The Quiet After

Blackwood Manor was quiet.

The storm had passed. The cult was gone, their existence erased from the ledger of history.

Silas sat in the library, in the big leather armchair by the fire. He was reading a book about maritime history.

Lying on the rug, with his head in Silas’s lap, was Lord Alistair.

Alistair had changed. He moved with a fluidity that wasn't human. He didn't need to blink. Shadows clung to him like affectionate pets.

He was a God now. The Heir had ascended. But he hadn't left.

Alistair nuzzled his face into Silas’s stomach, inhaling deeply. He let out a sound that was half-purr, half-growl.

"You are reading," Alistair complained. "Pay attention to me."

Silas smiled, turning a page. "I am paying attention to you. I'm letting you use me as a pillow."

"Not enough," Alistair murmured. He reached up, taking Silas’s hand and pressing it to his cheek. "Never enough."

Silas looked down at him. The monster who could tear reality apart was currently pouting because he wasn't being petted.

Silas ran his fingers through Alistair’s dark hair. "I'm not going anywhere, Alistair. I'm the Tether, remember?"

Alistair’s eyes opened. The stars inside swirled.

"Yes," Alistair whispered. "My Tether. My Anchor. My Heart."

He kissed Silas’s palm.

"Mine."

Silas leaned down and kissed the God on the forehead.

"Yours," Silas agreed.

Outside, the sea calmed, and the manor settled into a peaceful, eternal silence, guarded by a monster who had finally found something worth keeping.