The Abyss had a memory.
Seris knew this the instant she stepped forward after the encounter with the entity. Every ripple, every shadow, every pulse carried the imprint of what had just occurred. The platform beneath her feet vibrated subtly—not violently, not dangerously—but enough to remind her that the Abyss remembered the separation.
Mason was behind her, silent, his presence a quiet shadow at the edge of perception. He didn't need to speak to remind her he was there. Every inch of her awareness was threaded with him.
Yet, for the first time, she felt the gap between them as tangibly as she felt the pull of gravity.
"Did it teach you anything?" Mason asked softly, voice cutting through the tense quiet.
"I… I think so," she said. Her fingers brushed the mark at her collarbone, feeling the pulse of the bond stretch thin, then snap back like a tether in wind. "That restraint is… heavier than I imagined. That the Abyss itself can respect it, but not the universe beyond it."
Mason's jaw tightened. He didn't respond immediately. His shadows shifted subtly, curling into sharper spikes as if preparing for a strike he wasn't going to make. "You handled it," he said finally. "Without me. You didn't call for me. And I can't tell if I'm proud or furious."
"You're both," she replied softly.
He looked at her, silver eyes threading with obsidian shadows, and for a moment, his control wavered. "I'm not used to watching you face threats and survive without me stepping in. It feels… wrong."
She stepped closer, her hand brushing the shadows at his wrist. "It's not wrong. It's necessary. You can't fight everything for me. Sometimes the bond isn't about protection. Sometimes it's about trust. And you've taught me that, Mason."
His eyes narrowed. "Trust?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "I trust you. But I need to trust myself, too."
The shadows around him flared sharply—reacting, tense, like a living thing detecting danger—and he swallowed. "You're terrifying," he said softly. "Do you know that?"
"I've felt the Abyss," she replied quietly. "I've felt the universe bend to test me. And I've felt what it's like to survive without your shadow around me. That terrifies me too. But it doesn't stop me."
Mason's hands clenched into fists, shadows twitching, coiling dangerously close to her. For a moment, the tension was a living entity between them, and the Abyss seemed to hold its breath.
"You are my constant," he admitted. "I can't—don't—know how to measure a world without you. I can't bear the thought of something happening to you when I'm not there. You being… separate from me…" His voice broke briefly, but the control returned almost instantly. "It isn't just fear. It's need. Obsession. Everything I am is tethered to you, and it's suffocating me to see that tether stretch even for a second."
Seris's chest tightened. She understood the words with terrifying clarity. The bond had always been mutual, yes—but this was the first time she truly understood the pressure it placed on him. She could feel his desire, his obsession, like a shadow pressing against her own. She had never realized that his need to claim, to guard, to consume the world for her, was more than passion—it was a dangerous gravitational force.
"Then we learn," she said softly. "You, me, the bond, and the Abyss. We learn restraint together. That's the only way this doesn't destroy us."
Mason's gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, something raw and feral flickering behind the obsidian-silver. "And if I fail?"
"You won't," she said, voice firm. "But even if you do… we survive anyway. That's the point of restraint."
The Abyss pulsed beneath them, low and deliberate, as if acknowledging the words, acknowledging them both. The shadows around Mason flattened slightly, bowing to her presence, to her declaration of autonomy.
A sudden shift in the outer darkness drew their attention. A ripple that was not Abyss-born. Another observer, distant, watching—but not intervening. Its presence was deliberate, and the Abyss twitched in response, not with aggression, but with awareness.
"You see?" Seris said, tilting her head. "The universe will test us. Even now, beyond its laws, even when the Abyss is neutral. Restraint is not just about choice. It's about endurance."
Mason exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against hers. "And you… are willing to endure without me?"
She smiled faintly, hands cupping his face. "Not without you. But with you trusting me enough to step back when necessary."
He closed his eyes. Shadows around him softened, weaving around them both like a cocoon. "I don't know if I can ever stop needing to protect you," he admitted.
"You don't have to," she said, pressing her forehead to his. "I only ask that you allow me the chance to be strong beside you, not beneath you."
The Abyss pulsed again, deeper and slower this time, as if impressed by her declaration. Outside, the faint ripple of watchers shifted back into observation—distant, but acknowledging. The predator had not left, but for now, it hesitated.
Mason exhaled, a long, controlled sound. "You terrify me more than any enemy ever could," he said softly, a hint of a growl threading through his voice. "Because you choose your own path, and I can't control that. And yet…" His hands slid to her waist, pulling her close, tight enough to feel her heartbeat. "And yet I can't let you face it alone."
Seris rested her hands against his chest. The shadows hummed around them like coiled steel, restrained but ready. "You won't have to. Not completely. We endure together. But we will not suffocate each other. That's the covenant now."
A soft ripple moved through the Abyss—a subtle acknowledgment, almost like approval. It did not speak. It did not act. But it waited, patient, eternal, a silent witness to the shaping of something far more dangerous than any god or predator: a bond tempered by obsession and choice, restraint and desire, darkness and devotion.
And for the first time, Seris understood the full weight of it.
Some things could not be guarded.
Some things had to be carried.
And some things—like them—had to endure together.