Malvor stepped back into Arbor like a man returning from war.
The portal snapped shut behind him with a sound like exhausted magic. The house, sensing his presence, shifted instantly—walls breathing out, shadows curling away, lights softening to a warm amber hush.
It felt like exhaling.
He didn't move at first.
Just stood there, coat still smelling faintly of divine smoke and ruined sanctuaries, and let himself feel it.
She was here.
The bond tugged at him—steady, quiet, warm. Asleep.
Arbor pulsed gently in response, like a silent nod. Yes. She's still resting.
He didn't let himself rush. Not quite. But his feet found the bedroom before he gave them permission.
And there she was.
Tangled in the blankets, one arm curled under her cheek, her lips slightly parted, her breath slow and even. A faint crease still marred her brow—residual tension from a life that had never let her fully relax—but it was softer now. Unwound. Real sleep.
Malvor's shoulders dropped. Something inside him unclenched.
She was okay.
He crossed the room with soundless steps and stood at the edge of the bed, just watching her. Letting the moment stretch, holy and hushed.
Then—
He turned, headed to the kitchen.
It was time for coffee.
But not the dramatic kind.
Not the weaponized caffeine or black-as-the-pits-of-chaos brew he usually conjured for himself.
This was Annie's coffee.
He conjured it the way she liked: half coffee, half chocolate, cream laced with warmth. A little cinnamon on top. A swirl of soft magic to keep it hot without scorching.
He held the mug for a moment, staring into the faint steam curling above it.
Then brought it back to her room.
Set it gently on her nightstand.
He didn't wake her.
He didn't want to.
Instead, he slid beneath the covers behind her, moving with the same reverence he reserved for ruins and runes and fragile things he didn't want to break.
His arm curled around her waist.
His face tucked into the back of her neck.
And for the first time since Aerion's realm crumbled beneath his wrath, Malvor let himself breathe.
She stirred faintly. A soft sigh. Her body shifted toward his, automatically, like her soul knew the shape of him even in sleep.
He held her tighter.
Pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
"I'm home," he whispered into her skin.
"You're safe."
He didn't need sleep. Not yet.
He just needed her.
So he lay there, listening to the sound of her breathing, memorizing the rhythm of her sleep—
Annie blinked, tilting her head.
The scent of chocolate and cinnamon pulled her the rest of the way awake.
She turned slightly, just enough to see him behind her, Malvor, already awake, already watching her like she was the sunrise. His arm was still wrapped around her waist, but his other hand reached across her body, plucking the mug from the nightstand.
He offered it wordlessly.
She took it with both hands, warm and drowsy, fingers brushing his as she sipped.
A soft moan escaped her lips.
Malvor grinned into her shoulder. "You sound like that for the coffee, but I have to earn it."
She leaned back into his chest, her voice still raspy with sleep. "The coffee never leaves."
He let out a dramatic gasp. "Betrayed by beans."
She sipped again and tilted her head just enough to nuzzle into his jaw. "You are still my favorite."
Malvor's breath caught.
Just a little.
"The world's still burning," he muttered as he stirred the coffee. "But at least I can do this."
She looked whole, so he let himself believe it. Just for today. Just long enough to make her coffee and pretend the gods weren't sharpening their teeth.
Her hand reached back to rest against his thigh, grounding. Her lips brushed the underside of his jaw, lazy and affectionate.
"You came back," she murmured, the words half-muffled against his skin.
"Of course I did," he whispered. "I told them I would."
She hummed. "You smell like old gods and righteous rage."
He kissed her temple. "And you smell like sleep and absolution."
They stayed like that, wrapped in shared breath and warmth, the mug still between her hands, his arms holding her like she'd slip into the stars if he let go.
Arbor, never one to let a moment linger too long, sighed through the walls.
And opened a door that hadn't existed the day before.
Beyond the threshold: a misty clearing bathed in soft morning light, dew-kissed grass swaying gently, and in the center of it all—
Karma.
The warhorse stood like a monument, broad and proud and familiar. His black coat gleamed faintly, breath steaming in the cool air. A low whicker rumbled from his throat when he saw her.
Her breath caught. Her legs moved before she could think.
She hadn't realized how much she missed him.
How deeply the absence of something steady, something hers, had left her aching.
She stepped into the clearing barefoot, mist curling around her ankles. When she reached him, Karma didn't flinch. Didn't rear. Didn't protest.
She laid a hand on his warm, massive flank, the heat of him grounding her instantly.
"Did you miss me, too?" she whispered.
He huffed softly and lowered his massive head, pressing it right to her chest.
Like he had never stopped waiting.
Like of course, he missed her.
Her fingers threaded into his coarse mane, her face buried against the side of his neck. She didn't cry.
But her smile was wet.
The first real smile in days.
She leaned against him for a while, just breathing, letting the quiet hum of his presence fill something hollow inside her.
From the doorway, Malvor leaned against the frame, arms crossed, saying nothing.
Letting her have this.
Until he finally, cautiously, stepped into the clearing.
And Karma—
Instantly tried to bite him.
"Oi! Bloody Beast!" Malvor yelped, jumping back as teeth snapped at his sleeve. "I'm not even doing anything!"
Karma's ears flattened.
Annie turned, wiping her face, half laughing. "He doesn't like anyone but me."
Malvor eyed the horse like he was weighing the odds of getting drop kicked.
"I see that."
He took another step.
Karma took one, too. In his direction.
Malvor put his hands up and backed away. "Fine. I get it. You're her terrifying emotional support horse and I'm the intruder. Understood."
Karma snorted triumphantly.
Annie laughed.
And just like that, something in her ribs stopped hurting.
Annie stroked Karma's thick neck, running her fingers through his tangled mane with a kind of soft reverence.
"Oh, look at you," she murmured in that high, doting voice reserved only for him. "You big gorgeous baby. Did they feed you enough? Did they brush you? Hmm? Oh, you poor thing, look at those hooves. Just shameful."
Karma stomped one massive hoof like he agreed.
Malvor stood several feet away, arms crossed, one brow arched dangerously high.
"You do realize that thing is basically a death machine, right?"
Annie didn't even glance back. "He is not a death machine. He is a baby. My sweet baby angel boy."
Karma flicked his ears smugly.
Malvor scoffed. "That 'angel boy' just tried to rip my sleeve off."
"He's discerning," Annie replied sweetly. "He has excellent taste."
"He has murder in his eyes."
"I can fix that," she said with a grin. "Want me to sick him on you?"
Malvor took one giant, theatrical step back. "Don't you dare."
Karma neighed loudly, clearly enjoying the banter, or plotting Malvor's demise.
Annie giggled, scratching behind the horse's ear. "He is just protective. And he missed me."
Malvor muttered something about being replaced by a jealous four-legged monster as Annie climbed up in one smooth motion, settling onto Karma's broad back like she'd never left.
No saddle. No bridle. Just her and the horse.
Bareback.
Just how Karma liked.
He whinnied once and reared slightly before launching into a smooth canter across the misty clearing, his hooves silent against the grass. Annie leaned forward with ease, her laughter echoing behind her.
She was radiant.
And Malvor, watching her ride into the mist, wind tugging at her hair, her back straight and sure, could not help but fall in love all over again.
Even if her "baby" wanted him dead.