16 years old

The treaty is much bigger than Soul would have ever thought, riding in a carefully guarded box in a carriage of its own. Beside him, Maka sticks her head out of the window and closes her eyes as the rain misting down hits her face.

"You're going to get a cold," he says as she pulls back into the carriage.

"I can heal myself."

"Getting a runny nose for any length of time is still unpleasant."

She makes a face, moving back to look outside the window again. The realm of the witches is a land shrouded in mist with blue-black plants that move when Soul isn't looking directly at them, animals that either have too many eyes or teeth, and iron-gray castles that look like broken teeth and appear out of nowhere. Here, Soul can sense the magic around him, weighing down on his shoulders like a cloak.

They pass by another castle, this one surrounded by large bird cages. There are thirteen covens, he remembers Maka telling him before they set off, each with a castle of their own and represented by their familiar. He assumes this coven's familiar is a bird of some sort, though he doesn't know of any bird that requires a birdcage that big.

His gaze moves back to Maka. Since they crossed over into the witches' territory, there's been a distracted air in her voice and a nervous bounce in her movements.

"How do you feel about coming back?" he asks.

"I've only visited here a few times," she answers, not taking her eyes off the passing countryside. "I wouldn't call it coming back to anywhere."

"No coven?"

"Covenless." She shakes her head. "My mother left hers to go live with my father and Mabaa lived outside the witches' territory. No one complained because she's the oldest."

"Why did she leave?"

"Too many gossips," she says. "She said she was two centuries too old for hearing it."

Her voice is light but he can hear the somberness running underneath it. "If only I had that excuse."

"You certainly have the appearance for it." Maka snorts and leans back, finally looking at him.

He scowls in mock offence. "This is hereditary, my grandma was born with white hair too."

"At least you carry it well."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Maka hums, light flashing between her fingers in the way it does when she's nervous but doesn't want to talk, so Soul stays quiet and goes back to reviewing the letter from his father.

Relations between the witches and humans have only declined more than they already have over the past two years, with the outright refusal from the leaders of three witch covens to leave their home to sign the treaty. It was a clear provocation for war-the lords had convened at Lord Evans' castle and argued for several days before Wes suggested sending an envoy to the witches' realm for the treaty signing. That had also taken many days and countless messages between the lords and witches' assembly to arrange but they were in the witches' territory now, treaty in tow.

It was the first time that the treaty wouldn't be signed in human territory and, for all of the talk of the act being a move towards equity and equality, anyone who worked on the inside of the treaty knew it was the exact opposite. There wasn't much good in the treaty without a signature from every coven, which was a fact that the witches had used when arranging the treaty signing.

The same distrust on the humans' side was why the envoy moved in two groups: one with Wes and Mabaa, who supposedly traveled with the treaty, and the other with Soul and Maka, who carried the real treaty. With Maka, who was nearly a fully realized witch, there was little need for the guards who accompanied them but his father had insisted.

The gentle pitter-patter of rain sounds against the ceiling of the carriage and Soul looks up from the letter. Maka hasn't moved, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth while her brow furrows in deep thought.

After their encounter with the illusion in the forest, Maka had never seemed quite at ease, even after reporting what happened to Mabaa. She was good at hiding her worry, though Soul noticed the way she paid more attention to the news brought by the messengers from other lords. When word of the location change of the treaty signing broke, she hadn't said anything but had gotten quiet, like how she did when something truly worried her.

She shifts, as if she can feel Soul looking at her, and meets his eyes. "I don't have something stuck in my hair, do I?"

Heat burns in his cheeks. Looking at Maka directly seems to be something he can't do without blushing these days. "No, nothing."

"Then?"

He shrugs. "Just thinking."

"Thinking," she repeats. A sly tone enters her voice. "Not getting scared, are you?"

"Not likely," he says, rolling his eyes. "I've dreamed of worse things."

Maka's expression changes abruptly and he frowns. "What?"

"You had a nightmare while you were sleeping on the way here," she answers after a beat of silence. She narrows her eyes at him, though concern lights her face. "You hadn't told me they had gotten that bad."

He shrugs but a knot forms in his stomach. The dreams where he's drowning in darkness visit him almost nightly now but he hadn't thought the nap he'd taken in the carriage was enough time for a nightmare to take hold.

"They're annoying but that's all," he says. "Nothing worth telling about."

The look on Maka's face tells him she remains unconvinced.

"It's fine," he insists. "If they ever become worse, I'll tell you."

