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twenty-four

Malorg

In some ways Malorg found he preferred the nothingness. Wrapped in its thick, cloying shroud, he could imagine himself trapped in a half-waking dream, no longer able to discern where his consciousness ceased and oblivion began.

Perhaps there was no distinction. Perhaps the Void had consumed him long ago.

As he floated adrift and alone in a sea of empty black, memories from his time in the Immortal Realm unfurled before his eyes like duskflame tapestries.

Laughing and rolling dice with Uryqh and Pelorak as they discussed their aspirations for the future even as they gambled away their present.

His first kiss with Uryqh amid a battlefield of dissipating voidspawn corpses, both of them flush with triumph and eager to confront whatever lay ahead.

Another battlefield, this one charred with sour ash and choked by Uryqh’s screams.

Pelorak’s sneer when Malorg abandoned his former ambitions and resigned himself to a lifetime spent seeking atonement in the crucible of combat.

Those long centuries of loneliness, nothing but death and honed blades to keep him company as Uryqh’s once-familiar face fuzzed around the edges in his mind’s eye.

And then, like a ray of sunlight amid endless shadow, that chance encounter with Sarilian, his dancing eyes and warm touch searing Malorg back to life.

Though they constituted but a fraction of his too-long life, it was these more recent memories with Sarilian that Malorg clung to within the darkness and that he most feared losing to the Void.

Every smile, every pointed look, every subtle touch, every kiss, every caress, every moan—he cataloged them all, clutching them to himself like they were the most precious things in existence because, to him, they were.

Until we meet again.

That meeting would come. It had to. The thought of that eventual reunion, whether here in the Immortal Realm or after in the Great Beyond, was the only thing that gave him hope.

Of course, it was not always empty in his prison. Occasionally, the all-encompassing dark would shimmer and shift, a brush of noise and a puff of air reaching Malorg within the heart of oblivion, and though he still couldn’t see, he’d know he was no longer alone.

“Hello, old friend,” Pelorak’s sly voice would whisper. And then, the pain would come.

No matter how many times it burned through Malorg, devouring him until he was certain he must be dead, each fresh wave never lost its potency. He would scream, but no words emerged—writhe, but so far as he could tell, he didn’t move. There was only him, and the darkness, and the pain.

Eventually, the pain always receded, the insidious voice along with it. Until we meet again . There was no escape—no relief. This was to be his fate, forevermore.

So, when the darkness broke around him, retreating fully for the first time since his banishment here, he assumed it was a hallucination. He blinked eyes no longer used to seeing, squinting to force the wavering shapes before him into better focus.

“Malorg! Merciful Light, are you all right? Malorg, speak to me!”

The voice was… different than usual. Brighter. Instead of dread, it conjured memories of light and joy. He squeezed his overwhelmed eyes shut, willing this new disturbance away. Change meant only pain. Send him back to the eternal dark so he could be at peace.

“Malorg! Hey, stay with me, Mal. I’m here.”

He instinctively flinched at a pressure on the side of his face. But this touch didn’t herald fresh pain. It was soft and gentle and oh-so-warm. He found himself leaning forward, turning his head into the gesture.

I can feel my body moving .

The realization struck him with the force of a void god’s fist, and his eyes shot open. Everything remained blurred, but he focused on the shape just before him, the one still touching his face and murmuring tender words he couldn’t quite process.

“Can’t…see,” he mumbled.

The fuzzy shape shifted, and the soothing voice said, “Hang on.”

Heat radiated from the point of contact on his cheek. Malorg recoiled, an image of Uryqh’s melting flesh flashing before his eyes. But this fire didn’t burn him alive. Instead, it trickled over his skin like drops of rain, as soothing as the voice that had conjured it. A thousand little aches he hadn’t realized he bore eased, his mind and vision both jolting into greater focus.

He had a vague impression of a tiny, barren room, its every surface utterly black, but he ignored his surroundings in favor of the revealed figure in front of him. When he saw it was Sarilian, his brow knit with worry, Malorg knew this had to be a dream. He tried to reach out anyway and found his arms and legs bound by chains of duskflame holding him suspended between floor and ceiling.

“Are you…real?” he managed to croak.

Sarilian’s worried expression turned to anguish. A tear slid down his bronzed cheek. Malorg reached instinctively to wipe it away, only for the chains to halt him.

Swallowing, Sarilian nodded. “Yes, Mal. I’m real.” His gaze narrowed on the chains, golden fury brewing. “I can’t believe your own people would do this to you. Merciful Light, if you’re this bad after a month, I can’t imagine what would be left of you after a single year, let alone a thousand.”

Malorg let his head fall, his chin thumping his chest. Shame curled through him. “Weak. Sorry.”

“Hey, no.” Sarilian cupped Malorg’s cheek, raising his head so that he gazed into the Celestial’s gilded eyes. “You are not weak. You are the strongest, most courageous being in the cosmos. Pelorak is the weak, cowardly one.”

Pelorak!

Raw panic gripped Malorg, and he shuddered in his chains. “You have to get out of here before he finds you! I…I tried to protect you.” His thoughts still felt oddly scrambled, making it difficult to stay focused. An effect of the magic holding him here, perhaps?

