The moment her soles hit the barren crags of a new place, she turned to Valen who regarded her from the corner of his eyes. "Do I still need to be in this dress?" She gestured to the flowing skirt and the tight corset in general, but who knew how it computed into Valen's mind? "I would prefer to be in something I'm comfortable in. Like Roassa's wardrobe."

Valen's red eyes swept across the uneven plain. Past the tall and thick stone walls barring their way towards something, nothing but pointed rocks and jagged paths crawled away from them. A sheet of green-gray mist hung over their heads and swept by their feet. Apart from those, the world was tranquil, with not a sign of disturbance. Paradise, indeed.

"Are you certain?" he clarified, a hint of hesitance creeping into his words. "My sister has a habit of overcompensating. I do not want you to feel underdressed."

The image of Prisca's grand entrance flashed into the front of Mavyn's mind. Yes, that was enough to make her self-conscious even with Valen's fashion skills. But this was a normal day, and Prisca must be dead tired maintaining Paradise. "It should be fine," she said with a small nod. "Get me trousers or something."

Valen waved his hand with a half-sigh. Soft prickles of magic washed over her, taking away the skirts in a swish. A gasp escaped her lips in relief when the corset evaporated to nothing. She had never seen it happen before, but dark cloth wove itself from nothing before wrapping around her body in swathes of silk and satin until a studded suit like Roassa's hung in her frame. The Living World only afforded her dresses and loose blouses paired with skirts. Never had she been stuffed into an apparel meant for men.

It was amazing.

A throat clearing tore Mavyn's attention from the ease and freedom the trousers gave her. She turned to Valen who tucked his hands into his pockets. "Shall we?" was all he said, offering her an arm for her to cling to.

Mavyn had a split second to decide whether to appear as a proper wife or to forge ahead without his help. She chose the latter. They could always keep up the appearances when there were people to please. If Valen was hurt by that, he didn't make a fuss, following her path through a pair of enormous gates bedecked with sparkling diamonds.

With the daily death tolls even just in Krauss, it was a wonder how everything was quiet and still. No spirits milled about like how she observed them outside the windows of the Judgment Seat. The wind blew in cool bursts, shuffling her hair which Valen let down from its cage. It wasn't enough to push her off her feet, unlike torrential blasts of summer storms back home.

They strode past the open gates, and as they cleared the adorned arch, the doors groaned to a close. The sound of locks being bolted echoed in her wake. If she needed to run for her life, it wouldn't be through that.

But why would she need to run? She was in axes-damned Paradise, and the myths barely did it justice. The Garden of Eden stretched out before her, and with Valen at her side, taking it in as he would a mortal dying, it made everything more...real.

Trees as tall as the heavens towered over them, while the smaller ones flanked their way in hazy groves. The ethereal light curling off their leaves, trunks, and flowers guided their way across the forest in chaotic yet pleasing art. When Mavyn looked down, she realized only one path led through the thick foliage, and instead of dark and smooth cobblestones, splotches of gold, silver, and diamonds paved their way in random intervals, forming another abstract mural beneath their steps. Shrubs with precious stones growing right out of their branches lined the winding trail. If the noblewomen from town saw this, they'd lose their puny minds.

However, if the myths were true, then taking anything from this Garden and bringing them to the Land of the Living would bring ruin and curses on everyone who were involved. Even as a witch, Mavyn preferred staying out of a curse's way when she could. They were as tricky to remove as ticks in the blood.

It was quiet, which was uncharacteristic of a domain where the souls of the upright end up. Did it mean there wasn't anyone worthy of Paradise all these years, or were they simply hiding deep in the forest? If ever she ended up here, she wouldn't ever want to wander outside and greet strangers either, so it made sense.

Valen led her through the endless path, his eyes trained straight at the unseen horizon. Screeches and foreign calls of critters and larger beasts rang in the deep darkness, accentuated by brief whizzes and stark rustling. Mavyn stepped closer to Valen, not because she was afraid. If she ever needed to run from a rampaging beast, she needed someone to push into its way first as a distraction.

When the path widened enough to a clearing, another small fortress blocked their way. Unlike the smooth quarry of the walls they just left, the pillars of the new refuge boasted piles of smooth stones stamped over each other in a prism. Glass lamps with bouts of blue flames flickering inside them guarded the pillars with vigilance meant for armed sentries. If Mavyn made a wrong step, would those shoot spells through the pinions and fry her to a crisp?

