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The conflict is tenuous.

In the middle of the hippodrome, there was a low wall cutting through the dirt, called a spina, whose purpose was to separate the racing tracks. Next to this wall, a large, wooden table was sheltered beneath a canopy of cloth. On this table, there was a scattered arrangement of maps and ledgers. Across these documents, the war of the gods was recorded, both for the sake of strategy and posterity.

This was Lanir's command post. It was not very impressive.

The table had clearly been dragged from elsewhere in the pantheon. Nearby, Lanir had arranged a bed for herself, which was little more than a pile of sheets and pillows. Around them, tents and hovels stretched across the oval ring of the stadium, like plaque cementing between teeth. There were heaps of broken stone. Gods patrolled between the husks of fallen branches.

Above their heads, the sky had been replaced with a cloud of brown, so dense and heavy that it had immediately smothered the day into a gloomy dusk. Sand shrieked in every direction, and the cloth above their head was constantly snapping with the wind. The walls of the hippodrome kept out the worst of the silt and dust, but, even still, Sadik was going to need to a very thorough bath, once this had ended.

If it ever ended.

We have repelled the latest assault. Lanir paced around the table, full of flame and scale. Unfortunately, some were lost as hostages.

“How many?" Sadik asked.

It is not known.

“Well, know it for me, please."

Lanir paused. A pressure flowed through the air. Cyton, god of serpents, slithered away from the command post, leaving a long trail through the dirt.

Sadik examined the documents at his feet. Because the table was built for gods, he had been forced to climb onto its surface, lest he spend the whole meeting standing on his toes, like a child at his father's desk. It was difficult not to step on any of the parchments.

Off to the side, Amira and Zaria were conferring over reports on the hippodrome's defenses. Xaeyr stood at the edge of the table, adjusting paperweights and examining a map by the light of his moon. Kavaia watched Lanir with a look of concern.

“Where are the scouting reports?" Sadik asked.

It is a bare stone.

Sadik glanced up at the dragon.

That is to say—none have been made.

“Why not?"

Lanir raised the frills on her neck. The jackal's champion, Faustine, has a pugnacious soul, even for a mortal. Her attacks are ruthless. Unending.

“That doesn't matter," Sadik replied. “Your troops are gods. Many can fly. Some can dissipate into cracks. It's a simple task."

It is a risk. Divine lives cannot be thrown to slaughter. Every death would bring a new curse. If the jackal procured hostages, he would—

Lanir flinched. The sandstorm was throwing grit into her wounded wing. With a telepathic burst, she tried to lash away the sand, like a fireless explosion. The storm returned immediately.

“Lanir," Kavaia said, stepping forward. “Are you well?"

I carry a penance. As do we all.

“It seems to trouble you."

Lanir shook her head. Flames licked at her half-grown eye.

I will manage the pain.

“Well," Xaeyr said, “some deserve their suffering more than others. You see, Lanie—can I call you Lanie?"

No.

“You see, Lanie, you had me tortured. Flayed alive, in fact. For days on end. I couldn't even scream." He gestured at her torn wing. “As far as I'm concerned, that's the least you fucking deserve."

I did not brutalize my fellows. Call the jackal what you wish, but the first blood is yours, not his.

“Divine blood," Sadik said. “He slaughtered thousands of mortals with the Demokrats. But you don't care about that, I suppose."

The dragon shifted her attention to him. That is a baseless accusation. What evidence do you claim?

“Go down to the city. Leave your vaulted perch. The truth is evident, for those who look."

I am the arbiter of truth, mortal, and I will be addressed with respect.

“Sadik," Kavaia said, stepping between them. “Be quiet, please."

“I am only—"

She gave him a piercing glare. He became quiet. Around them, a squall of sand tore through the air, lifting papers and dirtying clothes.

“Lanir," the crocodile said. “Let me take your wounds. Pain only clouds the mind."

The dragon did not move. Kavaia stepped forward, reached through the shell of flames, and touched a hand to her long neck. A shudder passed through their bodies. Skin reformed along the sinew of Lanir's wings, while her left eye grew from a puddle of flesh into a full, turgid organ.

Kavaia's hand burned in the flames. Her body grew sliced with foreign injury. Through it all, she continued to heal, gritting through the pain.

“Sir."

Amira and Zaria approached across the length of the table, clutching various parchments against the wind and sand.

“Got some plans for defense," Amira said, gesturing to the hippodrome beyond. The sandstorm had grown too thick to see where she pointed. “It's fuckin' sloppy, way these holy cunts are holding the stadium. I wanna make a proper fortress, if you don't mind."

“Of course," Sadik said. “Do what you can."

Amira nodded to him, then smiled at Xaeyr. “Try not to miss me, monkey."

“Oh, silty marsh," the baboon said. “She's talking to me again. Sadik, tell her I'm not here."

She gave a rude gesture, jumped off the godly table, and headed into the storm. Xaeyr took a furtive glance at the human before returning to his map.

