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Sadik woke slowly, like a man of content.

When he opened his eyes, a green expanse stretched before him. His cheek rested on a sea of scales, so small and thin that they seemed as fine as gossamer. A leathery throat bulged to the side, and, above his nose, a long snout sawed through the sky, lined with wrinkles and teeth.

Dimly, he remembered falling asleep against Kavaia’s neck. It seemed he was still there.

As the sleep faded, and his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he became aware of the blanket thrown over his shoulders, as well as the hand resting on the small of his back. Their chests were locked together, and his entire torso lifted with the gentle rise of her breath, so slow and rhythmic that it seemed designed to lull him back to sleep. Even with his years of discipline, he found it difficult to resist.

Something tugged at his scalp. At first, he thought a breeze was blowing against his hair. The sensation only grew stronger. Slowly, he felt a few subtle movements coming from Kavaia’s shoulder, shifting from side to side.

She was playing with his hair.

He could feel her fingers traveling around his head—poking the tufts, nudging the strands. Occasionally, she would pinch entire locks between finger and thumb, holding them up to her eye, or dip a finger into the matting of his scalp, gently swirling with her nail. She seemed to find the texture fascinating. Sadik also guessed that a crocodile would not understand how sensitive a human’s hair was, at least compared to her scales. She was not being particularly careful.

He said nothing. Instead, he closed his eyes and relaxed against her chest, letting her do as she pleased. Minutes passed with soft breaths and idle play.

After a time, Kavaia released a quiet sigh. Her hand went to his shoulder, gently shaking.

“Sadik.”

He pretended to wake, stretching the arms wrapped around her neck. “Goddess?”

“Enjoying your sleep?”

“Immensely.”

She gave a small rumble. “Any dreams?”

“No. None at all. It was the best I’ve slept in ages.”

Beneath the blanket, her hand began to trace the contours of his back. He rubbed the tough scales of her spine. She smelled like roses, mud, and fresh, gentle ponds.

“We have to get up,” Kavaia said.

“I know.”

They continued to massage each other. After a moment, her snout rested on his head, nuzzling the hair. She released a frustrated growl. “Stop being so warm.”

“Goddess,” he said. “Do as you will with me.”

“Stop it.”

“I am weak before you. Clay in your hands.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He began to massage her with the flat of his chest, making sure to paint the spot between her breasts with the hottest part of his body. Her thighs clamped around his legs.

“Stars witness, you are evil!” She hooked her thumbs beneath his belly, prying him away. “Please. I have to pee. Quite badly. Get off me.”

Sadik began to comply, letting Kavaia rise to her elbows. But, before she got any further, Sadik felt something overcome him. He paused, straddling her chest. She gave him a look of surprise. After staring deeply into her eyes, he wrapped his hands around her snout, pulled it close, and kissed her on the hard, scaled edge.

“Thank you,” he said.

When he opened his eyes, Kavaia was breaking into a smile. She pressed her snout against him, hooking the length against the nape of his neck. He curled an arm around one side of her maw and rested his cheek on the other.

For several moments, they did nothing but savor the feeling of touch.

“Pee,” she said.

“Yes, yes.”

He threw himself to the side, landing on several cushions. Kavaia jumped to her feet, utterly naked, and began to job across the length of the stone outcropping around them, searching for a secluded corner. He was not shy about watching her go.

Sadik spent a minute dressing himself. By the time Kavaia returned, he was already clad in his armor again. They ate a cold breakfast, packed as much of the dishes and bedding as they could, and began to head toward the mouth of the storm drain, one of many they had traversed the day before.

Back to the Sons of Sorrow. The interview of with Isaac and Zaria. The preparations for a new mission. Operation Severed Sky.

Reality pierced their shelter.

But, instead of worrying for his tasks, Sadik remembered the way she had led him to the picnic. Blind, guided by her hand. Something overcame him again.

“Goddess,” he said, stopping.

“Yes?”

“I want to hold your hand.”

For a moment, they did nothing but stare at each other. Waterfalls roared in the distance.

