35. One Day
35
ONE DAY
Finnian
Arms crossed, Finnian shook his head at the absurd monstrosity. A statue of himself eclipsed the midday sunlight in the center of Alke Square, the heart of Hollow City.
Cassian pointed at the divots on either side of the statue’s cheeks, his watch reflecting glints of passing vehicles and pedestrians. “Adorable,” he said. “You managed to get his dimples.”
Under glamor, his ivory strands were a warmer blond, the irises of his eyes were copper, and the angles of his features were less pronounced. Even as a middle god, Cassian was still known to all mortals and needed disguise.
Finnian sighed and looked over at his sister. “Are you going to raise statues of us all?”
Naia gave a shrug, giving him a sidelong glance, full of playfulness. “Only of those I love.” Her waist-length silver waves were the same onyx-black as Ronin’s, her height shorter, and she’d added small imperfections to her divine features—a longer nose, thinner lips. Apparently, the mortals flocked to her when she revealed herself outside of certain sectors of the city. It was an attention Finnian could tell she was still not used to yet.
Wearing glamor came like second nature to him. It was why the moment he dropped into the city with Cassian, his hair shifted to the same silver shade as Naia’s, and his features took on a more approachable cut, rather than a permanent scowl.
Finnian smiled and ran his fingers over the bronze plate at the foot of the statue that read:
Finnian, High God of Witchcraft and Sorcery, founder of Hollow City.
His heart squeezed. The city around them was not built by his hands alone.
He swiped his thumb over the empty space beneath his name, a plume of magic etching letters into the metal.
Co-Founders: Isla Harper And Eleanor Jenkins.
Naia leaned over, grabbing Finnian’s arm. “Runa will be delighted! Perhaps we can add statues of them as well. What do you think?” She twisted her head to her husband.
Ronin stood on her other side, expression casual. “Whatever you want, babe.” The leader of the Blood Heretics looked the same: messy dark strands tied partially back, doing nothing to rid the curtain of bangs in his eyes, dressed in baggy black clothes that swallowed his physique.
Naia clicked her tongue with a smile.
Finnian rolled his eyes. “You add a statue of Ronin, and I will personally destroy it myself.”
Naia giggled as Ronin scoffed in the backdrop.
“Dad said you would say something like that,” Ash said.
Finnian looked down at his five-year-old nephew and met his deep-set gaze with a smirk. “Your father is a smart man, at times.”
Ash traced the engraving of Isla and Eleanor’s name on the plate, as if he could feel the magic particles webbed in its bronze.
“Your uncle is all talk.” Cassian tilted forward to wink at Ash. “He would only vandalize it a bit.”
Ash cocked his head up at him with raised eyebrows. “Dad also said to give you crap for trying to steal me as a baby.”
The amusement on Cassian’s face faltered, and he cleared his throat, straightening up. “Yes, well…”
Finnian barked out a laugh as Naia rolled her lips to downgrade her grin.
Ronin did no such thing. “That’s my boy.”
Ash peered up at Finnian intently, intrigued.
Finnian stared back at him, marveled by the little boy. He had traces of Naia with his wavy shoulder-length silver strands and kind aura; of Ronin with his eyes, as rich as the earth, and his witty remarks; of Father with his angular features and gentle disposition.
“Were they your friends?” Ash gestured to the names on the plate.
An ache in his chest throbbed, and he nodded. “They were my best friends.”
“Iris’s mom tells her stories of her great-great-great grandma Isla all the time. Says she was badass .”
“Ashy darling, that is a curse word.” Naia scrubbed her fingers through his hair.
“I don’t say it unless it’s what someone else said first,” Ash mumbled to his mother, fixing his ruffled strands.
She huffed through a growing smile.
How can she quarrel with that?
Finnian gave a breathy laugh. “I, once, watched her shoot an arrow made of magic straight through a man’s skull.”
“Finny!” Naia scolded, lightly smacking him on the arm. “That’s horrible!”
Ash’s eyes grew wide with fascination. “Magical weapons, like my dad’s briars?”
Finnian couldn’t help the flat look that dawned over his expression. “Yes, but much cooler.”
“They sure used to scare you shitless back in the day,” Ronin drawled under his breath.
Cassian chuckled at Finnian’s side.
Finnian shot Ronin a look of annoyance, and Ronin returned it with a clever smirk.
“Dad cursed,” Ash said to his mother. “Are you going to scold him ?”