Zaria stepped forward. “Oi, glowboy. How're ya with street fights?"

“You mean . . . urban warfare?"

“If it's gotta be fancy."

Sadik shrugged. “I was a field commander. If the battle flowed into a street, I would have failed."

“Figured so." She hooked a thumb at her chest. “Good for you, though—I'm your lass. Got a keen eye for alleys and such. Funny how a holy war ends up bein' fought in rooms, but, hey, it's your advantage, really."

Sadik led her across the table to Xaeyr, who was leaning over a hand-drawn map of the pantheon. He lit the parchment with his moon.

“My guess," Xaeyr said, “is that Rushan would have placed himself either here—" He pointed a furry finger at the Hall of Justice, where Lanir usually held her court. “—or here." He pointed at a corrugated oval shape, which appeared to be a feasting hall. “Same as the hippodrome. Both are defensible. Strong walls, good location."

Sadik stood by Xaeyr's shoulder. With his feet on the table, and the baboon standing at its side, he was actually taller than the god of cataracts, if barely. “Which one?"

“Couldn't say. We'd have to send scouts."

“My coin's on the feast hall," Zaria said. “It's got food stocks and air cover." She pointed at spots around the building. “Cut off access here, here, and there, and you got one way in. Practically a castle."

Sadik nodded. “I agree. Now the question is—how do we get inside?"

To the side, Kavaia pulled her hand from Lanir. Her fingers were burned, a torn eye oozed down her cheek, and blood spread across the white linen of her dress, approximately where a wing would rest. Despite this, Kavaia kept her gaze on Lanir, whispering something soft. The dragon's telepathy vibrated the air.

“Simple don't mean easy," Zaria was saying. “It's gonna be hard work, any which way you go."

Xaeyr's moon shifted between his ears. “We need to avoid death, on either side. The entire point of this mission is to end the curses, not create more."

“Death is unavoidable," Sadik said. “Thankfully, we know exactly how many gods are in the pantheon, and, thus, we know how many gods are on either side." He gestured at one of the scattered documents. “We have the numerical advantage. By quite a margin, in fact. That should allow us to overwhelm the enemy."

“Ain't enough," Zaria said. “Isaac and I have been through the shit. Proper city sacking. If there's a wall in your way, you'll soak it in blood before you're through."

Sadik stared down at the maps, remembering his days as a commander. He had always been the defender, repelling savage armies from the walls. Defenders always held the advantage. It is quite easy to fire a sunspear down from a parapet. It is quite another thing to charge the wall yourself.

Faustine knew this, of course. Her duty in the Luminous Path had been one of infiltration. Close quarters battle. In contrast to Lanir and her forces, the caracal knew exactly how to wage an urban war, and she had clearly leveraged this knowledge for all it was worth—harassing her enemy, staying mobile, always disappearing back into the shadows.

She had served Rushan very well.

Sadik clenched his fists.

“A pincer attack?" Xaeyr offered. “A screening assault from the front, draw the defenders out, then—" He jabbed the parchment with two fingers. “Here and here. Full force."

Zaria rubbed her scarred eye. “We got flying cunts, right? Fuck the front—come in high for the screen, wrest the branches above. Shoot 'em like fish."

Kavaia returned to the table. With her flesh given to Lanir, she resembled a half-rotten corpse—a gouged eye, a mosaic of broken scales. Sadik gave a concerned glance. She returned a small smile.

Lanir continued to pace around the cloth canopy. After a moment, Cyton, god of serpents, slithered out from the gloom of the sandstorm, holding a freshly inked parchment. The snake placed it on the table and tried to assume a stoic posture.

“Siege wouldn't work," Zaria continued to say, pacing across the table. “They got plenty of food, and we'd spread ourselves thin, tryin' to wall 'em off."

“They have hostages, as well." Sadik squatted down and picked up the new document. It was the size of a blanket. “Are these names accurate?"

Cyton nodded. Snakes slithered throughout his long, legless body, like maggots within a corpse. “Yes, mortal."

Sadik frowned. “I have a name."

“S-Sadik. Right." The snake cleared his throat. “Force of habit."

Lanir peered her head inside the cloth. It almost set it ablaze. What souls have gone to the jackal?

“Bata, goddess of trade," Sadik said, reading. “Emir, god of soil. Aelia, goddess of wine."

There was a pause. Sand whipped the branches above.

“That it?" Zaria asked.

“Yes. Minor gods, all things considered. We could manage their curses, should the worse come to pass."

There was another pause. Sadik peered up at Lanir. Her red, pupilless eyes were locked upon him.

You would sacrifice them?

“I am weighing their worth. Our actions must be planned according to their value."

The value of a life is immeasurable.

Xaeyr snorted.

