Page 22 of The Curse Between Us
Abyss’s presence was like a constant, discordant hum in the back of Zephyr’s mind, an oppressive weight that neither of them could fully escape. From the way Edric’s jaw was set tightly, his face a mask of focus even in the dim light, Zephyr knew that Edric, too, could feel it—that feeling of ill ease. Abyss was contained, for now, but it was far from gone. They were only human, and Abyss was so much more. So much more dangerous, so much more ancient. Despite the weight of their exhaustion, the urgency of their mission kept them moving forward at a rapid pace, following the downward slope of the caves, not daring to stop for more than a moment.
“Do you feel that?” Edric asked suddenly, coming to a halt so abruptly that Zephyr nearly collided with him.
Zephyr, taken aback, stopped just in time, then frowned, the words escaping him before he fully processed them. “What—”
But then he froze as well, holding out his hand, fingers tingling as the air around them shifted. A cool current brushed against his skin, clean and fresh. A stark contrast to the stale, damp air that had been surrounding them in the caves.
Edric let out a long breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “We’re going the right way.”
Zephyr nodded, relief flooding through him, but there was no time to dwell on it. "Good," he said shortly, his eyes already scanning the path ahead. They both knew the dangers that still lurked in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Still, the fact that they were heading in the right direction was a small victory in itself.
Suddenly struck by the passage of time, Zephyr glanced back over his shoulder at Edric. “How long have we been down here?”
Edric’s face softened, though it was filled with the exhaustion of the journey. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he answered, quickening his pace to catch up with Zephyr. “I only hope our friends have been searching for us and haven’t yet given us up as lost.”
As if to punctuate the words, his hand brushed against Zephyr’s, the slight flare of pain enough to remind them both of the fight they’d just endured—but it was nothing compared to the comfort that simple touch brought. Zephyr felt a surge of gratitude, a connection that transcended the dark forces they were battling together.
The air grew colder, and Zephyr noticed Edric shivering beside him. A wave of sympathy swept over him, and before Edric could protest, Zephyr pulled his cloak around Edric’s shoulders. He knew the cold bit at Edric more sharply than it did him—Zephyr had always been better suited to the mountain chill.
"Here," Zephyr murmured, pulling the cloak tighter around Edric, though Edric shrugged lightly, reluctant to accept the help. He had always been a man of stubborn pride, but even Edric couldn’t deny the chill that gnawed at him.
The path ahead turned sharply to the right, and Zephyr squinted into the gloom. There, in the distance, a faint glimmer of light flickered, the source barely visible against the dark walls of the cave. The scent of ashes that had lingered in the air was beginning to fade, and Zephyr’s brow furrowed. He didn’t trust it entirely—after all, the cave had been full of deceit and shadows—but it was the first sign of something other than darkness.
A few minutes later, the light was revealed in full: a narrow opening in the rock wall through which sunlight spilled, casting long, warm shadows on the cold stone floor. Zephyr paused, eyes narrowing. He assessed the size of the opening, realizing it was barely large enough for them both to squeeze through.
“Well,” Zephyr muttered under his breath, looking at Edric and then back at the narrow passage, “Abyss was confident it could use my body to escape this way. That gives me hope.”
“It’s a tight squeeze,” Edric said, his voice skeptical as he looked at the gap between them and freedom. Still, he set his jaw with determination. “But if it’s the only way out, we’ll make it work.”
It was, indeed, a tight squeeze. Edric went through first, carefully, then Zephyr followed. The rocks scraped against their skin as they pressed through, the coolness of the air just beyond tantalizing. But soon enough, they emerged from the cave into the open air, stepping onto the frozen banks of a river that snaked through the land, its surface covered in ice.
The waterfall loomed above them, its powerful presence striking even in the stillness of the frozen world. Zephyr’s breath caught in his chest at the sight of it. There was a disquieting realization that washed over him—this path, this hidden tunnel, had existed for years without him ever knowing. And now it was their only means of escape, as well as Abyss’s escape route.
