Who said romance was dead?
I snuggled closer to my narrative foil and breathed in his power. Bonnie - the dragon - at his feet, finding him indispensable by the day.
She was growing. And with it, my assurance that the war I was about to start would work out in my favor.
You didn't start the war, I told myself sometimes. When I felt extra vengeful, on mornings when I opened my eyes and still saw Lord Father's terrifying snake eyes possessing Rosum's, I knew in my bones what Edward said was true. He wanted to get rid of us all. He wanted to bite with his poisonous fangs into the heart of our goodness and siphon whatever decency we still had, being entrenched in the sin of loving one another.
Salacia stretched naked in the grass where the blades did not grow, only soft moss, basking in the sun, letting her newly-minted legs enjoy the Valorian air.
Ari crossed his arms. I considered kicking her in her shiny shins but I decided against it.
I still needed her. "Once you're done sunbathing, would you consider joining our war council, or is it too much to ask, Your Majesty?" I asked instead, with a biting tone and tongue on fire from all the bile I could not let out at her.
Salacia put her sweaty? - oceany? - palm on the moss' green-brown crown, caressing it like a lover. She spread her legs and Ari automatically turned half his body away, putting his hands on his hips.
"Let me enjoy my freedom," the Queen said. "I dreamed of this day longer than you've been alive."
Ari gathered Bonnie into his arms while he still could and kissed my cheek, gracefully exiting the clearing and joining Soileen and Edward around a pot of fish stew.
"You're getting cozy, aren't you?" the Queen mocked. She closed her legs, her provocation no longer needed to stir anger in me and threw her head back to allow the sun to kiss her neck. "Nereid fuck their relatives all the time, there's no need to feel shame, Mila."
"I don't," I said.
She chuckled to herself, closed her eyes. "Your creator is a master of deceit. If you want to kill him, you'd better get good at lying before even entertaining the idea of murder."
"He can't leave Tripolis. I feel you know why."
"Indeed, I do," she said. "I control everything on Valorian except for the land of mortals. I forbid him from ever setting foot on Valorian. But, you know. Every deal has a loophole."
I removed the shawl from my shoulders and offered it to her to cover herself. I did not care for being proper, but I did care about distractions and flashing of power. This was her way of doing it. Better feign concern over her chastity than be manipulated into doing something I'd never agree to hadn't it been for her tits tempting me.
In the sea, she was ugly as sin. In the light on the land of the Vlachy, she was beautiful. Skin as smooth as freshly whipped cream, vibrant green eyes that changed color based on the position of the sun, wavy red hair, similar to Bonnie's.
It's as if we returned her to some part of her that had been lost when she was given to Neptune.
She accepted the shawl and placed it over her privates, still letting her breasts exposed.
"You do not control the continent," I said. "So while he cannot set foot on Valorian, he can possess a soul and occupy someone's boots who can."
"Basically," she confirmed.
"Aren't you afraid of him anymore, Salacia?" I asked.
She nodded. "Of course I am. But I would not give up these legs if he raked me over the coals wearing them."
***
I saw him before the others did.
A hunched figure against the lowering dusk, leading a creaky handcart piled with nets and wrapped bundles, dragging its weight up the rocky path that curved toward our encampment like a cracked vein.
"Nestor," Edward breathed beside me, half in relief, half in something else I didn't like. "What are you doing here?"
Kinsley clearly knew him. That meant nothing to me. Nor to Ari, who stepped forward.
The last attack had torn through us like we were made of reeds, and we'd barely recovered—what little Vlachy remained clung to the shore with blood still in their hair and smoke in their lungs. Trust wasn't something we could afford.
Still, Nestor kept coming, his smile spread too wide over his scraggly beard.
"Peace, friends," he called, lifting a wrapped package with a flourish. "Fish, for the camp. Heads, for the new witch mother—whoever she is now." His eyes flicked to me, lingering, then to Ari, who didn't flinch.
Edward moved to greet him, but I caught his arm. "Stay," I said quietly. "Let's see what he's really here for."
Nestor reached us with a grunt, placing the cart at the edge of our circle. "Tide's been kinder this week. Thought I'd share the spoils."
"And what do you want in return?" Ari asked, not blinking.
"Just goodwill," Nestor said, and smiled like he was still trying to sell us something. Then his gaze drifted. "Well. That, and maybe to court Bonnie."
Bonnie had just stepped out of one of the tents, wiping her hands on her trousers, a bandage still fresh around her forearm. She froze at the sound of her name, then forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Oh," she said. "You're here."
Something shifted in me then. Not rage—not yet—but recognition. I knew that tone. The softness wrapped in steel. The way she wouldn't quite meet his eyes.
"She's staying in camp tonight," I said before anyone else could speak. "It's late. And you should be getting back to your wife."
Nestor's smile cracked for the briefest moment. "No harm in talking," he muttered.
"There's harm in making her uncomfortable," I replied.
Silence settled like fog. And then—
Her.
Salacia.
Perched on a half-fallen driftwood log near the fire, bare legs stretched out like she'd invented them, wearing nothing but a gauzy shawl that did nothing to hide the curve of her hips or the shimmer of seawater still clinging to her skin. She tilted her head and watched Nestor like a cat watches a bird—curious, maybe even hungry.
