Devotion in Chaos

The realm dimmed as the hours passed, not out of sadness, but reverence. The lights grew low, golden and warm. Outside, stars turned slowly in skies made just for them.

And inside?

Time unraveled.

They didn't stop.

Not for hours.

They explored. Teased. Worshipped. Loved.

And as they moved together, their hearts beat in synchrony, tangled between the past and the present, between the chaos that had defined them and the fragile peace they were finding. In every kiss, every whisper, every touch, Malvor felt it—this quiet, unspoken truth. A truth he had never allowed himself to believe until now.

She was here.

Annie was here.

Not just physically, but fully. Her love wasn't something he had to earn, wasn't something he had to fight for. She gave it freely, even after everything. Even after his chaos, his mistakes, his constant striving to keep his emotions at bay. She had never flinched. Never asked him to be anyone but himself, and somehow, that had always been enough for her.

And he felt that. He felt her love wrap around him, steady and sure, like an anchor in the storm. Her acceptance was a soft kind of gravity, pulling him closer, even when he had tried to resist.

And her devotion? It was like nothing he'd ever seen. The way she had quietly slipped into his life, not demanding, not needing, just offering herself to him in ways he couldn't quite describe. The way she let him have the space to come to her, and when he finally did, she was there, waiting. Steady. Constant.

But her love, her trust in him, was what broke him. He hadn't been ready to face it. Not before. Not until now. She wasn't just accepting his chaos; she was showing him how to live within it. She wasn't trying to change him, and that was the most freeing thing of all.

As her breath evened out beside him, and he watched her drift into peaceful sleep, Malvor's heart constricted. This was the first time he could say, without hesitation, that he was home. Home was not a place, not a realm, but the woman beside him. And that, more than anything, was a miracle in itself.

He kissed her temple once. Then her shoulder. Then her hand.

"Still with me?" he whispered.

Annie didn't even open her eyes. She just murmured, smug and sleepy:

"Obviously."

And the god of chaos smiled like he had everything he'd ever wanted.

Because he did.

The room was quiet now.

Annie lay tangled against him, her breath steady, skin warm beneath the soft sheets and the glow of the realm still gently pulsing around them. Malvor's fingers traced idle paths across her back, but his eyes were fixed on something else entirely.

The runes.

He hadn't let himself study them, really study them, until now.

His gaze traveled to the one just behind her left ear. It shimmered faintly in the dark, a delicate, perfectly-carved flower. Too pretty. Too small. A strange mark for a goddess of the harvest.

Malvor's jaw tensed.

What a joke.

Not harvest. Not life.

Ravina was the goddess of poison dreams. The subtle twist of perception. The narcotic seduction of oblivion.

Maybe that's why the rune was there. So close to Annie's mind. Whispering thoughts that weren't hers. Shaping dreams she didn't ask for.

He kissed it.

Soft and lingering.

A promise to erase every trace of Ravina's influence, one touch at a time.

Then he shifted.

Lower.

His mouth moved down over her skin, slow, open-mouthed kisses, warm and reverent. Her collarbone. The curve of her ribs. The softness of her stomach.

Her breathing shifted but didn't wake.

He didn't want to wake her.

This wasn't about sex.

This was worship.

His lips traveled further down her body, brushing over every inch like a prayer, his devotion to her, to the real, unbroken woman she was, pouring out with every kiss. He wasn't just erasing the past—he was laying the foundation for something deeper. A connection so sacred that the gods themselves couldn't touch it.

And still, he couldn't help the flood of rage at the marks on her skin, the violent reminders of what she'd endured. How could anyone think she was weak after everything she'd survived? How could anyone have thought she was theirs to break?

His fingers ghosted over the glowing lines, then his lips followed, soft kisses laid with the same reverence he'd give to ancient relics. Because she was sacred.

He moved to her left leg.

Navir's.

From her knee to her upper thigh. Strange marks that looked like bolts of lightning frozen mid-strike. Zigzagging paths of code. Symbols he couldn't read, shouldn't be able to read. Complex, shifting, alive.

Technology. Knowledge. Control.

He hated it.

And still, he kissed every inch.

Licked the edge of each glowing line like he could draw the magic out with his mouth. Cleanse her skin with devotion. Erase the men who touched her without ever laying a hand on her himself.

She stirred once, a soft sigh, but didn't wake.

And when he was done, he curled around her again.

Held her.

Close. Always close.

Whispering to her.

Not just sweet nothings.

But everything.

"I'm here."

"I love you."

"You're mine."

"I will never let them near you again."

"I will burn the world if you ask me to."

He did not sleep.

Not that night.

Just held her tighter as the hours passed, fingers gently tracing her scars, his words threading through the dark like a spell.

A vow.

And somewhere in the quiet, the realm pulsed with soft golden light, wrapping around them both like a heartbeat.

Because for the second night in a row—

The god of chaos was completely, utterly devoted.

And Annie, wrapped in his arms, untouched by the chaos of gods and scars, was finally, truly home.