“Is that so?” Kavaia asked, her deep voice sounding amused.

“Yes.”

“Are you just . . . declaring this to me?”

“I suppose I am asking permission.”

She laughed softly. “By the stars, Sadik, you are being remarkably affectionate today.”

His tattoos burned a bright, hot white.

She leaned above him, enjoying every second. “I don’t disapprove. In fact, it makes me think I’ve shattered that thick partition you call a skull.”

He cleared his throat, looking away.

“As it happens,” Kavaia said, “I would also like to hold your hand.”

“That’s good to hear, goddess.”

“I am very glad you offered, actually.”

“I would hope so, goddess.”

There was a long pause.

“You can grab my hand now,” Kavaia said.

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

He grabbed her hand. Her palm was still warm, and he was barely able to reach the crook of her thumb with his fingers. When she closed her hand around him, there was a feeling of leathery skin and quiet strength. A warmth spread through his chest.

With full bellies, a good night’s sleep, and sacks full of dishes and bedding, the two of them made their way into the sewers, never letting go of the other.

Behind them, unseen, an abyss continued to yawn, like a festering wound in the earth.

---

“Please, have a seat.”

Isaac sat on a moldy armchair. Zaria stretched herself across a couch, idly sharpening her axe. Kavaia, seeing that there was no furniture in her size, sat on the floor, resting her elbows on her knees. Sadik decided not to sit at all—instead, he casually paced in front of the same couch Kavaia sat beside, his posture held in a loose parade rest.

The two mercenaries had chosen the parlor of an old mansion as their home. Most of the house was a ruin, with entire rooms collapsed into rubble and sewage dripping in from cracks in the ceiling. Loose stone crumbled with every tremor from the surface.

Still, the parlor was spacious. After lighting a few torches, and dragging in some furniture, Sadik could almost call it comfortable. As he paced, he gazed off into a corner, where an old flesh reconstituter sat with a coating of rust. Capsules of Glimmer sat empty on the floor, like spilled cups of wine.

He could imagine what had occurred in this parlor, centuries ago. It had been a common practice for the more ostentatious noblemen to modify themselves into new shapes and sizes, all to entertain their guests. With an unlimited supply of Glimmer, they could create extra limbs, artificial organs, completely new species. Imagination was the only limit.

Often, these noblemen would modify their servants, as well—nothing displayed one’s wealth like a cupbearer with a dozen arms instead of a platter. Failing this, they would take people from the streets with bribes and coercion, using them as party diversions or decorative furniture. Some had even gone as far as to kidnap innocents and use their bodies to fuel their own modifications. Glimmer did not create new flesh—it only changed what was there. There must always be a sacrifice, willing or otherwise.

During his time as executioner, Sadik had killed several of these nobles for their crimes. Now, starring at the rusted machines and empty capsules, he could only imagine the amount of Glimmer that had been wasted for cheap tricks and social grandstanding. At the moment, thousands of Acheron citizens were dying from withdrawal, while his own men desperately needed modifications for battle. He would’ve killed for a fraction of the Glimmer these nobles had thrown away.

Decadent, Sadik thought.

He continued to pace. Dust stirred beneath his sandals. On the opposite armchair, Isaac flipped through several pages of his journal, reviewing his notes.

“Sadik,” Kavaia said. “Take a seat.”

Sadik glanced at her, shook his head, and continued pacing.

Zaria wiped the whetstone shavings off her axeblade. “Gonna earn a new crack in your arse, you pace any faster.”

“I shouldn’t sit,” Sadik said. “Not anymore.”

Isaac looked up from his notes. “Why not?”

“There is still much to do.” He waved a hand. “If those under my command cannot relax in their duties, then I should not, as well. I’ve already spent too much time in leisure.”

Isaac shrugged. “I don’t think they’ll be that strict with you.”

“I will.”

“Sadik,” Kavaia said, her deep voice growing soft. “Sit down.”

He continued to pace.

From her position on the floor, Kavaia reached over, swallowing his shoulder with her hand.

