Chaos roared around us even when nothing moved. Not noise, color. Soundless shimmer. The way the walls glittered like broken glass, the way laughter bounced off stone until it became a metallic echo inside my skull. The hum of magic in my own veins caught like electricity under wet skin. I was too awake. Too aware.
When the spoon slipped from Malvor's hand, the ring of metal on marble hit like lightning. "Asha?" His voice softened immediately. "You're glowing weird. And by weird I mean… bad."
"I'm fine." The words came out like a sharp edge.
Malvor went very still. For one perfect beat the Realm of Mischief actually stopped. It was almost impressive. "Asha," he tried again, coaxing rather than teasing, "Your magic is sizzling. You haven't slept. You—"
"I'm fine." My hands shook. Heat prickled under my skin. I could hear Yara laughing far away, Luxor humming something obscene, Ravina's heartbeat, my own heartbeat, all of it. Stop. Stop. Stop—
Malvor's eyes widened. "Oh no."
"I can feel everyone," I hissed. "All of them. In my head. In my bones. I can't turn it off."
He stepped closer like I was a skittish animal. "You're having a panic attack."
"No, I'm—" Power sparked up my arms, unsteady. A haze of gold flared at the edges of my vision. I swallowed against the rush of bile. "Mal, make them shut up."
His hands hovered, helpless. "Asha, breathe with me. In. Out—"
My magic crackled harder. The room smelled like ozone. Someone somewhere laughed and it felt like knives. I tried to match his breathing and failed. My skin burned and the runes under it pulsed like they wanted to climb out. Malvor's gaze cut past my stubbornness and straight to my unraveling. The usual mischief dropped from his face. "Asha." He cupped my cheeks with trembling fingers, but the glitter on his skin couldn't cool the heat on mine. "I love you. I'm chaos. I cannot give you what you need right now."
"What do I need?" My voice broke in the space between a sob and a scream.
"Silence," he said. "Earth. Stone. Something older than us." His own eyes brimmed, but he didn't hesitate. "Go to Tairochi."
I barked out an unsteady laugh. "Earth-boy?"
"It's not a joke," he murmured. "He is stillness. He'll know what to do. You've never been one to sit still, but right now… please. Please go."
His forehead touched mine, grounding me for half a heartbeat. "You can come back and yell at me later," he whispered, trying to cajole a smile. "Asha has opinions."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to claw at something. Instead, I nodded once, shaky. He let me go like he was setting down something precious. I opened a portal with power that shook my fingertips. Earth and loam rushed in, cool and damp, and with that first breath…
…the gods went quiet.
The realm on the other side was a single, heavy heartbeat. No flashing lights. No laughter. Only the scent of rain on stone and moss, and the soft hiss of wind through ancient trees. Everything was muted. My own pulse thudded louder than the world. I stood on stone that was older than language. It hummed under my soles like a voice too deep to hear. For a second, I panicked again. Silence can be as terrifying as noise. Then I realized: the gods' voices were gone. The buzzing in my bones faded.
Tairochi did not burst from the earth like a geyser. He appeared the way a mountain does when you turn around and it's just there. Tall, broad, carved of bark and boulder. Power radiated from him. It pressed down on me, not crushing but containing, until my own magic settled like sand after a wave. He said nothing. He didn't need to. The mountain's gaze moved across my shoulders. I could feel him tracing the runes carved there, the connection already tethering us quietly in my bones. A low awareness, like a thread pulled taut.
"In exchange," he rumbled, the words feeling more like tremors than sound, "you will stay with me on Thursdays. Dawn till dusk."
My brain caught up, He was speaking. I might've laughed if I'd had breath to spare. "Because you're lonely?"
"No." His deep eyes didn't blink. "Because you need a place where no one can reach you but yourself."
I looked back toward the portal. I could faintly feel Malvor's worry, muted now by the mountain's gravity. He'd be there when I returned. He'd be chaos and comfort and color. This… was something I'd never had, quiet. I swallowed and nodded. "Yes."
