☆

THE TRUCE had come as a surprise. Even though Axion had been the one to suggest it, the mere idea such words could form on his tongue, let alone be spoken out loud, and with sincerity no less, confused him. But he had offered to take Abby to the Dusk Stag, in exchange for her trust.

It certainly wasn't the kind of deal he was used to giving, as it benefited him in no real way, but Abby had defended him in Darkmoore, had believed in him, had looked at him as though she could read the truth written amongst his stars, as his mother had. And he wanted her to continue believing in him, even if it got him nothing in return.

Perhaps he was not so hollow, as he assumed.

Abby agreed but was slow to trust him. He offered his hand, and she rebuked it, seeking to navigate the treacherous caverns beneath the Dying City on her own. Admirable, if not idiotic and potentially fatal. She'd give him looks, each more scathing than the last, her eyes lingering on his fingers as though they each were a root hungry for an offering of flesh.

And so they began their journey, feet apart, glowers all the pair exchanged. Axion headed up their expedition seeing the dark caverns and their many pitfalls with ease. Abby walked behind him, mindful of where she stepped, carefully feeling for deep splits in the stone, sprawling roots, and sharp neetles.

She avoided him, until she couldn't. Until the cavern constricted around them, and they were forced to stand shoulder to shoulder. Once, the narrowed path had been considered an asset, the underground tunnels leading to and from the castle a royal secret. The size and location deterred any curious young Shadlings wishing to uncover the castle's secrets or ambitious, greed-led thieves seeking discreet passage to the castle vault.

Axion, when he was still wide-eyed and fresh, and his skin dazzled with the emotion of his stars, had explored these caverns when he was without his tutors, their dull lectures on Shadling policy no longer stinging his ears. He'd crawled through the tunnels on hands and knees, cold, and unsure, and choking on the mold in the air. 

One day, he made it to the heart of the tunnels and discovered what secrets truly awaited him beneath the castle. But it wasn't the treasure that had spurred on his disobedience, but a pair of eyes, sharp and endless black, housing a thousand realms. A head adorned with long horns as sharp as spear heads, off which hung galaxies. It's nostrils leaked fire and light, all things that birthed life. And when the great beast caught Axion staring, it peeled back a mouth as dark as Axion's father's throne, and the chains wreathed around the animal's neck, and over its belly, and down it legs, pooling on the floor beneath, gave a horrendous screech. 

Axion had run. Axion had pledged never to return. And yet--

"Axion--"

With the stone amplifying her voice, a string of his name rose up, piercing his ears like a song. He didn't much like it, and he had heard many a drunk song belted at taverns all over the Eridan. But despite the detest he felt for the song, Axion responded, angling his chin to met her gaze. Immediately, Abby shifted away from him, not that the space afforded her much room. Their shoulders still touched much as she might have hated it. 

Axion waited. Abby took interest in the conical stones dangling from the ceiling. They were slick from magick-infused water, and glowed a soft blue. Finally, as she ran her fingers down one, marveling in the way the blue clung to her skin, she asked, "Why did you take me along?"

A gust of wind crept below Axion's sleeve and raised it, exposing the skin on his forearm. There, a trio of stars flashed white, his body imploring him to be honest. Instead, he tugged his sleeve down, tilted his head, and smirked. His attitude flippant, arrogant, dismissive. The air around them chilled. "I don't know."

Abby narrowed her eyes, running a wet finger over the front of her shirt. She shook her head. "No. That's a lie." 

Heat lashed Axion's wrist. He was sure a comet streaked across his wrist. In his youth, he had regarded his stars a blessing, an undeniable marker of his Evernight blood. But after being summoned to the throne room and commanded to slaughter his mother, he viewed his skin as a betrayal, his stars each a blade that left him in pieces in their wake. Some nights he wished his stars would die, and his skin would harden and he'd grow dark and smooth and tight. Impenetrable.

But all he'd done was make himself prone to breaking.