The cold hit him immediately, sharp and biting, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the overwhelming relief he felt being out of that dark, suffocating cave. Abyss was still present in his mind, shrieking with rage, but Zephyr pushed it down, focusing on the freedom of the moment.
As his gaze flickered over to Edric, he noticed the stark red marks around his lover’s throat, still visible despite the passage of time. A fresh wave of guilt rolled through Zephyr. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He hadn’t meant to hurt Edric. His eyes lingered on the marks, remembering the fragile skin under his hands, the way Edric had fought to protect him even as Abyss took control.
Edric caught the direction of Zephyr’s gaze and offered him a lopsided smile, though there was a sadness in it that Zephyr couldn’t ignore. “It was not your fault,” Edric said softly, his voice carrying a reassurance that Zephyr desperately needed to hear.
“I know,” Zephyr replied, though his voice was still heavy with guilt. “But I am sorry for it regardless.”
Before either of them could say anything further, Edric broke off, his eyes widening in surprise. Zephyr turned, following his gaze, and instantly, he heard it too. The clear ring of trumpets echoed across the fields.
“Oh, good,” Edric muttered, the words a thin thread of humor. “They’ve found us.” He raised an eyebrow at Zephyr, the wry smile on his face still managing to make Zephyr’s heart ache with affection. “I believe it would be beneath our kingly dignity to stand here and wait to be rescued, would it not?”
Zephyr shook his head, a half-smile tugging at his lips despite the weariness that still clung to him. “Quite,” he agreed, his voice rough but filled with an unexpected lightness. It was remarkable how Edric, even after everything they’d endured, could still bring levity to a situation.
With their heads held high, they strode out from the shadows of the tunnel and made their way toward the approaching riders.
As the party neared, Zephyr saw the familiar banners—those of Rafria and Eskarven, mixed together in a sign of unity. Drawing closer, he recognized Alec and Ollie in the lead. Their faces, though tired, lit up with clear relief as they spotted Zephyr and Edric. Alec’s horse surged forward, and before the horse had even fully stopped, Alec leapt from the saddle, his arms already reaching out to Edric.
“Thank the fates,” Alec said shakily, his voice filled with raw emotion. “We thought—” He paused, swallowing visibly, his face a mixture of relief and dread. “We feared the worst.” Alec’s eyes then flicked over to the marks on Edric’s neck, and his gaze turned suspicious as it settled on Zephyr. “What—”
“We’ll explain on the way,” Edric interrupted firmly, glancing at Zephyr with a quiet understanding. He looked at Alec, a tired but determined smile crossing his face. “Do you have horses for us?”
“Yes, of course,” Alec answered quickly, though he was still clearly trying to process the reunion. He pushed his hair back from his face as two of the guards moved forward, leading a pair of horses toward them.
Ollie, who had been riding just behind Alec, leaned forward in his saddle, letting out a low whistle as he caught sight of Zephyr. Without hesitation, he gave him a rough pat on the back. “Good to see you, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Zephyr replied, still somewhat startled by the show of affection from the usually stoic Ollie. “Thank you for finding us so quickly.”
“Quickly?” Ollie scoffed. “It has been three days since you disappeared. We were beginning to lose hope.”
“Three days,” Zephyr repeated, his mind struggling to process the passage of time. He exchanged a look with Edric, who exhaled slowly, his mouth tightening at the thought of what they had endured in that time.
“And in that time—” Zephyr began, but Alec cut him off.
“Nothing,” Alec said firmly. “No disturbances, either here or in Rafria. We’ve had riders crossing the mountains constantly, along with groups searching for you. Other than your absence, it has been quiet.”
Edric muttered under his breath, “Well, we know why. Abyss was rather occupied, as I remember it.”
He turned to Zephyr with a wry smile. “I hope you have a plan.”
Zephyr swung himself up onto his horse, Edric following close behind. He turned to face Alec and Ollie, meeting their curious gazes. “Not really,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I know who will.”
