The sun had barely touched the horizon again when the temple doors opened—quiet footsteps on polished stone, soft rustles of robes, and the gentle clinking of blessed vials. The attendants of Elune, high priestesses and seasoned healers, entered the moonlit chamber with reverence and awe.
The sight that greeted them stole the breath from their chests.
All three were awake.
Nyxia sat cross-legged beside Perseus's pool, her hair still damp, the faint shimmer of her new spectral ears twitching in response to Loque's content rumble. Boo had taken up her post nearby again, arms crossed loosely, expression wary but soft.
Perseus was upright, which already felt like a miracle. His breathing was shallow, but steady. The dark bruises along his ribs were fading into nothingness, thanks to the moonwell's magic.
The eldest priestess approached first—an older Kaldorei woman named Lysarielle, her face lined with wisdom and perpetual disapproval. Behind her trailed five acolytes and a tall man in priestly white robes who immediately made a beeline for Perseus.
"Praise Elune," Lysarielle breathed. "You stubborn, reckless child."
"Good morning to you too, Lys," Perseus rasped, managing a crooked smile.
"You are not going anywhere," she snapped, cutting through pleasantries like a blade. "None of you are."
Boo raised an eyebrow. "Look, I'm all for divine hospitality and magical pools, but I can walk. Nyxia can walk. We want to go."
"We just got out of the pools," Nyxia added, standing stiffly. "We're fine. Really."
"You're not fine," Lysarielle said, pointing to Boo's wrapped shoulder, then to Nyxia's still-pale skin, and finally to Perseus's bandaged abdomen. "You're alive. There's a difference. You'll stay here for three days—minimum. Perseus will remain for a week."
Perseus let out a low groan and tried to protest, only to be gently shoved back into the water by the tall priest.
"No arguing," the man said coolly. "You almost died...twice. We're lucky your heart even remembers how to beat."
Loque gave a very deliberate chuff of agreement, sitting beside Nyxia with all the dignity of a sentinel. His ears flicked, tail brushing her leg.
"You almost died. Rest, stubborn hunter."
Nyxia muttered under her breath. "Great, now I've got two moms."
"Three, if you count me," Boo added with a smug smirk. "And you will be following orders. All of you."
A few moments passed in begrudging silence.
"…Can we at least pretend we're escaping?" Perseus asked, half-joking, half-hopeful.
Lysarielle didn't dignify that with a response. She merely turned and began issuing orders for meals, fresh linens, and magical dampeners to prevent "another impulsive midnight adventure."
As the acolytes bustled around them and moonlight spilled through the high arches above, Boo leaned against Nyxia and sighed.
"We're prisoners," she said.
Boo gave a soft chuckle. "Luxury prisoners."
Perseus muttered from his pool, "We could tunnel out."
Loque snorted—loudly—and shoved his head down onto Perseus's chest, effectively pinning him in place.
"…Fine," he wheezed. "We'll stay."
The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the temple's high windows, gilding the stone in warmth that none of them felt. The silence between the three of them had grown long. They sat near one another in the temple's side chamber, freshly healed yet still unraveling, clinging to stolen moments of stillness that couldn't hold back the flood.
Perseus hadn't spoken much since Loque pinned him in the pool. He kept glancing at Nyxia when he thought no one noticed. She was staring at the floor, her tail twitching absently, eyes hollow. Every now and then, Boo would clench her jaw, a quiet shake to her shoulders betraying the storm behind her still face.
Then someone whispered a name—soft, broken.
"Ves…"
Nyxia's voice cracked as she said it.
Boo's breath hitched. Perseus turned away.
None of them had dared say her name until now.
"She didn't—" Nyxia's voice trembled. "She didn't deserve to die like that."
"She chose it," Perseus muttered, almost angrily. "She saved you."
"She shouldn't have had to."
No one answered.
The silence stretched again—until acolytes came to collect them. They were bathed. Dressed. Dragged into formality like dolls. Boo snarled and snapped but was still eventually swathed in soft silks. Nyxia winced as unfamiliar hands brushed her tangled hair, hiding fresh tears. Perseus endured it all wordlessly, letting the attendants shape his unruly curls, bandage his torso anew, and wrap him in ceremonial robes of pale gold.
