7. Malorg

seven

Malorg

I want to see all I can before I go.

Sarilian's words rattled around Malorg's skull as he shoved his way through the crowded Market. He'd known this was only temporary. As a Celestial, Sarilian's place was with his people in the Dawnlands. His interest in Malorg and Twilight had never been anything but idle curiosity.

Still, the thought of returning to his lonely hunt, yearning for release at the end of a voidspawn's claw, filled Malorg with dread. Such was the price of hope. The more you gave in to its seductive call, the greater your pain when it eventually crumbled apart.

They exited the Market into a narrow, winding corridor. Malorg glanced back to make sure Sarilian still followed. He could only imagine how confusing Sarilian must find Twilight's haphazard layout. Malorg had spent literal centuries traversing the city's streets, and even he sometimes got lost. To Sarilian's credit, however, he didn't complain, trailing after Malorg and exclaiming over each new sight that caught his fancy.

The Celestial stopped to examine a duskflame mural that transformed the side of a building into an erupting volcano. Malorg smothered a grin at Sarilian's awed expression. It was oddly refreshing watching Sarilian admire things that Malorg himself had long since come to take for granted. It helped give him a fresh perspective on his city—made everything feel new and exciting again.

None of this matters, he reminded himself firmly as they resumed walking. Neither Sarilian's visit nor his inevitable departure changed the overall futility of their existence. Sarilian's own comments in the Market had drilled that harsh truth home. Malorg's old friend Pelorak might find purpose in the scramble to accumulate as much wealth and prestige as possible, but none of it would mean a Dark-cursed thing when the Void finally won.

And yet, Malorg found the bleak thought lacked its usual bite thanks to Sarilian's comforting presence. He turned down an alleyway and halted before a thin crack at its end.

Behind him, Sarilian groaned. "Please tell me we don't need to go in there."

Malorg raised a brow at the expression of sheer horror on Sarilian's face. "I thought you wanted to see more of the city?"

Sarilian sighed. He gave the crack a long, mournful look. "I do. But that doesn't mean I want to explore every hidden nook and cranny."

"This is the easiest way to reach our next destination." Malorg thrust out a hand. "Are you coming or not?"

Sarilian eyed Malorg's outstretched hand for a couple seconds before gripping it. Malorg couldn't suppress a shiver at the flush of heat that Sarilian's touch sent racing up his arm when their fingers entwined. Sarilian caught the reaction and smirked.

"I'm beginning to think you just like holding my hand."

Malorg scowled, flexing his fingers. So much for appreciating the Celestial's company. "The physical link is necessary to bring you with me. Now be quiet and hold on."

Sarilian closed his eyes, though his grin remained. Malorg allowed himself a moment to study the Celestial. Sarilian's Infernal disguise might have altered his features, but they did little to obscure his spirit. It was a marvel to Malorg none of the other Infernals in the Market had been able to sense him, shining like a bright beacon among them.

Malorg's gaze settled on the pendant Sarilian had picked out. Seeing the tiny Celestial sigil carved from shadow hanging there sent a savage spike of pleasure through him at the notion that a sliver of the Dusklands had permanently claimed Sarilian as its own.

Even once the Celestial departed for good.

Malorg faced the crack in the wall, his duskflame tunic suddenly too tight around his chest. He took a deep breath. He might not be able to avoid Sarilian's departure forever, but he could still try to enjoy the Celestial's presence as long as it lasted.

Sarilian spoke up then. "So, are we just going to stand here all day holding hands, or are you going to—"

Malorg dissolved them both into shadows and sent them flowing into the crack. One with the darkness, he followed the twisting path as it wound its way down several streets before cutting up along the facade of another building to take them higher toward his intended destination. It was one of his favorite haunts in all of Twilight, and he experienced a flash of nerves as they approached, wondering if Sarilian would feel the same.

"You can open your eyes now," he said as he brought them out of the shadows. "We're here."

