"You won't even consider my offer?" Morax asks. His voice is quiet, but there's a solid quality to it, the kind of voice that reverberates through your whole body. "The world is changing. A war –"
"Mere rumours, I'm sure." You say, busying yourself with the kettle and the teapot. The smell of roses fills the air, and the steam feels cleansing when you breathe it in. The harvest has been good this year; perhaps you'll send some flowers back with Morax.
"Not rumours." His voice rises before he catches himself, staring down at the delicate porcelain of the teacup that seems so out of place in his large hands. "The mortals are calling this the Archon War. The world is in chaos. As isolated as you and your people are, surely you must have heard of it by now."
You purse your lips. With the teapot filled to the brim with hot water, you reach for it, moving your chair a few inches closer to his as you refill his tea cup, the liquid red as fresh blood. You don't – can't – look at him, instead focusing on the task at hand and taking your time with it. A lock of hair falls into your eyes, but you make no moves to push it aside. Your silence isn't an answer, but it might as well be.
"Havria has been driven from her land. Mortals and Gods alike are dying. You surely cannot believe that your sanctuary will hold forever."
He's only giving voice to your own fears, but the words still sting. "If the worst should come to pass, surely we could negotiate, make them see reason –"
"Do you really think that peace is possible?" Morax laughs, but it's a joyless sound. "Do you really think that they will stop and see reason because you ask it of them? You haven't seen the destruction that this war has brought. The Gods are not kind."
That's not true, you want to say. Because you know that the God standing in front of you, surely has to be living proof that your ideals aren't just mere fantasies. Why else would he be standing in front of you now, with a softness in his eyes that makes him look like a completely different person? Not Morax, the God of War, but as someone who cares for your safety and wellbeing.
"My people and I will stay here, as we have done for centuries. We will be fine." You say after a moment. Your voice sounds stronger than you feel. "I will not run. Nor will I subject my people to a war they want no part in."
Morax must recognize this for what it is. A dismissal, a refusal to talk any further about the topic, which once again sits between the two of you, heavy and unacknowledged.
He drains the last of his tea, and stands, preparing to leave. Guilt lodges in the pit of your stomach, impossible to ignore. It's not enough for you to change your mind, but it's there all the same. With a war brewing, he and Guizhong must surely be busy defending their own people upon the Guili plains. And yet, he's somehow managed to carve out a precious sliver of his time to meet with you.
You'll miss him. The thought is like the crack of a whip, a pain you feel down all the way to your bones.
"I could keep you safe." Morax says, and you turn to face him. This close, you can feel the warmth rolling from his skin. He cups your face gently, running his fingers over your cheekbones. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, and you can feel his warm breath gusting against your cheek. "They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you."
Reaching up, you capture his hands in yours. "You and Lady Guizhong will prevail. Peace will return to this land once again. I know it."
"Be safe." He says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "And don't do anything foolish. I'll see you soon."
But you are a soft god in a cruel world, and Morax's prediction comes true.
Your sanctuary turns to dust, and the roses turn to ashes upon the wind.
The only thing left of your existence is the ornamental rose that had once adorned your hair, and Morax's eyes are empty and numb as he clutches it in his hand.