Lanir shifted her withering gaze. If you were tried in my court, I would do my utmost to ensure fair proceedings. All souls contain immutable rights. A dismissive sacrifice, made for selfish gain, violates the most basic—

“Lanir," Sadik said, interrupting. “If Xaeyr were to perish, there would be floods in the city. If you were to perish, all language would be cloaked in lies. We would not be able to speak. Does that not seem worse than spoiled wine and melted coins?"

Smoke coiled from her nostrils. Sadik, being correct does not mean you are right. I hope you understand this.

“I do. Very well, in fact."

He turned back to the maps at his feet. The parchment stretched and flapped with the wind, barely held with various weights. There was more information than his eye could easily read.

“So?" Zaria asked. “Got a plan?"

Sadik sighed. “There are no good options. Gods will die. We can mitigate this fact as much as possible, but it will always remain. For now. . . ."

He continued to stare at the map. It did not reveal its secrets. No answer was given from the lifeless paper. He blinked, hoping that something would appear before him, some grand strategy that had always been hiding in plain sight. In the end, he saw only lines of ink. Guesses and danger.

Stars, he was tired.

“Sadik," Kavaia said, standing at his back. “If I may."

She leaned over the table, directly behind him. He tried to step aside. Instead, she hooked her arm around his waist and pulled him into her shoulder, leaving the hard scales of her cheek nestled into his flank. His arm was forced over the thick spines of her head, and he found a sizable breast pressing into his knee.

“Don't leave," she said.

“. . . yes, goddess."

She examined the map. At the same time, her touch began to draw away his aches and pains, like water through a straw. Her healing was divine. He wanted to sink into her embrace.

The rest of the table stared. Reactions varied.

“My plan is simple," Kavaia said. “A full assault." She placed a finger on the map and slashed it straight through the feasting hall, as if smashing down the door. “Overwhelming force. Everything we possess. We shatter limbs, gouge eyes, break the weak beneath our heels. Leave them able to scream. The crippled will serve as an example to the brave. If any still resist, we will give them a tomb instead of honor."

For a moment, the only motion was Xaeyr's moon, its broken pieces spinning in a slow orbit.

“Meanwhile," Kavaia continued, tracing her finger around the surrounding halls, “in the chaos, we field an infiltration team, skirting around the sides. They have one goal—assassination. Their target. . . ." She held the list of the gods up to the rest of the table. “. . . Thimera. The new goddess of death."

Zaria scratched her chin. “Ain't that you?"

“No." Kavaia's voice grew deep, rumbling through Sadik's bones. “She was named the new reaper after my exile. Of course, she performs none of my duty. That would require actual labor."

Sadik wiggled between her grasp. “Her death would bring a curse of immortality."

“Exactly," Kavaia said. “It would be the final curse. A last price to pay. Our hostages could not die, and we could maim and slaughter without conscience. Once the fighting is done, I will heal the meat back into form, if enough remains."

Xaeyr raised a brow. “Kivie, you're scaring me."

The goddess of death nuzzled her cheek into Sadik's armor. His skirt was growing tight.

“You realize," Xaeyr said, “Thimera is also the goddess of pleasure. All of us would fall into melancholy."

“Is that so different than before?"

“Wouldn't Rushan wish to protect her?"

“What does he care for the holes he fucks?"

Xaeyr quirked his jaw, staring at the array of maps and ledgers. Slowly, he began to nod his head.

“Fuck it," Zaria said. “Plan's got some hair on its tits."

Kavaia shifted her head beneath Sadik's arm, staring at the scales of his armor.

“Goddess," he said, feeling her embrace on all sides, “I'm afraid you're making me biased."

“You can disagree."

“Oh, I'm quite helpless, surely."

She rubbed the toothy line of her maw against his armor. It felt like a saw.

Lanir's head hovered above the table. Outside their shelter, her large body shifted through the sandstorm, flames shuddering with wind and dust.

Slowly, the rest of the table turned their attention to her, waiting for a response.

I suppose. . . .

Vibrations shuddered the air, like a heavy stone loosing from its perch.

I suppose it is justice. In a way. Serving the jackal can be considered an admittance of guilt, at this juncture.

“We have your blessing?" Kavaia asked.

Did you require it?

“Lanir, I need your opinion like I need to shit."

Sadik blushed. Zaria cracked a laugh. The dragon gave a loud grunt, but did not answer.

“Are we agreed?" Kavaia asked, gazing around the table.

“Hold on," Xaeyr said. “All of us are forgetting the most important matter."

He pointed at the list of gods. There was one name printed at the top, squarely in opposition to the rest. When spoken, it carried a low, brutal sound. Fit for the man himself.

Rushan.

“We will not succeed," Xaeyr continued, “unless we have a plan for him."

“We need nothing different," Kavaia said. “Gidros left him injured. The plague has him enthralled. He is weak, distracted, and quite vincible. All we must do is apply the same level of violence. He will succumb to sufficient brutality, just like the rest of his servants."

“Kivie—if it were that easy, none of this would have happened."