◆◆◆
“And so,” Zephyr concluded some time later, his voice low and steady, “Abyss is within us.” He looked at Edric, his gaze lingering on him as he remembered the way the black substance had slithered through his veins, winding its way into his very being. The feeling of it still haunted him, that unearthly presence, but he knew it was within both of them now. Together.
There was a long, stunned silence in the temple’s dimly lit hall, the weight of their words settling heavily over the assembled group of allies. Zephyr and Edric had shared their tale with their closest confidants—Alec, Eileen, Clara, Hadley—and now, it was clear that everyone was still processing what they had learned.
The air in the room was thick with questions, though they hadn’t yet been spoken aloud. Clara and Hadley had slipped into a whispered conference, their heads bent close together as the others, restless with curiosity and concern, began throwing rapid questions at Edric and Zephyr.
“Please,” Zephyr held up both hands in a gesture of peace, the weight of his own exhaustion and the pressure of Abyss still clawing at his mind evident in his voice. His left temple throbbed painfully, whether from stress, the overwhelming force of Abyss’s presence, or sheer fatigue, he could not say. It was probably a combination of all three. “I do not believe it is currently a threat. But we cannot hold it forever.”
Wilfred, who had been listening intently, now spoke up, his voice tinged with trepidation. “What if you can?” His eyes were wide, fearful. “What if you must? If Abyss could take possession of you so easily, what if it decides to remain?”
At the question, Zephyr felt Edric tense beside him. They had not considered that possibility. Abyss had maneuvered them into seeking it out, bringing Zephyr close enough for it to possess him. If that had been its intent all along, they hadn’t fully grasped the implications.
“No,” Hadley interrupted, her voice steady, but filled with an urgency that matched the gravity of the situation. She looked up from her quiet discussion with Clara, meeting Zephyr’s and Edric’s eyes with a steady, unwavering gaze. “I can see it within you. Like a fracture in your souls. It is dark and full of despair, but not triumphant.”
Edric nodded absently, his hand running over his forehead as though to rub away the lingering fatigue. “It screams constantly in my mind.”
“Mine as well,” Zephyr added, his voice almost a whisper. He could still hear it, the guttural hiss of Abyss reverberating inside his skull. “Is this a good thing?”
“Yes,” Clara responded gravely, her voice quiet but certain. “It seems we were wrong about the true meaning of the prophecy. There is a battle yet to come, but not of the sort we expected.” She met their gazes, compassion and pity in her eyes. “You, my kings, are the battleground.”
The weight of her words hit both of them like a physical blow. Edric’s posture stiffened, his unease now palpable. “What?” His voice held a note of trepidation, his gaze searching for clarity. “What does that mean?”
“You took Abyss into yourself through the force of your own will,” Hadley explained calmly. “Just as you expelled it, King Zephyr. We are people of the lands created by Plenty, and as its kings, that power is strongest with you. It was enough to wrestle Abyss into submission, but it will not be enough to hold it. For that, we need Plenty.”
A shiver ran down Zephyr’s spine at the mention of Plenty. He had heard its name whispered like a shadow of a forgotten memory, something both revered and feared. The realization that they were bound to this ancient force in a way they hadn’t yet understood filled him with trepidation.
“And how do you propose we find it?” Alec asked, his disbelief barely concealed under layers of respect and awe. “Wander through the desert as we did in the mountains, and hope we are fortunate enough to encounter it?”
Hadley gave Alec a sharp, knowing look. He shrank back slightly, a flush rising to his cheeks at her piercing gaze. “Your skepticism does not become you,” she said coolly, before turning her attention to the rest of the group. “No, Alec. What we need is a way of attracting Plenty’s attention.”
Zephyr frowned, his thoughts swirling. Plenty was a force that was everywhere and nowhere, constantly present yet elusive. How could they possibly summon it to them now?
“A sacrifice,” Wilfred said quietly, his voice pale but steady as he spoke the words that felt like a dark omen. “In the old stories, if you wish to make yourself known to the powers of the world, you must make a sacrifice.”
“No,” Edric said immediately, his voice hard with refusal. “No, we will do nothing of the sort.”
