Seris had always believed the Abyss was infinite.
She understood now that infinity was not a place—it was a boundary. One that curved inward on itself, defining what existed within by what it excluded without. The Abyss was vast, yes, but it was still a realm. Still a center.
And she was about to leave it.
The realization settled heavily in her chest as she stood at the threshold where shadows thinned into something else—something less alive. Beyond this point, the Abyss did not shape itself automatically. It would not anticipate her steps. It would not catch her if she fell.
"You don't have to go," Mason said quietly.
She did not turn. "Yes. I do."
The Continuum's message echoed relentlessly in her mind. Restraint. Choice. Awareness. Words that sounded harmless until one understood what they demanded.
The Abyss stirred faintly behind her, not resisting, not urging—watching. It had given her space. That, more than devotion, unsettled her.
Mason stepped closer, shadows curling tighter around him the nearer they came to the edge of the realm. Here, his presence was heavier, more concentrated, as though the darkness itself were reluctant to let him stray too far.
"You step out there," he said, "and you're no longer insulated. The universe will feel you directly."
"I know."
"And so will everything that wants to test you."
She turned to face him then.
His expression was controlled, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable. This was not fear—not for himself. It was something sharper. More personal.
"You don't like this," she said softly.
"No," he admitted. "I don't."
"Because you can't fight it."
He met her gaze steadily. "Because I can't replace myself if something happens to you."
The honesty struck deep.
Seris reached for his hand, fingers threading with his. The bond hummed quietly at the contact, grounding them both.
"I'm not leaving you," she said. "I'm extending us."
Mason exhaled slowly. "You always make it sound reasonable."
She smiled faintly. "You're still coming."
He snorted. "That was never in question."
The boundary shimmered.
Beyond it lay a reality that felt thinner—less saturated. Time flowed differently there, stretched and brittle, like glass under tension. Seris felt it immediately as they crossed the threshold: a subtle drag at her thoughts, a recalibration of presence.
The Abyss receded behind them.
Not vanishing.
Waiting.
They emerged into a liminal expanse—a convergence point where multiple realms brushed against one another without fully intersecting. Here, space folded in gentle arcs, and light refracted in impossible angles. No gods waited here. No armies.
Only witnesses.
Seris felt them before she saw them—entities scattered across the periphery, half-present, half-withdrawn. Some were ancient. Others newly formed. None wore crowns.
Non-divine powers.
"They're afraid," Mason murmured.
Seris nodded. "But not of me."
A ripple passed through the expanse.
A figure stepped forward—not human, not monstrous. Its form shifted subtly as it moved, adapting to perception rather than insisting upon it.
"Anchor," it said.
Seris stiffened.
"That's not my name."
"No," the entity agreed. "It is your function."
Mason's shadows flared.
"Careful," he warned.
The entity inclined its head. "This is not a challenge."
"Then why are you here?" Seris asked.
"To observe restraint," it replied. "To see if permanence can coexist with mercy."
Her jaw tightened. "You're testing me."
"Yes."
She felt Mason's grip tighten around her hand.
"Don't," he said softly. "You don't owe them performance."
"I know," she replied. "But this isn't for them."
She stepped forward.
The entity did not retreat.
"I won't intervene unless intervention is necessary," Seris said. "I won't impose stability through force. I won't preemptively correct outcomes that haven't occurred."
The entity watched her closely. "And if imbalance grows?"
"Then I act," she said simply. "Not because I must—but because I choose to."
Silence followed.
Then, slowly, the entity stepped back.
"Recorded," it said. "Observed."
It dissolved into the expanse.
Others followed—retreating, withdrawing, dispersing like ripples fading across water.
Seris sagged slightly.
Mason caught her immediately, pulling her close. His arms wrapped around her with fierce certainty, grounding her against his chest.
"You held back," he said quietly.
"Yes."
"That cost you."
She nodded, pressing her forehead into him. "It did."
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Never do that alone," he said.
She swallowed. "I won't."
The bond pulsed, warm and steady.
Behind them, far beyond the boundary, the Abyss watched—silent, patient, accepting.
For the first time, Seris understood restraint not as denial, but as trust.
And Mason—ever dangerous, ever devoted—understood something else entirely:
Some battles were not won by obsession.
They were endured.