Silver Moraine i put millions of miles under my heels

So I don't want him to die, but if that would be the only idea in Caiaphas' head after Malachi's request, or the only realistic option for her character to take in light of the circumstances, let me know and we can figure out an end that would work for us both (:

Malachi couldn't read the siren's face behind the ire she projected against him. She was like ice, a dark and sullied shard, and yet, when she turned the brunt of her gaze away, he was left conflicted. Why afford him this momentary space? An ache stirred in his chest he'd never once felt toward her, familiar, and unwelcome. Caiaphas hadn't changed, he reminded himself; she still chilled with sharp vexation, and he still didn't trust her, but in her gesture and her words, he caught a glimpse of something else - someone else, and a sense of reality grounded the ragged edges of her frame. This was a mother who had watched her son die, a blackened soul encased in layers of bitterness and grief, yet a wolf, no less than he.

He, too, shied his eyes away, to offer her the same respect she strangely extended toward him.

"I don't," he admitted, with a shake of his head, "I haven't seen Tuwawi since the war. I fought, for a moment - but then I saw your faces, and I couldn't - " and his throat felt tight, for he remembered the moment he'd seen the face of the one he'd struck. Even as his teeth had locked with her flesh, he had felt no fear from her. Only resigned determination to fight for her people - yet at the first taste of blood, he had been the one afraid. Not to die, not to fall - for he knew what end awaited them all - but afraid - terrified - to bring that end upon another, and to carry the weight of their blood upon his head for the rest of his life.

Benjamin's blood was heavy enough, but now, having failed to stop Tuwawi - having failed to stop Caiaphas - he felt the weight of Kevlyn's death sink upon him, too. "I couldn't follow her. I broke allegiance before the war was even over. It's been years." And the accusation kept stirring, even as he spoke, of how many more had fallen because he had not stood against the russet queen the night she'd declared the war. How many more would he stand accountable for when his own soul rose at the end of days?

"You were my enemy, but your son was innocent, and he suffered for my mistakes," his voice was taut and shook with the gravity of the words already formed, and yet to be spoken - but it was only a matter of seconds before his request touched the air, "Where I was raised, we have a scarification ceremony, a reminder that our actions affect many others, for good or for bad. I don't wish to die - " his heart beat quick at this - for who was this siren, to honour a request like that? And who was she, to deserve a mark upon his flesh for the wrongs he'd brought against her? She was no less guilty, perhaps even more - but this had very little to do with that. Kevlyn's death was a consequence of his cowardice, and his failure to uphold the Song he'd been taught since he was a child; his failure to strive and toil for what he believed in, even at the cost of his own life. He should have been the one who had fallen that day, but he was alive, and he thought of Larus, Adlartok, and every life who had suffered on his account.

No. This was what he had to do. "Would you strike me?" And he turned his cheek toward her - the side that hadn't been marred by his father, that solemn evening they had buried what had been found of his brother - and he closed his eyes.