memories and a will to fight during the possession."
Hamza gestured to the empty seat. "He's here now."
Mike turned as the shadows deepened in the room. A low breath passed across the air.
And then he felt it. A presence colder than winter. Just still. Ancient.
Maymun smiled slightly. "He is Death. Or one of its shepherds."
A voice echoed softly, yet carried across the room like thunder behind glass.
"Thanatos."
From the empty chair came a ripple of darkness, and the shape of a tall, robed figure materialized, cloaked in black mist, features skeletal but beautiful in their symmetry. His eyes were hollow.
Mike stood up, fire rippling across his skin. "You want to take her from me."
Thanatos tilted his head. "No. I wish to give her a chance to remain."
Mike growled. "You want her as your chosen."
"Her soul is fragmented. Mind, wounded. She floats between sanity and oblivion. Without an anchor, she will not stay whole."
"No." Mike slammed a fist on the table. "She just got free. She doesn't need another god crawling inside her head!"
Bahamut's voice rumbled inside him. "Be still."
Mike ignored it. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it?" he snapped at Hamza. "To let her fall apart just so someone could pick up the pieces?"
Hamza stepped forward calmly. "It's not a trick. There will be no trial. No rituals. Her imprisonment in Hecate's soul prison, her endurance, is the trial. Thanatos is offering to stabilize her. To keep her whole."
"She'll be like me," Mike spat. "Changed. Tethered to a god."
"She'll live," Dina said. "And she'll heal. That's more than most ever get."
Mike looked around the room. "I can't make this choice for her."
"No," Thanatos said, rising from the chair. "But I already have. She reached for me before you arrived. She does not want to be lost. And I... owe you a debt."
Mike's rage faltered.
"You'll protect her?"
Thanatos turned away, already beginning to fade into shadow.
"I will guard her as if she were the key to the end of all things."
Elsewhere...
The white stone walls of the Temple glowed under the moonlight.
Inside the council chamber, the air was thick with tension. Lisa, Leo, Mr. Johns, and several other members stood around a table cluttered with maps, sigil fragments, and movement charts.
"He's in the wind," Lisa said. "No trace since New Mexico."
"We believe he went to the Kingdom of Maymun," Nicolas added, stepping forward. "Nyx informed Aether, Thanatos has acted. They saved her."
Silence filled the room.
"You're certain?" Leo asked.
"Yes," Nicolas nodded. "Both the Crone and Mother vessels are confirmed destroyed. Only the Maiden remains. Kelsey lives."
Mr. Johns coughed and tapped a data pad. "I've also been tracking Hecate's movement. She's rebuilding. Women are being abducted and moved to a facility near a leyline convergence. The age profile matches our earlier theory. Half of them are Kelsey's age. Half... old."
"They're prepping new vessels," Lisa muttered. "Trying to restore the completed vessel."
"And they're behind schedule," Mr. Johns said. "Mike has thrown them off."
The door to the chamber opened.
All eyes turned as a man walked in, tall, armored in white and blue, his expression like stone. A radiant glow clung to his skin.
Gabriel's chosen.
"Apologies for the interruption," he said. "But Heaven brings word."
Everyone froze.
"A truce," he said. "From the Thrones of Heaven. With Olympus. And any gods willing."
Lisa raised a brow. "A truce?"
"Because Tartarus is close to opening. And it is not just titans and giants imprisoned there."
He looked around.
"The Watchers are inside."
The room exploded with overlapping voices.
Lisa slammed her palm against the table. "The fallen angels?"
Mr. Johns adjusted his glasses. "The angels who lusted for human women, taught men war, enchantments, and blood rites. The fathers of the nephelim. The stories are, they were chained beneath the earth as the flood purified the nephelim. It stands to reason that Tartarus is where they were chained."
"If they escape," Gabriel's chosen said solemnly, "then even Hell will kneel."