Sadik stopped pacing, glanced at the green fingers resting on his chest, and loosed a small breath. He sat down on the couch. Kavaia gave him a gentle squeeze through his armor, and, when she pulled away, Sadik found himself focusing on the lingering feeling of her touch.

Zaria snorted. “That was easy.”

“I do as my goddess commands,” Sadik said.

Kavaia hummed in her throat.

“By the way,” Isaac said, still writing, “Haakon paid me a visit yesterday.”

Sadik blinked. “Should I be apologizing?”

“Oh, no. It was nothing dramatic. In fact, he wanted my opinion on the modes of government I had seen throughout my travels. I offered to lend him several books on the subject, and he paid me quite handsomely.”

Sadik blinked again. “Haakon? The rainbow-feathered falcon?”

“Should’ve seen him,” Zaria said. “Came in so high and mighty that his beak scraped the ceiling.” She cleared her throat, imitating his voice. “‘You mud-eatin’ savages must’ve done something right.”

“Oh, good. That sounds better. I was worried we had an imposter.”

Isaac wrote a few more lines in his journal. After a moment, he sat back in his armchair, brushing the blond hair from his eyes. “Before we begin, I would like to remind both of you that this is a very informal interview, and you are perfectly free to refuse any of my questions, should they be too sensitive.”

“Of course,” Sadik said. “I’ll be as forthright as I can.”

Kavaia shifted on the floor, nodding.

Isaac jotted down their response. “Could you state your names and ages for me?”

“Sadik Umayyad Zareb. I am ninety six.”

“Kavaia. No family name. I . . . don’t know my exact years. Somewhere close to eleven hundred, I believe.” She paused. “Before my apotheosis, I was known as Zolzaya Yesun, which means ‘abundance of destiny’.”

Zaria blinked. Her milky, white eye reflected the torchlight. “I expected some fuck off number from the god, but you? You got fifty some years on me?”

“It’s the Glimmer,” Sadik replied, matter of fact. “All citizens receive regular doses, which alleviates the symptoms of age. The average lifespan is anywhere from ninety to one fifty. Haakon is almost two hundred, since he was expected to sacrifice his name.”

Isaac paused his writing. “Sacrifice?”

“Take the mask. Become the next Vizier.”

“You have to lose your identity to become ruler?”

“Yes. Once the mask is worn, it can never be removed again, on threat of death.”

Isaac began to write faster. Zaria stood up from the couch, yawning and stretching. “Want some food, love?”

“Later,” Isaac said, still writing.

“You’re gettin’ thin again. Could wrap you ‘round my finger.”

“I’m always wrapped around your finger, madam knight.”

Zaria blew him a kiss, moving off to the side of the parlor, where they had stored several barrels and casks. With her armor removed, and only a sleeveless vest for modesty, Sadik could see many scars lining the expanse of her tawny, spotted fur. He counted over a dozen gouges and slashes.

Kavaia’s tail batted against the leg of Sadik’s couch. When he glanced at her, she gave him a stern look.

“Back to the Glimmer,” Isaac said, finishing his note. “This is the substance that lets you transform your bodies, correct?”

“Yes,” Sadik replied. “It sustains our entire society. The uses for Glimmer are nearly unlimited.”

“Truly?”

“It can heal the most grievous wounds,” Kavaia said, “and create the most magnificent forms. In one moment, it can grow as hard as steel, sharpening a sword or reinforcing a structure. In the next, it can become as fine as dust, so small that it can pass through skin as if it were no more than a net. Glimmer is what’s causing blood to fall from the sky, and all the other curses we are afflicted with.” She rubbed a thin, wasting section of her arm, where many scales had fallen out. “The only difference between a god and a mortal is the amount of Glimmer suffusing their body—we receive a prodigious dose.”

“It creates more than the gods,” Sadik said. “The Exalted are sentient clouds of Glimmer, capable of thought and reason, as well as the ability to devour a man in seconds. Nothing is left of the devotee.”

