Chapter 116 116

Chapter 116 116
SELENE’S POV

Iver doesn’t fall. That’s the first thing that’s wrong. There’s no collapse, no struggle, no final breath. One moment he’s there, solid, warm, real in my arms, and the next… something in him goes still.

He’s not dead yet, but it’s worse because he looks the part.

“Iver?” My voice fractures on his name. I grip his shoulders, shake him once, then harder, like I can force him back into himself. Still nothing.

His body is still warm beneath my hands. His chest rises barely. But there’s an absence I can feel, a hollow space where something vital used to be. Like the world reached into him and took what mattered most, leaving the rest behind.

“No. The word comes out quiet. I’m in denial. I refuse to believe he’ll just go like that after giving me the best sex yet.

A cry cuts through the silence. I turn so fast the room spins, my focus snapping to the sound. One of the twins cries again, stronger this time, fuller. The second follows, weaker but there.

Breathing. Living. They are alive. Relief crashes into me, sudden and overwhelming and then twists because Iver is still not moving. My hands hover over him again, useless. There’s no wound to heal, no blood to stop, no enemy to fight. Nothing to fix. And that helplessness claws deeper than anything else.

“Iver, wake up.” My voice is steadier now. It shouldn’t be.

Panic creeps in, slow and suffocating. I reach for my power without thinking. It surges through me, wild, desperate, pouring into him in a flood of heat and force. It finds nothing, no resistance nor response, just a void.

I jerk back like I’ve been burned. “No… no, no…”

I try again, more controlled this time, threading my power carefully, searching for him, for the bond, for anything that feels like Iver. There’s a gap, a tear. Something that used to connect us now stretches into emptiness, thin and fraying at the edges.

My breath stutters. “You don’t get to do this.”

Behind me, the children cry again. Another reminder that they’re alive because of him. The thought lands, heavy and brutal. It isn't comfortable. It doesn’t soothe. It just sits there, unbearable in its truth.

I press my forehead to his, closing my eyes. He still smells like me. Like us. Like something that existed five minutes ago and is already gone. “You don’t get to leave me with this,” I whisper.

It then dawns on me that there won’t be one. Something inside me fractures, not loudly, not all at once, but in a quiet, dangerous way that feels far more permanent.

I pull back slowly, my hands lingering on him for a second longer than they should. Then I stand because suddenly the room feels too small. My power presses outward, restless, searching for something to break, something to blame. There’s nothing here, so I leave.

I arrive at the new seers hideout in complete disarray. The seer knows before I speak. I can tell by the way she stiffens when I enter, by the way her hands still over whatever useless task she was pretending to focus on. Fear means she understands. Perfect.

“You know why I’m here,” I say.

She doesn’t turn immediately. She’s smart, delaying on purpose “It won’t change anything,” she says carefully.

I step closer. “Then say that again while looking at me.”

She turns. There’s no pity in her expression. Only caution. Like she’s measuring her words. “He isn’t dead.”

The words hit fast, sharp enough to cut through everything else. Hope flares briefly, dangerous.
“Then fix it.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

My jaw tightens. “Then explain it in a way that is.”

There’s a long quiet pause and I don’t back down from her gaze. Then, quietly, “A life given to the goddess doesn’t end. It binds.”

The word settles wrong. It sounds complicated and permanent in a way I don’t like. “Bind how?”

“For five days,” she says, watching me carefully, “his soul exists between claim and release. The goddess holds it, but not completely. It is… contested.”

My pulse slows, sharpens. “Meaning?”

“Meaning it can be taken back.”

Hope doesn’t rise this time. It locks into place. “I'll bring him back,” I say.

“You can try.”

The hesitation, small, almost invisible cuts deeper than if she’d refused outright. “What does it cost?”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “An equal offering.”

The words hit me and they should matter more than they do.

“What about Iver?” I ask instead. “What happens to him in those five days?”

For the first time, she hesitates.It’s small but I see it. Something cold slips under my skin.

“Where is he?” I press.

“He… remains,” she says.

“That’s not an answer.”

Her voice lowers. “He is kept where the goddess keeps what is owed to her.”

Images try to form, none of them good. “What does she do to him?”

The silence is enough to get my imagination working. My power shifts, the air tightening subtly around us. “What does she do to him?.”

The seer exhales slowly. “That depends on how long she chooses to remind him what he gave up.”

Something in me goes very still. I straighten, every piece of me settling into something sharp and immovable. “Then we don’t wait five days.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “That isn’t how this works.”

“I’m not interested in how it works,” I reply evenly. “You said it can be contested.”

“Yes, but…”

“Then I contest it.” The room creaks softly, my power pressing against its edges.

She studies me now, more carefully. “You’re treating this like a negotiation.”

“It is.”

“It’s balance,” she corrects. “Not a bargain.”

I tilt my head slightly. “Then she can take me instead.”

Silence drops between us, heavy and complete. The seer searches my face, like she’s looking for doubt, for hesitation, anything she can use to stop me. She won’t find it.

“You understand what you’re offering,” she says finally.

“Yes.”

“And if she refuses?”

My lips curve, faint and humorless. “Then I stop asking.”

The walls groan softly because that’s the truth of it. This isn’t about pleading. We’ve been pleading with the goddess ever since I can remember.

“I’ll give her what she wants,” I continue, quieter now, more dangerous. “A life. Power. Balance. Whatever she thinks she’s owed.”

“And if it still isn’t enough?”

I hold her gaze. “Then I make enough.”

The air stills. For the first time, the seer looks uncertain. She should be because this isn’t a question anymore. It’s a promise. And for Iver, I will break whatever needs breaking to get him back.