They were escorted to a grand, long hall—a lavish dinner awaiting them with golden platters, goblets of moonberry wine, and candles casting gentle light on carved columns. Temple elders smiled. Toasted. Offered condolences.
None of it touched them.
They sat like statues, three ghosts among the living.
Later that night, Perseus sat in his chamber, a cup of wine untouched in his hands. Moonlight washed across the marble floor. His thoughts drifted—back to the temple, to the fight, to Nyxia's body, still, curled in pain beneath his comrades' spells. He hadn't just feared for her. He'd… wanted to protect her. Hold her. Claim her from their judgment.
He remembered how she had looked—so vulnerable, bound and burning, trembling under divine wrath. Something in him had snapped.
But deeper than that… another voice whispered:
You liked it. How weak she looked. How helpless she became in your arms.
He gritted his teeth, heart pounding with guilt and something darker.
"No," he muttered, shaking his head. "That's not—I wouldn't—"
But the truth crawled under his skin, hissing like a flame.
Across the temple, Boo lay back in a bed far too soft. She stared at the ceiling, clothes discarded in a pile, hair damp and wild. Her fingers traced over her arms, where there should have been scars. No evidence left. No reminders.
But her mind—her soul—was raw.
She heard Ves's voice in her head again, that ragged farewell, the words she mouthed as she gave herself to the void.
And deeper still, images of her brother—his laugh, his arms around her shoulders, the way his eyes used to shine before they dulled with rot and voidfire.
Boo's chest collapsed inward with a choked sob. She curled into herself and broke.
No theatrics, no fists pounding—just a shattering ache that ripped silently through her, staining the sheets with tears she couldn't stop.
In her own room, Nyxia sat at the window, moonlight gleaming off her new tail, fluffy and spectral, twitching with a mind of its own. Her hands brushed over her ears, her lip quirking slightly in awe.
Loque watched her quietly, then laughed—a rumble in her mind, bright and fond.
"You're beautiful, cub."
"I look ridiculous," she muttered aloud.
"You look like us. You always have. Now the world can see it."
She was quiet for a long time, brushing over the soft fur. Her chest hurt, a dull ache she'd tried to ignore.
"Loque… I don't know what to feel."
"Then feel it all."
"I can't—"
Loque growled, nudging her mind hard. Memories flooded in—Ves's sacrifice, the temple's collapse, Boo screaming, Perseus breaking, her own body shattering.
It hit like a tidal wave.
Nyxia collapsed to the floor, clutching her arms around herself as sobs tore free. Loque curled around her spiritually, protective and close.
She cried until there was nothing left but trembling breaths.
Perseus sat on the edge of the bed, chest bare, the robe discarded across the floor like a forgotten mask. His hair clung to his face, damp with sweat. His fists trembled against his thighs.
"I should have been stronger."
"You couldn't protect her."
"She looked so fragile beneath you."
His mind warred, one side screaming in shame, the other whispering in dangerous curiosity. He had felt powerless. But more terrifyingly, a part of him had liked seeing her that way.
"Shut up," he growled, slamming his fist against the nightstand.
It didn't just crack.
It shattered.
Wood splintered across the room, the sound sharp and final. A candle crashed to the floor, snuffing out in a hiss.
Perseus stood there, chest heaving, hands bleeding. He didn't try to stop it.
He didn't try to clean it up.
Boo lay beneath the temple's pristine sheets, her body curled so tightly it hurt. Only the flicker of her shoulders beneath the covers betrayed that she was awake—crying, soundless and broken. The silence of the room was unbearable.
Every movement of the silk sheets felt too loud. Every breath scraped.
There were no scars on her skin—but inside, she felt like raw meat, torn and bruised.
She clutched the pillow tighter, knuckles white.
"Keep her safe, Boo."
The words echoed again, and she shook, a fragile hiccup tearing from her throat.
She cried until she couldn't anymore—until exhaustion drowned her and she slipped into a sleep haunted by blood and screaming.