Chapter 31 Mend the Void
Chapter Thirty-One
Mend the Void
The memory fades like ink in water, thinning, dissolving, until my consciousness snaps violently back into my own body. I gasp for breath and sink to my knees, palms braced against the boards of the deck. My thoughts are my own again—yet I still hum with Peter’s pain. His fear. His rage.
My chest trembles with two heartbeats. Our souls still overlap, frayed but tethered, and the weight of what I’ve seen crashes through me in waves. Horror. Grief. A loneliness so vast it feels bottomless—the image of a small, broken body tossed aside on a cold London street, discarded like trash.
It’s too much.
Tears spill onto my hands, blurring the world as my breath breaks apart.
I fold forward, sobbing, mourning the boy he was.
When I finally look up through my tears, Peter stands before me in the silver wash of moonlight, head bowed.
The runes are gone from his skin. They aren’t just marks or symbols.
They’re his magic, written in a language only he can read and command.
Neverland isn’t a paradise. It’s a gaping wound.
A conjured realm torn into existence by an abandoned boy’s dying wish upon a star.
Peter didn’t create it to rule—it was a place to survive.
But the wound that birthed it never truly healed.
It only festered and deepened until it broke him. Yet he isn’t broken beyond saving.
I can feel his love for me now thrumming through Neverland, as real as the pulse beneath my palms. But I also know now how that love twisted in the dark, born of abandonment, fed by obsession, it grew fangs.
Still, the boy who wished for magic, who taught me to fly, who trusted me enough to let me see the worst of him—he is still here. He let me in and showed me the wound.
He wants to heal. He has sat on this throne alone, bleeding out for far too long.
Peter’s memories have given me something powerful: understanding.
I see now the war inside him, three forces pulling him apart.
Neverland craves my presence, my devotion, my anchoring soul.
Peter wants my laughter, my touch, my love.
And his shadow hungers for something darker and far more selfish.
Complete possession. My body yielding, my pain and pleasure bound together, my tears reflected back to him, so he will never be alone in his suffering.
I don’t think Peter fears his shadow. He fears the moment I understand him completely… and walk away.
I feel the tether between us strengthening. Neverland breathes not only with Peter now, but with me, as if it’s reaching out, testing, hoping. All that’s missing is his shadow.
I glance around me. The pirates’ bodies are nothing but ash in their seats, blood soaked into the wood, the air still thrumming with the aftermath of violence. My gaze sweeps to where Hook and Thorne had stood, and my stomach tightens.
They’re gone.
The unease registers, but it feels distant, filed away for later. Right now, Peter is my priority.
“Peter,” I say softly.
He doesn’t move.
“Peter,” I say again, louder this time, the word cracking as it leaves me.
He finally looks up, blinking as if waking from a dream. His green eyes flicker with confusion.
“Wendy?” His gaze sweeps the deck, taking in the aftermath of his frenzied rage. When he speaks again, there’s no anger in his voice, only resignation. “You saw everything, didn’t you?”
I nod, wiping my cheeks.
His expression crumbles, pain carving deep lines through his face. He drags a hand through his hair, eyes flicking past me. His brow furrows, likely noticing Thorne and Hook’s absence.
I rise slowly, a fierce resolve settling into me. This is the moment. He’s open. Vulnerable. I move toward him slowly.
He stiffens, voice snapping quick as a lash. “Don’t you dare pity me, Wendy.”
I shake my head. “I don’t pity you. I never could.” I step closer. “Summon your shadow. Let me help you.”
His nostrils flare. “My shadow wants to devour you. Break you.”
“I know,” I say softly. “It wants to hurt me. Use me. Break me apart until I disappear inside you.” I reach for him then, my hands gripping what’s left of his tattered shirt. “But, Peter—I love that part of you too.”
Shock ripples through his gaze.
“I know it feels like a lifetime ago,” I whisper. “But let me do it again. Let me bind him back to you.” My voice wavers. “Trust me.”
He searches my face, hunting for the lie. So I give him the truth, not with words, but through the fragile bridge between our souls. When Peter let me in, he didn’t only open his memories. He let me touch the magic that saved him.
Neverland lives through him… and now, faintly, through me too. The connection is unfinished, still delicate—but it’s there. Strengthening by the minute. Binding us closer with every breath.
His eyes widen, disbelief flickering across his face as he realizes what I’m doing.