The carriage jolts as they dip into a particularly big hole in the dirt road; they start and Maka tumbles forward and nearly smacks heads with Soul. He catches her by the shoulder, looking up to find her face inches from his.

He jerks back, dropping his hand. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Maka's cheeks are a strange shade of pink as she speaks and looks out of the window. Her eyes widen and she points. "Look!"

Soul peers out of his window to see the largest castle he's seen in their journey so far; unlike the other castles, this one is made out of pitch black stone and looks almost like a mountain except for the giant arrows that criss-cross around its exterior.

Wes, Mabaa and the rest of their party are already waiting by the footsteps of the castle. The serious face on Wes' face fades when he sees their carriage and he gives a cheery wave.

The carriage bounces slightly as it moves from the road to smooth stone. Soul exchanges a glance with Maka. "Ready?"

She gives him a smile that almost hides the worry in her eyes, though she raises her head with the same kind of fearlessness she always carries herself with. "Is there a choice?"

It's oddly bright inside the castle as they're led by a cloaked servant down a series of hallways. Everything, from the portraits on the wall to the snake statues standing at every corner, seems to dwarf them, which only increases the feeling of ominous foreboding that's picked intermittently at Soul all day. By the agreement set out by the witches, their group isn't very big-the two dozen guards sent to escort Soul, Wes and the two witches are laughable in comparison to the magic exuding from the walls of the fortress.

Maka stays next to Soul as they walk. Curiosity replaces her unease as her eyes dart from corner to corner, taking in everything around them. Occasionally, she probes the servant with questions that they answer in a nearly indiscernible voice. Meanwhile, Mabaa strides ahead of everyone, even the servant. From what Soul could see of the old witch's face when they were outside, she had seemed thoroughly unimpressed and unintimidated.

"She was part of this coven before she left," Maka says to Soul. "Led it for a while, actually."

"A while?"

"A few centuries."

He continues to stare after the old witch, trying to imagine living more than a handful of decades. "I'm understanding more and more why she became a hermit."

Maka's words drop into a whisper. "She helped write the original treaty so it's a shame that she did. A lot of the other leaders who wrote the treaty have have also stepped down or died."

Soul lowers his voice as well. "And I'm guessing that the new leaders aren't as receptive to the treaty."

"Not very," she agrees. "But they always managed until the leader that replaced Mabaa died unexpectedly. A witch named Medusa took her place and she's been even less...cooperative."

Wes' voice sounds in Soul's ear as a hand claps on his shoulder. "I thought I'd hear something more interesting than politics when I saw you whispering."

Soul rolls his eyes while Maka flashes a smile. "Maybe when we're back home."

He gives her a look. "Don't encourage him."

"You're a few years late for that warning." Wes glances back to where the box containing the treaty is being carried by four of the guards sent with them. "Not going too badly, right?"

"We just arrived."

"Still, a good start translates into a good middle and end. Generally speaking." Wes adjusts the hems of his sleeves before tugging on the fastenings to his cape. He manages to look completely comfortable even when dressed head to toe in royal formalwear.

"You're being awfully optimistic," Maka notes.

"Not much of a choice when the other option is curling up in a corner to cry." Wes says as the hallway opens up into a sprawling courtyard, stone walls covered in ivy. Ahead of them, in the middle of the courtyard, is a stone table where thirteen faces turn to them.

"Guess that's my cue to take center stage." Wes rolls back his shoulders and quickens his pace to catch up with Mabaa.

Soul meets eyes with Maka. "Nervous?"

Another smile spreads briefly across her face again. "Terrified, maybe," she says. "But nervous, no."

Night is falling by the time the witches leave, though hanging lanterns appear from out of nowhere and light themselves.

Wes continues to talk with Medusa, the head of the snake coven, while two witches, one with dark hair and the other with hair that continually changes colors, stay behind as the other witches depart. Mabaa, who had sat through the meeting without saying a word, rises and walks away from the table when the two witches speak to her.

Maka taps her shoes against the grass from where she and Soul sit on a stone bench. "This is more…"

"Boring?" Soul fills in.

"Less eventful than I thought it was going to be," Maka corrects. "Not that it's a bad thing."

"Wes is having the time of his life, at least," he says, looking towards him. Even with the threat of war looming over him, his brother looks completely relaxed, chatting animatedly with Medusa and the dark-haired witch. The other witch has seemingly disappeared.