Sarilian blinked, his eyes slightly dazed and his jaw clenched tight. A shaking hand clutched at his stomach as he groaned. "Merciful Light, I don't know how you can stand doing that so often. It's as if you're falling without ever hitting the ground while gravity reverses directions on a whim. I'll take Daybreak's dawnbeams any day. Instantaneous transportation in the blink of an eye as the light refracts your soul to its destination."

Impatience tightened Malorg's lips into a thin line. "Do you want to debate the merits between the Dawnlands and the Dusklands, or do you want to see where I brought you?"

Huffing quietly to himself, Sarilian turned to take in their surroundings. Malorg tried to imagine the space through the Celestial's eyes. They stood on a large, open terrace several stories up. More of Twilight's eclectic buildings careened in the distance while the great kaleidoscopic dome encasing the city loomed above them. Like the Market, scattered stalls littered the space. A lesser but still notable number of Immortals perused them.

"Another marketplace?" Sarilian guessed.

"Not exactly. Come on."

He tugged Sarilian forward, realizing only then that he hadn't released his grip after duskwalking, their hands still clasped between them. Hastily, he let go, ignoring Sarilian's appraising look as they approached the nearest stand.

Sarilian's eyes widened when he noticed the current sculpture on display. It depicted two Infernals entwined in a sensual embrace, their limbs tangled and their lips pressed together. Rippling fabric that might've been sheets strategically covered their lower halves. Everything had been depicted in exquisite detail, down to the emotion on their moaning faces. The duskflame used in the sculpture's creation flickered, adding motion to the piece that made both figures seem alive.

"Merciful Light," Sarilian whispered, earning a few questioning looks from the nearest Infernals.

Malorg chuckled, pleased by Sarilian's reaction. Unlike the more common wares in the Market below, these pieces weren't for sale—at least, not for any price the average Infernal could afford. Instead, they were intended as proof of the artist's unique skill.

Some would be gifted to the Dusk Aspects or powerful Infernals while others would enter each artist's private collection. Still more would be destroyed as soon as their exhibition period ended. Malorg knew this entire realm —not to mention reality itself—were equally ephemeral compared to the Void. Still, the thought of all that lost art evoked a deep sense of sorrow.

They stood for several minutes, admiring the sculpture in silence, before winding their way to the next stall in the Gallery. Sarilian remained unusually quiet as they went, asking only a handful of questions Malorg was happy to answer.

They stopped to admire another piece, this one a life-like rendition of a voidspawn. Its fanged jaws quivered, and its eyes seemed to shift in the shadows while coiled tentacles writhed across its back. Sarilian shivered as he studied it, perhaps remembering some past battle.

Malorg's fingers twitched as he fought down the urge to offer comfort. Studying the voidspawn himself, he felt neither fear nor anger—only the same hollow emptiness that gripped him each time he encountered the creatures in the flesh.

"I suppose this is the benefit of choice," Sarilian mused aloud as they passed the last of the artist stations and strolled toward the edge of the terrace.

They stood a little closer than strictly necessary, and Malorg found himself stealing glances at Sarilian's hand, missing that warm connection. "What do you mean?" he asked, distracted.

"When you first showed me the Market, I thought it an unnecessary luxury, the very notion of currency at odds with the cooperation demanded by the Covenant. But I see now that it's that same freedom that granted these artists the space to enact their visions. Perhaps such artistry does little to aid in our fight against the voidspawn. Yet, I cannot deny how its beauty stirs me. What kind of life is an existence without joy? With nothing but ceaseless conflict to lend it meaning?"

Sarilian's words hit a bit too close for comfort, and Malorg snorted to hide his unease as they reached the railing lining the terrace. City streets stretched beneath them in an elaborate labyrinth. "You act as though Celestials have no art."

Sarilian's face grew pensive. Malorg tried not to stare at the way he chewed on his bottom lip. "We do. I've spent hours studying the grand murals in the Hall of Virtue and the statues of Celestial champions that line Daybreak's boulevards. But those exist for a specific purpose, to commemorate an important person or historic event." He gestured at the room behind them. "Not like this—not art for its own sake." Mustering a faint smile, he said, "I must admit, I'm beginning to see the merits of living for something more than one's duty. Perhaps we Celestials could learn a thing or two about pleasure from you Infernals."

