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And so ends our journey from enslaved illusions and lethal prophecies to an unlikely union of demon and mortal-turned-demon. The vow is broken, replaced by a vow of our own making—to walk side by side, forging a world where no chain can shatter us again. As twilight deepens, I trace a finger over Malphas’s molten lines, his illusions dancing in the cool air, and I smile.We are free,and we will build our tomorrow without fear or fate’s cruel demands.

20

MALPHAS

Three weeks have passed and I stand on a windswept cliff overlooking a sprawling valley. My lungs fill with crisp air tinged by the distant promise of another storm, the sky split into bands of violet and ash. Below me, the green of the forest slopes away in soft ridges, embroidered with streaks of gold as the low sun sets. The hush of twilight drapes across Protheka like a half-tamed beast, watchful and waiting. Three weeks of recovery, of learning, of tasting a freedom I thought would never be mine.

I close my eyes, breathing in the possibility. My illusions shift at my horns, swirling in gentle patterns that flicker like embers in the gloaming. They no longer writhe under a monarchy’s command or the vow’s lash. Now, they belong entirely to me. A faint smile pulls at my lips.So this is what it means to be unbound.

At my side, Valentina approaches. Her footsteps rustle over the wild grasses that claim the cliff’s edge, and she stops next to me, letting the wind tug at her newly grown horns. They’re slender arcs, each ridged in a subtle curve that frames her cheeks. The black runes that once flared so violently across her skin have receded to faint lines, swirling over her armsand collarbones. She wears a fitted coat we scavenged from an abandoned outpost, the sleeves rolled up to accommodate the demon-laced runes on her forearms. Her silver eyes spark with reflective light, pupils a bit slitted. For all the transformations, she’s still undeniably Valentina—yet also something more.

I rest a clawed hand gently at her waist, mindful of how battered we both remain beneath our new resilience. “You’re up here again,” I murmur, my voice a low rumble. “Watching storms gather?”

She tilts her chin, horns glinting in the half-light. “I like the vantage,” she admits, tone laced with a quiet wonder. “There’s so much of Protheka to see, and for the first time I’m not… caged to one spot, forced to scurry in shadows.”

Her words stir an ache of old guilt in my chest—my fortress once a prison of illusions, the monarchy’s vow a chain. “No more shadows unless we choose them,” I say softly. My illusions move around me, dancing in ephemeral ribbons. “We can roam wherever we want. If the monarchy dares to corner us again, let them try.”

She smiles, revealing a hint of sharpened canines. “You say that, but you sense it too, don’t you?” Her gaze flicks to the horizon, where black thunderclouds coil in the distance. “Something is stirring beneath the surface. That quake in the monarchy’s temple was a warning. We might face a new threat in time.”

I glance at the distant roil of storm clouds. “We do. But not tonight.” My voice steadies, illusions gently drifting around us. “Tonight belongs to us—and the vow is gone. They can’t leash me. We’ve wrested that victory from the brink of doom.”

A soft laugh escapes her, swirling with equal parts relief and defiance. She lifts one hand, letting me see the faint lines of demon runes that track across her knuckles. “I never thoughtI’d embrace horns or this power, but it’s... me now, even if it’s strange.”

I slide my fingers over hers, claws cradling her smaller hand. “You embraced the Abyss and lived. That’s more than any prophecy allowed. I’m grateful.” My chest tightens, remembering how close she came to dying. “I can’t repay it. But I can vow to stand with you, no matter what rises next.”

Her silver eyes meet mine, luminous in the fading sun. “Then stand with me,” she says simply. “Forever.” There’s no grand overture, just a quiet honesty that sends a shiver of warmth through my battered bones. We said the magical words, no witnesses, just as as we declare mate status.

I exhale, magic flickering. The vow once forced me to kill, to obey every monarchy command. Now, I choose my path. Gently, I lift Valentina’s hand, brushing my lips across her knuckles. “Forever,” I murmur, voice raw.

A hush settles as we stare out at the swirling dusk. The wind tugs at my wings, half extended behind me, stretching with the final vestiges of ache. Her horns catch the glow from a distant bolt of lightning, though the storm is miles away. Something about the scene stirs a primal satisfaction in me—we overcame. I press my palm over the side of her face, letting my thumb graze the newly formed ridges near her temple. She leans into the caress, her eyes half-lidded.

Somewhere below, the forest breathes in hush and hush-out. We have made a rough camp in the ruins of an ancient watchtower, far from any monarchy patrols. Three weeks have given us time to nurse wounds, gather strength, and truly discover who we are without chains. Her horns no longer throb; my illusions no longer stutter under forced compulsion. We’re healing, body and soul.

She clears her throat, a wry smile curving her mouth. “We should head down. It’s almost night.”

I grunt, wings shifting. “In a moment.” I slide an arm around her waist. “I like this vantage too. The air tastes cleaner up here.”

She grants me an indulgent smirk, horns tilting. “Fine, a moment.” She rests her head against my chest. For a heartbeat, we simply stand, hearts thrumming in tandem. Her closeness kindles that familiar burn in my blood, but this time there’s no panic or desperation, only a sense of inevitable closeness. The vow is gone, and we’re free to choose every moment we share. My illusions move around us, forming shimmering shapes reminiscent of drifting petals in the twilight.

Eventually, she sighs and gently slips from my hold, though her hand remains linked with mine. “Come on,” she urges, a glint of mischief in her silver eyes. “I might not be fully human anymore, but I still prefer a place that’s not windy and cold for the night.”

I snort softly in amusement, illusions fracturing with my chuckle. “I suppose a rickety tower is better than this ridge. Lead on, horns.”

She laughs, the sound low and musical, and tugs me by the hand back along the ridge’s path. We descend carefully, boots crunching on loose stones. The sun’s final rays streak the sky in a blaze of crimson, reflecting off the swirling storm clouds beyond. Ominous or not, I find them almost beautiful—the hush before some greater conflict. But for now, the hush belongs to us.

At the tower’s base, we’ve cleared an old storage room of debris, sweeping out broken stones and layering it with salvaged blankets. Flickering torches cast dancing shadows along crumbling walls. A battered tapestry droops from the ceiling, half-destroyed by weather and time. There’s enough space for us to rest, and no monarchy soldier in sight for miles.

She releases my hand, crossing to a small table where we set our meager rations. I see her lift a wineskin, sniffing to see if thecontents are still good. She wrinkles her nose. “Smells off, but probably drinkable. Might help us sleep,” she jokes.

I arch a brow, illusions sparking. “Not that either of us needs the help. We’ve been collapsing from exhaustion daily.”

She shrugs, setting the wineskin aside. “True.” Then her gaze flicks to me, a new intensity in her eyes. “But maybe tonight, we don’t collapse alone. Maybe we… share it.”

A flutter grips my chest. For the last three weeks, we’ve stolen quiet touches, small kisses, but always too weary or too pained to do more than rest in each other’s arms. The vow’s absence now merges with the memory of our union on that log, but this time, we’re stronger, more certain. My illusions flare, a subtle response to the desire coiling in my core.

She sees my reaction, horns tilting in that half-smile. “You’re not too tired?”

I exhale, stepping closer. “Never for you.” My claws brush her bandaged forearm gently. “Are you fully healed?”