His essence spreads faster than I can track, racing through roots and stone and air, turning the land itself into a conduit for his dying light. I cannot confront him directly. I cannot bind him. No blade or word or rite can contain a god who has decided to burn the world rather than leave it.
And worse?—
His death is unfinished.
That is the truth that twists cold and sharp inside my chest.
As long as his essence continues to rupture outward, it destabilizes everything around it. Me. Her. Reality itself. The stability of this plane, and thereby the delicate equilibrium of the scales.
He threatens more than he knows.
I can hold his power at bay for a time—but not indefinitely. Horsemen were never meant to absorb the death of old gods. We are instruments of balance, not vessels for divine collapse.
Balance.
The word settles into me like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples outward.
Balance has always been my purpose. To take life and give it new meaning, a new purpose.
My gaze drops to Eridessa in my arms, and something inside me tightens, then stills. Time takes a breath, a great heavy pause as my mind works. The faint aura that once clung to her is thinning, dimming. Her holy light is fading. She’s dying, cradled in my arms, and I refuse to let her.
We do not end here, love.
The vow settles deep in my heart, echoing with every beat. I bind her to me—not just in thought, but in devotion, in honor. A promise made in silence, yet declared with everything I am.
Eridessa fights to save what she loves.
Dagda fights to destroy what remains.
And I stand between them—not powerless, not helpless, not yet undone.
I look down at her, truly look—and I do not see the ruin of her body. I do not see the blackened burns, the scorched hair, the flesh marred where freckles once danced across sun-warmed skin.
I see her soul.
Unbroken. Brilliant. Forged by trial and sharpened by compassion.
I see the woman who challenged me when I thought myself beyond reproach. The defiance in her spine when she believed me her enemy. Her stubbornness to be independent to make it up that damn cliff face, injured or not. The revelations of an innocence lost through no fault of her own. The careful, hard-won trust she offered in pieces, never lightly given. I see her wavering feelings for me while we were in the stable. Her fierce faith and stalwart heart, believing in a future no god had promised. The selfless sacrifice to save all but herself. As if the world might yet be redeemed through her gentleness alone.
She is worth saving. Truly. If there were only one life I could spare in this world, it would be hers.
My Chosen.
I clutch her tighter and press a gentle kiss to her forehead, sealing our fates.
If she can give her life for those she loves, then I will give everything I am for her. Because I would rather join her in death than have her stolen from me. I will not spend eternity haunted by what might have been.
Another refusal. Another vow.
I won’t part from her. Nor let her from me.
I lower her gently to the ground, reverent, as though laying her upon a bed of spring flowers or an altar in the holiest of places.
I lift her hand and press a kiss to her burned knuckles, lingering there before placing both hands over her heart—over the place where her courage has always lived.
“Do not leave me, Eliora,” I murmur, though she cannot hear me. “Hold on to your light and stay in this world. It needs you… as do I. The afterlife can wait. I’m not yet finished showing you all the ways I can love you.”
My voice falters.
