Page 19 of The Immortal Covenant

A smile tugged on his lips as he recalled fending off a pack of voidspawn with Pelorak and Uryqh. Pelorak had never been fond of combat, more interested in deciphering Twilight’s complex political landscape than fighting, but he’d often tagged along with them anyway. The three of them had been inseparable, flush with grandiose visions of their future triumphs.

Malorg’s smile faded, a deep ache reverberating through him. Such dreams hadn’t been meant to last. A rush of heat blazed down his side, and he glanced over to find that Sarilian had edged closer.

Malorg knew he should step away, put some needed distance between them. Instead, he leaned into the touch. Sarilian’s throat bobbed on a swallow as Malorg continued, his voice a near whisper as old pain and frustration bled through.

“Eventually, however, I tired of the ceaseless slaughter. Believing there must be a better way, I appealed to the Dusk Council and convinced them to send me to Daybreak as an emissary.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “I thought if I forged a new Covenant with the Celestials, one that united rather than divided us, we could defeat the Void for good.”

That had been right after Pelorak’s appointment as the Aspect of Ambition, and though Pelorak had been skeptical of Malorg’s plan, he’d supported him anyway. It had taken every ounce of Pelorak’s cunning and Malorg’s reputation as a peerless warrior to earn the rest of the Dusk Council’s approval. And in the end, all Malorg had to show for it were his regrets.

“I take it they didn’t listen?” Sarilian asked, his voice quiet.

Malorg’s strained chuckle came out more a snarl. His face tightened as he recalled that first visit to the Dawnlands, standing before the assembled Dawn Council in their Hall of Virtue while the weight of their open disdain threatened to crush him. “They suspected an Infernal trick, born out of desperationthanks to our relative scarcity of fresh souls. I spent years trying to convince them otherwise, but…”

A vision of Uryqh, his once-handsome face blackened and charred, his eyes pleading as he screamed for help, stole Malorg’s breath. Shoving aside the memory, he struggled to still his racing heart and lifted his shoulders in feigned nonchalance. “With neither side actually interested in reconciliation, the Accords were doomed from the start. A disastrous joint training exercise gave the Dawn Council the excuse they needed to end the charade.”

From the way Sarilian stared at him, his face filled with enough sympathy to make Malorg’s skin crawl, he didn’t think his act had fooled the Celestial. Still, he was grateful when Sarilian didn’t press, merely giving an encouraging nod as he waited for Malorg to continue. Malorg expelled the last of his words in a rush.

“The Dusk Council recalled me home, but I found I’d lost my will to command. I retired my position, giving up the prestige and influence that came with it.” His gaze swept over the elaborate sculptures, pausing on the life-like voidspawn. “I tried my hand at other pursuits, like you suggested. That’s how I discovered this place. Something about it called to me. But making art while the universe crept toward annihilation felt too much like burying my head in the sand, so I returned to the outskirts to fight the voidspawn alone.”

Another harsh laugh escaped him. He felt like he was drowning in bitterness—in bygone regrets and broken dreams. Eternal Dark, why had he dredged any of this up instead of leaving it in the past where it belonged? “Just as pointless, perhaps, but at least I could do my minuscule part to hold back the Void until it claimed me as it has so many others over the millennia.”

His hand tightened into a fist, duskflame crackling along his knuckles. He waited for Sarilian to speak—to offer more meaningless words or naive promises they both knew he couldn’t keep. But the Celestial surprised him.

“Do you ever think about your mortal life?” Sarilian asked.

Malorg eyed him askance, trying to figure out the point behind Sarilian’s non sequitur. “What is there to think about? I’ve tried to recover my memories over the years, but there’s nothing. No trace of the mortal I once was.”

Sarilian shrugged. “Just because there are noconsciousmemories doesn’t mean other remnants don’t linger.” He studied a nearby duskflame sculpture depicting a tree of blossoming flowers. Even by the lofty standards set by the artwork here, it was exquisite, each blossom a miracle. “You said art appealed to you. Maybe you were an artist in a former life.”

Malorg snorted. “I’m good at killing, too. By that logic, I might as easily have been a soldier.”

“True,” Sarilian admitted. He crossed his arms, facing Malorg. “Fine. If you were a mortal, what would youwantto be? Personally, I think I’d want to be a teacher.”

Malorg’s brows shot up. “A teacher?”

Sarilian nodded solemnly. “One of the Dawn Aspects took me under his wing when I first arrived here. His gentle encouragement gave me the strength and drive I needed to live up to my potential. I like the idea of working with others and helping them as he did me.”

Something clicked in Malorg’s mind. His entire body tensed. “Isthatwhat I am to you—a project to work on? Someone to fix?”

Sarilian took a step back, eyes widening. “No! That’s not—”

“Perhaps it’s time you returned to your own people.”

Malorg spun away, trying to ignore the hurt coiling through him. The thought of resuming his dreary existence soured hisstomach…but not as much as the idea that Sarilian had only sought him out because of some misguided Celestial urge to save him.

Warmth spread down Malorg’s back, and he realized that Sarilian had shuffled forward to rest a hand on his bunched muscles. At first, Malorg remained stiff, holding back any reaction. But as Sarilian began lightly rubbing his hand in concentric circles, Malorg gradually relaxed into the Celestial’s touch. He sighed, the tension bleeding out of him.

“Sorry,” he grunted. “That wasn’t fair. Our conversation has me wound a little tight.”

“It’s okay,” Sarilian said, continuing his gentle ministrations. “I admit that I’m worried about you and want to help. Butnot,” he added when Malorg bristled, “because I view you as a problem to solve.”

“Why then?” Malorg hated how vulnerable the question sounded, but he couldn’t help it. Heneededto know why Sarilian had singled him out. Why he’d returned and agreed to venture into an Infernal city. Why he seemedsodetermined to drag Malorg back from the knife’s edge he’d teetered on for centuries.

Sarilian hesitated, his hand stilling. Malorg’s breath caught when Sarilian slowly wrapped his arms around him, pressing up against his back until nothing separated them but their thin tunics. Dawnflame and duskflame, light and dark—the opposing forces thrummed through Malorg like an electric charge.

Sarilian rested his chin on Malorg’s shoulder, both their hearts racing as the Celestial leaned in to whisper, “Because I think I might need you as much as you need me.”

For a single, glorious moment, Malorg allowed himself to give in to whatever lay between them. He closed his eyes and turned his head so that his cold cheek brushed against Sarilian’s lips. A soft growl escaped Sarilian’s throat.

---