Naia reached her arm out and flicked Ronin’s chest with her full strength, knocking him back. “No, sir!”
Ash cackled at his father’s dramatic reaction of recoiling and rubbing the spot on his pec.
A small laugh rumbled from Cassian as he watched.
This was Finnian’s dream—to see his sister happy and loved, to be standing beside Cassian with nothing between them. A dream he’d held onto for years. Always at the end of the hardships.
Now that he’d arrived, he wasn’t sure how to feel, or what to do with himself. A part of him itched to get lost in a potion recipe to soothe the voice in the back of his mind that said, this will all end one day too.
The other part of him had made peace with such truth. Nothing lasted forever, and while he disagreed and loathed that fact, he was slowly starting to accept it as a greater truth than himself.
Finnian rotated and took in the bustling of his city, the steady flow of traffic, travelers passing by on the sidewalks, those sitting at the outdoor tables of nearby restaurants and cafés.
He’d built something he was proud of—a home for Isla and Eleanor, for Naia and her family.
If only Father could’ve seen it—just once.
A sense of sorrow flooded his chest, and he exhaled.
Cassian shifted at his side and faced the city, hands tucked away in his pockets, resting his arm against Finnian’s. Notes of lemon peel and the spice from his cologne drifted in the space between them.
Finnian glanced over at him. It was surreal, seeing him in broad daylight in a modern suit in the city they’d called home during the start of their relationship. A testament of how much time had passed.
“Your father knew of your city,” Cassian said, peering straight ahead.
Finnian shouldn’t have found it surprising how Cassian knew what he was thinking. “Through some divine connection of nature?”
“No, I showed him pictures. Online. We looked it up.”
Finnian nodded slowly, processing. He gradually straightened his head to stare out at the city, his lips curving. “I wasn’t aware you could get internet access in the Land of the Dead.”
Cassian snorted. “I had to keep up with you somehow.”
Warmth drenched his ribcage like syrup. “You looked me up.”
“The mortals are fond of you. It appears they find you charming, despite your insufferable indifference.”
Finnian’s smile deepened at the sound of his light-hearted sarcasm. “I can be charming when I wish to be.”
“Oh, I am aware.” Cassian flashed his gaze to him.
Heat prickled in Finnian’s cheeks.
He gave Cassian a sly smirk, knowing the effect it had.
Cassian’s pupils flared in response to the look, swallowing the fiery rings of his irises.
Finnian winked at him as Naia hooked her arm around his elbow and rested her cheek on his shoulder.
“Could you imagine Father scouring the sidewalk with city-folk?” She chuckled.
“Like you have room to talk,” Ronin piped in. “You gawked at everything your first year here.”
Finnian puffed out a quiet laugh as Naia pinned Ronin with a look. “Says the man who gawks anytime I use my divine strength.”
“I think that sort of thing warrants it.”
Something tickled the inside of Finnian’s hand.
He dropped his chin to see Ash staring eye-level at his relaxed palm, his arm slightly raised and his small fingers hovering inches from Finnian’s, unsure if he should hold his hand or not.
The hesitation, the urge for affection—such childlike innocence, wonder that Finnian could recall once feeling.
Death is not about separation.
Finnian smiled to himself.
Death is about peace.
He finally understood it as he grabbed his nephew’s tiny hand.
A promise to find those we are intertwined with in life.
Together, they teleported.
The salty, humid air stuck to Finnian’s skin. Old, dusty memories of his childhood sprung to mind—dangling his legs in the water hole at Naia’s side, his back in the sand at Father’s favorite abandoned cove, weaving breadfruit leaves with his magic.
Outstretched before them was the tropical greenery of Nohealani Island. The sea-breeze slapped at their backs, tossing their hair haphazardly in all directions.
Naia held the porcelain jar to her chest, tears already cresting in her eyes.
Ronin gently tapped on Ash’s shoulder, beckoning him to stand back a few paces alongside him and Cassian. “Remember what we talked about last night?” He placed his index finger over his lips, a silent request to keep quiet.
Ash nodded obediently up at his father and stood respectfully still, watching Finnian and Naia.
They had agreed on this days ago, after Mavros delivered the jar of their father’s ashes. They were to spread them on the island, the last place in the Mortal Land he called home.
Naia stepped up to the headstone jutting out of the sand. Along its granite read:
The High God of Nature, Vale.