"We're almost there."  He gave a dismissive flash of his hand and nodded down the tunnel. "The dungeons rest on the other side of that door." He couldn't see the door, but knew it from memory - an ugly shape stuck in the tunnel, the wood biting, the handle not budging without a swell force. 

The back of his neck burned. Axion knew the dungeons well. He'd been housed there for a time, at his father's request. His nights had been filled with agony, blood pouring from his wrists, flesh sluicing off bone, all feeling banished from his arms and legs. His mind crazed from hunger and pain.

When he had been released, he vowed to never return. And yet here he was. 

Was the girl really worth it?

"Axion."

He glanced at her sideways. Boring, dirty. Out of breath. Eyes asking, always asking him for something. No, he decided then. Abby was not worth it.

And then he felt her fingers weave around his arm, begging him to come to a stop. He did so as warmth from their contact seeped into his skin. In response, his stars became pools of melted gold, staining his cheeks, covering his neck. It was a meager, momentary happiness, but he would allow himself no more. He did not deserve more.

"Why am I here?"

He pulled away from her, much as he could, though their shoulders still touched and the transfer of warmth continued. "Whim," he said, decidedly more interested in the ruffled cuff of his sleeve then in her reaction. "I did it on whim."

Air whistled between her teeth. "No," she slammed her shoes on the ground, "you didn't. You don't do anything on whim."

Axion shrugged. "Consider it a mere accident then and the matter settled." He turned slightly, intent to continue their journey, but Abby's hand found his arm again and coiled around it, tighter. He grimaced. "You fell. My arms caught you and we--" An urge to flash his teeth, to hiss and snarl and scare her away overcame him. But she had not pushed her mangy Aelurian companions aside when they showed their beastly sides and he doubted she'd treat him any differently.

"Why do you continue to lie? Let me hear the truth. Please."

A sigh slipped between his teeth. Axion's gaze flitted from her face, to the stone, to the wooden door in the distance. "You're maddening," he said, raking a hand through his hair.

The edges of Abby's lips curled like the pages of a well-loved book. "I've been told as much."

He raised his head, jutted his chin, and blanketed himself in a superior air. "And you're an idiot as well." Only an idiot would enter the Hollows unprepared, unguarded and with every disadvantage possible to pluck an antidote and save that contemptible cat king.  

"I've been told as much." Her reply was paired with widening smile, until it felt like all she was was a smile, one that held all of Axion's attention. Heat returned to Axion's face. He shifted awkwardly. "By you," she continued, her words separated by a delighted chuckle, "earlier today, in fact."

His eyes found the ground. Suddenly he felt too idle. He wanted to run, from Abby and the Dusk Stag and all this bother about dying magick. What did it matter? Their destinies had already been written. "And does it matter?" He desperately wanted to go back to the comfort of the taverns and chat and ponder about trivial things and not relive past mistakes. 

"Axion?"

But he also desired answers. If Abby knew of the fires she stoked inside of him with every one of her looks – the pitying, disappointed, or blindly hopeful – and each awful sentence she spat from her mouth – condemning his lies, defending her misplaced trust in him, insisting they were friends – would she be repelled? Or would she welcome such behavior? 

He stared into her face. "Does what I say really matter to you?"

Confusion came and went in a blink and when she gazed back at him, she smiled. "Of course it does and I'd like to hear the truth, if you don't mind."

He nodded, knowing he fought a losing battle. Against Abby, he'd lose every time. "Not here then." Her smile wavered. "Up ahead's the way to the dungeons. Once inside, we can take a little respite in the jailor's office." 

"Wh--"

His gaze lingered on her eyes, the skin underneath them too dark, the whites murky and rimmed red. "I'm sure you're tired." 

She nodded. 

"And cold." His gaze dipped. Her bare skin was bumpy, her fingers a faint blue, and not the kind typical of magick.

"I'm fine." She crossed her arms in protest. 

"You're freezing." 

Abby blushed, shoving her hands into her pockets.  "A bit," she acquiesced. 

