The Price of Belief

A slow, echoing clap broke the silence.

"You always did have a flair for the dramatic," a voice said, steady, deep, familiar.

Malvor turned.

And there he was.

Orion.

Like Aerion, but not. Not quite. His hair was darker, laced with steel. Lines marked the corners of his blue eyes, worn in by time, not magic. He wore his father's sigil over his heart, the sword and laurel etched in silver across battle-worn armor. His sword, sheathed at his side, pulsed with divine authority.

"You've made your point," Orion said. "You always do. But this? This is madness."

Malvor stared. "Orion," he said softly. "Your father named you after himself. I'd laugh if it didn't make me want to throw up."

"You're trespassing in a sacred place," Orion said, ignoring the jab. "Desecrating the temple. The seat of Justice."

"Your father desecrated it first." Malvor took a step forward, chaos pulsing at his heels. "He took her. He hurt her. And you, poor, loyal, blind fool, you are standing here defending him?"

Orion's jaw tightened. "My father is not perfect. No god is. But he's not a monster."

Malvor's voice dropped, ice-cold. "Then he didn't tell you."

A beat. A flicker of hesitation in Orion's eyes. Doubt. But it passed like a shadow.

"You're lying," he said. "You always lie."

"And you," Malvor said, with something like pity, "are going to die for a lie."

Malvor didn't give him another chance to speak.

The chaos god surged forward, a blur of shadow and fire, hand outstretched. The throne room trembled as magic cracked like lightning. A wave of distorted air burst outward, warping the walls, ripping the murals from stone.

Orion raised his blade just in time. It flared with divine light, parting the wave like a ship cutting through a storm. His boots scraped against the marble as he held his ground.

"You always were a showman," he muttered, eyes narrowing.

Malvor grinned, too wide. "And you always were your daddy's lapdog."

He raised his hand. The floor beneath Orion exploded.

Shards of divine glass and molten stone spiraled upward in a cyclone, but Orion leapt, flipping midair with clean, practiced grace. He landed on a crumbling pillar and launched himself down, blade-first, crashing toward Malvor in a streak of holy light.

The sword struck Malvor's shoulder, searing flesh and bone. He screamed, half pain, half delight.

"Yes!" he howled. "Finally, someone who hits back!"

He grabbed Orion by the throat and slammed him into the floor. The impact cratered the marble. Orion coughed, twisting, kicking free. He rolled, came up swinging.

Steel clanged against chaos. Sparks rained.

Malvor flicked his fingers, reality twisted. The pillars stretched like taffy, the room rippling with colorless fire. Time stuttered. Gravity buckled.

Orion kept moving.

Through the madness, his blade stayed true.

A low sweep, Malvor leapt over it.

A rising strike, he caught it on his bracer, only to wince as divine light scorched his wrist.

"Not bad," Malvor panted, "Not good enough."

He vanished.

A heartbeat.

Then he was behind Orion.

He snapped his fingers.

A thousand razor-sharp butterflies, wings of cut glass, exploded in a storm…

Orion spun and shielded himself with his sword. Every shard that touched the blade shattered into harmless light. But one caught him across the cheek. Another found his side.

Blood bloomed.

Still, he held his stance.

"You fight like a poet," Malvor hissed.

"I fight like a man with something to protect."

Malvor's smile faltered.

For a moment, they just breathed. Circling. Tired. Wounded.

Then Orion raised his blade again.

Malvor laughed.

They crashed into each other.

The ground split beneath them. Holy light and chaos magic collided, screaming against each other like twin storms. Orion's blade left trails of golden fire. Malvor's strikes shattered air, ruptured sound. Every blow shook the foundations of the palace. Statues crumbled. The sky above the Citadel flickered like a dying star.

Orion got a hit in, deep, through Malvor's ribs. The god staggered, wheezing, his chaos pulsing out of control.

"Yes!" Malvor howled, his hands crackling with power.

But then, a twisted, unexpected move. He conjured an illusion, Annie's face, weeping.

Orion blinked, faltered.

That was all Malvor needed.

He struck with both hands, a double blast of chaos that flung Orion across the throne room. He crashed into the far wall, dropped to the ground, and did not rise.

Malvor stood over him, boot pressed against his chest, chaos flickering up his arms like wildfire. His face was smeared with blood, eyes hollow and furious. Breathing hard. Wild. Unmoored.

"Tell me where he went," he growled.

Orion coughed, the sound wet. Blood smeared his lips. His eyes, still bright, still full of faith, looked up at the god who would kill him.

"I don't know," he whispered, defiant even now. "And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

Malvor's jaw clenched. "He took her. He hurt her."

"Lies," Orion spat. "He's my father."

Malvor's voice dipped, low and cold. "Then he sent you here to die."

He leaned in.

"He left you behind to slow me down. That's all you were to him."

A flicker passed through Orion's face.

Not fear.

Not doubt.

Pain.

A deeper wound than any blade had managed.

"Then let's hope my death means something," he said. Soft. Final.

Malvor froze.

Just for a moment.

He looked down at this man who still believed. Who still loved. Who had no idea the god he served had traded his soul for power.

And for the first time in the wreckage of this night, Malvor didn't feel rage.

He felt sorrow.

He took his foot off Orion's chest.

"Don't," he said, softly now. Almost pleading. "Don't make me do this. You don't have to die for him."

Silence.

Orion's hand moved.

Not to yield.

But to summon.

A flash of divine steel in his palm, small, fast, fatal.

The dagger arced upward toward Malvor's throat.

"I still believe in him."

Malvor caught it.

Time stopped.

Not figuratively.

Literally.

Orion froze, mid-lunge, eyes wide. The dagger inches from Malvor's throat.

The colors drained from the world. Chaos curled in on itself, collapsing into order too perfect, too impossible. The threads of time bent around Malvor's will.

"You should have stayed down," he said. And there was no rage left in him.

Only sorrow.

And power.

He raised his hand.

And unmade him.

There was no scream. No burst of gore. No crumbling to ash.

Orion simply ceased, not destroyed, but removed, as though time forgot him in real-time. His body fractured into shards of suspended memory, pieces folding in on themselves and vanishing like a book being unwritten.

His sword fell last.

Clanged to the floor.

And was still.

Malvor stared at the spot where Orion had been.

He said nothing.

The storm inside him didn't roar.

It silenced.

Because he hadn't killed a villain.

He had silenced a believer.

And he hated it.

He took a step away from the bloodless ground, chaos flickering at his fingertips like dying embers. His jaw was clenched tight. His breath shallow.

Not because it hurt.

But because he'd wanted someone else to blame.

Someone unworthy.

Instead, he'd killed a man who still believed the world could be good.

That the gods could be just.

That his father was worth saving.

And now?

Now the scream inside Malvor didn't burn.

It froze.

And sharpened.