Wreaths and garlands of tropical flowers decorated its corners and the ground around it. The islanders, no doubt.
Finnian told his legs to move, to follow Naia, but his body felt frozen.
Ash appeared at his side and looked up at him, somberly so. He gave Finnian’s hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it.
The act was almost enough to break Finnian.
He let out a breath and joined Naia’s side.
“Father would pinch my cheeks during dinner feasts to cheer me up, after Mira scolded me for my table manners,” he said. “I refused to smile for him, therefore he’d give up and sit his hands back down in his lap. Only, a few minutes later, I would nearly bite down on my spoon, startled by the vine tickling up my pant leg.”
A teary giggle slipped out of Naia. “Or the time he summoned bees to infiltrate the great hall during breakfast when the triplets were antagonizing you.”
It was Finnian’s seventh year. While he hardly recalled the topic that he and Malik had gotten into it over, he had been close to losing control of his magic and sending the silverware spiking through his skull. Father must’ve sensed such, because seconds before Finnian reacted, a swarm of bees randomly burst into the hall.
Finnian smiled widely. “Or the time he grew bouquets for the kitchen maids to thank them for their hard work, and they all became infatuated with him and kept baking him ginger loaves.”
A cackle burst from Naia. “He never knew!”
“He would set the loaves aside and just drink his tea.”
“And they kept baking them for him!”
“He must’ve had hundreds of them!”
They both shook with laughter, hanging onto each other, imagining Father, oblivious, as batting-eyed maids circled around him.
Finnian wiped the tears at the corners of his eyes, releasing a long, sated exhale.
They both grew quiet as the weight sank in. That those amusing moments were ones of the past. Memories were all they had left of him, and they overflowed.
The back of Finnian’s nose stung. He straightened his shoulders and held onto Naia’s arm, reminding his trembling limbs that he had support.
Fixing his gaze out among the dense thicket of tropical ferns and palms, he let out a shaky breath. “He would want to be one with the sand.”
Naia looked up at him, her round eyes pooling. “Sand travels the waters,” she recited with a sad smile, “it crests in the waves and delivers onto the shore with the tide. It remains for as long as it needs, and then it is pulled back and continues the cycle over again.”
“It is the way of nature; the way of life,” Finnian’s voice coated thick with tears, the words embedded in the deepest waters of his mind from all the times Father explained it to them.
Naia removed the lid to the jar and grabbed a fistful of Father’s ashes.
She drew in a breath. “I suppose there are a million sentiments I could express to you, but I believe you already know just how much you meant to me. Therefore, I will leave you with this: your love is everything to me. Words would never be enough for me to express how grateful I am to be your daughter. Thank you for teaching me how to be vulnerable, to observe and show kindness to others, for always being my light in the darkness.” As the words left her mouth, she sprinkled the remains in the sand around her feet.
She handed off the jar to Finnian, and it felt as if it held basalt.
His stomach knotted and his limbs locked up, despite his brain's orders to do as she did.
The comforting touch of Cassian’s hands settled on top of his shoulders as he moved up behind him, providing an instant release to the ache drilling in his chest. It gave Finnian enough courage to dip his hand into the jar.
He expected the ashes to feel different, divine somehow, but they didn’t. They were light—lighter than the granules of sand beneath him. They squished in between his closed fingers. Proof of his father’s existence; of the long life he lived. It seemed unfair, somehow.
“There is impact,” Cassian whispered in his ear. “Impact on those who touch our lives. You came into mine and I haven’t been the same since. The time we were apart, you remained etched deep in my soul, Finny. That is what it means to live, to love. There is purpose in that. Vale touched the lives of more souls than you could ever imagine.”
He was right. From a young age, Finnian recognized that about his father. It was impossible not to smile when he came into a room. When he spoke to a person, he granted them his full attention. He was considerate and always going out of his way to help others—the kitchen maids and their bouquets, sneaking stationed guards sweet treats from the feast, calling the staff of the palace by name and inquiring about their children.
Finnian lifted his fist from the jar and held it out. A memory of his boyhood lit behind his eyes, as a child, gazing up at Father, the stream of morning light feathering around him in rays of cornflower through the layers of the sea; Father looking down at him, smiling softly.
His ashes were the last tangible thing Finnian had left of him.
“I don’t want to let go.”
I am scared to let go.
Ash squealed, the sound of his feet squeaked in the sand. “He’s here!”
Finnian, Naia, and Cassian both turned to look.