“I can’t control him,” he says hoarsely. “I’ve fought him for so long. He won’t bend. Won’t come when I call.” His voice drops. “And I… I give in.” His gaze searches mine.
I know what he means. The roughness. The depravity. The moments when his touch is more pain than pleasure.
“He is you,” I murmur. “And every time you try to destroy that part of you, it just comes back stronger. You think punishing yourself will fix it—but it’s only tearing you apart.
” I squeeze his hand. “You don’t need to conquer that part of yourself.
You need to trust me with it. Trust that I won’t leave. ”
Peter jerks as if I struck him. His fingers tighten around mine, too hard, almost painful, before he wrenches his hand free and staggers back a step. His breath comes sharp and uneven, chest heaving as if the air itself has turned hostile.
“Don’t,” he snaps, the word breaking in half. He drags both hands through his hair, claws at his scalp like he’s trying to tear the thought out of himself. “Don’t say that.”
His eyes are bright now, anger flaring again.
“You don’t know that,” he says hoarsely. “You think you do—but you don’t.” He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Everyone leaves, Wendy. Mothers. Friends.” His jaw tightens, and his voice drops. “I won’t allow you to leave me. There won’t be anything left of either of us if you try.”
“I’m not leaving,” I say gently. “I need you to believe me when I say I love you.” I reach through the fragile bond between us, pushing that love toward him as fiercely as I can, opening myself without restraint.
He shudders, eyes meeting mine again, intense and searching, as if he’s trying to decide whether it’s real.
“You’re afraid,” I say quietly.
He laughs without humor. “Afraid? This place has answered to me and me alone since its inception. Letting you see me, letting you in—showing you how corrupt I truly am, sharing my power…” His jaw tightens. “You think that doesn’t risk something?”
I press a hand to his chest, letting him feel it through the tether between us. The steady rhythm. The certainty of my choice.
“I’m standing here, without judgment,” I say softly. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’m not here to weaken you. Let me stand beside you.”
Peter draws in a ragged breath. Then another. His anger drains from him all at once, and he reaches for me. I collapse into him, my forehead pressing hard against his chest, breath breaking free in uneven gasps. His hands clutch the fabric at my back. I wrap my arms around him and hold fast.
“We can face anything,” I murmur against his chest. “Together. So please, summon your shadow.”
Peter swallows hard and drags in a shuddering breath. When he lets go of me, something in him has hardened. His gaze sweeps the dark forest.
“Alright, Wendy Darling,” he says at last. “You win this time. But if this breaks us, remember you asked for it.”
The air shifts immediately. I feel it before I see it. The forest draws inward, shadows thickening until they turn impossibly black. Branches shudder and burst skyward like startled birds.
Mere minutes pass before he steps out of the darkness. Red runes crawl and seethe across his skin, and when his crimson eyes lock onto mine, a wave of blistering fury slams through my chest. Beneath it, deeper still, almost suffocating pain.
My breath stutters. I grab Peter’s hand on instinct, and his heartbeat crashes through our bond, wild and furious.
This is it. The part of him that first bound us together. The part that could destroy us… or finally seal our fate.
I step forward, but Peter yanks me back.
“What is your plan here?” he asks. “You can’t just stitch that beast to me again.”
I tighten my grip on his hand. “I’m not stitching anything,” I say quietly. “You’ve tried to conquer him. That hasn’t worked.” I lift our joined hands between us. “Just don’t let go. Walk with me.”
Peter hesitates. I see the battle playing out in his gaze—uncertainty, anger, and beneath it, a fragile thread of hope. At last, he tightens his grip on my hand and steps forward with me.
The shadow beast looms before us, vast and shifting, a thing of dark mist and snarling fangs.
Its mouth hangs open, red vapor spilling from it in slow, ragged breaths.
Its form wavers between sinew and smoke, unstable and writhing, crimson runes burning beneath the surface like embers trapped under skin.
Its eyes are endless, burning red voids locked on me with a focus that feels almost intimate.
It growls low, so deep it vibrates in my ribs. The air thickens with it, hot and metallic. Shadows crawl outward across the ground, reaching for our feet, but neither of us falters.
I can feel Peter’s tension radiating in waves, his body coiled tight beside me, ready to strike. He wants to tear into it, destroy his shadow once and for all. I squeeze his hand—a silent plea to stay with me.
The beast flicks its gaze to Peter and growls again, a warning, then turns back to me.