He smiled, slipping his jacket off. "Don't lie," he said, resting it on her shoulders. Abby's eyes widened as he ran his hands over his jacket's sleeves, smoothing them down over her arms. "You're honestly dreadful at it."

"Thank you, Ax--"

"Ah--" With a finger, nothing more, nothing less, he silenced her. "Don't go thanking me yet. That jacket's my favorite. And I imagine once Chryn gets all the filth and blood removed, it will be my favorite again." His eyes narrowed, and he flashed a playful grin. "Get one more stain on it and you're paying the cleaning cost."

"Fine." Abby tugged the jacket close. "I'll be careful."

"Good girl." Turning to face the dungeon, Axion gave Abby one last glance. "Now let's get out of here. I do so hate tunnels that drip." 

She smiled and nodded, the color already returning to her fingers.

*

Once in the dungeon, it didn't take long before they stumbled across the jailor's office. It was a small room set off to the corner, sandwiched between another wet, slab of rock and a supply closet. Axion collected what wasn't too rotted, bits of desks and tattered parchment, and broken bookshelves and started a fire.

He sat on one side, back against the wall, Abby the other, Axion's jacket draped over her shoulders. It didn't take long before she was asleep.

Abby dreamed of smoke. She was thirteen, standing beneath her father's study, the etched fish heads staring her down. He'd had the glass handcrafted from a shop in Triad, he'd heard had been frequented by nobles. When Abby asked why he'd paid so much for fish glass, he'd told her he wanted to remember where he came from. The fish were crying then, eyes hollow, reflecting nothing. Their bellies filled with smoke and their noble fins began to sag. The glass was melting.  Abby cried too, knowing what came next. The house shuddered, and beams snapped and part of roof collapsed. The glowing tip of her father's cigarette multiplied, until thousands of them filled the window. Flames lashed out from the lower levels as overwhelming heat caused the windows to shatter. 

And then her father was between his once-proud fish, his skin blackened, his tie undone and scorched. Tears were running down his soot-stained face and he smiled. But Abby did not have it in her to smile back. She had nothing left to give.

She stood next in a great sea. Cold, grey smoke clung to her calves. She lost her lower half among the thickness of the smoke. She walked. Directionless. Never sure if her feet found sturdy grounding. But she kept going as her mother instructed her, one foot in front of the other. It would take her somewhere, and maybe that somewhere was where she ought to be.

Above her, there was no moon or stars to provide light. There was smoke, undulating and chilling. Filling up her lungs, clouding her mind, grabbing at her clothes with desperate fingers eager to pull her down, down, dow—

A break. A flat land of grey sand and blackened driftwood. The smoke sea crashed broke against boulders of black rock that sat like monster bones in the bay. Abby ran toward  the only thing that wasn't smoke.

She stopped, realized it was a graveyard and jolted awake.

"You were tossing and turning so much I thought you were dying."

Abby rolled on her side, chest heaving, face slick with sweat. Axion sat behind a dwindling fire, plucking at his trousers. "Not dying," she choked out. 

A smile formed on his lips. "No, I suppose it'd take a lot more to fell you."

Abby shifted, running her hands along Axion's jacket. She grinned, but it was awkwardly placed, straining her lips, making something so natural feel so foreign. "I imagine," she started, the fire making shadows dance across the room. "It'd take several drygons to fell me. A wizard too, and someone practiced in the elements. Someone like the Wizard Kell--"

"What did you see?"

Her eyes fell to the ground. 

"Abby?"

How could she explain she saw dead things and sad things and things that didn't make sense?

"Let me guess." Axion leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. He cradled his head in his hands and  peered through the flames. "The Smokesea."

A yelp, panicked and surprised, escaped her.

Satisfied, Axion sat back, nodding at the key hanging around her neck. Abby's hand rose to instinctively cradle it. 

"A Worlds-key, created to take you to the across the Eridan. And so it's shown you where all the paths converge - the Crossroads. Admirable piece of magick, no?"

"Everything looked destroyed."

