The pod doors hissed open like a beast deciding—at the last second—not to bite.
Heat rolled out first. Then the smell of scorched sand, burned venom, and something metallic that clung to the back of the throat. Qaritas stumbled half a step as the world reasserted itself.
Komus caught his elbow without looking.
Not dramatic.
Not careful.
Just there.
They moved like that now.
Both of them were wounded. Both were healing, slowly, stubbornly, the way gods who refused to rest always did.
Komus's shoulder still smoked faintly where a Skaragumo stinger had grazed him. Qaritas's forearms glowed with faint amethyst veins that pulsed once, faded, then returned—like a heartbeat that hadn't decided what it was yet.
Neither commented on it.
Behind them, the Develdion sealed shut with a low, satisfied thrum—like a predator that had been well fed.
Cree and Hydeius sat nearby, pressed together in a rare, unguarded knot of limbs and laughter. Hydeius's massive hand rested over Cree's smaller one, thumb tracing idle circles as if relearning the shape of joy. Cree leaned into him, glowing softly, smiling like someone who had forgotten what peace felt like—and was stunned to find it still worked.
Daviyi sat cross-legged a little apart, nose buried in a cracked tome thick with ancient fae glyphs. Every few seconds she frowned and scribbled notes into the margin—notes that tried to crawl away from her quill until she smacked them flat.
Niraí approached Qaritas and Komus with two towels and two cups of water.
She was drenched in sweat. Thin lines of blood traced her ribs and one thigh. Her breathing was steady. Controlled. Disciplined in the way only someone who refused to fall apart could manage.
"Good work," she said, pressing the cups into their hands. "Both of you."
Komus drank, then noticed the blood.
"Hey," he said, voice sharpening. "You're bleeding. You shouldn't be pushing yourself like that."
Niraí raised a brow.
"Keep talking," she said pleasantly, "and you'll dig your own grave."
Komus snapped his mouth shut.
"…Fair."
He rubbed the back of his neck, then added, quieter, "Also you're Hellbound too, so you don't exactly get to slack off."
Niraí smirked. "Exactly."
She turned and walked away.
Qaritas wiped his face with the towel and glanced around.
Ayla wasn't there.
The absence hit harder than any blade.
"Where's—" he started, then stopped himself.
Niraí followed his gaze. Her expression softened just a fraction. "She went to her room," she said quietly. "Crying."
Daviyi looked up from her book. "What happened between you?"
Komus answered without looking at Qaritas.
"Leave it," he said. "It's between them."
Daviyi studied both of them for a long moment—then nodded once and returned to her reading.
Footsteps approached.
Zcain emerged from his own pod, shadows folding neatly back into place around him. His posture was composed, but his eyes lingered on Qaritas longer than usual.
He stopped in front of him.
"I am sorry," Zcain said.
No ceremony.
No thunder.
"I used you," he continued. "I did not have another path. That does not make it right."
Qaritas said nothing.
Zcain exhaled slowly. "Do not stay angry at Ayla. She was helping me. Please."
The word hung there—awkward. Human.
Qaritas still didn't answer.
Zcain inclined his head. "There is an outdoor hot spring on the hundredth floor," he added. "You should go. Both of you."
Then he turned and walked away.
Eon murmured lazily inside Qaritas's mind, Apologies are fragile things, brother. Step on them carefully.
Cree and Hydeius rose together, hands still linked.
"We're going to spend time with our children," Cree said warmly. "We've missed… everything."
They left in a ripple of light and gravity.
Daviyi closed her book with a snap. "I'm going to the library," she announced. "I want to know my children's history."
Niraí hesitated. "You don't want to see them?"
"Not yet," Daviyi said. "Not without Jrin."
She paused at the doorway, then glanced back. "And you two?" she asked Niraí and Komus. "What about your children?"
Komus laughed. "We never had kids, right?"
Niraí went very still.
"That's right," she said too quickly.
Daviyi frowned—but urgency overtook curiosity, and she hurried out.
Komus watched her go. "…That was strange."
Qaritas noticed.
He didn't push.
Something padded softly behind him.
A large feline stepped out of the shadows—sleek, long-limbed, eyes glowing violet like cut gems. It regarded Qaritas for a moment, then rubbed its head against his leg with a deep, satisfied rumble.
Komus stared.
"…Did you summon a cat?"
Qaritas looked down. "I… don't think so."
The cat flicked its tail and stayed.
Komus squinted at it. "Yeah. No. I don't like that."
They took the lift to Floor 100.
The doors opened onto moonlight.
A vast terrace spread before them—open sky, warm air, a waterfall pouring into crystalline pools that sparkled like crushed diamonds. Steam curled upward, fragrant and inviting. Towels and robes were stacked neatly beside a small, unattended bar.
Komus stopped dead.
"…That's unfairly nice."
They weren't alone.
Tavran lounged in one of the springs. Rivax sat on the edge beside him, feet in the water. And towering in the pool like a living furnace was Daryon—Ascendant of Demons—ten feet of horn, muscle, and ember-lit eyes.
Daryon looked up, intrigued.
"So," he rumbled. "You're the new Ascendant who lost control."
Qaritas stiffened.
Daryon smiled. "Relax. Happens to the best of us. Need help?"
Eon snorted. Demons. Always welcoming when they're naked and drunk.
They joined the spring.
Daryon was already halfway through a bottle when the steam settled.
"Rivax," he boomed, slinging an arm around his son. "You should come home. Helhenma misses you. Your mother misses you."
"Father—" Rivax groaned.
Qaritas glanced between them. "Helhenma?"
"The demon realm," Rivax explained. "One of the Afterlife Realms. Our family rules it."
"Seven siblings," Daryon added proudly. "Seven trials. Souls get judged, redeemed, reincarnated—or erased."
"Located in the nineteen-ninetieth universe," Rivax said dryly.
Komus blinked. "Of course it is."
Rivax sighed. "Aarion and I renounced our titles."
Daryon's smile faltered. "I cannot accept that."
He drank again, then muttered, "We still owe her loyalty. The Ascendant of the Apocalypse saved our family. We are not done repaying her."
Qaritas's chest tightened.
Tavran cleared his throat. "There's a reason most of us don't say her name," he said. "I made it forbidden."
Komus looked up. "You what?"
"You can't speak it unless you've met her," Tavran said evenly. "Or unless Zcain allows it. Otherwise the mind routes around it. You'll say 'the Apocalypse.' Or nothing at all."
Steam curled.
Silence followed.
Then footsteps—fast, urgent.
A runner burst onto the terrace, breathless.
"A message," they said. "From Ecayrous."
Komus was on his feet instantly. "No."
"He summoned someone to Mrajeareim," the runner continued. "Tomorrow night."
"…Who?" Qaritas asked.
"Ayla."
Komus swore viciously. "When was the message sent?"
"A few hours ago."
Qaritas understood.
That was why she'd left.
Memory flickered—her voice, her past, her scars.
Anger twisted—but something colder wrapped around it.
Fear.
Eon was very quiet.
And for the first time since Qaritas had met him—
he felt… alert.
Qaritas inhaled slowly.
He didn't know if he was angry anymore.
Only that if Ecayrous touched her, someone was going to die.
The cat's violet eyes reflected something Qaritas had never seen before—
a chamber of bone and fire and waiting.
Then it blinked.
The vision vanished.
Far away, in a realm built on torment, someone waited.
And the name that could not be spoken burned anyway.