Chapter Fifty-Three
I thought perhaps I could persuade Melinoe to give this up. To stop chasing after the phantom of a mother that had never existed. She can’t get over it. She can’t understand why I chose Hadrian over her.
But it was never about her.
I didn’t want to abandon her. Not really.
I just couldn’t stand to be reminded of Hades each time I looked at her.
Tabitha Wysteria
The moment Mal had left him, Ash had done the only thing he knew how to do any more; he retreated inward, vanishing into the quiet corridors of his own mind.
The world beyond him dissolved into nothing.
Yet this time he did not wander backwards, did not revisit the brittle memories of Hagan and all that had broken him.
No. This time he let himself drift forwards.
To a future.
To a daughter born into the world whom he had never been permitted to hold.
He stood upon a hill brushed with wind and wild grass, and before him rose the drakonian castle. It had taken years to rebuild, but at last it stood restored to its former glory, proud and unyielding against the horizon.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
He turned to see Medea hurrying up the slope, breathless and indignant.
She was in her early twenties, her eyes alight with the softness of a world that had known peace for long enough to forget the taste of war.
She was heartbreakingly beautiful, so much so that it almost ached to look upon her.
Her black horns curved with the same regal grace as Mal’s, and her eyes shone that same vivid purple.
Yet her hair fell long and golden down her back, and in that she reminded him so fiercely of Alina that his chest tightened.
‘You have to stop running off,’ she signed, her hands moving swiftly with exaggerated annoyance. She dropped down beside him with a huff and nudged him sharply with her elbow. ‘For an old man, you’ve got very fast legs.’
‘I’m not old,’ Ash signed in return, scowling with theatrical offence.
Medea laughed, bright and unburdened, and the sound of it felt like sunlight breaking through years of cloud.
Together they looked out at the castle in silence, the wind tugging gently at their clothes.
After a moment, Medea turned back to him, a faint crease forming between her brows, something thoughtful dimming her playful expression.
‘Father,’ she signed, her movements slowing, growing deliberate. ‘Why can I not fight?’
Ash exhaled, long and weary.
‘Why are women not allowed to fight here?’ Medea pressed, her gestures sharper now, edged with something dangerously close to anger. ‘Enzo says that in his kingdom women fight.’
‘Ignore your cousin,’ Ash signed back, irritation flickering across his features.
‘I want to fight.’
‘You must not.’
The hurt that bloomed across her face cut deeper than any blade ever could. It would have been easier to endure a wound of flesh than that look, confusion tangled with betrayal. But he could not tell her. He could never tell her.
He watched her jaw tighten, watched pride wrestle with obedience. And in the quiet of his imagined future, guilt settled heavy upon his shoulders.
It was he who had preserved the old laws. He who had insisted that drakonian women remain far from swords and battlefields. He who had argued that tradition must be honoured, that some lines must never be crossed.
All for one reason.
For her.
Because if Medea ever learnt to fight, if she ever grew strong enough to lift a blade with confidence, then one day she might turn it upon her own mother.
And Ash did not know which fate would destroy him more: a daughter defenceless.
Or a daughter capable of killing Mal.
Ash wrenched himself back into the present, torn from the fragile warmth of the vision as his eyes snapped open. The future dissolved like smoke, leaving only the cold stone walls of the keep and the hollow ache in his chest.
He was alone.
Alone, save for Morthos who drifted through the corridors more like a memory than a man.
Alone, because his wife was now gone. A wife that held his cursed heart between her pale fingers, with the power to crush it until it bled all over her hands.
There was a part of Ash that resented her for having taken their child away.
For not allowing him to hold her. But deep down he knew it had been for the best, that Mal was trying to protect their daughter from the monsters only she could see.
And Ash, Ash would protect her from the ones they could.
With a weary sigh, he made his way down to the beach, the wind sharp against his face. He muttered a string of curses the moment he spotted Thanatos standing at the edge of the storm-dark sea, black robes unmoved by the gale, as though the world itself did not dare disturb him.
‘It is done,’ Thanatos said, without so much as glancing back. ‘She’s in Hell now.’
Ash gave a single nod.
‘She will discover the truth,’ Thanatos continued, jaw rigid, dark eyes flashing with restrained fury.
Ash lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. ‘We cannot c-continue to keep it all from her.’
That earned him a look. Thanatos turned slowly, every line of his body coiled with tension. ‘She will never forgive us.’
Ash let out a rough snort. ‘You mean she will n-never for-forgive you?’
Silence settled between them, broken only by the crash of waves. Thanatos looked back to the sea, scrubbing a hand down his face as though the motion could erase what was coming.
‘Perhaps,’ he muttered at last.
His attention drifted towards the looming silhouette of the keep. ‘Are you going to hide here for the remainder of your days?’
Ash shook his head. ‘I will return to the wy-wyverian castle.’
‘Why?’
A faint smile ghosted across Ash’s lips. ‘I am to wait f-for a few vi-visitors.’