Ash hopped around, and his footprints in the sand quickly filled with an assortment of blossoms—dahlias, peonies, moonflowers, baby’s breath , poppies, hibiscus.
I am always with you.
A sob caught in Finnian’s throat.
Naia threw her hand over her mouth as a cry sprang loose.
“Grandpa Vale must not be that far away if he can grow us flowers!” Ash trailed around Ronin, his footprints becoming beautiful floral arrangements. “Do you see? Mama, look!” He beamed, pointing down at them. “Uncle Finny!”
“Yeah,” Ronin said, his voice tottering with tears of his own as he glanced up at Naia. “He’s not far away.”
Cassian smiled broadly at Finnian, all-knowing.
The only truly eternal thing in life was not the life of a god or a goddess, but the love that gathered in one’s soul, transcending flesh and scouring the edge of the dawn to reunite us in small moments. Perhaps that was the entire meaning of life, to always find each other again.
Naia buried into Finnian’s side, her tears dampening the material of his shirt and sticking to his chest.
Finnian held her tightly with one arm, the ashes sprinkling from the crevices of his enclosed fingers in his other hand.
“I love you, Father.” Releasing one finger at a time, he slowly let go.
Nestled in a forest off the outskirts of Augustus, their stone cottage sat isolated from the world.
A faint trail of smoke curled from the chimney. Frost coated the branches of nearby evergreens, each tendril of grass, and the glittering stalks of rosemary, sage, and mint in the garden.
The morning had never appealed to Finnian. He preferred nighttime, when the world and the mortals silenced. Though, in his new life, he was beginning to prefer the dawn—a scratch at their front door from their puppy whimpering, a sound he could not hear without his hearing aid, but knew when it occurred from Cassian jumping out of bed in nothing but a flattering pair of velvety boxers to scoop up Juniper and rush her out onto the front lawn.
Finnian loved leaning on the doorframe and watching Cassian cheer the pup on as they both drew shapes in the icy grass.
A bird house rested underneath the nearby lemon tree, a resident inside, its cobalt feathers marked with dripping caramel. Alke never strayed far, and it had become too vexing for Mavros to try and contain him in the Land—an entertaining struggle that Finnian couldn’t resist smirking at.
The aroma of espresso, paprika, and freshly baked sourdough wafted throughout the house. The dance of a string quartet sang from a spinning vinyl record. All worries were forgotten as Finnian snuck up behind Cassian at the stove and whispered kisses down his neck. Clothes were shucked, and they found themselves under the satin sheets of their bed, lost in each other’s skin.
Soft and tender top-lip kisses, dragging and hazy. Slow hands, grazing, exploring, as if it was the first time they’d touched. He loved the way Cassian trembled beneath him, the way his eyes glowed with pleasure.
Once was never enough to sate Finnian. He was greedy and his thirst was unquenchable. He wanted to lose himself in Cassian’s breath, sink deeply beneath his skin, and burn there forever.
Life with Cassian was chilled nights snuggled up by the fireplace, with Juniper burrowed in the mountain of blankets strewn over their sofa; 2AM baking extravaganzas after Cassian found another new recipe; Finnian casting a spell on the pastries in the oven when Cassian wasn’t looking to correct their flattening posture; long strolls through Augustus’s countryside during the summer, the stream trickling in the background alongside the crickets and frog calls, fireflies glowing like stars between the trees, dandelions and other herbs stuffed in Finnian’s pockets; Naia pulling up in their driveway, and Ash spilling out of the backseat and up the front porch steps, excited to spend the weekend with his uncles; days hunched over a workbench, the spiced aroma of cinnamon, and a bubbling cauldron with an eagerness in Finnian’s fingertips as he scribbled notes in his grimoire; Cassian plucking mint leaves and squeezing lemons by hand for a delicious, summer ambrosia; sunset lounges on the patio, a book in Cassian’s hand as he stole peeks over the top of the page at Finnian, drawing sigils on the boards and growing sagebrush from the runes.
“What would you like to do today?” Cassian lowered his book to his chest and pet soft strokes over Juniper’s head, snuggled in his lap.
Finnian sipped on his iced cold brew, peering out at the blush and ginger strokes across the sapphire horizon. They had no summons, no one waiting for their orders or guidance. They had each other and all the time in the world.
Finnian turned his head and met Cassian’s content gaze, eyes like small galaxies, and smiled softly. “Whatever you wish.”