Valen didn't mind her apprehension, trudging towards the iron-wrought gates erected between the pillars. The biggest interval of them all boasted an arched gate reminding her of the Krauss Cathedral's backdoor towards its local graveyard. Like it, vines and thorns crawled along the cold metal grates, and the hinges creaked with passion when Valen pushed the gate open. Mavyn drew closer, looping her hand around the crook of his arm. If this was what she believed it was, they needed to snap to their roles quickly.

Together, they strode into another world. What hit her senses first was the smell of flowers wafting in the air. Not individual scents fighting for dominance; more like a congealed mass of both exotic and common odors pertaining to flowers. Kind of how the streets of the city square blossomed whenever a dead noble held a procession. It was so thick it invaded every sense in Mavyn's mind, leaving nothing but its impression in her thoughts.

She whipped her gaze around to find where it came from. Instead, her eyes landed on a woman kneeling in front of a ghostly apparition of a fawn, scratching its chin and running a hand down its back. "There, there," Prisca said softly. "Do not be scared, little one. You are merely passing through."

Mavyn's jaw parted when the fawn, devoid of its color, leaped out of Prisca's hold, bounding in excited steps before ramming empty air. In a blink, it disappeared in an explosion of smoke-like wisps curling towards the Land of the Living. "What just happened?" she ventured. When she realized she spoke aloud, she covered her mouth with her fingers. "I apologize," she said to Prisca with a quick duck of her head. "I have spoken out of turn."

The Kathari rose from the ground. Despite being dressed only in a white, loose gown, Mavyn didn't fail to notice how each strand was laced with glinting sapphires pressed to be as thin as threads. Stitches resembling stars, flowers, and the waves decorated the flowing skirt and the train curled around her feet. Her hair, reminiscent of a waterfall with its delicate yet forceful torrent, guarded her back in luscious curls. Like the child Valen introduced as the other form of the Monarch, a halo of light formed a crown around Prisca's head, dousing her midnight skin with stellar brilliance. Her eyes, red as a blood moon during an eclipse, found Mavyn's.

"Worry not, my gleam," Prisca said in such a calm voice Mavyn felt as if she dipped her toes in a stream during one winter morning. "I assisted a lost soul to get back to where it belongs."

Mavyn peeled off Valen, and he didn't hold her back. "Was that a living deer?"

Prisca nodded and gestured around her. "As an Axis, it is my duty to protect life as well as I protect death," she said. "I never take a soul before its time."

"How do you know?" Mavyn prodded. She trained her gaze to her feet. The boots Valen gave her were gleaming. Tacky. "I mean if Valen and I were to craft our realm someday, I need to know how to protect it...and to know every soul's time."

A weak cough emanated behind her. Mavyn didn't need to turn to know it was Valen. What was his deal? She needed to blend in, and to draw no unwanted attention to her, she had to ask questions as if she knew what they meant. Crafting realms? What did that even mean apart from the Monarch demanding it of Valen?

"There are signs of death in every Living Soul," Prisca replied, a hint of a smile pulling on the corners of her lips. "Reading them is the most important skill a Kathari can have. As Axes, we are born for it. You do not need to seek guidance. Beings of Death, who are born of Death, know it when they see it in others."

"Which goes to say why I chose her," Valen interjected, seeing trouble coming from a mile away. Ah, fuck. Mavyn messed up. Prisca wasn't dim. None of the Kathari were. If they still haven't figured out Mavyn didn't belong in their world, they soon would if she kept running her mouth like this. "I haven't seen such precision in my life."

Prisca regarded her brother with a flat stare. It wasn't hostile, but it wasn't endearing either. "You are not here to talk about that," she said, more of a declaration rather than a question. Ah, busted. The older Kathari straightened, hands brushing her skirt with regal motions. "You came to ask me about something else. Something...pertaining to my domain."

Mavyn nodded while Valen opened his palm. The flower they found in the Monarch's room appeared. Some of the petals have withered, falling in a lifeless pile on Valen's skin. "We found this in Father's quarters," he said. "What is this flower doing out of the Garden?"

Prisca plucked the stem from her brother's hand. "I do not take souls before its time," she repeated, confusion threading around her words. As if echoing it over and over would make it truer. "Why would this be found in the Judgment Seat?"

"Perhaps because you put it there," Mavyn interjected, earning startled looks from both Kathari. She squared her shoulders under their withering glares. "How would something from your domain be found anywhere else without you knowing?"