Eternal Dark, Sarilian's talk of pleasure and his knowing half-smirk shouldn't have had such a profound impact on him—like a thousand bees buzzing in his stomach. Trying to relax his shoulders and school his expression, Malorg didn't reply at first, his gaze distant as he stared out over the city. Then, words he'd never before spoken aloud began to spill out of him.

"When I first arrived in the Dusklands, I was eager to learn. I don't remember too much of those early years, but I remember that—my enthusiasm for the hunt. For mastering my skills, honing my magic, and fulfilling my purpose. Some struggle with it, especially with the increased freedom afforded Infernals. But I relished the challenge."

A smile tugged on his lips as he recalled fending off a pack of voidspawn with Pelorak and Uryqh. Pelorak had never been fond of combat, more interested in deciphering Twilight's complex political landscape than fighting, but he'd often tagged along with them anyway. The three of them had been inseparable, flush with grandiose visions of their future triumphs.

Malorg's smile faded, a deep ache reverberating through him. Such dreams hadn't been meant to last. A rush of heat blazed down his side, and he glanced over to find that Sarilian had edged closer.

Malorg knew he should step away, put some needed distance between them. Instead, he leaned into the touch. Sarilian's throat bobbed on a swallow as Malorg continued, his voice a near whisper as old pain and frustration bled through.

"Eventually, however, I tired of the ceaseless slaughter. Believing there must be a better way, I appealed to the Dusk Council and convinced them to send me to Daybreak as an emissary." A bitter laugh escaped him. "I thought if I forged a new Covenant with the Celestials, one that united rather than divided us, we could defeat the Void for good."

That had been right after Pelorak's appointment as the Aspect of Ambition, and though Pelorak had been skeptical of Malorg's plan, he'd supported him anyway. It had taken every ounce of Pelorak's cunning and Malorg's reputation as a peerless warrior to earn the rest of the Dusk Council's approval. And in the end, all Malorg had to show for it were his regrets.

"I take it they didn't listen?" Sarilian asked, his voice quiet.

Malorg's strained chuckle came out more a snarl. His face tightened as he recalled that first visit to the Dawnlands, standing before the assembled Dawn Council in their Hall of Virtue while the weight of their open disdain threatened to crush him. "They suspected an Infernal trick, born out of desperation thanks to our relative scarcity of fresh souls. I spent years trying to convince them otherwise, but…"

A vision of Uryqh, his once-handsome face blackened and charred, his eyes pleading as he screamed for help, stole Malorg's breath. Shoving aside the memory, he struggled to still his racing heart and lifted his shoulders in feigned nonchalance. "With neither side actually interested in reconciliation, the Accords were doomed from the start. A disastrous joint training exercise gave the Dawn Council the excuse they needed to end the charade."

From the way Sarilian stared at him, his face filled with enough sympathy to make Malorg's skin crawl, he didn't think his act had fooled the Celestial. Still, he was grateful when Sarilian didn't press, merely giving an encouraging nod as he waited for Malorg to continue. Malorg expelled the last of his words in a rush.

"The Dusk Council recalled me home, but I found I'd lost my will to command. I retired my position, giving up the prestige and influence that came with it." His gaze swept over the elaborate sculptures, pausing on the life-like voidspawn. "I tried my hand at other pursuits, like you suggested. That's how I discovered this place. Something about it called to me. But making art while the universe crept toward annihilation felt too much like burying my head in the sand, so I returned to the outskirts to fight the voidspawn alone."

Another harsh laugh escaped him. He felt like he was drowning in bitterness—in bygone regrets and broken dreams. Eternal Dark, why had he dredged any of this up instead of leaving it in the past where it belonged? "Just as pointless, perhaps, but at least I could do my minuscule part to hold back the Void until it claimed me as it has so many others over the millennia."

