The first consequence of restraint was loss of certainty.
Seris felt it immediately after they returned to the Abyss—not as pain, not as weakness, but as a subtle thinning of clarity. The realm welcomed her back, shadows coiling instinctively around her presence, but something had shifted. Where once the Abyss had responded instantly to her will, now there was a fraction of hesitation.
Not resistance.
Expectation.
It waited for her to decide.
She stood at the edge of a high obsidian terrace overlooking the endless dark, arms wrapped tightly around herself. The silver mark at her collarbone glowed faintly, steady but subdued, like a heartbeat learned rather than instinctive.
Mason watched her from a short distance away.
He had not left her side since they returned—not truly. Even when he stepped back, even when he gave her space, his awareness never loosened. It pressed against her like a second shadow, protective and sharp.
"You're quieter," he said.
She didn't turn. "So is the Abyss."
"That's not what I meant."
She exhaled slowly. "I know."
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not empty. Mason approached finally, stopping just behind her—not touching, not claiming. Waiting.
That, too, was new.
"I felt it when we crossed back," he said. "You didn't take everything with you."
Seris closed her eyes. "I couldn't."
"You chose not to," he corrected.
"Yes."
His jaw tightened. "And now?"
She turned to face him, shadows shifting around her feet in response.
"Now I feel exposed," she admitted. "Not weaker. Just… visible."
Mason's eyes darkened.
"I don't like that."
"I know."
He stepped closer. "I can fix it."
The words were quiet. Controlled. Dangerous.
Her pulse quickened. "How?"
"I stop holding back," he said. "I stop allowing distance. I make it clear—to the Abyss, to the observers, to every non-divine thing watching—that touching you has a cost."
The bond stirred violently at his words, shadows reacting instinctively to his intent.
Seris reached out, placing her hand flat against his chest.
"No."
The single word landed hard.
Mason froze.
"You promised," she said softly. "You said you wouldn't decide for me."
His breath hitched, something feral flashing behind his control. "This isn't deciding. This is protecting."
"And this," she said gently, "is what restraint looks like."
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, quietly, "You're asking me to accept risk."
"Yes."
"To tolerate uncertainty."
"Yes."
His voice dropped. "To trust that you won't be taken from me."
She met his gaze steadily. "I'm asking you to trust me."
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Mason looked away.
The Abyss stirred uneasily, shadows tightening, responding to the fracture in alignment between them. Seris felt it—a subtle tremor in the realm, a reflection of the tension coiling between her and Mason.
"This is the part they don't see," he said finally. "The part they don't account for."
She stepped closer. "What part?"
"My obsession isn't a flaw," he said. "It's a constant. It doesn't lessen because I choose to behave. It pressurizes."
Her heart ached. "I know."
"Do you?" He looked back at her, silver eyes burning. "Because if you're visible now—if you're exposed—then every instinct I have is screaming at me to close around you until nothing else can reach you."
She swallowed. "And yet you're standing here."
"Barely."
She lifted her hand, brushing her thumb along his jaw. The touch grounded him instantly, shadows settling as if soothed by contact.
"You're not losing me," she said. "But I won't let you cage the universe just to keep me safe."
A bitter smile curved his mouth. "You make it sound unreasonable."
She smiled faintly in return. "It is."
He huffed a breath, resting his forehead against hers.
"This," he murmured, "is harder than war."
"I know."
The Abyss pulsed, slow and deliberate.
Then—
Something shifted.
Seris stiffened.
Mason felt it instantly, his posture snapping taut. "We're not alone."
"No," she agreed. "And this time… it's not watching."
The shadows at the far edge of the terrace twisted sharply, coalescing into a distortion that bent space inward. The Abyss reacted late—too late—its response delayed by the restraint Seris had imposed.
A figure emerged.
Not god.
Not observer.
Something older.
Something that had existed before permanence was a concept.
Mason stepped in front of Seris without thinking.
The figure's form was indistinct, constantly slipping between shapes—shadow and substance, presence and absence. Its voice, when it spoke, did not echo.
It settled.
"Anchor," it said. "You weaken the boundary."
Seris felt a chill crawl up her spine.
"I reinforce it through choice," she replied.
The entity tilted its head. "Choice introduces variance."
Mason's shadows flared. "Leave."
The entity ignored him.
"You allow uncertainty to exist near the core," it continued. "That invites predation."
Seris's hands curled into fists. "Are you a predator?"
The entity paused.
"Yes."
The Abyss shuddered.
Mason moved.
Shadows exploded outward as he lunged, intent lethal and absolute—but the entity did not resist.
It slid.
His strike passed through empty space.
Seris gasped. "Mason—!"
The entity reappeared closer—too close—its attention brushing against Seris's presence like cold fingers.
"This is what cannot be guarded," it said softly. "What you refuse to preempt."
Mason snarled, positioning himself between them again, shadows screaming as he reinforced the space around her with sheer will.
"You will not touch her."
The entity regarded him calmly.
"You cannot strike what does not fully exist," it said. "And she cannot anchor what she will not control."
Seris stepped forward despite Mason's grip tightening around her wrist.
"Enough."
The word did not command.
It resolved.
The Abyss reacted—not violently, but decisively—shadows thickening, stabilizing the space around them, compressing probability rather than matter.
The entity stiffened.
"You adapt quickly," it observed.
"I have to," Seris replied. "Because I refuse to become a tyrant."
The entity studied her.
Then, slowly, it withdrew.
"This is not over," it said. "Restraint will be tested."
It dissolved into the darkness, leaving behind a silence far heavier than before.
Seris sagged.
Mason caught her, arms locking around her with fierce relief. His breath was uneven, control frayed.
"That," he said hoarsely, "is exactly what I was afraid of."
She leaned into him, heart pounding. "And that's why I have to learn."
He closed his eyes briefly, pressing his forehead to her hair.
"I will never stop wanting to cage the world for you," he admitted.
She held him tighter. "I know."
The Abyss pulsed again—uncertain, adapting, alive.
Some things could not be guarded.
Only faced.