“Oh, it'll be grand," Zaria said. “I'll just have my squire knock him on his arse again. From there, it's much the same as any cunt in armor—you pin 'em in the mud, take out a dagger, and stab through the kinks. Bein' tough just means you die slow."

Xaeyr rubbed his furless brow. To the side, Cyton curled his long body into a spool, looking uncertain.

“Very well," Sadik said. “I think we have a plan. I will lead the assassination team with Amira. Zaria, I'll need you and Isaac, as well. The rest will join the front."

The hyena gave him a mock salute.

“Sadik," Kavaia said, arm wrapped at his waist. “Should I—um—"

“No. You need to remain with the rest of the gods. Before Thimera dies, they will face the brunt of the danger."

“You are still the mortal, here. You will be facing gods."

“I suppose I'm too short to be noticed."

She tilted her head to meet his eye. Her touch lingered.

“I will be fine," Sadik said.

A low rumble came from her chest. It was quite dissatisfied. After a moment, she looked away, saying nothing more.

“Xaeyr," Sadik continued. “I assume you know the layout of the feasting hall—I need exact specifications of its design. We will build a replica in the stadium. Run as many drills as needed. Our one advantage will be practice."

Both Xaeyr and Cyton nodded. Zaria cracked her knuckles.

“Good. Meeting adjourned. If there's any issues, feel free to notify—"

Sadik.

Lanir stepped forward. She was still a size too large to fit between the canopy, but, after laying her belly on the racing track, she was able to fit the length of her neck above the table.

I wish to peer into your soul.

Kavaia pulled Sadik into her shoulder, beginning to growl.

“Why?" Sadik asked.

Lanir watched him. Her red eyes were pupilless—even still, her gaze seemed to drift for a moment, as if lost in thought. Sand shrieked through the sky.

. . . I wish to know the truth.

Xaeyr peeled his lip away, revealing fangs. Kavaia tightened her grip.

“Very well," Sadik said.

He tried to step forward. It took some coaxing for Kavaia to let him go. When she did, he walked to the edge of the table, presenting himself. Lanir's head slowly rose.

It is a request, not a demand.

“I understand," Sadik said. “Go ahead."

I. . . .

She gazed toward the sky, where the sight of Aldunya's branches would once be visible. The canopy had always surrounded the pantheon. Now, much of the leaves had been burned in war. Lost beneath the sand.

The circumstances have been . . . difficult. Aldunya's silence rings in my ears. Without her guidance, I feel as if I have fallen to a capricious fear, one borne from insidious—

“Lanir," Sadik said, annoyed. “Stop wasting my time. Do it."

Her frills danced across her neck. After a moment, she leaned her head toward him, gaze burrowing into his own.

Red eyes grew bright. A shuddering filled the air.

Suddenly, Sadik felt a crashing presence. A fearsome weight pressed on his thoughts, slithering through his soul, slicing down to the very core of his being. There was no way to defend. Every part of his life was split open and read, like the pages of a book. Memories bubbled into awareness.

Unrest. Violence. Revolution. Entire districts destroyed.

The night the palace burned. Fleeing through the flames. A dank sewer. Hunger and darkness.

Kavaia's face, bloodied from the rain.

A return. A pile of bodies before a throne. Rushan beheading the Vizier. An angry speech. A savage goal.

A churning face of plague, beckoning him to join.

There was another shudder. Lanir's gaze slithered from his mind, leaving him spent and hollow. When he managed to focus again, he saw the dragon staring at him in shock.

By the ancestors.

Sadik shook his head, feeling like a pile of thinking meat.

I was unaware . . . he. . . .

Lanir's wings fluttered through the storm.

I peered into him, just as I did you. I asked him of Ilios. There was nothing. How could I not see? I had him in my court, and, yet, I was utterly ignorant. How could I. . . .

She fell silent. Her flames grew low across her scales.

“I have my own question," Sadik said. “Does the name Calisto mean anything to you?"

The dragon paused. After a moment, she shook her head.

“Could you find it for me?" Sadik asked. “There must be archives. Some god who has heard it before." He tapped his head. “It's important, as you saw."

Yes. Clearly. I will perform my research diligently, unless you need logistic assistance. For defense.

“Focus on this, please. I want an answer."

Very well. In that case, I will . . . take my leave.

The dragon gazed around the table. She saw little warmth. With a telepathic sigh, she lowered her eyes to the dirt, beginning to turn away.

I'm sorry.

She walked into the storm. Her aquamarine scales were lost beneath the sand, like a flame slowly growing cold.

“Sadik."

Cyton, god of serpents, slithered around the table, his innumerable snakes wriggling in the wind.

“You have your orders," Sadik said.

“Yes, yes, of course, but, um. . . ." The snake grew hesitant. “Well, I—by that I mean, we—wanted to say that we're sorry. All of us."

Sadik did not respond.