Hadley laid a calming hand on Edric’s shoulder, her expression softening slightly. “Easy, my king,” she said with surprising gentleness. She turned her gaze back to Wilfred, then to Clara, who wore a pensive expression, brow furrowed in thought. “It may not require the kind of sacrifice you are imagining.” She met Clara’s eyes, and the two exchanged a silent understanding. “The true meaning of sacrifice is to relinquish what matters most to you.”
Zephyr shook his head, a gut instinct telling him that this was not the way forward. He had heard enough of stories about blood and sacrifice to feel the weight of its potential consequences. “Edric,” he said slowly, his voice filled with a mixture of hesitation and realization. “Do you remember what I—what Abyss—said about Plenty being selfish?”
Edric’s frown deepened, a slow realization dawning in his expression. “Yes, but—” His eyes widened suddenly, understanding beginning to flicker in his gaze. “Not what matters most to us, but to it?”
Clara’s sharp eyes flicked up at them, a sudden glint of comprehension in her gaze. “Plenty loves itself more than anything else,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Creation, abundance, it is self-serving and self-replicating. If we wish to provoke it—”
“We threaten it,” Zephyr finished, his voice grim. He was still staring at the ice sculptures lining the sides of the temple, the long-forgotten tales his father had once told him echoing in his mind.
His gaze locked on one particular sculpture, the last in the row, depicting a crowned figure kneeling before a towering pillar of ice, a blade in its hand. It was a stark image, one that seemed to speak of duty, of sacrifice. Zephyr’s heart clenched as he remembered the words his father had said about Icelight, how it was made by Plenty itself and entrusted to their line. It had been a symbol of their power, a symbol of their duty to protect their lands.
A duty now forgotten with Hadden’s death.
Zephyr moved abruptly, crossing the room, and came to a stop in front of the last sculpture. His fingers lightly traced the edge of the ice, feeling its cold weight as the memories hit him like a wave. He turned and made his way to the catacombs, suddenly knowing what had to be done. He had never considered using Icelight this way, not after the war with Rafria had ended, but now... now it was clear.
“One moment, please,” Zephyr called out, not waiting for anyone’s reply. He moved quickly, determined, as he made his way down the stairs.
The sword was exactly where he had left it—polished and cared for by the temple attendants. Zephyr stared at it for a long moment, remembering how it had glittered first in his father’s hand, then in Hadden’s. What would they think of him using it in this way, for this purpose? Would they understand?
He shook his head, his hand reaching out to grasp the hilt of the sword, feeling the cold weight of it as he picked it up. It wasn’t the same sword of battle it once was. It was now a symbol of something greater—an offering to the very forces that shaped their land.
With one last respectful glance at Hadden’s body, he turned and left the catacombs, bearing the sword proudly.
Edric was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the sword. Zephyr winced, remembering too late that this was the weapon that had killed Edric’s father.
“Will this serve?” Zephyr asked Clara as he approached.
Clara reached out and traced a hand over the scabbard, her eyes narrowing as she studied it. “Yes and no.”
Edric made an impatient noise, his voice strained. “My lady, I have the greatest respect for you, but we are short on time, and if you could”—he waved his hand in the air, his words thick with frustration—“answer directly, it would be appreciated.”
Zephyr snorted in amusement, watching Edric as he visibly cringed under Clara’s glare.
“Very well,” Clara said coolly, her expression unreadable. “It is a step in the right direction, but it is not enough.” She looked at Hadley, who nodded in agreement. “We are seeking to restore balance. An artifact of Eskarven alone—”
“Does not represent the goal of unity we are striving for,” Hadley finished. “We require something of Rafria as well.”
Edric’s face went pale, his mind processing the implications quickly. “The dagger,” he murmured, his voice low with realization. “But it’s locked away in the royal treasury at home. By the time we ride back to fetch it—”
“Your mother’s dagger?” Zephyr asked, recalling it vividly. The jewels in its hilt, the elegance of its craftsmanship, the way King Caldwell had raised it to Hadden’s throat with cold satisfaction.
