Chapter Payment
PAYMENT
EVANDER
Evander was unstable. His mind was fractured, and his body no longer felt like it belonged to him.
Ever since he had lost Typhon, he’d felt… off.
But now, without Mona, he didn’t even know who he was anymore. He had no purpose. No drive. No sense of awareness or belonging.
He was lost. Broken. Irreparable. Even if he did get Mona back, he still didn’t know if he would ever feel whole again.
His pearly wings spread wider, carrying him through the sky.
Every passing day brought more light and vibrance in the air, making the sky feel more real.
The murky fog was slowly dissipating. Evander suspected it was because Cyrus had been chosen as the rightful king of the realm, and now the land was healing itself through that bond.
Cyrus had truly come into his own power. He was the king the people deserved. He knew his place. He belonged here.
Evander envied that. His wings beat harder, the wind whipping at his face as he soared over the rubble-filled lands. This place still had a lot of healing to do, after enduring the horrors of Pandora’s box. It would take ages before it could be restored to its former glory.
But this was a start. Grass was beginning to sprout. Silvery water trickled along the rivers, a promise of more to come. Soon, the souls would have a stream to carry them from one path to the next.
Soon, the realm would be fully mended.
Evander wanted to feel relief. He really did. This place was his home. He understood the dangerous repercussions of a broken Underworld.
But he felt… nothing.
Hollow.
When Romanos had absorbed his magic and Evander had seen Mona—held her, touched her—he had felt nothing but joy. Nothing but the comfort of knowing she was there with him and they could be together.
But each moment made him feel more and more unsettled. As if, every day, another crack formed in his armor, hacking away at the pieces of himself.
His wings pumped harder, and he gritted his teeth as exhaustion filled his bones. He was almost spent. Soon, his ghostly wings and tail and horns would vanish, and he would just be… Evander once more.
But he didn’t even know who that was. Someone without magic. Without a purpose.
Someone powerless.
With a growl of frustration, he arced low, circling the Undead Wilds. He often came here, forcing himself to relive the moment Mona had been taken through the Titans’ portal.
If he hadn’t lost Typhon, he would have been able to save her. He was certain of it.
He’d failed her. He’d failed Prue, too.
He’d failed everyone.
The strength of his wings failed, and he felt them wither away as the ghostly presence of Typhon withdrew. He found himself missing that monstrous voice in his head.
Now, he felt nothing but emptiness.
He landed hard on the ground, dirt and roots scraping his hands and knees. The pain sent a spark of awareness through his body, bringing clarity and focus to his mind.
It was fleeting. Soon, he would withdraw, just like Typhon did. He would fade away to an empty shell. He would cease to exist.
He rolled until his back was against the hard ground as he glared up at the sky. He hated this. All he felt was rage and helplessness. The frantic anxiety coursing through him made him desperate and panicked. He had to do something. He couldn’t just sit around like Cyrus.
He had to take action.
Evander sat up and ran a hand down his face. His eyes closed, and he heaved a weary sigh.
Then, he heard voices.
They were nothing more than whispers, soft but insistent, like hissing snakes.
His eyes opened, and he looked around. The Undead Wilds were nearby. It was likely only the wayward spirits.
Even so, he was deeply curious. And if Cyrus wouldn’t do anything, then perhaps it was up to Evander.
He could talk to the spirits. He could negotiate with them.
He clambered to his feet, brushing leaves and twigs from his body as he made his way to the forest. The whispers grew louder with each step he took. His skin pebbled, and his body prickled with awareness.
The magic here was powerful—powerful enough for him to sense it. He had no magic, but he could feel the energies in the air.
The canopy of trees partially blocked the light of the sky, shrouding Evander in darkness. But still he pressed onward, embracing the murmurs and allowing them to drift over him like soft caresses.
“God of death,” one of them whispered to him. “What brings you to our domain?”
Evander looked around, but he saw nothing. The voices had no bodies. He had seen them materialize before Cyrus. For whatever reason, they had decided not to do so for him.
That was fine. He did not need to see their faces to speak with them.
“You vowed to help Cyrus get Mona and Prue back,” Evander said, his voice firm and unwavering. “I was there when you asked for a drop of his immortality. I know the price you seek, and… I am here to pay it.”
The air filled with frustrated hisses, as if the spirits were upset. “Why does the king not come to us himself?”
“He is seeking other paths first.”
The voices stilled at that. Then, one of them said quietly, “He does not trust us?”
No, Evander wanted to say. But he didn’t want to cause trouble between Cyrus and the spirits. So, instead, Evander said, “He intends to enlist your help once he formulates a plan. But I cannot wait that long.”
The voices purred around him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “Impatience. So unbecoming of a young god such as yourself.”
“I don’t care,” Evander snarled. “I will not let Mona suffer. I will not stand idly by while she is in danger.”
“Is that what you think the king is doing? Being idle?”
“No. But—”
“Does he appreciate your subordination?”
“I am his older brother,” Evander snapped. “He does not command me.”
The words felt vile on his lips. He had never defied Cyrus before. He had always been content to abide by Cyrus’s laws and keep to himself.
But perhaps it was time to change that. He did not agree with Cyrus’s methods. And he would not risk Mona’s life.
“We have no bargain with you,” one of the voices crooned.