Nestor's eyes snapped to her. Lingered.
And just like that, he decided he had somewhere better to be.
"I'll be off, then," he said too quickly, dragging the cart back with a jerk that sent one of the fish bundles tumbling loose. He didn't stop for it. Just walked away, into the fading blue.
Edward let out a breath. Ari muttered a curse.
Bonnie sat beside me wordlessly, and I reached over, squeezing her wrist once. She didn't look at me, but I saw the tension in her shoulders loosen.
"I don't trust men who smile too much," I said to no one in particular.
And the fire popped in agreement.
***
The stars bowed at his return.
The skies of Tripolis turned white-hot as the Assigner descended, silver hair whipping like comet tails, his cloak a shroud of shimmering stardust.
Ruby eyes burning with rage, his humanity and vanity shining through.
Vectra knew, as soon as she saw him, that something happened. Someone betrayed him.
He stepped into Millenia, the city hidden inside the folding heart of a collapsed sun—his city. The Processional Hall echoed with the hum of ancient machines still loyal to his blood. Runes shimmered across the gold of his walls, Vines of living metal coiled through the rafters, fed by the minds of the long-dead. Sculptures of stardust floated midair: the Chronobeast that birthed gravity, the Twin Lanterns of No'Vel that kept time suspended, the Chalice of Ten, which had survived every ending.
He shattered them all.
With a flick of his wrist, the Chalice screamed and disintegrated into stardust. The Chronobeast split down the center, vanishing into anti-light. The Twin Lanterns exploded in a violent pulse that cracked the floor.
His children had built this with him. Their ashes whispered from the cracks. How could he kill the children made of stars and replace them with humans. Give them immortality, feed them his divinity …
She waited for him at the far end of the hall.
Vectra.
Dark-skinned, ravishing, statuesque, every inch of her cloaked in silver—rings, piercings, chains like war spoils. Her eyes were lined with mockery - she had warned him not to go to his children, his wife. There was nothing there for him on Valorian but pain and memories of his blood daughter's heartbreak, her skin turning to scales, her scream turning into a dragon's roar.
"How was Valorian, Nestor?" she purred, "Still pretending to care for ants?"
He didn't answer.
He shifted.
The air snapped.
Where the god-man had stood now towered a wolf—great and white and terrible, fangs like sickles, fur laced with frozen starlight, claws made from the bones of galaxies. He lunged.
Her scream was not of pain but delight as her arm was torn free from her shoulder in a burst of silver and dark red. The limb clattered across the broken tiles like discarded jewelry.
In the same breath, Vectra drove a dagger of pure silver into his back, her body pressed close, the curve of her spine arched with glorious violence. He shifted back with a growl, the blade protruding from between his ribs, and she shoved him to the ground with a snarl.
Her arm regrew, flesh spiraling out of light and command—his command. They were cut from the same cloth. Torn from the same war.
And then they were on each other.
They kissed like devouring, like drowning, like the last gasp of creation. He grabbed her waist, slammed her against the obsidian throne—his throne—and took her from behind like a beast unchained.
Vectra refused to be conquered. Sometimes he welcomed her participation, sometimes he just wanted to fuck her. Not once did she let him, and perhaps he enjoyed that aspect of her. It reminded him of his wife, who fled with his child and called him a tyrant eons ago on that cursed planet of cybernetic excellence.
With a feral roar, she twisted and knocked him backward, straddling him with a wicked smile. Her hips moved with a galvanic rhythm, her breath ragged, her fingers tangling in his silver hair like a victor claiming her prize.
The stars blinked out.
Their climax was felt across Tripolis as the Diamond Storm intensified and pounded the world into submission without mercy.
Time stuttered. Somewhere, children were born screaming.
Vectra leaned over his chest, her lips brushing his ear.
And the great lord of the skies, reborn in the heat of her, whispered:
"Call my war council."
***
" … what?" I was utterly destroyed. My identity. My belief in myself.
"…You're not twins," Salacia repeated, unimpressed, slightly annoyed. "You never were."
The fire cracked, too loud in the silence that followed. Someone's breath hitched—I didn't know if it was mine or Ari's.
I stared at her, the Queen of the Nereid, legs crossed like a girl at play, sea-slick curls hanging around her face like a crown of kelp. She looked serene. She always looked serene. Even when she spoke truths that rewrote us.
Ari's voice was hoarse. "That's not possible. We were born in the same breath."
"No," she said gently. "You were taken in the same breath."
I wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or spit in her face. But I did none of those things.
"You're saying we were human," I said instead, slowly. "Vlachy lovers. Taken by the Demon."
"The Assigner," Salacia corrected softly. "He doesn't like the other name, you know. He thinks of himself as merciful and … pragmatic."
Ari sat down heavily, like his legs had given out. "And the Vajda… he cursed us?"
Salacia nodded. "He wanted Milada for himself. When she chose you instead, he begged a favor from your father, summoned him from the elements. And the Assigner was… intrigued. Two lovers. Stubborn. Defiant. Beautiful. He thought: what if I make them mine?"