Isaac raised a brow. “Devotee?”

“Exalted are created from the minds of the most faithful of Acheron, who sacrifice their body and soul in fealty to Aldunya. It is why they are called Exalted. They were people who chose a higher path.” He cleared his throat. “Centuries ago, we lost the technology to perform this ritual. Few remain.”

Isaac stared at Sadik for a moment, blinking. Quickly, he flipped through his journal, found a page already filled with words, and began to feverishly write between the margins. Off to the side, Zaria was loudly tearing into a cut of salted pork.

During the interlude, Sadik sank into the upholstery of his couch, watching the dust drift through the air. He had much on his mind. Operation Severed Sky would commence tomorrow, and, even though he would only be leading a small team, there were still many preparations to be done. Scouting, food, radios, organizing security for the Sons while he was away.

Yasmin would need him for surgery soon. With all the modifications he had planned, it would take hours. Gallons of flesh, dozens of bodies.

He rubbed his eyes.

On the floor next to him, Kavaia stretched her legs. She was still wearing a kalasiris dress, the fabric both tight and coarse. It ended a fair distance above her knees. As she continued to stretch, Sadik felt his eyes wander to her thighs.

He remembered their weight. The interplay between muscle and fat. With a heat on his face, he remembered how the scales changed from rough to smooth, growing almost soft on the inner—

He blinked. Kavaia had noticed his stare. Her expression was very smug.

Sadik looked away, pretending he had dust in his eye.

“So,” Isaac said. “Tell me. How does it work?”

“I—sorry?”

“Glimmer. What we were discussing.”

Sadik cleared his throat. “No one knows ‘how it works’. We don’t have the means of studying the finer mechanisms. In any case, doing so is expressly illegal.”

“Why?” Isaac asked.

“. . . why?”

“Yes.” Isaac shifted in his chair. “Why would that be illegal? Surely, if it’s so critical to your society, you’d wish to know more about it.”

“Glimmer is created by Aldunya,” Kavaia said. “She is the only one capable of manufacturing such a miraculous substance. It’s her divinity, the reason she is worshipped. Studying it would be seen as an attempt at blasphemy. Dethroning the gods.”

Isaac raised a brow.

“A farmer wouldn’t question why clouds form in the sky,” Sadik said. “It is beyond his control. For the most part, he would only be grateful that his crops are watered.”

Isaac almost spoke. After a moment, he began to write again, flipping through the pages of his journal with an absent scratch of his beard.

“I have a sample of Glimmer,” Sadik continued. “If you wish to see it.”

Isaac looked up immediately. “You do?”

“I assumed you would ask.”

The human grew excited. “Oh, yes, absolutely, I would love the chance—”

“Isaac!” Zaria shouted, across the room. “Don’t you dare!”

“Z—”

“Cork it, squire!” Zaria began to march across the room, axe in one hand and meat in the other. “You really gonna finger any bits and baubles that cross your path? In this fuckin’ place? There’s blood in the sky, some fuck-off plague molding buildings into cunts. It’s a madhouse!” She gestured her axe at Sadik. “No offense, mind.”

Sadik shrugged.

“I am sure,” Isaac said, “that our guests are not trying to assassinate me. Correct?”

Sadik reached into a pocket of his skirt. When he opened his hand, there was a small glass vial in his palm, similar to the ones lining the floor. A glowing substance swirled within. “It’s perfectly safe for foreigners. Just don’t drop it.”

Isaac looked up at Zaria, gesturing at the vial.

“Don’t give me that,” Zaria said. “You’re liable to drink that shite while my back is turned.”

“I love you, Z.”

She kicked his shin, growling.

Sadik leaned forward, offering the vial. Isaac took it gingerly into his palm, as if he expected to be bitten at any moment. When he was sure that the sample was inert, he held it up to the air, staring into the light and swirls.

The Glimmer inside was both concentrated and refined. Right now, it appeared to be something similar to a thimble of glowing sand—thousands of specks, somewhere between gray and white, constantly churning between themselves, like the face of a metallic dune.