“Yes,” Edric replied, the weight of the truth settling in. “The royal line is through her family, not my father’s.” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “If I ride out now—”
“There is no need,” Alec interjected, rising to his feet with a small shrug. He reached down to the belt at his waist, tugging a small sheathed knife free and holding it out to Hadley. “I brought it with me.”
Edric’s mouth fell open in surprise. Zephyr’s gaze flickered to Alec, a mixture of awe and disbelief. “How did you know?”
Alec shook his head slowly, his expression filled with a mix of wonder and wariness. “I had a dream, weeks ago. My mother’s voice, telling me to take up her dagger. I took it from the treasury the next morning, and have carried it with me since.”
Edric let out a breath of laughter, the sound mixed with joy and relief. He crossed the room to pull Alec into an embrace, slapping him on the back. “Well done, Alec.”
Smiling ruefully, Alec offered the sheathed blade to Edric. “I have only brought you the instrument. The rest is up to you.” He met Zephyr’s eyes and inclined his head. “And King Zephyr.”
“Clear a space,” Clara ordered, her tone brooking no dissent. “Your Majesties, before the altar, if you please.”
Edric and Zephyr stepped forward as the others moved back, offering their well-wishes in low tones. In the back of Zephyr’s mind, Abyss was screaming once more, but he did his best to block it out. Judging by the way Edric’s jaw was set, he was hearing it too.
“Are you ready?” Zephyr asked, his voice steady but low.
“As ready as I'll ever be,” Edric muttered, a spark of defiance flashing in his eyes. He raised his chin, meeting Zephyr’s gaze with quiet strength. “Let us show them how powerful Rafria and Eskarven united can be, my lord.”
And with that, they drew their weapons.
The moment Zephyr’s hand touched the bare blade of the sword, Abyss let loose a terrible, otherworldly shriek in his mind. Zephyr’s knees buckled under the pressure, but he didn’t loosen his grip. Black tendrils coursed through the veins on the backs of his hands, as though fleeing from the shining surface of the blade. Looking over, he saw the same patterns on Edric’s hands.
Sweat poured down Zephyr’s temples, his body shaking with the strain, but he gritted his teeth and held fast. Amidst the protests of Abyss, he heard a new sound—something sweet and bright, like the plucking of a harp.
Zephyr leaned toward it, closing his eyes as the sound grew louder.
Then, there was a burst of white light, and the temple disappeared from around them.
When Zephyr opened his eyes again, he and Edric were standing in the center of a grassy field, beneath a bright, shining sun. Their hands still gripped their weapons. Edric’s chest heaved with exertion, but he stood tall, his face proud. The silence around them was unnatural, and the absence of Abyss’s shrieks left an eerie calm.
Then came the voice—a rich, low rumble, filled with promises of all the finest things, but tinged with pure, undiluted rage.
“What have you done?” Plenty asked, its voice everywhere, vibrating through the earth and the sky. “Corrupting my gifts to you with the touch of”—a hissing sound—“the abomination?”
Edric stood tall, unfazed by the weight of the voice. “It worked,” he said with a shrug, his voice dripping with defiance. “We wished to speak with you.”
Plenty’s laughter rolled over them, rich and bitter, the sound of something ancient and cruel. “Fascinating,” it purred. “To say what, precisely?”
Zephyr stepped forward, the sword still firmly in his grasp. “To tell you this has gone on long enough. If Rafria and Eskarven can put aside centuries of enmity and learn to exist in harmony, then so can you and Abyss.”
Plenty’s laughter echoed, low and mocking. “Oh, foolish child. No, we cannot. For we are defined by our opposition to one another.”
“As were our kingdoms,” Edric countered. “Just because something has always been one way doesn’t mean it must remain so.”
“And besides,” Zephyr added, his voice steady, “you and Abyss were one once.”
At that, Abyss stirred faintly inside him. Zephyr felt a flicker of movement, like someone stirring from a deep sleep, and he tensed.
“You can be one once again,” Zephyr said, heart racing. “If you both wish it.”
The wind blew quietly through the field. Plenty was silent for a moment.