"What do you think?" Soul tilts his head towards the table. "Of it all?"

"A few of the witches seem alright, most of their souls are a mix of good and bad," Maka answers. Her shoulders lift. "Like most people."

Soul studies Maka carefully. There's the faint sheen to her face when her soul magic is too much of a drain. "It's not too overwhelming for your perception, is it?"

"It's manageable," she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. "But-" Soul follows Maka's gaze where her eyes are trained on Medusa. "I feel like something is rotting in her soul but I'm not sure what. But she's proud of it."

He frowns. "And Mabaa-"

"Has known Medusa for longer than I have," says Maka. "She knows."

They fall silent as Wes approaches them, the two witches following him.

"No treaty signing today," he says brightly, as if the departure of witches hadn't made it obvious. There isn't the slightest sound of agitation in his voice, like this was precisely what he wanted. "There are still some things we have to go over."

"Medusa is graciously offering us rooms to stay in," Wes continues. His eyes only glance to the treaty, positioned in its box next to Soul and Maka, for an instant. He gestures to the other witch. "Her sister, Arachne, will also be staying the night."

The ruby at Arachne's neck bobs as she gives a fluid curtsy. Her dress, black as her hair, doesn't seem to end but vanishes into the shadows instead. "It is quite an honor for the most powerful lord to send his two sons as representatives," she says, words like silk.

"A gesture we appreciate deeply." Medusa does not curtsy like her sister, inclining her head. Although her eyes are a warm golden color, there is no heat in them as she smiles. A sharpness dwells in her gaze, lighting on Soul before moving onto Maka, who stiffens. "As well as the chance to see how our coven's youngest daughter has grown up."

The expression in Maka's face is steely. "I'm covenless," she says. "By choice."

Medusa raises an eyebrow. "Oh, did Mabaa really give you a choice then?"

She scoffs. "I always had the freedom to choose and my answer still hasn't changed."

The tension is nearly palpable. Soul searches frantically for something to say but it's Wes who steps forward. "I am all for lively conversation," he says. "But perhaps we can do it over dinner?"

"Yes, sister, where are your manners?" Arachne snaps her fingers and a servant with a nose that would look more at home on a mosquito appears. "Show them to the dining hall."

"Your guards can stay with the treaty while we chat inside." The smile on Medusa's face widens and Soul can see why Medusa calls the snake her familiar. Her eyes linger on Maka, hands clenched in fists, for another beatt before she turns away. "I'm quite interested in the stories you have to share."

Soul is writhing against the tendrils of liquid darkness when something yanks on his arm urgently. He struggles against that too until a voice joins the tugging. "Wake up!"

He blinks himself awake, staring at the shadow standing over him. "Maka?"

"Are you okay?" Maka's face comes into focus as she leans closer, pulling down the hood of her cloak. Worry runs along the crease of her brow and she lifts a hand, as if to reach out. "Was that a nightmare?"

"More in the area of a mildly bad dream," he mutters, sitting up. "I don't remember my nightmares or anything in between that well." He blinks again as sleep drains away from him. "Wait, what are you doing here?"

"I-" A sheepish look replaces the concern on her face and Maka takes a step back, twisting her finger around a lock of hair that's escaped from her pigtails. "I couldn't sleep."

He rubs his eyes, trying and failing to scrub the nightmare from his mind. "So the logical thing is to wake me up?"

"It's for a reason, obviously." Her scowl is visible even in near-complete darkness. "I wanted to show you something."

Even though he is firmly rooted in reality, the darkness from the nightmare seems to fill Soul's lungs and he resists the urge to itch at his chest. "And this isn't a something that can wait till morning?"

She hesitates. "It's a something that requires some light rule bending."

"Is that what breaking witch law is called nowadays?" he asks as he swings his legs over the bed, abandoning his attempts to shake the nightmare away from him. It's never followed him into consciousness before but at least he doesn't have to be alone here.

Maka grins at him and Soul's heart does a jump into his throat that he didn't think was possible. "Is it really any fun without a little risk?"

"Wait," Maka whispers. She lifts a hand to Soul, who trails after, as she stops at the end of a hallway and peeks around the corner.

Soul inches closer and peeks over her shoulder, spying two guards in identical cloaks as the guard that greeted them outside of the castle. "Is this what you mean by light rule bending?"

"Possibly. Also, you should cover your ears." She cups her hand in the way she does when she's about to perform word magic and Soul immediately places his hands over his ears than ask questions.