“It’s moving,” Isaac said, fascinated.

“It always will,” Kavaia replied. “When we receive a dose, it’s common to feel tingling throughout the body.”

Sadik nodded.

Isaac held the vial up to his eye, inspecting. “Is it . . . alive?”

The crocodile leaned an elbow on her knee. “In the same way as an animal, I suppose. Glimmer has its own awareness, but it is driven only by instinct. It must be directed to be of use.”

“That is only true at small doses,” Sadik said. “At larger ones. . . .”

“Yes,” Kavaia said. “It gains intelligence as it collects. A small dose would only be able to close a wound, for example. By itself, the few glittering bodies would quickly starve and perish. At a large dose, however, the Glimmer would be able to organize itself throughout the body, repairing and optimizing the host’s anatomy. The more you have inside you, the more effective the treatment.”

“That implies,” Isaac said, “that the Glimmer communicates with itself. It forms a shared intelligence, like a fungal network.”

Sadik and Kavaia glanced at each other, nodding. Isaac tilted the glass vial between his fingers, writing with his other hand. Zaria stared at the old, rusted flesh reconstituter.

“Hold on,” the hyena said. “Ain’t that one of the metal maidens you use to change yourself? What’s it doin’ in some parlor?”

Sadik grimaced. “Some of the nobility like to modify themselves for entertainment. In Acheron, anatomy is the main mode of fashion in the city. They often . . . took it to an extreme.” He glared at the empty vials littering the floor. “It was my job, as executioner, to punish those who committed crimes worthy of death. I have seen many kidnapped and modified against their will. Innocents sacrificed as a party trick.”

Zaria blinked. Her pale, milky eye contrasted with the black fur of her muzzle.

“Hisa—” Sadik paused, his frown deepening. “The previous Vizier made it a priority to crack down on these practices, and I was all too happy to oblige. Some of the nobles were nothing of the sort.” He sighed. “And, of course, they retaliated.”

Isaac began to sketch the vial in his hand, paying careful attention to the way it glinted and swirled. Zaria shook her head, brushed Isaac with her tail, and returned to one of the nearby couches.

Sadik felt the weight of Dusksong, still sheathed on his back. Before the revolution, the blade had been thick and long, capable of cutting through any neck, no matter how modified. Now. . . .

There was a solid thunk below him. Kavaia had batted her tail against the couch, watching Sadik carefully. Her eyes were concerned. He breathed, shook his head, and looked away.

“Right,” Isaac said. “Let’s change the subject, for now. I’d like to hear your histories.” He pointed his stylus at Kavaia. “Goddess?”

“Please,” she said, “call me Kavaia. Only Sadik insists on the title.”

Isaac opened his palm. “Of course. Still, I would love to hear from you. I’m sure you could help me fill several books.”

Kavaia tucked her legs closer to her chest, staring into the dust and stone of the floor. A long silence settled in the room.

“I don’t have much to say,” she said. “And what I do is not something I would care to share.”

“Oh,” Isaac said, quickly. “Yes, that’s—fine. Sure. It’s not required.”

Kavaia glanced at Sadik. He gave an encouraging look. She sighed. “I was born Zolzaya Yesun, a warrior of the Kesunae, nearly a millennia ago. After conquering many cities, I assaulted Acheron with my chieftain, and the city declared that I was worthy of godhood. Being young and foolish, I grasped for immortality the second it was offered, leaving all my tribe behind.”

She traced her knee with a finger, expression vacant.

“From there, I was made goddess of death. My work was painful, and I was hated for it. I aided in the death of millions, knowing nothing but austerity and quiet desperation. Soon, my memories faded. I couldn’t tell you what happened in which century, or which god fought in such battle, or anything else. I had to maintain a strict neutrality as part of my providence. More importantly, I . . . didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to feel what I had lost. So I kept alone.”

Another silence settled. Torches cracked. Quakes shivered the dust.