His hand tightened into a fist, duskflame crackling along his knuckles. He waited for Sarilian to speak—to offer more meaningless words or naive promises they both knew he couldn't keep. But the Celestial surprised him.

"Do you ever think about your mortal life?" Sarilian asked.

Malorg eyed him askance, trying to figure out the point behind Sarilian's non sequitur. "What is there to think about? I've tried to recover my memories over the years, but there's nothing. No trace of the mortal I once was."

Sarilian shrugged. "Just because there are no conscious memories doesn't mean other remnants don't linger." He studied a nearby duskflame sculpture depicting a tree of blossoming flowers. Even by the lofty standards set by the artwork here, it was exquisite, each blossom a miracle. "You said art appealed to you. Maybe you were an artist in a former life."

Malorg snorted. "I'm good at killing, too. By that logic, I might as easily have been a soldier."

"True," Sarilian admitted. He crossed his arms, facing Malorg. "Fine. If you were a mortal, what would you want to be? Personally, I think I'd want to be a teacher."

Malorg's brows shot up. "A teacher?"

Sarilian nodded solemnly. "One of the Dawn Aspects took me under his wing when I first arrived here. His gentle encouragement gave me the strength and drive I needed to live up to my potential. I like the idea of working with others and helping them as he did me."

Something clicked in Malorg's mind. His entire body tensed. "Is that what I am to you—a project to work on? Someone to fix?"

Sarilian took a step back, eyes widening. "No! That's not—"

"Perhaps it's time you returned to your own people."

Malorg spun away, trying to ignore the hurt coiling through him. The thought of resuming his dreary existence soured his stomach…but not as much as the idea that Sarilian had only sought him out because of some misguided Celestial urge to save him.

Warmth spread down Malorg's back, and he realized that Sarilian had shuffled forward to rest a hand on his bunched muscles. At first, Malorg remained stiff, holding back any reaction. But as Sarilian began lightly rubbing his hand in concentric circles, Malorg gradually relaxed into the Celestial's touch. He sighed, the tension bleeding out of him.

"Sorry," he grunted. "That wasn't fair. Our conversation has me wound a little tight."

"It's okay," Sarilian said, continuing his gentle ministrations. "I admit that I'm worried about you and want to help. But not ," he added when Malorg bristled, "because I view you as a problem to solve."

"Why then?" Malorg hated how vulnerable the question sounded, but he couldn't help it. He needed to know why Sarilian had singled him out. Why he'd returned and agreed to venture into an Infernal city. Why he seemed so determined to drag Malorg back from the knife's edge he'd teetered on for centuries.

Sarilian hesitated, his hand stilling. Malorg's breath caught when Sarilian slowly wrapped his arms around him, pressing up against his back until nothing separated them but their thin tunics. Dawnflame and duskflame, light and dark—the opposing forces thrummed through Malorg like an electric charge.

Sarilian rested his chin on Malorg's shoulder, both their hearts racing as the Celestial leaned in to whisper, "Because I think I might need you as much as you need me."

For a single, glorious moment, Malorg allowed himself to give in to whatever lay between them. He closed his eyes and turned his head so that his cold cheek brushed against Sarilian's lips. A soft growl escaped Sarilian's throat.

Then, the bark of nearby laughter broke the spell and sent reality crashing back in. This was no mortal fairy tale. Nothing had changed between them. They were still a Celestial and an Infernal, caught on opposite sides in a ceaseless war that would eventually claim them both. And, as much as Malorg yearned for things to be different, it was pointless to pretend otherwise.

He melted into the shadows and reformed several strides away, instantly missing Sarilian's blazing heat. It was well past time Sarilian and he parted ways before things became even more complicated between them than they already were.

He went to tell Sarilian exactly that, but what came out of his treacherous mouth instead was, "There's one more place I want to show you before you go."

Eternal Dark, I'm a fool. Mentally kicking himself, he retreated toward the Gallery's entrance without waiting for a response, both fearing and praying that Sarilian would follow.