He watches as Maka speaks and her words take shape in the air. Words are oddly shaped things, he's learned since Maka started practicing word magic two years ago; they never look like what he imagines they'd look like-these ones are made of soft spirals and glow faintly pink and purple as they drift to the guards.

He drops his hands as the words disappear and the two guards slump to the ground. "Sleeping spell?"

Maka breathes slightly heavily, nodding. "It takes more energy to cast on magical being than a human."

"Do you want to rest?"

She gives him a look. "Not that much energy."

Soft snores issue from underneath the guards' hoods as they pause in front of the doors they were watching. The doors have stretch to the ceiling and have no locks, emblazoned with a pair of golden snakes interlocked together.

Maka speaks again-her words sound nothing like the language she uses for her spells, soft yet rough like the hissing of a snake. Nothing happens for a moment and then the snakes come alive, untangling from each other.

"Medusa took me here when she was trying to convince me to join the coven," she says by way of explanation as the doors swing open.

"Which is something I'm still wondering why you didn't tell me about," Soul says pointedly as he follows her inside. The room opens up into what appears to be a giant atrium, filled with vividly colored plants while the night sky peeks through the glass ceiling.

"I did tell you that I was coming here two summers ago." A tinge of guilt enters Maka's voice as she follows into step with him. She flicks her fingers out and tiny balls of light fill the atrium. "The specifics weren't that important."

"That's not the way Medusa made it seem." After wrestling with himself for a minute, he adds, "And they are to me."

Maka meets his eyes, sighing. "I didn't want to tell you because I already made my choice before I even left." She pauses, hitching her nightgown to her knees as they move off the stone path and wade into overgrown grass. "Witches belong to the coven their mother belonged to but since my mother left before I was born, I was covenless. Generally, the covenless choose their coven when they're thirteen but Mabaa postponed it for me for a year. It wasn't something I could hold off forever, though."

She shrugs. "Medusa tried the hardest since this was the coven I would have been born into but I refused."

They stop in the center of the atrium, where a large well opens wide. Soul peers inside and catches a glimpse of something incandescent but Maka pulls him back before he can get a good look. "Medusa said that if a human stared into it for too long, they'd jump in."

"Unpleasant."

"It leads to the depths of time and space, according to her," Maka says, glancing inside. She sits on the ground and leans against the well.

Soul joins her. "I don't think I believe that."

"Neither do I," Maka agrees. She points upward to the sky. "Though this is what I wanted to show you."

The glass on the ceiling ripples as Maka waves a hand and a ball of dazzling light replaces the view of the sky. Soul gawks in dumbfounded silence before looking back at Maka. "What is this?"

"The same stars but magnified," answers Maka. She waves her hand again and the sky returns to normal. "One of the few things I liked about this place."

They're quiet as they watch the stars, Maka occasionally zooming in on different constellations. Soul goes from gazing at the sky to glancing at Maka from the corner of his eye; he recalls the two weeks Maka was gone two summers ago-she'd seemed relieved when she got back but he assumed it was because she was homesick.

"Why did you decide to stay?"

Maka blinks at his words and then she purses her lips as she considers. "Mabaa is a good teacher, for one. This place is too gloomy, for another." Her fingers toy with her sleeve and she slowly moves her head to look at Soul. "But mostly I didn't want to leave."

There is another conversation underlying this one and a brightness in Maka's eyes that rivals the stars they were looking at but Soul isn't quite sure how to navigate the situation. His mind comes up with several semi-eloquent responses for once but all he is able to say is, "That's good, then."

Maka's lips press together briefly. "Yes, I think so too."

"And when you're a fully realized witch?" he asks suddenly. "What do you plan on doing then?"

Maka tilts her head to the side but she doesn't look confused at him abandoning the thread of the conversation. "I don't know, maybe-"

The sound of an explosion drowns out her words and sends the world spinning in darkness.

18 years old

"The barrier around the north is breaking," Maka says by way of greeting as she enters Soul's tent. "One of the witches from the raven coven turned on us and cursed one of the towns next to the barrier. It made a hole and now every monster that's been pressing against the barrier is pouring in."

Soul looks up from the letter he just received from Wes. "Would this be a good time to tell you that Wes just lost half of his people to an ambush?"

"Probably not." Maka sinks into the chair next to him and runs her hands through her hair. The leather on her light armor is fraying in some places, though it's mostly for show with the defensive shields she can cast. "Is he all right?"

