38. “You must become a triune anchor for her.”

Chapter 38

"You must become a triune anchor for her."

MORPHEUS

"Don't Let Go" by Gentri

W hen Thanatos returns with Zenya, dread slams into me at the realization of what she has done.

A moment ago, Phantasos was rocking Ivy. Now, he rises with no trace of the little girl in sight.

And Zenya is…floating.

"Hello, my loves!" Zenya chirps and flutters her hand, pivoting her body like she's swimming.

Every muscle in my wings tightens.

Hecate tilts her head, narrowing her eyes on the young woman who sweeps her fingers through the floating torches, the flames not burning her. Fuck. My heart stops.

Linny and Ginny both front, giggling and pretending they are birds to experience the floating feeling.

Nyxion and I march right for Thanatos. Death holds my Eye, its iridescent glow casting eerie shadows on the walls. I press my lips into a grim seam as I take back my Eye and surge my shadows until they form a sphere around the Eye. With a burst of molten sand, it returns to its rightful place in the center of my palm.

A few feathers shed in the process, but I regain my full power, my black diamond sand dancing with my shadows in a flawless, symbiotic romance. A shudder ripples through me, but my relief is short-lived at Zenya's laughter echoing all around us, light and unburdened. Now, she's swinging on Hecate's throne of serpents as they rear up, hissing, and biting her, but she feels no pain. Her eyes shine brighter with no aquamarine—empty, vacant. My heart clenches, the pain deepening.

"She's given up her soul," Hecate whispers, her flames crackling with unease.

What have you done? Nyxion growls in the crevasse of our consciousness while seizing Thanatos's collar.

Thanatos grows frost crystals to force my brother's bony fingers off his high collar. "It was Zenya's choice. She did it with her strongest agency and power."

"Did what…?" Phantasos approaches on the other side, his brows lifted, but he must already know.

Death flicks his gaze to all of us before proclaiming, "Zenya gave her soul to Ivy. Ivy has awoken."

I turn to the floating Zenya, fear carving through me. "She'll escape and become a lost dream."

Nyxion's bones rattle beyond his robe, his normally calm demeanor fracturing. Phantasos's fingers twitch as he reaches for his power, his heart pounding so hard, I hear it from here.

Desperation claws at my insides. We cannot lose Zenya, not like this—not after everything we have been through. Fanning out my wings, muscles swelling, I lash out my shadows, wrapping them around Zenya, determined to hold her in place. "Stay with us, Zenya," I urge, my voice trembling, my heart quaking.

"Aww, but I feel so light, so light like a bubble. I want to fly away!" she lilts in a soprano tone.

Hecate conjures her flames, surrounding Zenya in a ring of fire. Her torch tattoo still remains upon Zenya's brow, so her magic may be more intense for our dreamer. "Zenya, you must fight this," she pleads, her usually stoic demeanor cracking.

Nyxion's bones form a cage, adding another layer of restraint. We won't let you go, he vows, but only I and Phantasos can hear the subtle resonance of his voice. And Thanatos.

Phantasos steps forward, his wide eyes laced with pain, pain for losing Ivy, but his lips part with a bittersweet expression. "I can lock her in a dream bubble," he offers, his voice steady despite the tension in the room.

"Do it," I tell him.

Phantasos steps forward, his eyes fierce and determined with a touch of sorrow as he looks at Zenya. He extends his hands, closes his eyes, and draws upon his force and skill only the God of Objects in dreams can do. A soft, shimmering light emanates from his fingertips, casting shimmering glows on the walls.

I approach him, silently offering my strength as the light from Phantasos's hands slowly intensifies, forming delicate, swirling patterns in the air until they weave into a translucent, iridescent bubble around Zenya.

The beautiful bubble pulses gently, reflecting the essence of dreams and the subconscious.

Inside, Zenya's giggles and touches on the torch fire echo softly, as if she is in a world of her own, isolated, yet serene. As she somersaults inside the bubble, it's clear she is, moving as if she were underwater—whether the world inside her mind while Linny and Ginny enjoy themselves. Or any other surfacing alters.

Phantasos's brow furrows in concentration, his energy focused entirely on maintaining the bubble. My brother breathes deeply, his face pale from the exertion. "This will only hold for so long."

Spine locked, wings pulsing with a raw surge of hot blood, I approach Thanatos with a clenched hand. A few steps away, Nyxion surges tendrils of his bone dust in a hover, crouched to attack. Not that we would be so foolish as to battle Death. Not again.

Thanatos pivots his head between us before proclaiming, "You must become a triune anchor for her," he shares, his voice cutting through the tension and engulfing my chest with hope. "Morpheus, Nyxion, and Hecate. It will buy her time to create a new soul for herself."

The three of us exchange looks before I face my uncle again.

"She could come back? She could stay?" Phantasos asks while holding a connection to the bubble.

"Her sacrifice was profound, a testament to her unconditional love," Thanatos shares, his voice carrying the gravity of her act. "This love has granted her the right to create a new soul. If you possess the strength of that love, offer her a measure of your essence to help ground her."

We have no time for awe. And we are all of one accord.

We approach Zenya with a piece of ourselves. An ache carves through my heart as I pull deep into my soul, tracing the Eye in my palm and retrieving a mere grain of sand from my alchemy. Its texture is fine, its bond to me is born of my Chaos-birthed magic, a piece of my very being. I unfurl my wings, steadying them for her.

"Zenya, may this grain of sand, birthed from my Eye, grant you the vision to forge your new self."

Hecate presents an ember from her eternal flames, its heat comforting and powerful. She steps forward, her eyes meeting Zenya's with love and sorrow. "Take this, Zenya. Let me light your way once again."

At first, I expect Nyxion to offer his bone dust. Instead, he produces a single tear, glistening like liquid silver. A profound respect spreads through me, understanding how sacred the tears of the Nightmare God are—a symbol of his deepest emotions.

He approaches Zenya, his black diamond eyes shining brighter with the depth of his need. Though she may not hear him, he still proclaims, This is yours, Zenya. A mere piece of my soul to remind you to grieve inside the darkness of the nightmare and build a blanket fort until the dream arises.

We bring our hands together, forging a triune bond. And with Hecate's flames, my shadows, and Nyxion's bone dust surrounding her, I nod to Phantasos. He drops the bubble.

We transfuse it into her very blood, so it may find its way to her heart to provide an anchor.

A moment later, Zenya falls. My shadows catch her, blanket her. My wings lower with relief as she gazes at us with wonder and love. Recognition flickers in her eyes, a glimmer of the woman I love.

"Weave for us, sweet dreamer," I urge her, swelling my feathers.

Zenya presses her lips into a smile, her eyes turn black, and Beastie proclaims, "I will weave with you…"