30. Find Her
Chapter thirty
Find Her
Athanasius
The earth cracks beneath my fist.
Power sears through my arm, sinking into the soil like a venomous promise.
The ground groans, shudders, then splits open in long, jagged scars.
Wraiths—my faithful devourers—drag themselves free from the dirt, slick with shadow and malice.
Their empty eyes shimmer faintly, catching the glow of my tattoos.
They bow low. As they should. Whispering and wavering like mirages in front of my gaze.
“Find the mage,” I command. “Find Ione. Report. Only report. Do not touch her, or I’ll tear your essence apart thread by thread and scatter it across ten thousand cursed moons.”
They incline their heads, bowing low before vanishing without a sound, melting back into the earth like smoke into nightfall.
I exhale, slow and sharp. The rage coiled beneath my skin doesn’t ease—it never does—but directing it gives it shape. Purpose.
Luciara, ever the cautious sun between branches to my blessed moonlight, approaches. Her antlers glint in the dim light like the twisted crown of a forest queen, and her voice is velvet-soft, lined with warning. “That was dangerous,” she says. “Wraiths are violent. Unpredictable.”
“I am dangerous,” I reply coldly, not bothering to look at her. “They bend to me. Like everything else. You may leave now, sister.”
She doesn’t, of course. None of them know how to leave well enough.
Chronomir’s dry scoff rings out as he steps forward, all time-worn wisdom and infuriating balance.
“Yes, yes. Go find your precious Ione. But don’t forget what you’ve become.
Your power has returned, Athanasius. You’re not a mortal fool chasing affection.
You are a Primordial. Our seats of power call to us.
You should return. Settle into what you are. ”
“I am what I am,” I snarl. “And nothing matters more than her. The world will wait. The stars will wait. Even time will wait.” How has she done this?
Crawled so deeply into my skin that I cannot imagine her anywhere but by my side?
It is a weakness, but I will not lie to myself, I'd fall into her honeyed words again and again.
“I don’t wait,” Moireth says softly, stepping closer, her fate-threads dancing around her wrists like whispers of prophecy. “But I will help. If you—”
“No.” I cut her off with a flick of my hand. “You have your power. You have your path. Leave. I will find her myself. And when I do, I’ll grind the mage to dust and scatter him to the winds.”
Luciara frowns. “This is a trap, Athanasius. You know it. He took her to hurt you. He wants you reckless. You cannot be killed, but she can…" Luciara sighs. "You don’t know what he’s doing to her.” Her voice tightens. “If you love her, you’ll think this through. Carefully.”
I round on her, power bleeding from my skin in thick waves.
“Wait? You want me to wait?” My voice cracks like a whip.
“I felt her pain. I feel it still. She’s longing for me, crying for me in silence.
Her soul calls to mine like a drowned song—and it torments me.
” My claws dig into my palms, silver light seeping between my fingers.
“She belongs to me. Every strand of hair, every inch of skin, every breath she takes is mine. And I will not rest—cannot rest—until I have her in my arms once more. To take or harm a consort is a crime. A curse. And it ends in death. The mage will suffer.”
Moireth nods slowly. “I agree. But remember her comfort, Athanasius. The body remembers pain. Too much of it, and she won’t be the Ione you knew. She’ll turn into someone else.”
Chronomir narrows his gaze. “She’s in a place where time is not... fixed. It moves slow, but it’s still here. The mage was the leader of his circle for a reason. To hide from a Primordial? That’s no small feat.”
“I will have my vengeance,” I whisper, teeth bared. “And first—his descendants.”
They gasp. Plead. I don’t listen.
I already decided.
The first house burns in seconds.
Their blood coats the walls, their screams swallowed by shadows.
The second house—Europe—crumbles beneath the weight of my wrath. Wards shatter. Children cry. My mercy does not exist.
The third, North Africa, is sacred ground no longer.
The fourth—Mediterranean—is silent before the wind catches my cloak again.
By the time I return to her home, night clings to the air like a mourning shroud.
It’s too quiet. I step through the threshold like a ghost of war.
Her scent still lingers—barely. Roses and something warmer.
Soft. Human. Hers. I walk to her bedroom, silent as death, and bury my face into her pillow.
She’s thickest here.
My arms tremble, and I shred the pillow in two with a vicious snarl, feathers flying like ash. My chest heaves. “I will find you,” I whisper to the shadows, to the scent of her. “And nothing—not time, not traps, not mages or ghosts—will stop me.”
And when I do?
The mage will wish for death, my mercy depends on my anger, and I am seething with it.