Page 75 of Mated to the Monster God
“We lost too much,” I begin, voice hoarse. “We fought too hard. And we’re never gonna be the same.”
I kneel, light the pyres one by one. The smell of smoke joins the scent of singed metal and wet earth. Tears blur my vision, but I don’t wipe them away.
“We stay,” I whisper. “We rebuild.”
Sagax steps beside me, silent and solemn. His hand brushes mine.
And behind us, Sweetwater burns—but it also breathes.
Night fallssoft and thick over Sweetwater like a blanket draped across a battered body. The fires have burned down to embers, and the wailing has quieted to whispers. Somewhere in the distance, a child laughs—a bright, foreign sound in the dark. It makes something catch in my chest.
I’m sitting with Sagax on the ridge above the habitat domes, tucked between the rocks like we’ve done before, but this time feels different. The air smells like ash and wildflowers, of burned hopes and stubborn dreams. It’s cooler now, the breeze tickling the sweat-slicked hair at my nape, lifting the edge of the blanket around my shoulders.
He sits beside me, not touching but close—close enough that I can feel the heat of him. The starlight paints his face in strange silver angles, catching on the scar at his temple and the fine edges of his jaw. He’s silent, eyes fixed on the sky like he’s expecting it to fall again.
“Do you ever wonder what now means?” I ask, breaking the silence.
He turns his head slowly. “Clarify.”
“Now that we’re not running. Not fighting. Not dying every second.” I look up too. The stars are absurdly beautiful tonight, like they showed up just to prove something. “What do we do now?”
Sagax blinks once, as if this is the first time the question’s ever occurred to him. Maybe it is.
He shifts slightly, just enough that our knees brush. “Whatever you want,” he says. “I exist for you.”
My breath catches a little.
It’s not just what he says. It’s how he says it—like it’s the simplest truth in the universe. Like it’s as unshakeable as gravity.
“For me?” I murmur.
“Yes.” He studies my face, eyes glowing faintly like molten gold behind smoked glass. “You saved me. I owe you all that I am.”
I shake my head, chuckling softly. “That’s not how people work, big guy.”
“I am not people.”
That makes me laugh, even as something hot and fierce stirs in my chest.
“No,” I agree. “You’re not.”
We sit in silence for a bit, the kind that hums with things unsaid. Crickets chirp. Something rustles down by the water pumps. I don’t care. The whole world could burn again and I wouldn’t move.
I lean into him, just slightly. His body is warm—radiating strength and protection and something else I can’t quite name.
“I don’t want to survive anymore,” I whisper. “I want to live.”
Sagax looks at me, his brow furrowing. “What is the difference?”
“Surviving is breathing. Living is choosing. Laughing. Building something real.” I bite my lip. “Loving.”
He processes that slowly, the way he does everything. Then nods. “Then let’s live.”
I turn toward him fully, our faces inches apart. My fingers twitch, aching to touch him, to trace the sharp line of his jaw, the strange, otherworldly scars beneath his cheekbones.
“Let’s make this place ours,” I say.
His eyes flare softly, golden light catching on my skin like firelight. “Ours.”