He nodded. "It would considering most doors to the Eridan have crumbled." His eyes flicked to her face. "I used to see it too, you know." His voice was barely there like a memory at the mercy of time. "Surprised?"

Abby nodded.

"As you should be. I've never spoken of it to anyone." His gaze drifted to the floor. He dragged a shoe along a cobblestone, creating a rut in the dust. "My mother spoke fondly of the Smokesea and the island at its center. It connected all the Eridan, she said, a place of true magick." Abby's fingers tightened around the sharp, black teeth of Lucy's parting gift - the key believed to unlock the road to and from Aelurus.

"I'd dream of sailing that sea," Axion's stars flickered, "of finding that island and visiting the different realms." He raked his fingers through his hair, undoing a few strands from the tie that held them at the base of his neck. "It's been a long time since I last dreamed."

"Axion—" Cautiously, Abby rose and rounded the fire. "Why did you bring me here?"

His gaze floated to her face. He reached out, fingers grazing her cheek. Though his touch lasted seconds, her flesh stung as though she'd withstood a blizzard in only her nightclothes. He withdrew his arm, the darkness a physical marker of the distance he was placing between them.

"Ah yes, you did mention an annoying desire to know the truth."

She nodded.

He gazed into her eyes. "I heard my heart," his words were barely a whisper heard above the crackling of cinders, and scrape of shoes across the stone, "and I listened."

He turned away from her, denying her a chance to respond. "I promised you the Dusk Stag." He headed toward the far corner of the room. There stood a rusted, barred door. With a yank, he peeled it back. "This way..." Darkness spread out beyond the door. Dread expanded in Abby's stomach. A trickle of sweat ran down her cheek. "Do keep up. I fear if we linger too long, I'll lose my resolve."

"Resolve?" Abby took an unsteady step forward, bracing herself against the wall for stability. The sea from her dreams had her unnerved. "Resolve for what?"

Axion glanced at her, his hands balling at his sides. All his stars had gathered at his knuckles, turning them a blinding white. "To do what's right." He laughed, though it sounded more like a cry. "It's never been what I'm best at."

Before another question to slip past her lips, Axion was sweeping out of the room. With his back toward her, Abby followed him into the gloom.

She did as she was instructed, keeping as close to him as she dared. She came to resent leaving the blanket behind; being so near to Axion meant being exposed to the cold he naturally gave off. And their surroundings weren't helping. The air was freezing from being so deep underground and no torches burned to light their path. The lack of windows made it impossible to tell the hour of the day.

Only Axion's stars provided light, and even then, with all of them shining brightly, they barely managed to illuminate the ground. She was mired in cold and dark. And quickly losing the battle against the shivers scurrying up her spine.

Abby rubbed her hands together as they walked to keep her fingers from going numb.

They walked. And walked. To the sound of water dripping down the walls. To the smell of stale, moldy air that grew more stifled the further they went. A few paces in front of her Axion stopped before a large, black door. Abby felt the pressure of immense magick barring down on her shoulders.

Axion, back still turned toward her, forced the door open. A gush of cool air slapped her cheeks. Unlike the air she'd been breathing up until then, this air was sweet and smelled of grass. She was taken back to her time on the Hill, seated in her mother's grove as she watched the ships cut trails through Laos's harbor.

Axion entered first, keeping the door open for Abby. She followed, and was immediately frozen still.

A pair of black eyes fell on her, a void and yet impossibly bright. They belonged to a beast at the center of the room. It was three times its size and when it snorted, and smoke puffed from its nostrils, the chains engulfing its body rattled. It laid on the ground, breath heavy, it's massive chest rising and falling with staggered shudders. Its head was crowned in black antlers off which dripped stars and moons and more chains.

"And this is—"

He nodded. "The Dusk Stag."

Abby moved closer and realized the stag was scarred. Scratches wound around its neck, gashes ran the length of its flank. Flesh as dark and shiny as nightsilk sagged off its ribs. 

She turned to face him, bile rising in her throat. "What have you done?"