A hand tightened around Mavyn's wrist, drawing her back. Watch what you say, Valen's threat speared through her mind, disrupting every line of thought going through it. Aloud, he said to her, "It couldn't have been Prisca." He spared his sister a glance. "Why would she wish our father harm?"

But if not Prisca, then who? The Kathari were vile scums—always conniving; always scheming. It was only a matter of time before even an honorable creature such as Prisca started craving for something within her reach, something boasting a multitude of power. If Valen was convinced someone from his family was responsible, and he insisted it wasn't him, then who else would be insane enough to go against the Monarch?

"If I stand before your accusation," Prisca interjected into their inner incohesion. "Recently, I felt someone snip a life from the Garden. I didn't get to ascertain who, but a wayward soul, Kathari or not, may have pilfered something from Paradise. Putting bones into joints, that could be what was stolen."

Mavyn wrenched her hand from Valen's grip with a force she never used against him before. In shock, his grip loosened, causing her to break free and march towards Prisca. Out of all the people who tested her patience, the liars were the worst. "You are only saying that to digress the blame elsewhere," she said.

Valen's hand clamped on her shoulder, exerting a rugged force on it. "Mavyn," came the warning with just her name. Prisca's resplendent features didn't shift. Nothing resembled a twitch. She stood with her back straight, unwavering in the face of a mortal barking unfounded curses in her face.

But Mavyn wasn't done. She pushed Valen's hand off her shoulder and closed their distance. "For all we know, that soul doesn't exist, and you'll succeed in leading us in wild chase for our tails. You could be the one behind all this—"

The world shifted around her, dragging Prisca's features and color scheme into a huge whirlwind of splotches of tints and shades melding and diverging from each other. When everything stopped spinning, she stood outside the looming walls, far away from the Kathari ruling Paradise.

She whirled to Valen who had a glare trained at her. "Bring me back," she demanded. "I wasn't finished."

"You forget, Mavyn," he replied, his voice back to the booming depths as if he turned into a lightless void again. "You are only here because of your usefulness. Do not cross a line."

Mavyn scoffed. "That is why your siblings never took you seriously," she said. "You let them lie to your face, every time, and you have no idea."

"The Kathari do not lie," Valen answered. "We omit the truth if we wish to, but never will a lie form in our tongues."

A derisive hum tore out of her system and into the wind. "Sure," she huffed. "And you did not deceive me into playing as your partner only to be introduced as your wife."

"In our language, they mean the same thing," came Valen's defense.

Mavyn threw her arms in the air. "You and your language!" she said. "We're speaking Kraussi. You can't use that argument twice, expecting me to believe it."

"You are a guest of the Land of the Dead," he retorted with a strained edge in his tone as if exhaustion washed over him in the span of their entire conversation. "The protective layer I gave you comes with understanding and communicating in our language. How else have you flown under their noses all this time?"

Words died in her throat. Madame Audra once told Mavyn her only problem lay in her assumption that she was above everyone, that every soul she met was born beneath her, and therefore, they must listen to her. Mavyn ignored that comment—who would believe a tragic governess in a washed-up town anyway?—and went on her merry way. Never did she think it would haunt her years into the future and from worlds unknown.

"Fine, whatever," Mavyn said, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Have fun being a pushover until the Solstice Conclave—which I assume to be closer than the month's new moon."

Valen clicked his tongue and stalked after her as she strode back to where they came from. If she let him touch her again, they might go back to the Judgment Seat. She couldn't afford that, not when Valen wasn't doing what he promised he'd do. How else would she get what she wanted in this place? Of course, she had to do everything by herself. Again.

"Mavyn," he called after her. "Come back here this instant."

"I'm not a damned dog, Your Highness," she snapped on her solitary journey to everywhere and nowhere at once. Without Valen, she would be lost in this plain of rocks, fog, and floating spirits.

That was when a sliver of gray and periwinkle whizzed by her periphery, faster than any of the spirits she encountered since coming to the Land of the Dead. When she looked, her eyes widened at the sight of familiar features, including the clothes he wore when he died.

His name ripped off her lips. He didn't turn like he always did when he was with her. Sparing Valen not a single glance, she pushed off the ground and broke into a run. If he wouldn't carry the other half of the bargain, perhaps she would. And there wasn't any reason to stop. Not when it was already within her reach.