"They took down Shaula and he cracked a joke at the end so I think so." Soul drops the letter on the table. "What was the curse the witch cast?"

"Nothing will grow in or within a mile around that town again," she answers. "Which is really unfortunate since it fed half of the towns around the barrier."

"So not an easy fix." Exhaustion itches at his eyes but sleep is the last thing he wants at the moment. "How does a curse like that make a hole?"

"Magic takes energy to cast," Maka says. "But cursing takes your life force. And life spreads." Her smile turns morbid. "It takes your whole life to cast a curse on someone or something that badly."

Soul stares at the table before speaking. "That is horrible. Also terrifying."

"Accurate words for it."

"Terrifying and horrible is Medusa's strategy, though," he says. "Why not cast partial curses to break down the rest of the barrier?"

"Cursing also obliterates your ability to reincarnate," answers Maka. She reaches over to snag an uneaten apple from the plate of food Soul pushed aside. "There are few witches who would give that up."

He blinks. "I thought the reincarnation myth was only that."

Maka swallows the bite of apple in her mouth. "It's true for witches with our magic. And anyone with royal or noble blood."

He frowns. "My blood?"

"Warlocks existed at one point, though there were never as many as witches." Maka's eyes gleam in the way they always do when she's sharing a story, something Soul hasn't seen in a long time. "The last warlock had thirteen sons with a human woman at the end of his life. He blessed them each with a prosperous life and a special ability before he died and eventually they became the first of the high lords. It was quite the scandal, according to Mabaa."

He starts at the mention of the dead witch. It had been to Maka's surprise as much as his when Mabaa appeared out of nowhere with Wes the night Medusa destroyed the treaty but the witch had kept her secrets from Maka. After their feet hit the ground on the place she had teleported them to, the first thing Maka said, "Her soul is gone," and he knew.

Heaving a sigh, Maka continues. "The treaty didn't bind because of a signature on a piece of paper. It's because of the warlock blood, little as it might be. Although Medusa did have to destroy the treaty to kick off the war." She takes a breath. "The point is that you'll be able to reincarnate too."

"Well, I guess that answers why my father insisted I was a musical prodigy." Soul contemplates the insides of his cup before looking up. "The idea of living another life makes me want to throw up a little."

"Your father says that because it's true." Maka's nose scrunches up as she gives his shoulder a light shove. "And would you miss out on the chance of meeting me again?"

The protest halfway out of his mouth dries up. Soul meets her gaze. "Would we meet again?"

"I don't know." It's hard to tell in low light but he thinks he sees a flush on Maka's face. "There's a chance, at least."

"And would we know each other?" he asks.

"I don't know that either." Her hand is curling around his suddenly, although he has no idea how it happened. "I hope so."

It takes all of Soul's concentration not to stare down at their hands. "The barrier," Soul says finally.

"And Wes," Maka adds quietly. "Neither can wait for long."

They don't say what they already know. Soul glances at Maka. "How long will it take to seal the barrier and return?"

"Maybe two weeks. Three at most," she answers. "How long to reach Wes and come back?"

"The same," he says, losing the battle to not look down.

"Three weeks then." Maka's voice is the deceptive kind of calm when something is too painful to even name.

He squeezes her hand. "Three weeks."

20 years old

"It's tomorrow."

The fog from being awake for the last two days to avoid his nightmares makes it difficult to concentrate on Wes' words but Soul makes the attempt. "Can you define what it is?"

"They know we've been gathering and so have they." Wes drops the report he's been reading on the table in front of them, rubbing at his face. He looks like he's aged ten years in the year since their father died but it's not a subject Soul can bring himself to mention. "Some of our trackers on the barrier's border spotted shadow snakes a few days ago. Judging by their size, they'll be here by morning."

He straightens, shoving away the exhaustion curling in his chest. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I trust you but I don't trust our surroundings," Wes answers. "It isn't easy to find you on your own, little brother."

"Blame it on the world crashing down around us." It's quiet for a moment and then Soul whistles. "So Medusa's finally showing herself after four years. She must be getting desperate."

"After Arachne was killed, their side has never been quite the same," Wes agrees, tugging his hair out of his ponytail. "Though it must have been worse than we thought."

"Still won't be an easy fight and we still have people spread all over." Soul keeps his tone light but he can't keep his eyes from moving to the marked-up map that tracks their progress on the table.