Cyton scratched at the snakes on his chest. “We're eager to help. The rest of us here. It's just that—well—Rushan was violent. Coercive. He's invincible, in truth. With everything that happened, it was difficult to resist—"

“I don't care for excuses," Sadik said. “You could've stopped this. If you want to apologize, be better."

Cyton recoiled onto his tail. “B-but—I—"

“You heard him," Kavaia said.

The god of serpents stuttered, let his tongue fork between his fangs, and quickly slithered off into the sandstorm, leaving a long trail in the dirt. With a snort, Zaria leapt off the table, waving a goodbye as she disappeared in the gloom.

Sadik rubbed his face with both hands, trying to wipe the dirt and exhaustion away. It did not work.

“So," Xaeyr said, stepping to his side, “I also have a request."

Sadik forced himself to stand at attention.

The god of cataracts took a moment to speak, as if he had gathered some courage and lost it immediately. “Well, you've . . . known Amira for a time. Yes?"

“Yes. We're good friends."

“Good. Excellent. Well. Um. . . ."

There was a long pause. Xaeyr struggled to meet his eye.

Kavaia began to snicker.

“Shut up, Kivie," Xaeyr said.

Kavaia laughed harder.

“My lord," Sadik said, “what do you need?"

“Well, you see, we had a very nice evening together, Amira and I, one that I would be happy to reenact in the future, and so I thought it might be wise of me to show my appreciation for the . . . things we shared. Together. Some material gift. A grand gesture. Or . . . you know. . . ."

They stared at each other.

“Look," Xaeyr said, painfully, “I'm asking you for advice."

Kavaia poked her snout beneath his moon, grinning.

“I swear on the stars, Kivie, I will skin you into a purse."

“My lord," Sadik said. “Don't give her a gift. She's a soldier. Anything sentimental will get you mocked, as you can see."

Kavaia blew a kiss.

Sadik thought for a moment. “This has been hard on her. All of this. If you want to show appreciation, just . . . be there. Let her relax. Do your best to listen. She will want to be vulnerable at times, like anyone else."

“. . . that's it?"

“That's it. Do not overthink her."

“Yes. Of course. I should've guessed, I suppose, but . . . I don't know." He nodded to Sadik. “Thank you." He turned to Kavaia. “Fuck you."

“It's very sweet, Xae," Kavaia said, grinning toothily. “My heart overflows."

Xaeyr stroked his furless chin. “You know, Kavaia, I must say—it's wonderful to see how much you've grown."

“I—yes?"

“Yes. You were always sour. Derisive. I hardly remember a smile in all the centuries I've known you. Now, here you are, open with mirth, helping to lead a band of heroes. It's been quite the change to witness." He gave a warm smile. “I'm happy you've discovered yourself."

Kavaia blinked several times, opening and closing her maw. She seemed unable to speak.

“Who's embarrassed now?" Xaeyr said, giving a rude gesture with his hand. “Eat shit, you soft-scaled harlot."

He walked into the storm. Sadik struggled not to laugh.

“That was . . . pleasant?" Kavaia asked. “I think?"

“Well deserved, goddess."

“Stop laughing."

He covered his smile with a hand.

She swiped at him. He jumped off the table, grinning openly. There was a short, playful chase. By the end, they were walking across the worn track of the hippodrome, holding hands, helping to guide each other through the storm.

---

Sadik stared out into the horizon.

He had travelled to the leeward side of the hippodrome, high up on the exterior archways, where the stone would provide cover against the wind. A series of stairs and unlit corridors had taken him nearly to the top—once he emerged back into open air, he found the new height dizzying. A single slip would see him fall several stories. Even the gods patrolled this area with care.

He had wanted to find the setting sun, somewhere in the storm. He had not been blessed with the sight for many weeks, and some part of him had dared to hope again.

Instead, the grit and dust remained thick in the air, even behind the shelter of the walls. He could barely see the plaza below the stadium, let alone the edge of the pantheon. If there was a sun to be found, it was waning beneath the haze.

Sadik sagged against a marble pillar, dangling his legs over the edge and undoing the braid on his hair. Dusksong clattered to the floor beside him.

He had spent the remainder of the day training gods—running drills, performing raids, making sure that the majority had memorized the layout of the feasting hall. Most did not have any sort of military training, and only a portion of them had responded well. It would have to be enough.

Now, he was glad to be alone.

He stared out into the swirling fog, listening to the wind. After a time, he closed his eyes, trying to steady his mind.

Questions remained.

What was happening with Rushan? What was his plan?

The jackal was not mad—he had saved Acheron from Gidros' explosion, at great risk to his life. That was not the action of a man who wished only to maim and destroy . . . but, then, what was his goal? What could possibly convince the god of war to tear down the civilization he had defended for centuries?

There had to be a deeper mystery. Some thread to bind it all together. What had happened with the demons? Who was Calisto? Right now, beneath the earth, there were an untold number of ruins, stretching so far past the warmth of the sun that the dirt and stone must be ancient. Why had Aldunya tried to bury—

“I see we've thought alike."

