Chapter Text
Malachi sat across from the therapist, his cold gaze fixed on her face, barely concealed by his mask. He couldn't help but feel skeptical about the Phoenix Alliance's plan, wondering what they hoped to accomplish by forcing him to talk. Venting his feelings? As if that could fix the layers of trauma he had buried deep inside. Therapy seemed laughable to him, a waste of time. He let out a soft, almost inaudible scoff.
What he really wanted, more than anything, was Laurence.
The thought of Laurence's absence gnawed at him constantly, leaving a hollow ache in his chest. He knew it wasn't healthy—this reliance, this codependency. Laurence had become his anchor, the only one who could truly understand the depths of his suffering, the dark void he'd been spiraling through since returning from the Nether. No one else knew the pain of being twisted, broken, and reshaped by such darkness. Laurence did. It was why Malachi clung to him.
Even as he sat here in this sterile room, listening to the therapist's measured breathing, Malachi's mind drifted back to Laurence's presence—calming, steady. He hated admitting it to himself, but without Laurence, he felt as though he couldn't function. He was painfully aware of how dependent he'd become. It was unhealthy, but he couldn't stop it. Laurence was the one tether keeping him from falling into the abyss entirely.
"Malachi, I'm Dr. Keira Alden," the therapist finally introduced herself, her voice calm but probing.
Malachi remained silent, his eyes lingering on her for a brief moment before turning to the window beside them. He was uninterested in whatever pleasantries she had to offer. His fingers brushed over the edge of his mask, fiddling with it absentmindedly. At least they'd given it back to him after all these forced meetings. It made him feel...less exposed.
"I'm going to ask you some questions today," Dr. Alden said, carefully watching his reaction. She kept her tone even, as though she didn't want to spook him. "Feel free to answer in whatever way you're comfortable."
Malachi said nothing. His fingers continued to trace the grooves of his mask, his face set in an expression of apathy.
"Malachi, how do you feel about your current situation? Are you adjusting well?" she asked, waiting patiently for a response.
Nothing. Malachi stared through her, as though she were little more than a shadow in the room.
The therapist didn't seem discouraged. She pressed on, asking more questions, each one designed to probe into his emotional state, to get him to open up, but Malachi had no interest in playing her game. His mind was elsewhere, focused on how pointless all of this felt. What could she possibly understand about him? What could anyone?
After what felt like hours, the session finally came to an end. Dr. Alden sighed softly and scribbled some notes onto her clipboard. She glanced up at Malachi, still seated rigidly in the chair, his posture closed off.
"We'll continue this next time," she said, her voice softer now. "You're dismissed."
Malachi stood wordlessly, walking out of the room without so much as a glance back. As he stepped into the corridor of the capital building, his eyes caught sight of the guards stationed along the walls, their eyes tracking his every move. He felt their stares like a thousand needles pressing into his skin, making him feel like a caged animal. The sensation made his blood boil.
He despised this. The constant surveillance, the feeling of being trapped, as though he was some kind of dangerous beast they needed to contain. Maybe he was. Maybe that's what they feared.
His boots echoed against the cold stone floor as he made his way toward his shared room with Laurence. The heavy door slammed shut behind him with a force that shook the walls, but he didn't care. Bitterness welled up inside him, twisting his insides. It had been weeks since Aphmau had dragged Laurence off on one of her adventures, leaving him alone. Laurence had promised he would return soon, but Malachi regretted ever letting him go. The void inside him felt even larger without Laurence there to fill it.
‘Should've never let him leave,’ he thought bitterly.
The voices, ever-present in the back of his mind, began to whisper.
‘You could kill everyone here,’ they said, their words soft and seductive. ‘No one would be able to stop you. They think they're safe behind their walls and guards, but you could rip through them like paper.’
Malachi's lips curled into a wide, twisted smirk, the idea sparking something dark and primal in him. His eyes flashed red for a brief moment, his body tensing as the temptation took root. He could almost see it—the chaos, the destruction, the bloodshed. It would be so easy.
But then, with a sharp breath, he snapped out of it. He shoved the thoughts down, forcing the voices back into the recesses of his mind. He couldn't lose control. Not like that.
Shaking off the lingering dark thoughts, Malachi turned his attention to the small book lying on the desk beside him. His journal. It had become a way for him to keep some semblance of sanity, a place where he could pour out the feelings he couldn't express to anyone—not even Laurence. Sitting down, he picked up a pen and began to write, letting the ink flow across the pages as he tried to make sense of the storm inside him.
‘Maybe if I can put it into words, it'll make sense. Maybe if I can write it down, I won't need to depend on him so much.’
But deep down, he knew that no amount of journaling would fill the void that Laurence's absence left behind.
Laurence's boots crunched on the dirt road as he and Aphmau led a large group of villagers back toward the capital. The familiar skyline of the city began to emerge in the distance, and with it came a sense of relief. They'd been gone far longer than expected and Laurence was more than ready to return to some semblance of normalcy—whatever that meant these days.