“Then, let’s strike one,” Evander said without thinking. “Let me make the payment in Cyrus’s place.”
Once more, the spirits fell silent, and the air seemed to pulse with excited energy.
Shit, Evander thought. What have I done?
But he couldn’t take the words back. And, if the spirits managed to find Mona for him, he would not regret it.
Of that he was certain.
“You would give your immortality to us?” asked a voice, tinged with disbelief.
Evander swallowed hard. Would he?
If they demanded his life, he would give it, so long as Mona could be safe.
There was nothing he would not give to save her.
“Yes,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering.
The spirits chuckled as if they could sense his desperation. His willingness. His heart drummed erratically inside his chest, a pounding rhythm warning him of going too far.
He ignored the warning.
“Prove your willingness to bargain with us,” said the voices, speaking together as one. It sounded like a hundred spirits were murmuring at once. “Give us a drop of your immortality.”
Evander went rigid, his chest cinching painfully as he realized this was truly happening. There was no turning back after he crossed this line.
He wasn’t ready. Not yet. To buy himself more time, he asked, “Why do you need my immortality anyway? You are already dead.”
The spirits laughed again. “Yes, but with the immortality of a death god, we can live again. We can have a taste of the mortal lives we have craved for millennia. One immortal lifespan from you will feed all of us a morsel of the land of the living.”
Evander held perfectly still. Inside, his pulse thundered even louder. Don’t, don’t, don’t, it seemed to say.
“Will this bargain kill me?” he asked. The logical side of him screamed to see reason, to stop before he made a grave mistake.
But the more dominant side of him shushed this voice. Logic was not in control here. It hadn’t been for a long time.
“Silly god,” the spirits taunted. “It will not kill you. You will simply be as a mortal. Weak and fragile. Your existence will be temporary, but you will still live.”
Evander’s mouth went dry. This sounded like a trick. Deception. Could these spirits lie to him?
“How do I know you won’t simply steal my immortality from me right now and go back on your word?” he asked.
“We will not take it from you until the two earth goddesses are returned,” the spirits vowed. “As a sign of good faith.”
Good faith. Those were the same words the spirits had used with Cyrus, to urge him to offer a drop of his immortality. Evander couldn’t ignore the amusement layered within the voices, as if this entire ordeal were a joke to them.
They thought him a fool. An easy mark. Someone to manipulate.
But… what if they were telling the truth? They might believe him foolish, to offer up something as precious as his immortality. But he had no need of it anymore. His life was empty without Typhon or his magic. He was as good as mortal anyway.
Not much would change for him. He would lose the ghost of Typhon, yes. But it would be a relief to be free of that constant reminder of what he had lost.
And… he would have Mona back.
“One drop of your blood,” the voices whispered. “That’s all we need for now. We will collect the rest of your immortality after the goddesses are safe.”
Before he could second guess his decision, Evander said loudly, “I’ll do it.”
The spirits swarmed around him, a cacophony of murmurs and chants. A breeze whispered against his skin, tousling his hair. Energy churned in the forest, coiling tighter and tighter. The woods were so thick with magic that Evander almost couldn’t breathe.
A single luminescent form materialized before him. He recognized it from the day the spirits had sworn fealty to Cyrus. This was a woman, her hair long and flowing down her back as she smiled mischievously at him.
“Give me your hand, death god,” she said.
Evander stretched out his palm to her, then held perfectly still. Unease roared within him, but he ignored it. This was the right path. It had to be.
The soul drew closer, then slashed something across his palm.
Evander winced. It was so fast, he hadn’t expected the pain. What had she cut him with? And how had she done it, if she was only a spirit?
But she only smiled at him, her teeth gleaming as a droplet of silver blood pooled along the cut on his palm. The spirit held out her hand underneath his, catching the drop before it fell to the earth.
She inhaled deeply, her eyes closing. “Ah… That sweet nectar of immortality. So vibrant. So pure. There is nothing quite like it.” She brought her fingers to her lips and licked Evander’s blood, then made a low humming noise. Around her, the other spirits chanted excitedly.
Evander suppressed a shiver and dropped his arm, then straightened. “How do I find the goddesses?”
“The way to the Titans is simple, death god,” the spirit said. “You must find the one place without magic. The one place where the blood of the gods is useless.”
Evander blinked, not understanding. “Where is that?”
The woman’s smile widened, as if she thoroughly enjoyed his confusion. “It is in the mortal realm. Unseen by prying eyes, and hidden from mortal minds.”
Evander shook his head. “Speak plainly, please!”
The woman laughed, the sound echoing around him. Her form began to fade.
“Wait!” Evander stepped toward her, panic flooding his chest. “Please! I cannot give you my immortality until I find her.”
The woman’s form brightened, and she tilted her head at him, considering this. “The mortal realm is much changed since I last saw it. But I believe the name of the land you seek is called Rhea.”
Before Evander could reply, the spirit vanished, and the echoes of the voices around him faded. After a moment, nothing but dead silence surrounded him, the stillness so jarring it made his insides churn.
He was panting as if he’d been sprinting, his chest heaving and his mind spinning. He turned to leave—prepared to travel through the portal to get to the Realm of Gaia—when he noticed a figure standing by a large oak tree, his face pale and his jaw slack.
“Evander,” Cyrus said weakly. “What the hell have you done?”