Isaac emerged from the shadow of the stairway, shielding his face against the wind. His beard and shaggy hair had been dusted into a light brown, though his blue eyes remained bright.

Sadik began to rise.

“Oh, no, no, please, don't stand for my sake." He gestured to a nearby pillar. “Can I join you?"

Slowly, Sadik slid back down to a seated position. “Of course."

Isaac moved to the edge, wiping a streak of grit from his face. He searched through the sandy haze. “Based on my maps, I thought I might be able to see the edge of Torchill Bay from here. Maybe the Scarlet Peaks, as well."

“You can, on a clear day. Or so I've been told."

“A shame. From this height, the vistas must be gorgeous."

Sadik almost spoke. Instead, he leaned back against the pillar, long hair whipping in the wind.

“Yes?" Isaac asked.

“They probably look different to you."

“How so?"

“You're a traveler. The Flaming Scholar. Historian and mercenary. Even in our isolated city, we've heard of you."

Isaac shrugged, as if he couldn't deny it.

“I've never travelled," Sadik said. “I was born in a small hamlet, I came to Acheron as a boy, and here I've remained for a century. To me, the cliffs and mountains are just. . . ." He tried to choose his words. “They're like a painting. Something you might stop and admire, but never touch. It's always seen from a distance."

Isaac took a seat against an opposite pillar. “Do you want to travel?"

“The process would kill me." He traced the tattoos on his cheek. “Too much Glimmer."

“Ah. Yes. Hm."

The two were silent for a time. Sand blanketed the plaza below, swirling with every gust of wind.

“I grew up much the same," Isaac said. “For a long time, my world consisted of a tower and a training yard. I ached to travel. I devoured every book on the subject. When I came of age, there was some . . . unpleasantness, and I had to leave my home. I've been travelling ever since."

Sadik stared into the fog. “Did it live up to your dreams?"

“In a lot of ways, yes. Nothing's ever perfect, of course, but . . . I don't regret much." He smiled. “The company has made the difference."

“How is Zaria doing?"

The smile began to fade. “Oh, she's ecstatic. Strong as an ox." He drew a circle around his eye. “She's already regaining her vision. We had been to so many apothecaries over the years, hoping for some potions or magic which could cure her scars. It only took your Glimmer a few hours."

“Does she want more?"

“I don't know. Any mention of ill effects just gets me a 'come off it, squire'. For once, she can flex her hand without pain. You should've seen her face." Isaac cleared his throat. “A lesser man would call her simple, I think."

There was a pause.

“And?" Sadik asked.

“I am not a lesser man."

Sadik gave a dry snort.

“She's not stupid," Isaac said. “I know she knows. It's just . . . worrying."

“Her life is in danger," Sadik said, his voice serious. “She can either worsen the dependency or try to break free. We have ways of mitigating the withdrawal, but there's always a risk. She will be in pain, soon enough."

Isaac gazed into his lap. Blond hair curled in the wind.

“You know," the scholar said, “we've talked about adoption. Some orphans. A mix of species, a cottage in the hills. Now, with this, she said she wanted. . . ." He tapped his thumbs together. “Glimmer allows for reproduction between species. Yes?"

Sadik did not answer for a moment. Slowly, he nodded.

“It's all very sudden. The circumstances are less than ideal, and our discussions always felt so theoretical, and now I just . . . I don't know." He glanced at the opposite pillar. “Have you ever considered being a father, Sadik?"

“. . . I was almost one. Recently."

Isaac blinked. “Yes?"

“I wanted it very dearly. More than I expected. It would have changed my life. Instead. . . ."

He gestured out to the storm and sand, as if in example. The ruin of marble buildings loomed through the haze.

“Oh," Isaac said, abashed. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blather on."

Both of them looked in separate directions.

“We'll do our best for her," Sadik said. “I promise."

“. . . thank you."

There was another silence. Isaac rubbed the binding of his journal. Sadik watched the foggy horizon, feeling his long hair swish against his neck. The light was growing dim. Somewhere, the sun was cresting away. He still couldn't find it through the storm.

“You know," Isaac said, “I came up here hoping to scout the Diet of Nine, as well. Their armies are cleaving through the plains to the north."

“Any particular reason?"

“You've seen the glove that the Lord of Bones wears?"

“Yes. It's some kind of technology."

“Exactly. He pillaged it from a necromancer tomb, somewhere in his homeland. The Diet wishes to find similar relics. Gods know they've already ravaged every ruin on their own lands." Isaac sighed. “They've made some remarkable advances, studying the old cultures. Refined blackpowder. Flying ships. Soul communicators."

“I remember you saying," Sadik said, “that you considered it your fault, in a way."

“It's . . . a long story."

Sadik shrugged. “Well, if they come here, their advance will shatter. We have the true power of the ancestors, not the ashes they left behind."

“Are you sure?" Isaac asked. “This is an army of wizards, bolstered with technology. It will not be an easy war."