“My name was Zolzaya,” Kavaia said, “and the young woman who fought her way to godhood has been gone for centuries. I hope that soon I can say the same for Kavaia. She was a desperate, lonely person, and I am trying to learn from her mistakes.”

Isaac hesitated. After a moment, he jotted down several more notes and turned to a fresh page in his journal. “Thank you for answering.”

Kavaia nodded. She gazed off into a corner, chin on her knee.

“Sadik?” Isaac asked.

Sadik straightened himself on the couch. “I was born to a poor family in a small hamlet, many miles across the cliffs. My family came to the city when my mother fell ill and blight ruined our crops. My sister, Layla, decided to journey to the Diet of Nine, instead. I don’t suppose you know her.”

Isaac shook his head. “Not familiar, sorry. I . . . did not know many things, as a child.”

Sadik glanced at Kavaia. “Well, when I arrived, the goddess of death saved my life, as well as my family. I was the only one allowed to enter the city. They encouraged me, knowing it was the best chance I had for a better life.” He smoothed the wrinkles on his skirt. “They’re likely dead by now. Famine, old age.”

“What is the criteria for entrance?” Isaac asked. “I know many come to your walls for Glimmer, but few ever enter.”

“It varies. I was told that I had the right temperament—loyal, hardworking. Others are chosen for their lineage, the traits they could spread through the population. Aldunya must personally approve every foreigner’s entrance. Because we are a rather insular city, she is very particular about her choices.”

Isaac squinted for a few moments, thinking. He wrote a single line in his journal. “Let me narrow the subject. I’m interested in how the Demokrat revolution occurred. It may be critical to my theory.”

“Theory?” Sadik asked.

“I am attempting to develop a grand, unifying theory to connect all the empires of our planet’s past. All of them seem to be connected, in some way. If I can figure what that connection was, and why they all fell to ruin, I may be able to solve our entire history, as we know it.”

Zaria snorted, still lounging on the couch.

“What?” Isaac asked.

“Oh, nothin’.”

“Z, darling, light of my life—please be quiet.”

“I’m just thinking you’re cute, squire. That’s all.”

Isaac frowned. “I am one of the world’s leading historians. If anyone can make that claim, it is me.”

“Oh, sure. It’s real adorable. Honest.”

“I won’t blush that easily.”

She stuck her tongue at him, grinning.

Isaac rolled his eyes, adjusting himself on the armchair. “Anyway, please, the revolution. Whatever you can tell me.”

Sadik looked down at his bronze armor, watching the scales glint with the torchlight. There were rows of inlaid vines and flowers around the neck. Symbols of life.

“If I am to talk of days gone by,” he said, “I will have to speak of Faustine.”

Isaac paused, leafing through several pages. “You’ve mentioned her before. A protégé?”

Sadik’s lips pressed into a line.

“Apprentice?” Isaac offered. “Trainee?”

Sadik shook his head. “She was a young woman who escaped the mines, hoping to find a career as a soldier so she could live on the surface. If she failed, she would spend her life growing fungus or mining technology, forever modified into bats and worms.” Sadik wiped dust from his bare thigh. “At the time, I was in charge of training for the local district. She begged me, on her knees, to save her life. I should’ve had her arrested. She was scrawny, weak. A fugitive. Instead, I felt sorry for her.

“So, I took her under my care, and I gave her the training she would need, and, soon enough, she distinguished herself in battle. We did well together. I may have shown favoritism towards her, but she was a fine soldier, and she earned the right to be at my side. She was always . . . very grateful. To me.” He made a noise in his throat. “We used to lounge in the gardens of Kohav Yaran. Eat the figs from the trees, talking for hours. It was nice. Times were fair.”

A silence came to the room.

“Eventually,” Sadik said, “we were chosen to walk the Luminous Path. The Vizier’s personal guard. The thorns to match their leaves. It would require us to make the same sacrifices—no lovers, no family. Only bright, faithful service. Faustine had doubts. I convinced her. We took the tattoos together.”

He scratched at the crown of thorns wrapping around his throat.