“And why would I wish that?” the voice asked, the rage still palpable. “I cast my shadow down and imprisoned it deep below the earth. It remained there, defeated, until you impetuous humans decided to upset the balance.”
“It was not balanced,” Abyss interrupted from within Zephyr’s mind, its voice rising in fury. “Let me speak, mortal. Let me face my reflection for the first time in a thousand years.”
Zephyr glanced at Edric, hesitant. Could they afford to give Abyss control, even for a moment?
Edric gave a small shrug, a wry smile crossing his face despite the danger. Zephyr exhaled slowly, still unsure, but he lowered his sword to the ground.
“How do we...” Edric began, but the words died in his throat.
Zephyr wasn’t sure either. But he reached out and took Edric’s hand, feeling a slight sting as their fingers touched. The black ink-like substance pooled in their joined hands, and Zephyr met Edric’s gaze one final time before speaking the words that would decide everything.
“Speak,” he said softly, and Abyss obeyed.
It used both their bodies, both their voices. "Hello, Plenty," it said.
"You." Plenty’s voice went cold, like the unforgiving wind of Eskarven, the kind that could freeze a man to the bone. "I ought to raise another mountain and bury you here again."
“Ah, but you cannot,” Abyss replied, its voice carrying an unmistakable satisfaction. "Not without harming the humans who house me now. And you are fond of them, are you not?"
“There are others.” Zephyr could almost hear the dismissive gesture, though Plenty lacked any physical form to make such a movement. “They matter little. And once they are gone, their kingdoms will return to war with one another, this notion of peace a forgotten dream.”
Abruptly, Edric dropped Zephyr's hand, his own voice now joining the exchange. “No. They will not.”
Zephyr shook his head, eyes cast downward as he spoke with quiet conviction. “You cannot undo what has already begun. The world itself has been shaped by our union. Our people have seen what is possible, and they will continue to fight for a world united.” He glanced at Edric, who gave him an encouraging nod. “Already, the borders between our lands have blurred. New lands have risen to connect us, where your presence has been tempered.”
“And they are still good.” There was a soft plea in Edric's voice now, as though he too was trying to appeal to something buried deep within Plenty. "I love the heat of Rafria, the fierce sun and wild rains, and I have even come to love the cold of Eskarven. But the calmness of that meadow, the beauty of that forest... they cannot be denied. Please, you must see that."
“I cannot.” Frustration bled from Plenty's voice, as though it fought against an impossible weight pressing down on it. “I am made to love myself, to want more, always more.”
Reaching out, Zephyr took Edric’s hand once more, and with that simple gesture, Abyss spoke again. “And that is why you need me,” it said, voice laced with something almost seductive. “To temper your desires. To curb your insatiable hunger. Let me take you. Do you not grow tired of your endless yearning? I can offer you rest.”
There was a long pause before Plenty spoke again, the tone soft and reluctant. “I do,” it admitted. “But my need to survive... it is stronger still. I cannot accept defeat. It is not in my nature.”
Zephyr swallowed, forcing his own consciousness forward, despite the weight of the moment. Abyss, to his surprise, allowed it. "Then do not think of it as defeat," he said, his voice calm yet firm. He gave Edric a wry smile, the memories of a time not so distant coming to him with a mixture of clarity and resignation. "When I was captured by the Rafrians, they offered me the peace treaty at the price of marrying Edric and remaining in his kingdom for a time. It felt like a surrender, so I resisted at first."
He shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips as he remembered the stubbornness, the pride that had almost torn them apart. "But it was what was best for me, and for my people. It was not defeat. It was only a new way forward."
Edric nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Not all battles are fought with armies and weapons," he said, his eyes drifting downward to the blades lying scattered on the grass. "Not all are won with bloodshed. We thought we were preparing for war, but we are not. This is a battle of wills—against ourselves and against each other. Can you find it within yourselves to rise above the opposition, to find common ground?" He looked back at the blades again, shaking his head with a quiet resolve. "Can you set aside the past and look to the future?"
“I can,” Abyss answered, a surprising sense of finality in its words.