“My culture has survived hundreds of empires. The Diet will not be different." He opened a palm, gesturing at the buildings surrounding the stadium. “It may not seem like it now, but Acheron used to be a noble city. Faithful in duty. We took our honor very seriously."

“I'm sorry I couldn't see it before."

Sadik did not answer.

There was a scrape behind them. Kavaia loomed from the shadowed stairway, the leg of her dress halfway raised for a step. She seemed as if she had attempted to be stealthy.

“Shit," she said.

“Oh, goddess," Isaac said, beginning to rise. “Forgive me. I was just leaving."

“You don't have to go," Sadik said.

“Oh, no, no. I've grown a habit of talking too much. So I'm told, anyway."

Isaac headed for the stairs. Kavaia leaned into the wall of the corridor, hoping to clear a path for the smaller mortal.

“Actually," Isaac said, turning around, “before I go, I did have another interview question for you, Sadik, if it's not a bother."

“I suppose not."

The human returned to the edge of the stadium, flipping through pages in his journal. After a moment, he produced a small piece of parchment.

“Does this mean anything to you?"

It was a rectangular symbol. There were bars of red and white stripes, arrayed horizontally. In the upper left, there was a blue field dotted with stars. Isaac had scrawled numerous notes on either side of the symbol, in a language Sadik did not speak.

Sadik stared at the parchment for a few moments. “It . . . seems familiar. I can't quite place it."

“Goddess?"

Kavaia joined the two humans, squatting down to eye level. Her face lit up immediately.

“Yes?" Isaac asked, bringing the parchment closer. “You recognize this symbol?"

“Our ancestors," Kavaia said. “They who walked the stars."

Isaac blinked several times—first in surprise, then in shock.

“I remember now," Sadik said. “This was their flag. Where did you find this?"

“The tomb of a necromantic empire. Several tombs, in fact." Isaac glanced between the symbol and the foreigners in front of him, momentarily lost for words. “I have seen no sign of this flag in your city. Don't you worship these ancestors?"

“Yes," Kavaia said, “but, as I recall, worship of the flag caused instability. There were many denominations over the ages. Idolatry grew. Viziers twisted the symbol for political gain. A good number of mortals thought the flag would lessen the power of the gods, and still more thought the ancestors would never return at all, so why bother in prayer?" She stared at the lines and etchings. There was a small rumble. “The flag grew controversial. Eventually, it was banned."

Sadik nodded. “I only know of the flag as a security concern. A sign of heresy. Any criminal caught with the marking would be taken for execution. Did you say you found this outside of Acheron?"

Isaac did not answer—he was scribbling into his journal, writing so furiously that it seemed he might snap his stylus in half. The sound of scratching parchment filled the air.

“One more question," the scholar said. “Who were these ancestors, and why did they fall?"

Sadik and Kavaia glanced between each other.

“We know little," the goddess of death said. “It's believed the stars represented a coalition of republics. They spoke English, they used wonderous technology, and they had many gods—Yahweh, Joshua, Christopher. Besides these facts, there is only interpretation."

“We know even less of their destruction," Sadik continued. “It's believed the event was so cataclysmic that it scorched the world to desert, even altering the stars in the sky. Scholars used to differ on the reasons."

The human scholar opened his mouth slowly, as if he feared his next question. “They're not from this planet, are they?"

“No," Sadik said. “They're from Earth. Why?"

Isaac blinked, stared at his journal, looked at Sadik again, then crossed out several lines and scribbled between the margins. Slowly, half lost in thought, he began to back toward the stairway. “Excuse me. I need to . . . consult my notes. Cross-reference. Something." He stared at the starry flag again, struck with inspiration. “Ivtarr preserve me."

“Isaac," Sadik said. “Try to sleep."

The scholar disappeared into the stairway, barely aware of the steps. Muttered words and flipping pages echoed through the gloom.

“I doubt that was common knowledge," Kavaia said.

Sadik shrugged.

Kavaia rose back to her full height. Sadik wiped sand from the crook of his elbow and turned his gaze to the open plaza. By now, night was taking hold. Darkness drank its way through the empty halls and shadowed chambers, bringing a chill to the air, while gods lit torches across the curving archways.

He had missed the sun. He hoped he would live to see it again. Perhaps tomorrow, or a tenday from now, or. . . .

Sadik felt a presence behind him. Gently, Kavaia laid her hands on his shoulders, pulling his body against her own. His head met her navel, his shoulders carried the subtle curve of her belly, and he found his back cushioned against a broad pair of thighs, each one larger than his torso.

Slowly, her hands began to massage his neck. Soft scales, smooth leather.

“Goddess?"

“Yes?" Kavaia replied.

“What are you doing?"

A rumble vibrated through her body. Sadik raised his head, which only served to press himself deeper into her belly, and saw a sliver of her face above, obscured on either side by the valley of her breasts. From below, her figure seemed quite substantial.