“I became executioner. She became an agent for the throne, constantly modifying herself to infiltrate criminal networks. I can . . . only imagine that is where she first became radicalized. She would spend weeks embedding herself with those who sought to overthrow the Vizier, reading their books and listening to their arguments. Maybe she had never forgotten her family, still harvesting fungus in the mines. I don’t know.

“At the time, the Vizier was dealing with a disloyal cadre of noblemen. When I executed several for their crimes, they became openly rebellious. Negotiations failed. The mines shut down, food became scarce, and the Demokrats took advantage. Riots ensued. Martial law, open conflict. The city walked a knife’s edge.”

Sadik stared at the floor.

“One night, Faustine came to me, alone. She tried to convince me to join the Demokrats. She laid out many arguments. I could tell she had practiced her speech for some time. When I refused, she . . . told me she loved me. She said this was my last chance. Once again, she begged me to change my mind.”

Isaac watched him from the opposite armchair, no longer writing. Kavaia shifted beside his couch.

“I loved her, too,” Sadik said. “But only as a daughter. I had raised her from a child to a soldier. I couldn’t see her any other way.” He kicked the floor with his sandal. “She hugged me goodbye. When she did, she smelled the Vizier on my skin. I had been her secret consort for some time. And I still . . . remember Faustine’s face.” Sadik paused, blinking in the light. “Fury. Utter, wrathful fury. Everything between us, burning to cinders. She wanted to rip out my intestines, then and there, like I had done to her heart.”

Zaria laid her axe on the couch, bracing through a tremor.

“Instead,” Sadik continued, “she returned to the Demokrats. She told them exactly how to get inside the palace. And, when she led their assault on Kohav Yaran, she assassinated the Vizier, right in front of me. I . . . couldn’t kill her. She was my daughter. She was not the woman I remembered any longer, but, still, she was my daughter. So, instead, I fled from the chamber, saved as many as I could, and ran into the sewers.” He opened his palms. “And here I am. Here I have been, ever since.”

Isaac tapped his journal with his stylus, unsure of what to say.

Sadik traced the linings of his armor. “I saw her yesterday. In the palace. She was serving Rushan. She. . . .” His hands balled into fists, gripping nothing. “They were familiar. Speaking like old comrades. When Rushan admitted to orchestrating the revolution, I could only imagine how long she had been serving him. When did it start? How long had I ignored her feelings? How could she possibly choose him over. . . .”

Sadik found himself back in the palace. He remembered killing her amongst the life tanks. Slashing, stomping, screaming. His knuckles turned white.

“Wasn’t you,” Zaria said, moving to Isaac’s side. “Don’t think that way.”

“I could’ve arrested her, the last time we met,” Sadik said. “Instead, I let her leave. I thought it was a mercy.” He ground his teeth. “I could’ve prevented all of this.”

“Aye, maybe. That thinkin’ won’t do you any good, though. Just leads to wallowing.”

Sadik didn’t answer.

“You weren’t wrong for feeling like you did,” Zaria said. “You gave her everything, and she’s the one who spat in your face for it. Nothing more needs sayin’.” The hyena scratched a scar on her muzzle. “I had a lot of siblings, once. Real urchin sorts. Cutpurses, so on. My father’d drag ‘em into our home cause he had a big heart. Often, after takin’ our love and food, they’d pinch whatever they could and go stealin’ back off to the streets. No word, no thanks.” She shrugged. “It ain’t a failure on your part. People change. Sometimes, they don’t, and you just learn more about ‘em. Nothing to do for it.”

Sadik slowly released his fists, breathing.

“Hey,” Zaria said. “It ain’t a reason to close your heart, neither.” She clapped a hand onto Isaac’s shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. “That’s how I met Isaac. I’d been livin’ a bad life for years, but then comes along this fire-slingin’ human with a stick so far up his arse it was brushin’ his tonsils. We butted heads, then we were nice and sweet, and now I couldn’t be happier. Wouldn’t trade it for nothing.”

Isaac reached up to hold her furry wrist, blushing and smiling.