Sarilian’s face crumpled for a moment. Guilt flickered over his features, though Malorg wasn’t sure why. Then, his lips firmed into a fierce smile. “I know you did, Mal.”

His thumb brushed a heated circle into Malorg’s cheek before he rose and stepped back. A spear of dawnflame, dulled within the Dusklands but still shining with dim radiance, appeared in his hand. “Now, it’s my turn to protect you. Because it turns out there is something more important than the Covenant: you.”

The spear blurred as it lanced through the air. An instant later, Malorg felt his right arm drop as the shadowy chains binding it melted away. The atrophied muscles trembled, and he forced his fingers to flex. Almost instantly, feeling began to return.

The chains must have had a curse of weakness imbued in them to keep him pliant. With each additional chain Sarilian sliced, more strength returned to Malorg, his mind clearing.

“I…I remember now.” He clutched Sarilian’s arm for balance. “Pelorak came for me after you left. I tried to kill him and almost succeeded.” He gritted his teeth, recalling the moment in the alleyway. “But I hesitated to deliver the final blow. Pelorak took advantage of my weakness to overpower me. He brought me here, chained me up in the dark.” A shudder raced through him, along with another spike of unease as he glanced at Sarilian. “He comes here sometimes to torture me. I…I’m not sure when he’ll return.”

Sarilian’s expression darkened. Malorg could tell there was more he wanted to say about Pelorak, but he settled for a curt nod. “Then, we should go while we can.” He started toward the closed door Malorg could now make out, its edges barely visible against the black wall. “And for the record, I already told you that you are not weak.”

Malorg scowled at Sarilian. “I could have won. I could have escaped. Instead, I gave my enemy the opening he needed to defeat me.”

“You showed a former friend mercy,” Sarilian countered, arching an eyebrow. “That takes more strength and courage than someone like Pelorak will ever know.”

The affirmation soothed something in Malorg—a restlessness he couldn’t quite define. Even as warmth flooded him at Sarilian’s fond look, he snorted and shook his head. “Such a Celestial.”

Sarilian grinned. “This Celestial is about to save your Infernal butt.”

Still leaning on Sarilian for support, Malorg imparted a darkvision enchantment to Sarilian while they hobbled to the door. He forced himself to stand on his own, steadying himself against the wall when he almost fell.

“I’ll be fine,” he huffed, waving off Sarilian’s concern. “I just need a moment to catch my breath.” He jerked his head at the door. “What can we expect outside?”

Sarilian dismissed his spear and studied the closed door with a frown. “They have you in a cell deep beneath the Dusk Citadel. No guards outside, but regular patrols throughout the area, as well as in the Citadel above. We’ll need to be careful to avoid detection—I doubt we can fight our way free, especially if Pelorak or the other Aspects get involved.”

Remembering Pelorak’s miasmic cloud, Malorg shuddered. “Agreed.” A thought occurred to him then, and he turned to give Sarilian a considering look. “Speaking of, how the Dark did you get in here, anyway? Surely, they didn’t allow a Celestial to waltz right by the guards.”

Sarilian smirked. “Like this.”

Looking entirely too pleased with himself, he raised a hand glowing with dawnflame. Wonder widened Malorg’s eyes as the dawnflame coated Sarilian’s body, rendering him nearly invisible save for a faint shimmer when he moved.

“I had no idea radiant magic was capable of something like that,” Malorg exclaimed.

“Neither did I,” Sarilian’s disembodied voice replied. “I doubt many Celestials have tried—subterfuge doesn’t exactly align with our ideals. It’s how I reached your apartment after the last Accords meeting.”

Malorg felt like a fool for missing that detail earlier. Emissary or not, no Celestial would’ve been allowed to meander alone through Twilight’s streets. Of course, he’d had a lot on his mind at the time, what with Pelorak’s ultimatum and Sarilian’s sudden appearance.

Tentatively, he rested his hand against Sarilian’s concealed chest. “It’s incredible magic.”

Firm muscles shifted beneath Malorg’s fingers. His skin prickled with the warmth of Sarilian’s aura as he stepped closer. “Thanks,” Sarilian said softly. “I figured out how to do it from your duskflame disguises.”

Malorg barked a breathless laugh, distracted by Sarilian. Somehow, not being able to see the Celestial made his nearness all the more tantalizing, as if he were a dream made flesh. It didn’t help that Sarilian had yet to manifest his armor, likely to reduce the strain on his magic here in the Dusklands.

“So, you’re saying I’m the one who corrupted you?”

“No.” Malorg’s pulse skyrocketed as Sarilian slipped closer still, his unseen hands brushing over Malorg’s sides and back before rising to cradle his neck. Hot breath gusted Malorg’s face, and in the blink of an eye, Sarilian’s dawnflame shroud fell away, revealing him standing a mere pinky’s length distant, his golden eyes molten with desire. “You’re the one who taught me to believe in the impossible.”