"I," Axion's voice trembled, "did what I needed to." 

"It's dying." 

He slumped against a wall and fell to his knees. "Yes." 

She walked over to him. "Axion--" 

"My grandfather stole the stag. Thought if he controlled magick, he could control the Eridan." He scoffed. "And when that didn't happen, he plunged the Eridan into war." His eyes grew dark, a peek of tooth spearing his bottom lip. "He failed of course. But he destroyed many homes. He killed many people, before his downfall. My father believed himself a natural successor. The real conqueror of the realms." His eyes swept up to her face. "Then you killed him and put an end to that."

Abby bristled at Axion's pointed look. His mouth parted in a smile. "No need to feel bad. You did what you had to." The stars on his face migrated over his eyes, forming very bright, furrowed, brows.

Abby glanced at her hands, at the fingers curling around her tunic. "He was your father."

"A father doesn't command his son to murder their mother."

Abby jerked her head up, eyes bulging. "He--"

"Among many other horrors, though I'll refrain from getting mired in all the grisly details. I wasn't lying when I said I come from a bloodline of terrors." His smile turned sinister, his black lips peeling back to show off both sets of teeth. But all Abby saw was a friend, someone who had saved her, who had helped her save Sebbi, who had an adorable obsession with sandwiches. And he was in pain.

Without thinking, Abby bent down and wrapped Axion in a hug. "I'm so sorry." Axion shook beneath her embrace. "I didn't know." She squeezed harder. "I'm sorry, Axion."

"Magick is all but dead in the Evernight," he whispered, shivering beneath her touch. "If not for the Dusk Stag, we would have seen the sun rise years ago. I-" his words broke, and his shaking worsened, "--I couldn't let this realm die. If it did, then Mother's--" he choked down a sob, and all his stars glittered white; he'd never looked more sad, "--then killing Mother would have meant nothing. All that blood that poured out of her, that stained the throne room floor for days after, her sacrifice, my guilt would have meant nothing. I would have killed her for my father's whim and I--" he pushed out of Abby's embrace, and held her gaze, "I couldn't live with that." His nails dug into Abby's shoulders, an anchor keeping him here, with her, in this moment. "I chose to hide it from you. To let the other realms die. To condemn hundreds of thousands. Because I'm selfish and--"

"And you want your mother's loss to mean something." Abby looked back at the Dusk Stag and that stars that adorned it. Some were yellow like Mrs. Seiver's crooked smiles. Others a bright orange like the kettle bottoms brewing the evening's brownbark tea, or the color of the sun set over Laos that she had watched on the back veranda with Mimi and her dad. One star glowed red, a cigarette tip burning forever out of reach.

 "I'd want the same," she said, glancing back at Axion.

Every star dappling Axion's skin blinked, before returning and when they did, they all glittered the same dusty pink. "Abby, you don't need to excuse what I've done."

"I'm not. I understand is all."

His arms closed around her, Abby's embrace finally returned.

After a few minutes of silence, they broke apart, Abby settling in beside him. The Dusk Stag watched on, its eyes half-closed. 

"What do we do now?" she asked, unsure of what exactly could be done. Freeing the Dusk Stag should have been a priority, but if they did that, the Evernight would lose its magick, and everyone would die. 

"I don't know, but we can't keep the Dusk Stag imprisoned." 

"Might I offer a solution?" A voice came from the dark. Abby and Axion turned in time to witness a dagger split the world apart. Blue flowed out of the wound and flooded the room. The Dusk Stag raised its head. 

From the magick, stepped Calleighdia and Margo.  The former Archmage curled her mouth, her yellow eyes slitted. Abby's skin crawled with the very notion of putting the fate of the Evernight in her claws. All she'd ever done was rend what was whole, bringing destruction again and again. How could someone so bloodied truly save anyone?

 "Margo." Abby turned toward her friend. "What's going on?" 

The mouse wizardess, whose eyes had been focused on the Dusk Stag, slid her gaze to Abby's face. "We have a plan."