He glanced over his shoulder, spotting Lord Haley walking with the villagers from Pikoro, as well as Lowe and the maids from Skystead. The sheer size of the group made it impossible to go unnoticed, but the journey had been mostly uneventful since they left Pikoro village.
Laurence couldn't help but think back to how all this had started. A few days ago—no, more than a week ago now—Aphmau had approached him with an odd request.
"Laurence, I need you to come with me to Pikoro village. I...could use your help."
At first, he'd refused. After all, he'd been away from Malachi long enough and something inside him urged that staying close to the boy was important, but then, he'd remembered something. ‘Maybe it would be good for Malachi to spend time away from me.’
Their codependency had been growing more apparent and Laurence knew that if either of them was going to survive the turmoil ahead, they needed space. So, despite his initial reservations, he'd agreed.
What he had thought would be a short, three-day trip turned into an entire week, and not for the reasons he expected. They'd arrived in Pikoro village only to be ambushed by Lord Janna, a tyrannical noblewoman, who kidnapped them and tried to force Lord Haley into marrying her son. The whole thing spiraled out of control when Janna's guards took it upon themselves to try and detain them.
Aphmau, in her anger, had lost control.
Laurence chuckled dryly at the memory.
‘She went full Irene,’ he thought, shaking his head. The sight of her in that form, eyes glowing and power radiating from her, was terrifying. She'd cut down an entire squadron of guards without hesitation, ending the debacle with a blood-soaked scene that still made Laurence's stomach churn.
The irony wasn't lost on him. Almost three years ago, Laurence had done the exact same thing when the former king of the Southeastern wolf tribe had attempted to force a marriage between Aphmau and his son. Laurence had slaughtered everyone in sight, driven by his own protective instincts. And now here they were again, the roles reversed.
Afterward, the group had spent the rest of the week traveling. They'd dealt with more obstacles on the road, but nothing compared to the disaster at Pikoro. Finally, after days of walking, they arrived back in the village late that afternoon, much to Laurence's relief. As they entered the capital, he gave a small tug at the hem of his clothes, eager to change out of the maid dress he'd been forced to wear as part of their escape plan from Janna's mansion. He scratched his neck irritably, wondering how in Irene's name women managed to tolerate such restrictive, uncomfortable clothing.
‘Never again,’ he silently swore as they made their way through the village gates.
After saying his goodbyes to Aphmau and the villagers, Laurence made his way to the room he shared with Malachi. The familiar wooden door creaked as he pushed it open, stepping inside with a soft sigh. There, sitting at the desk, was Malachi, scribbling furiously into his journal. The sight of him, hunched over the book, made Laurence's heart tighten a little. He realized just how much he had missed the boy, despite the space he knew they both needed.
Malachi glanced up, his eyes sharp behind the mask.
"Laurence," he greeted, his voice soft but steady.
"Malachi," Laurence replied with a nod, closing the door behind him.
A long, comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the faint sound of Malachi's pen scratching against the paper. Laurence removed his travel gear, tossing it onto the bed with a tired groan.
Malachi stopped writing, turning his head slightly to look at him. "How did your trip go?"
Laurence let out a long, exasperated groan, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "It's...a long story."
At that, Malachi stopped writing entirely. He set the pen down, turning his full attention to Laurence. Reaching up, Malachi slowly pulled his mask down, revealing his face—a rare sight.
"Tell me," he said quietly, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.
Laurence hesitated for a moment, but then he gave a small nod. He walked over to the small chair near the desk and sat down, leaning forward slightly. "Where do I even begin?"
He launched into the story, telling Malachi everything—the unexpected journey to Pikoro, the tense standoff with Lord Janna, the kidnapping, and the forced wedding. His voice grew darker as he described Aphmau's transformation, recounting the terrifying moment she unleashed her full Irene form and slaughtered Janna's guards without mercy. Laurence couldn't help but compare it to his own bloodstained past, reflecting on how he had once done the same.
Malachi listened intently, his gaze unwavering as Laurence spoke. He didn't interrupt, just absorbing every word with a quiet focus that only he seemed capable of. There was something reassuring in the way he listened—like Laurence could finally unload the weight of the past week and Malachi would understand.
"I can't lie," Laurence said, leaning back in the chair, his voice tired. "I'm glad it's over. Wearing that maid dress was the last straw."
Malachi's lips twitched into a faint smirk, and for a brief moment, the tension between them eased.
"Sounds like you had quite the adventure," Malachi remarked dryly, his tone laced with amusement.
Laurence let out a chuckle. "Yeah, well, I'd trade it all just to be here instead."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence that hung between them wasn't uncomfortable, but rather filled with an unspoken understanding. Despite everything, they were back. Together.
And that was all that mattered.
Laurence and Malachi spent the next few days together falling back into their usual routine, but something had changed. Laurence found himself keeping a much closer eye on the boy, memories of Malachi's previous outburst replaying in his mind—how he had torn through Zoey's wards with a ferocity and power that didn't make sense, especially for someone his age. As a shadow knight, Malachi was already expected to possess considerable strength, but this... this was something else entirely.
