malverum hudson | one | fin

Silver girls never win.

He'd known that his entire life, always Malverum the gold, there to reap the benefits of everything his sister worked for. And he'd never saw the problem with it until he did not have her anymore. Until little brother suddenly became an only child. He'd never been alone. Even in the night, when standing on a rooftop and watching, waiting for something to go wrong. Even when things did go wrong. She was by his side. And she gave him credit for every shot that was on the mark, even when the arrowhead was silver and he had to go and pick the golden one up from the ground.

Truth was, Malverum wasn't ever great. He wasn't ever the golden boy. He was just the half of a duo that always seemed to find the sunlight, and now he was alone.

After her death, things started to fall apart. Uly retired, Hunter stopped showing up, Bastian became more irritable. Colt, Duncan, and Murphy were more at odds than ever before- nothing was the same. Suddenly Mal and all those who remained were tasked with finding new blood to fill the seats of the Olympus Projects: new gods to replace the old. It became more intense and there were discussions of bigger targets, bigger payloads. More opportunities to get caught. The night was scarier without Myrcella there to remain calm within the storm. And the day was drained of its color, bleached away like a memory that was fading fast.

But he wouldn't forget. Time could take what it must: his hands, his senses, his heart, but his memories would be the last of him to swirl into the drain and disappear.

"I think we should do it," he said, so small. So naive. His sister's sigh was one of uncertainty, she was always the one to think things through. They already had every advantage, hailing from a wealthy family who afforded them the very training that had made Colt notice them in the first place.

"I know you do," she said at last. Her eyes reflected the moonlight; she must have thought she was awful for even considering this. Mal was the one who made rash decisions, young and stupid and convinced he was immortal. Untouchable. But Myrcella- she knew better.

"We'll hear them out then, but I'm not making any promises."

Malverum's lips stretched into a thin line.

"Okay."

No, his memories would not leave him, good or bad. They would plague him and delight him all the same. Make him miss her, make him regretful, make him smile. Make him want to be better, most of all. For her. For him. For them.

"Myrcella Hudson!"

He'd never felt true panic until that day.

It was in that moment that it all began to fade for good. For color to lose its brilliance and the rain to become bitter and cold. The stars would not grant anymore wishes, the trees would never grow. Not for him. Everything would stay as it was: frozen in place.

"I love you, Mal,

don't say goodbye."

"Just do what it takes to survive. Please."

"I will."

She'd been the first to fall. All that talent. All those years of being the best, of being afraid to admit it. Five seconds of fame and an eternity of silence and now he was alone and she was gone and nothing was the same. He couldn't fly without her, not with his waxen wings. And his arrows never landed true center, the others noticed but didn't speak. They grew weary, hesitant to let him be the only person looking out for them anymore. His shot, after all, was the lone one that would decide between life and death in certain situations.

So, they did what they thought was best for everyone.

"We're hiring a new archer, wicked precise."

They replaced her.

He'd begged them not to: swore he'd get better. Swore he wouldn't miss when the need to strike arose. Threatened to leave, even. Like so many before him. They did anyway; now he felt as if a ghost stood beside him during the night. And he resented her quietly, two silent souls staring below as the world kept spinning on. Myrcella had been replaceable to them, all of them probably were. For every star that blinked out of existence, there was another waiting to take its place. But to Malverum, his sister was not just a ball of gas burning along the nothingness. She was the moon itself gone to sleep.

"Don't get in my way," he'd said at last, third night working together. The first words he'd bothered to give his new partner. "Don't be a hero, and don't get in my line of sight. If this bow is drawn, I'm shooting something. Don't let it be you."

The moon was infinite and everyone said the sun was better. But Mal had a secret.

The sun

was just

a star.