Sadik glanced at Kavaia. She watched him, chin on her knee, arms around her legs. He nodded, absently, and lowered his gaze to the dusty floor.

For a moment, the only movement in the room was a small earthquake, rattling the empty glass canisters on the floor.

“Isaac,” Kavaia said, beginning to stand. “Was this all sufficient?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Isaac said, letting his excitement return. “More than sufficient, actually. Thank you. Both of you.”

Zaria shook his shoulder. “We good?”

Isaac nodded, already flipping through his notes.

“Right, then,” Zaria said. “You lot have secured our services. Happy to join the little tiff up in the tree. Any battle planning you need, come to me. Isaac’ll be nosefucking a book till we go.”

Kavaia stooped herself beneath the stone ceiling. Sadik continued to stare into the floor. When it became obvious he wasn’t going to answer, the crocodile said: “Thank you. Speak to Yasmin for any equipment, and report to Amira by dawn tomorrow.” She gestured. “Let’s leave the mercenaries in peace, Sadik.”

He rose dutifully from the couch, gave a polite bow, and followed Kavaia to the exit. He watched her tail move across the floor, thick and spined. He assisted her in squeezing through the mortal-sized doorway. The dust swirled around him.

Once outside, he stared across the gloomy street, faintly lit by oil lanterns. Broken mansions sat in rows, while flagstones lay shattered by time and falling debris. The sewers crawled above—sprawling pipes, dripping fluid.

Was this the fate that awaited them? Would Aldunya bury the current inhabitants of the city, like she had done before? Would everything be left in ruin?

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, the pipes above began to remind him of intestines, splattered upon a floor.

He remembered Faustine’s face, when she had learned of Hisana. Ears flattening, eyes brimming wide. Snarling tears.

“Sadik,” Kavaia said, kneeling down to eye level. “Do you wish for a hug?”

“. . . yes.”

She turned his body in her direction, then pulled him to her chest, rubbing his back and nestling her snout. He buried his face into the nape of her neck. Her scent reminded him of the night they had shared. It was a good feeling.

They stayed together for a time, in a ruin of dust and gloom.

“Zaria was right,” Kavaia said.

He closed his eyes, cheek against her shoulder. “There’s . . . a difference between knowing something and feeling it.”

“. . . I know.”

The hug continued. Stone crumbled in the distance. Somewhere, above the mansions and shrines, a gladiator stadium stood in the ruins, full of refugees. He could feel the edge of the noise, whispering through the windless air.

“We should go to Yasmin,” Sadik said, tapping her arm. “The surgery beds are ready.”

Kavaia opened her maw, her hand still on his arm. Hesitation wrinkled the skin around her eyes.

“Is there something you need, goddess?”

“I would like . . . to carry you there.”

He cocked his head, pulling back.

“Yes,” Kavaia said. “Carry you. In my arms. Like this.” She mimicked a bridal carry.

“I remember your methods.”

“Good. Well. Perhaps I could use more practice. Who could say when I’ll have to hold you to my breast again, out in the battlefield?”

“Is this your attempt at comforting me?”

“Is it working?”

“Goddess,” Sadik said, “I was hoping that I could have my own dignity, on occasion.”

She hummed in amusement. “Does that imply you don’t want dignity, on occasion?”

“. . . we should go. Very busy, fate of the world, so on.”

Kavaia squeezed his arms for a moment before rising back to her feet. “Of course. Yes. But, so you know, I will always be glad to carry my torch.”

Sadik cleared his throat. “The offer is appreciated.”

“And, obviously, I was serious.” She gestured. “About comforting.”

“I know you were. Thank you.”

She shuffled on her feet, watching him.

“I am better now,” Sadik said, firmly. “Better than I have been, at least. And, if things do not continue to get better, I will make them so.”

Kavaia almost spoke again. Instead, she nodded, equally firm.

Beneath a sky of metal, sludge, and rock, they began to walk through the street, across a field of broken flagstones. Slowly, without much thought, their hands found each other again, creating a warmth in the darkness.