Zephyr blinked, stunned by the decisive tone, especially coming from Abyss.
“If it means I can escape my prison,” Abyss continued, voice softer now, tinged with the weight of something ancient, “I can accept almost anything. To feel power again, but without causing harm. Only to act as a natural check, as intended.”
"As you once did?" Plenty's voice came, this time almost wistful, as if recalling a time long forgotten. "Long, long ago?"
“Yes,” Abyss replied, almost wistfully. “When the world was whole, and we were as one.”
A warm breeze brushed against Zephyr’s face, the air thick with the weight of their exchange. The world around them seemed to hold its breath. Within him, Abyss sighed, a sound filled with longing. “Let me go,” it said, its voice barely a whisper. “Release me, and let me meet my counterpart.”
Zephyr glanced at Edric, seeing the flicker of something deeply emotional in his eyes. A silent understanding passed between them. “Yes,” Zephyr said, his voice steady despite the gravity of the moment.
They raised their joined hands to the sky, and with a deep, almost painful release, Zephyr opened his mind, relaxing the mental barriers that had kept Abyss contained. In a rush, dark tendrils of energy shot from their fingertips, swirling upward and merging with the sky.
Clouds gathered above them, white at first, but soon they darkened to shades of grey, thickening with the promise of change. Zephyr watched, awed, as the grass around them began to wilt, yet not completely die—an odd kind of life ebbing away, only to make way for something new. In the distance, thunder rumbled, a deep sound that vibrated through his very bones, and the first drop of rain splashed onto his upturned face.
It was then, as the sky seemed to open up above them, that Zephyr realized he was still holding Edric’s hand, but there was no pain. His breath caught in his throat as his fingers slid down Edric’s arm, tracing the soft curve of muscle beneath the skin. “Edric,” he said, his voice full of wonder, “is this—”
Edric turned to him, eyes wide, and for a moment, there was an electrifying silence between them. “If we did what we set out to do,” Edric said, stumbling over his words, barely able to contain his excitement, “if we brought together what was broken—”
“Then there is nothing left to divide us,” Zephyr whispered, as though finally understanding what they had accomplished. Reaching out, he cupped Edric’s face gently in his hand, feeling the rain as it continued to fall, droplets catching on Edric’s lashes and trickling down his freckled cheeks.
Edric leaned forward, and soft as a whisper, brushed his lips across Zephyr’s.
Nothing in his life had ever felt so right. It was as if time itself had stilled, and the entire world had paused just for this moment. The kiss was gentle, but there was a depth to it, a silent promise of all that they had fought for and won together. Zephyr poured himself into the kiss, abandoning any thought of the rain that had soaked through his clothes, drenching him from head to toe. His body seemed to ignore the chill of the water as his heart raced in his chest, beating in time with the realization that everything they had done had led to this. The world was no longer divided. They had united it—together. And this kiss was the reward. This was the culmination of everything.
A crack of thunder split the sky, loud and sharp, and Zephyr jumped back, startled by the sudden sound. The storm had intensified, dark clouds swirling above them as if reacting to the power of the moment. Edric smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in a playful expression, as he leaned forward once more, pressing a light kiss to Zephyr's cheek.
“Frightened?” Edric asked, his voice soft and teasing.
Zephyr pushed impatiently at his chest, though the gesture was full of affection. "No. Look."
He gestured toward the sky, and Edric followed his gaze. The clouds were now gathering directly above them, as though something had taken shape in the very atmosphere. The storm seemed to coalesce into something greater, something that echoed the unity they had forged.
And then, from the swirling clouds, a voice descended.
It was neither low nor high, neither sweet nor sour, but perfectly balanced—melodious, as if it held the harmony between two great forces. It was the voice of Being. The voice of the union between Plenty and Abyss.
"Look upon what you have made possible," the Being intoned.
The world around them shimmered and, in an instant, the field vanished. The air shifted, and they found themselves standing high in the mountains once more, the ground beneath them familiar yet subtly changed. Zephyr squinted, his gaze tracing the peaks to the west. There, in the distance, he could see the ridge beneath which Abyss had been imprisoned, a silent testament to their long journey. It was as though they were now positioned somewhere in the heart of the range, a midpoint that seemed to hold the very pulse of the earth.