The north is an area of red marks and crossed out lines-the land was overrun with monsters by the time Maka made it to where the magical barrier that kept Eibon separate from the witches' realm two years ago. Enemy witches took advantage of the chaos to create more rips in the barrier, which had left Wes and Soul in the south fighting on two fronts while Maka and the group of witches she traveled with worked to clear the north.

Operating in a war in such cramped quarters brought its own array of problems, all of which made Soul going to Maka impossible, and after his father died in the battle against Arachne, he refused to leave Wes on his own. Maka kept in touch through letters while the original three weeks they were supposed to be apart stretched into two years that felt more like an eternity.

"It's something that's coming, whether we like it or not." Wes leans forward to pick up the report. "Might as well be on our own terms rather than being cornered into it."

Soul laughs dryly. "That sounded almost like pessimism."

"Optimistically slanted pessimism," Wes corrects, smile fading as he looks at Soul. "You should try to get some sleep."

"Maybe after we win tomorrow," he answers, rising up anyways.

Wes raises an eyebrow. "Optimism from you?"

"One of us has to make the effort." Soul hesitates as he passes by him. "Good night, Wes."

He chuckles faintly. "I love you too, little brother."

SEPARATE

A hand clamps down on Soul's mouth as he enters his tend, silencing the yell halfway out of his mouth, a body pressing close to his back.

"Only me," hisses a voice he hasn't heard in years.

The hand drops as he whirls around. There are a few scrapes on her cheek, her hair is disheveled and she's a couple inches taller than when Soul saw her last but the smile Maka wears is the same. "Hi."

Soul's voice is somewhere stuck in his throat but he can move and he raises a hand to touch her cheek. It's the middle of winter but Maka's skin is warm and his thumb moves of its own accord, stroking her face.

Maka's smile turns amused but she leans into the touch. "Real enough for you?"

"How are you here?" he says finally.

"I'll take that as a hello." Maka wraps a hand around his and pulls him to the table next to his bed. "There were fewer breaks in the barrier lately. Less activity in general, actually so I got suspicious," she says once they're sitting. "I've been trying to get here for a while now but you're hard to find."

"Wes told me something similar earlier," Soul murmurs. He looks up. "Have you seen him yet?"

A slightly abashed look comes across her face. "I wanted to see you first."

"Well," he says after he untangles his tongue. "You're in time for the battle of our lives."

"I guessed as much from the activity in the camp," she answers lightly. "How soon?"

"Tomorrow."

Her eyes widen but the surprise on Maka's face is muted. "And then it's over."

"In one way or another."

"Not funny," she says, jabbing him in the arm. She exhales loudly after a moment. "I guess we should try to sleep then."

"Yes." He pauses. "Do you have somewhere to sleep?"

"No, but I'm sure I'll fi-"

"You can stay here," he blurts out. "If you want."

Maka's smile returns as she rubs the back of his hand with her thumb. "Only if you don't insist on sleeping on the floor."

SEPARATE

"There was something I wanted to ask you," Maka says when Soul is on the edge of sleep.

"About?" He scrubs at his eyes before opening them.

Beside him, Maka shifts before answering. "I was looking around while I waited for you and I saw this." The necklace he made years ago swings in her hand. "Is this supposed to be a soul?"

Soul stares at the necklace in horror. It had been one of the few things he saved from his room, though he still has no idea why he did. He'd brought it out since Maka's last letter had come a month ago and left it lying on his bed.

"Is it a soul?" Maka asks again.

With tomorrow fast approaching, Soul drowns out his doubt and summons his courage. "I made it for you," he mumbles to the ceiling. "It's your soul."

"Really?" Maka brings the necklace close to her face. "When did you make it?"

"When I was fourteen."

Maka frowns in disapproval. "So I could have worn it since then?"

"Do you want to wear it?" He dares to look at her directly. "I didn't think you'd like it."

"Well, I do." She twists her hand and two necklaces lay in her palm now and holds one out to Soul. "It's a pair now."

He lifts his head to put it on as Maka does the same. "I'm not taking it off," she says. She sounds sleepy now and tucks closer to Soul. "You'd better not either."

He laughs. "I won't."

SEPARATE

When it comes down to life for one and death for the other the next day, his choice is automatic.

He catches a flash of green around Maka's neck as he falls.

"A curse," Medusa spits when the dust clears and it's him dying on the ground and not Maka. "To follow you from this life into all of your others." Even though blood is trickling from her mouth in rivulets, her eyes glow with triumph.

And then the darkness from his nightmares pulls him in.