Their lips met. Sarilian’s familiar taste was ambrosia on Malorg’s tongue, melting away the remaining horror of his imprisonment.

Somehow, impossibly, Sarilian was here. He had come back for Malorg even when Malorg had done all he could to scare him away. With each tender kiss, each shared caress, Malorg sensed the silent promise that lay between them.

“I am yours,” Sarilian murmured, giving the promise voice.

“And I yours,” Malorg replied, sealing the oath with a kiss. “From now until the end of eternity.”

When they broke apart, Sarilian gave a lopsided grin. “Or the end of us, which seems much more imminent given our present circumstances.”

A smile played over Malorg’s lips, but he shook his head, keeping his face serious as he grasped Sarilian’s hand. The touch sent warmth spreading up his arm. “Not even death will keep us apart.”

Sarilian stole one last, lingering kiss that managed to encompass everything Malorg had ever wanted even though it would never, ever be enough. “I’ll hold you to that, old man,” he teased. His expression sobered as he glanced at the door. “All right, let’s save the romance for later. Thoughts on getting out? I have my invisibility, but it barely got me here undetected, and I’m not sure I’m skilled enough to place one on you.”

Muffling the thrill Sarilian’s casual mention of later sent through him, Malorg considered the dilemma. “My duskflame disguises won’t help much down here. Too much risk of being stopped and questioned regardless of what we look like.”

“What about duskwalking? That would make it harder to discern our true identities and enable us to move far more swiftly.”

Recalling the disgruntled looks he’d gotten last time he’d duskwalked in the Dusk Citadel, Malorg sighed. “Duskwalking anywhere in the Citadel is frowned upon. Down here, it’d be tantamount to sounding an alarm. We should save that for a last resort.”

Sarilian nodded. “Sounds like my illusory shroud wins. Hang on.”

Conjuring his dawnflame, Sarilian reapplied the enchantment to himself, once more becoming little more than a shimmer in the air. When he tried to extend it to Malorg, however, the magic refused to take hold. Malorg’s stomach sank.

“It’s not working.” Frustration leaked from Sarilian’s voice. “I’m not skilled enough—not with the Dusklands sapping my power.”

Malorg smiled at his best approximation of where Sarilian stood, trying to project confidence. “You can do this, Sarilian. I believe in you.” Thinking back to when he’d first attempted to imbue Sarilian with a duskflame disguise, a light went off in his head. “My magic struggled to take hold in you at first, too, remember? You had to use your dawnflame to strengthen it. Maybe the same concept would work here in reverse.”

“Merciful Light, you’re right! Here, let me try again.”

Sarilian repeated his enchantment, dawnflame coursing over Malorg with an uncomfortable heat. This time, however, Malorg followed the weaves of the spell and attempted to trace them with his own duskflame.

It took a couple attempts, but eventually Malorg managed to force the competing magics into alignment. Dark tendrils snaked through Sarilian’s golden shroud, leaving a spiderweb of black cracks across it like broken glass. Yet, instead of shattering, Sarilian’s spell finally locked into place.

A relieved breath puffed out of Malorg when he raised a hand and found it as invisible as Sarilian’s. “Eternal Dark, it worked!”

“More than that,” Sarilian said from somewhere nearby, sounding awed.

Malorg turned in Sarilian’s general direction, raising an eyebrow in query before realizing that Sarilian wouldn’t be able to see it. “What do you mean?”

“My disguise gets the job done, but yours has hardly any shimmer to it at all. It’s as if it was ready-made to blend into the darkness of the Dusklands.”

“That first disguise I gave you was the same,” Malorg realized, thinking back. “I remember marveling at how convincing it looked.” That give him an idea. “Here, let me.”

Stepping forward, he approached the faint play of light marking Sarilian’s presence until his hand gently pressed against Sarilian’s chest. He flexed his fingers, reveling in the sensation of Sarilian’s heartbeat as he conjured more duskflame to weave through Sarilian’s illusory shroud.

When he’d finished, he took a step back to admire his handiwork. Sarilian was right—the enhanced enchantment was nearly indistinguishable from the shadows.

“Light and Dark together,” Malorg murmured. “They really do strengthen and complement each other.” He glanced again toward where he sensed Sarilian’s faint heat, smiling even though he knew Sarilian couldn’t see it. “Or perhaps it’s simply us.”

“Aww,” Sarilian laughed, his tone playful. “Are you suggesting we’re soulmates?”

A shudder trembled through Malorg at the teasing. He could have easily brushed it off or ignored it, but neither reaction felt quite right. Instead, he settled on the truth.

“Was there ever any doubt?”

Sarilian’s laughter faded. When he next spoke, his tone was soft and laced with fear. “If anything happens, I want you to know that I love you, and that I have no regrets. For the first time since I became an Immortal, I know that I am exactly where I need to be.”

Malorg’s heart felt too full, like it might simply burst within his chest. A warmth all his own spread through him. “You brought me back to life,” he said, his throat tight. “I love you, now and always.”

A beat of loaded silence passed between them. Then, Malorg started at a sudden clap that must have come from Sarilian. “Right then,” the Celestial said. “Shall we?”