Laurence couldn't shake the nagging feeling that it was unusual, even for someone like Malachi. The only other person he'd ever heard of who had that kind of raw, unchecked power had been Shad himself.
‘Could there be a connection’ he mused, but as quickly as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it with a laugh. Shad and Malachi? No, the two were nothing alike.
Laurence glanced over at Malachi, watching him quietly write in his journal. The boy's focus, the way he held himself—it was all so human, so fragile. The dark forces that Shad once wielded were far more monstrous. There was no way Malachi could be tied to that. Yet, the lingering doubt remained, like a shadow hovering over them both.
Soon after, Laurence received a summons—another trip, this time with Aphmau, Lucinda, and Lowe. He barely had time to pack his things before delivering the news to Malachi. As expected, Malachi wasn't thrilled by the prospect of Laurence leaving again, but he hid his displeasure well, his face a mask of calm indifference.
Even so, Laurence could sense the boy's unease. There had been a shift in him since their last separation, and it made Laurence uneasy in return.
"I'll be back soon," Laurence reassured him, but Malachi only nodded, saying nothing. There was a coldness in his demeanor now, something distant.
Malachi made a mental note of how Garroth and the two girls who were supposed to be his sisters had been missing for a while now. He shrugged at the thought. It didn't matter—none of it mattered to him anymore. He'd stopped caring about them, stopped caring about most things outside of Laurence's presence.
As they prepared to leave, Aphmau turned to Malachi and said, "Levin will be keeping an eye on you until we return from Enki Island."
Levin stepped forward, standing beside Malachi with a warm smile. Malachi gave a nod in acknowledgment, though his mind was elsewhere, focused on the ship as it slowly sailed away, carrying Laurence with it.
"How've you been?" Levin asked after a few moments of silence.
Malachi glanced in his direction, eyes narrowing briefly. He almost snapped, but the hostility died in his throat. Instead, he shrugged. "I've seen better days."
Levin chuckled and nudged him playfully in the side. "Well, we've got the whole island to ourselves now. Think we can cause a little chaos while they're gone?"
Malachi allowed a faint smirk to slip through. He wasn't one for jokes, but Levin's infectious energy was hard to ignore.
"Maybe," Malachi replied, slightly entertaining the idea.
Before he knew it, Levin had dragged him through the village, the two of them weaving through the streets, exploring and laughing together in a way that Malachi hadn't done in what felt like an eternity. Levin led him to a portal, and suddenly they were back in Phoenix Drop. Levin began showing Malachi around properly, pointing out all the changes that had taken place over the last four years.
"So much has changed," Malachi murmured, his voice low. There was an undeniable feeling of displacement. This place, these people—it was all so foreign to him now.
As they walked, Levin reached over and took Malachi's hand, a simple, comforting gesture. That's when Malachi noticed something. Wrapped around Levin's wrist was a piece of an old scarf—his old scarf.
Levin caught him staring and smiled softly.
"Mom has the other half," he explained. "She always wears it on her wrist, along with that red bandanna that belonged to Aaron.”
Malachi's heart ached at the revelation, the weight of all that had been lost pressing down on him. He had seen it—Aphmau wearing something on her wrist—but it hadn't registered at the time. Now, the significance of it made his chest tighten painfully.
Levin turned to him, his expression softening as he placed a gentle hand on Malachi's cheek.
"I've missed you so much," he whispered, his voice full of emotion. "I would've done anything to bring you back. Anything."
Malachi stayed quiet, the emotions bubbling up inside him too complex to put into words.
"I'm a failure of a lord," Levin continued, his tone heavy with regret. "And a failure of a brother. I should've stopped it... I should've prevented you from being taken."
Malachi's eyes flickered with a brief flash of sadness. "You didn't know."
"That doesn't excuse it," Levin said bitterly. "I made a critical error, and because of it, you suffered. But I swear, Malachi, I've fortified the village. It's safe now—secure. I won't let anything like that happen again."
Malachi studied him for a moment before asking, "Have you slept at all?"
Levin laughed, though there was little humor in it. "I tend to lose track of how long it's been since I've slept."
Without a word, Malachi grabbed Levin's arm and began dragging him back toward his house.
"What are you doing?" Levin asked, confused.
"You're going to sleep," Malachi replied flatly.
"I'm fine—"
Before Levin could protest further, Malachi swiftly knocked him out with a single, precise strike. Levin slumped into Malachi's arms, unconscious, and Malachi gently laid his body down on the couch. For a moment, Malachi stood there, looking down at his brother, a mix of emotions swirling inside him.
He brushed a hand through his hair, sighing softly.
‘You always were stubborn,’ he thought, before turning his attention back to the door. There was so much left unresolved, so much he still didn't understand about himself, about Laurence, and about everything that had happened.
But for now, he would make sure Levin rested.