"He fed you his blood," she continued. "Bathed you in the false light of Tripolis. Made you guardians not because you were worthy—but because you were pliable. New. He thought mortals would make better servants than his previous divine children spun from the light of the heavens."
I couldn't feel my hands. My mouth moved without permission. "But he told us… he said we were made from the same stardust."
Ari's laugh was hollow. "He said a lot of things."
"He lied," I whispered. "He always lied."
And still, I remembered it. The first time we looked into the Pools of Conception, and he told us we were born of cosmic collision, forged together in fire and ice. I remembered how my chest swelled with purpose. With belonging.
I felt sick.
"He destroyed them, didn't he?" Ari asked, eyes dull. "The others. The real ones. His children."
Salacia's expression didn't change, but something behind her eyes flickered.
"Yes. Each time they rebelled, he punished them. Until there were none left."
"With his diamond storm," I said.
It wasn't a question.
The words tasted like blood.
"Exactly."
Ari was staring at the fire, fists clenched. "And he thought we'd be grateful. For this."
"To him," I said bitterly, "we were salvage. A gentler breed. Easier to keep on a leash."
The fire popped. Sparks flew. Salacia didn't move.
"We loved each other," I said, eyes on Ari. "Before Tripolis. Before we were re-written."
His jaw flexed. "And now?"
For a long time, we sat like that, the three of us ringed in light and silence. The truth throbbed between us, too heavy to carry, too dangerous to ignore.
Salacia spoke last, barely above a whisper.
"You asked me once why I hate the Assigner. It's not because he's cruel. It's because he thinks he's justified."
I stared at her.
"He promised me many things, too, you know," she said, looking into the fire. Looking for her dead husband. But he was of the sea. If Neptune's soul lingered, it did not do so in the fire. "Fuck him, I say."
***
The Processional Hall bled starlight where the Assigner's wrath had torn it apart, but still his surviving children came.
Summoned by the burning of their blood, by the cracking howl of their father, they knelt one by one at the feet of the White Snake, the Lord Father, the Shaper of the Worlds.
Cleo was first—hair wound with living vines, her skin patterned with shifting leaves and restless petals. Her laughter was a bright, jangling thing.
Beside her stood Bara, clad in braided armor that pulsed like the heartbeat of a great beast, lips curved in a smirk. Last was Las—Lasicus, the sympathizer.
He wore sorrow worse than most, eyes vast and wounded, reflecting every pain he had ever been asked to witness and carry.
The Assigner gazed down at them, silver hair coiling around his shoulders, ruby eyes blazing.
"You know why you have been called," he said, voice rippling through the ruined hall.
They bowed lower.
"Areilycus and Milada," the Assigner continued, his mouth curling in contempt. "They fled Tripolis. They abandoned their sacred posts. Worse, they engaged in the lowest of mortal sins—flesh-bound love."
The White Snake's gaze swept over them like a falling blade.
"They must be destroyed."
Cleo straightened first, excitement glittering like a thousand sharp edges in her smile.
"I want Milada," she said. "I claim the first strike. It was always going to be her, in the end."
The Assigner chuckled, low and cold. "As you wish, Cleopatra. If you are quick enough."
Lasicus shifted uneasily, his hands trembling slightly. "Father..." he said, voice soft, "they were made by your hand. By your will. Surely exile, not annihilation, would—"
"Really," the White Snake snapped, the walls shuddering. "You would feel inclined to help them?"
Lasicus bowed his head, shame burning down his spine.
"There is a beast Areilycus cares for. A dragon. It helps his corporeal form live while the radiation sickness wrecks his spirit. I want you to strip him of it and bring it to me. Alive."
Bara stepped forward next, practically vibrating with anticipation. "We will dry the twelve oceans of Valorian. Sink the planet into itself. Crush the dragon heart Areilycus guards and offer it to your throne."
But as she spoke, a wrinkle of thought unfurled behind the Assigner's gaze.
Bara's knowledge was too sharp. Too exact.
She spoke of Valorian not as an abstract battleground, but as something studied. Known.
His mind flicked, serpent-quick, through possibilities.
The Archives. His forbidden libraries.
Or Vectra. His beloved, his betrayer. Perhaps she had whispered more than she should have, always two steps ahead in her silent war against him.
But for now, the Assigner let the suspicion coil and slither in the back of his mind. War first. Punishment later.
He nodded once, the motion final as a guillotine falling.
"You will descend upon Valorian," he said. "You will raze its waters, shatter its people. You will bring me the heart that guards the traitors' last hope."
His children bowed deeply, reverently.
"And you will do it without mercy."
The hall flared in blinding light as they obeyed.
Cleo shimmered first, her body dissolving into a hurricane of flowering vines and glistening seeds, swirling upward through the broken skylight.
Bara followed, her form cracking into molten shards, twisting into a comet
And Lasicus, reluctant but bound, wept quietly as he became mist and starlight, trailing the scent of sorrow across the void.
The Assigner watched them vanish into the bleeding stars.
Alone again, he sat on the ruined throne of Millenia, coiling his silver hair around his fingers like chains.
He smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
It was the smile of a god who had broken the world ten times before—and would do so again.