“Careful now,” Being’s voice cautioned, the warning laced with a subtle yet undeniable power.
The sky cracked open again with a jagged bolt of lightning, a shock of raw energy that split the heavens. Zephyr felt the air shift, the charge in the atmosphere so strong it seemed to vibrate through his very bones. The ground beneath their feet trembled, and before their eyes, a deep crack appeared in the earth, jagged and sharp.
The crack grew wider, and a massive crater formed where the lightning had struck. The very rock groaned in protest as it split apart, sending debris flying. The rain intensified, torrential sheets of water pouring down from the sky in a deluge.
Zephyr clutched Edric’s hand tighter, the cold of the rain mingling with the heat of their shared moment. As the crater continued to expand, something remarkable began to happen—the water began to rise. Within moments, the crater filled, and where once there had been only barren stone, a beautiful, perfect jewel of a lake now sat. The water gleamed with an almost otherworldly clarity, its surface reflecting the deep blue sky above. It was as though the earth itself had given birth to something new, something that balanced the energy of both creation and destruction.
The wind picked up, ruffling Zephyr’s hair, and the clouds began to dissipate, leaving only a few scattered streaks of white across the sky. A sense of calm followed, as if the storm had been a cleansing, a way to prepare for the next chapter.
"There," Being said, its voice filled with quiet satisfaction. "What is empty and yet also filled. It is a fitting place for us."
“It is.” Zephyr nodded, his gaze lost in the beauty of the lake. The still water was like a mirror, reflecting the vastness of the sky above, the clouds now retreating into distant memories. "I wish you joy in it."
"But not too much joy," Edric added, his voice filled with playful exhaustion. "Or we will have to start this entire process all over again, and frankly, I am exhausted."
Being's voice softened, and there was a hint of amusement in it. “Go. You have completed your task, and admirably so. Now you may rest, secure in the world you have made for us all.”
There was a sudden rush of wind, the kind that swept across the surface of the lake, causing ripples to form. And then, just as suddenly, there was silence. The world felt still, suspended in a moment of pure peace.
Edric exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the calm surface of the lake, as though contemplating the vastness of everything that had just happened. “Well,” he said, the single word filled with the weight of everything they had accomplished together.
“Well,” Zephyr echoed, his lips twitching with a smile, pride, wonder, and love bubbling up inside him. It was almost too much to contain, and yet, he couldn’t help it. "Would it be beneath our kingly dignity to wait to be rescued this time? I, for one, would like to stay right here, basking in our success, and let the others come to us.”
Edric laughed, his smile wide as he tugged Zephyr closer by the loops of his belt. “You are as brilliant as you are handsome,” he said, his words laced with affection.
Then, his smile faltered slightly, his fingers drifting absentmindedly over Zephyr's belt. He frowned as his hand moved across the empty space where Zephyr’s sword should have hung. “Our blades…”
The last time Zephyr had seen them, they had been lying in the grass, back in the field that felt both real and unreal. He opened his mouth to speak but paused, unsure of how to explain.
“I suppose we no longer need them,” Edric said thoughtfully, his voice tinged with a hint of finality.
As if on cue, a low laugh echoed from the water of the lake. Zephyr turned sharply, his heart quickening at the sound. A hand rose from the surface of the lake, smooth and strong, and in its grasp was a gleaming sword—an offering, an extension of the very world they had helped shape.
Without hesitation, Zephyr tugged Edric forward, stepping into the shallows as he reached out to accept the sword. The water lapped around their feet as they approached, the gift of the lake offered to them both.
The sword was different from Icelight, not as long or broad, and the gleaming steel was a striking contrast to the crystal blade they had once wielded. But it held a beauty all its own. The surface was etched with the same intricate, scrolling designs that had decorated their previous weapon, and the pommel was adorned with familiar jewels, as if the very essence of their journey had been captured in its form.