Thanatos frowned, suspicion flashing in his eyes, but he did not press further. It would not have mattered. Ash had no desire to explain himself.
He only wanted to leave this place.
To close his eyes and sink back into that other world, the one where his daughter laughed beneath a restored sky, where the castle stood whole, where time had already softened every wound.
He wanted to sleep for days.
To live in the future.
To exist somewhere that did not ache.
‘Are you sure?’ Thanatos asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the hush like a blade through silk.
‘Of what?’
‘Of everything,’ Thanatos replied, the words heavy. ‘Of the path we have taken.’
Ash let out a breath that tasted of salt and regret. ‘No. Not really.’
Weariness seemed to settle into Thanatos’ bones. He turned as if to leave, but halted when Ash called after him. They faced one another in the dim light, the sea up ahead roaring against the cliffs, neither willing to break first.
For a long moment they simply stood there, two men bound by secrets and the ruin of the woman they loved.
At last, Ash spoke. ‘She will learn to f-forgive you.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘She will. She will ha-have years to do so.’
Thanatos shook his head slowly. ‘Not even a thousand years would be enough to forgive what I did.’ His voice thinned. ‘Even I have not yet learnt to forgive myself.’
Ash ran his tongue over his lips and turned back to the storm-lashed sea, watching the waves devour themselves upon the rocks further up ahead.
‘Why did you do it?’ he asked quietly.
Silence answered him.
It lengthened, stretched taut as a wire ready to snap. The wind howled between them, dragging at coats and hair alike. For a moment, Ash wondered whether Thanatos would refuse him even this.
But when he looked back and saw the naked anguish etched across Death’s face, the kind that did not fade with centuries, he knew the question had not gone unheard. And that whatever answer came would not mend what had already been broken.
‘Because I thought I had lost her,’ Thanatos said at last, his voice hollowed by memory. ‘I thought everything could be redone.’
‘By ma-making her forget?’ Ash felt the anger rise slow and venomous along his spine.
‘She was going mad,’ Thanatos snapped, something wild flaring beneath the surface of his restraint. ‘Hades and her would have ended the world in their thirst for revenge against Hecate. There was no stopping them. She was no longer the woman I had married. The woman I loved. She had lost herself.’
Ash’s hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. ‘So you helped them put her in Hell.’ His tone was steady, cold as winter iron.
Thanatos swallowed, the movement sharp in his throat. Shame stiffened his shoulders. ‘They meant to imprison her there. I agreed… or at least, I made them believe I had. But—’
‘But instead you made her f-forget.’
A single nod. Heavy. Irrevocable.
‘I made a deal.’
The sea roared, as if impatient for the truth.
‘What was it?’
‘Mal would be reborn,’ Thanatos said, each word deliberate. ‘And in return, I would give Hell a part of my soul.’ His dark eyes lifted to Ash.
Understanding dawned not like light, but like a blade being drawn.
Ash nodded slowly.
‘Me,’ he whispered.
‘You,’ Thanatos echoed.
The wind tore at Ash’s coat, but he barely felt it. ‘I’m that fr-fraction of the soul you ga-gave away.’
‘But you already knew that, Ash Acheron,’ Thanatos said quietly. He turned from him then, as if he could not bear the weight of that shared face any longer. ‘And now our wife will know too.’
Ash stood unmoving as the demon walked towards the edge of the world. The air itself seemed to split open, shadows folding in upon themselves, the Underworld yawning wide like a living mouth.
And then Thanatos was gone, swallowed whole by the darkness he ruled.
Ash remained alone on the beach, the sea raging, carrying within him the echo of a soul that had never been entirely his.
Ash called for the wyverns, and they came at once, shadows against the bruised sky, wings beating with ancient obedience. Without a word, he mounted Daku. The creature did not question him; it simply leapt into the air, cutting through wind and cloud alike.
They did not stop.
Hours later, the wyverian castle rose from the horizon, black stone carved into the mountain itself, jagged and proud against the dim light. It stood as it always had: unyielding, indifferent to grief.
Ash dismounted in silence.
The courtyard lay abandoned, too still. He moved through the great doors without hesitation, unsurprised by the emptiness that greeted him. The army had marched. The guests had fled. The echoes of voices had long since faded from the halls.
A handful of servants remained. Their eyes widened the moment they saw him, gasps breaking the quiet like cracks in glass. They hurried forward, bowing with questions and concern.
Ash ignored them all.
He crossed the main hall and lowered himself into one of the black leather armchairs, the weight of him sinking deep into the worn cushions. Before him, blue fire burnt steadily in the hearth. He stared at it, watching the flames curl and twist like living things.
Now all he had to do was wait.
And so Ash Acheron closed his eyes.
The world dissolved. The castle, the fire, the emptiness… all of it slipped away. He allowed himself to drift once more into the fragile mercy of his visions, into futures that did not yet exist, into the only place where hope still breathed.
And so he would wait.
He had become very good at that.