Tairochi nodded, as if he'd known my answer since the world was new. He handed me a cloth to bind my chest and shoulders. Functional, almost ritual, a way of exposing the skin where his runes would live. His hands, when they touched me, were warm from the oil he rubbed between his palms, and huge. I felt tiny beneath them. He muttered words that sounded like stone settling, like rain after drought. Warmth pulsed beneath his fingers. Not searing like Luxor's activation, not ecstatic like Maximus's, not euphoric like Yara's. Slow. Heavy. Like roots weaving themselves through my ribs. My magic resisted at first, then sighed, then stilled. The runes woke. They didn't blaze. They glowed like embers being coaxed back to life and then settled into a steady, comforting burn. A thrumming weight settled in my bones. My knees buckled, not from pain but from… release.
Tairochi caught me effortlessly. He didn't shush me. He didn't coo or praise. He held me like he'd hold a boulder dislodged from a cliff, steadying it until it found new footing. There was no panic in his eyes, only understanding, and something like old sympathy. Something small inside me mourned, quietly, for the pieces of humanity I kept pretending were mine. Childhood. Illusions. Humanity. They had been slipping away for ages. This was not theft. It was farewell.
"It is quieter here," I whispered against his shoulder, half laugh, half sob.
"It will always be quiet here," he answered. His voice was softer than stone should be. "That is the gift and the price."
I sank against him, breathing in damp earth and oil and the faint scent of crushed cedar. The world didn't spin. The gods didn't shout. My thoughts didn't scatter. My name didn't burn. It was just me. Asha. Breathing. I didn't know how long I rested against him. Seconds, minutes, lifetimes. Time felt different here. Less like a river and more like a stone being weathered smooth.
When my breathing steadied, Tairochi shifted, setting me gently on my feet. He didn't let go until he was certain my legs wouldn't fold beneath me. "You are unbalanced."
"I know," I whispered.
"No." His deep gaze held mine. "You know the symptoms. Not the cause."
He stepped back and gestured for me to follow him deeper along a stone path. I obeyed without question; even thinking felt too loud. We stopped before a flat, low shelf of rock overlooking the forest. Moss blanketed the stone's surface like a cushion made by the world itself.
"Sit," he said. I sank onto the moss, legs crossed. My magic flickered along my skin, restless and trembling. Tairochi lowered himself opposite me, folding his massive frame with the slow certainty of mountains forming. He placed his palms on the stone beneath us. "Your power is untethered. You are connected to eleven realms. Eleven minds. Eleven soon twelve rivers pulling at you."
"Too many," I breathed.
"Not too many," he corrected gently. "Simply… louder than you have learned to hold." He took one of my hands in his. His touch wasn't warm or cold. It was constant. Like a pulse under stone. "Feel the ground."
"I don't—"
"Do not try, just feel."
I closed my eyes. At first, it was impossible. My thoughts were a blizzard, sharp and spiraling. My skin buzzed with leftover magic. My heartbeat was too fast. Then Tairochi spoke a single word in the First Language. A word as heavy as bedrock. "Root."
Something inside me dropped. Not like falling, but like settling. My magic sank, threading itself downward, pulled by the force of his voice. My breath left me in a shudder. I felt the stone beneath my palms, the quiet pulse of the realm's core, the slow rhythm of the mountain. My breath eased. My mind quieted. My magic aligned with something older and far more patient. Tairochi inhaled once, deep and grounded.I matched it without thinking. "Good. Do you feel the difference?"
"Yes," I whispered. "It's… quiet."
"No," he said softly. "It is you. Without interruption."
Something warm pricked behind my eyes. He didn't look away. "You were never taught stillness. Only endurance. Only survival. Noise became your armor. You do not know how to live without it."
A tear slid down my cheek, silent. He didn't reach to wipe it. He let it fall. Respected it. "Every Thursday, you will come. You will sit. You will breathe. And you will learn to hold your own mind without fear."
I swallowed, throat tight. "Every Thursday."
"More," he said quietly. "If you wish. My realm will always open for you."
I blinked up at him. "Always?"
"You seek peace, Peace recognizes you." And then, softer: "You may enter whenever you need stillness. Whether it is your day or not."
My breath hitched. No expectations. No judgment. No cost. Just… welcome.
Tairochi placed one calloused hand over my sternum, not touching skin, only hovering. "Here, this is the place that cracks first. I will teach you how to make it the last."
I closed my eyes and breathed. For the first time since divinity dragged me screaming into eternity…
…I felt like I could survive it.