“Do you need something?" Sadik asked.

“Do I need a reason to hold you?"

“Well, no, but. . . ."

“But what?"

“Nothing. I mean—never mind."

“Hm. Good."

Her thumbs found the nape of his neck, slowly digging in. Behind them, he heard the sound of a long, heavy tail swishing against stone.

“I've noticed," Kavaia said, “that you no longer use titles around the other gods."

“I suppose not."

“You've become quite acerbic, actually."

He nodded between her hands.

“And, yet, despite this, you still call me goddess."

“It's a gesture of respect. You've earned it."

She hummed. Sadik cleared his throat, glancing around. No other soul patrolled the walkway. They were alone.

“Are you busy?" Kavaia asked, rolling his hair between a finger.

“Not particularly."

“No more problems to attend?"

“I've done all I can. The war continues at dawn."

Her hands continued to roam. Eventually, after tracing the thorns on his neck, she hooked a finger beneath his chin, encouraging him to raise his head.

When he craned his neck, he saw her face leering from above, eclipsed between her breasts.

“In that case, I have a task for you."

---

Kavaia hilted herself down, trying not to crush him.

After a long and increasingly frustrated search, the two had come across the same destrier stables they had fled through on their escape from the pantheon. Some of the hay had been burned, and many of the stalls were filthy, but the destriers themselves were gone, and none of the other gods had claimed the room for shelter. Sadik supposed they didn't like the smell. Kavaia was too eager to care.

The bay door had been locked. For good measure, it had been barricaded, as well.

Now, Sadik was seated among a pile of blankets and moldy hay—his legs were straight, his back was arched, and he was hugging Kavaia's waist as best he could, trying to grip the rough scales on her back. They were difficult to reach. His arms barely made it around her side, and she was continually rising and falling upon his lap, subtly changing her posture with every thrust. He felt like a shipwrecked sailor, grasping for a piece of the hull as it bobbed through the waves.

“Novsh tiim," Kavaia said, moaning to the stone above.

She rose and sank again, smothering his thighs in the soft, cool leather of her ass. A grunt echoed through the stable. Her movements had been slow and exploratory, more interested in appreciating his length than taking it all at once—with their difference in size, she merely had to bounce atop him. Anything more would have cracked a bone.

Once planted, Kavaia thrust across his waist, clenching her walls. It felt as if she was trying to scour him through every inch of her depths—there were circular motions, a forward lean, several sloppy gyrations. Nothing was left untouched.

Pleasure built. Fluid leaked upon the hay.

Through it all, Sadik managed to hug her waist, pulling himself tight against her frame. With his torso wrapped around the curve of her belly, he felt surrounded by a wall of giving skin and gossamer scales, sinking deliciously beneath his touch. Her breasts heaved perilously above his head, each one blocking the torchlight like a moon eclipsing the sun.

She had been fairly cold. His warmth spread through her skin. It only made her louder.

“Ilüü ikhiig ög!"

Her movements increased. The rhythm grew erratic. She bucked and rolled, swayed and fell. As her walls grew hot, and their movements slick, Sadik was increasingly lost in the pleasure of her depths—spearing through, dragging out, always feeling as if he had discovered a new part of her, made just for him. His nerves crawled with sensation.

“Goddess," he said, “call me decadent."

She paused, completely hilted. “Pardon?"

“I am a wasteful king, shattered before your army."

“. . . I'm sorry?"

“No," Sadik said. “Speak Kesunae. Play the barbarian."

There was shocked laughter. “Stars preserve, Sadik—my culture is not a fetish."

Sadik pretended to faint against her. “Oh, you wretched savage! You pillaging brute! My sword is helpless before your might! Please, do not scour my vault! Don't steal the treasure! Noooooooo—"

She grabbed his head, easily encompassing his skull within her palm, and pressed his face into her abdomen. His cry was muffled beneath reptilian scales.

“That's enough from you," Kavaia said.

He continued to shout into her body. Her smile turned into a deep-toned giggle.

“How's this for savage?"

She increased her pace, still rising to the same low height but coming down twice as fast. Her ass bounced with a fearsome weight. Behind them, her muscular tail slithered between his legs, batting them to the side, spreading him wide.

His shouting turned to a groan.

“Uvaigüi tuslamj," Kavaia whispered, affectionate.

She continued on, like a chariot smashing through an enemy line. A pleasure began to knot through his core, steadily growing in strength, throbbing with every slam of her sex. Sadik knew he was not going to last much longer.

But, even with his face pressed into her belly, he decided that he was not defeated—he began to kiss the wall of scales in front of him, all while reaching for her breasts. When he found a nipple dancing above his head, Kavaia arched her back. He began to knead. Fingers scratched his scalp.

Somewhere outside, the sandstorm continued to slice through the night, shrieking its wind across the halls, battering the walls of the moldy, reeking stable. It might have been a gentle wind across a dune of sand, for how little the two of them heard it.

For a few rising moments, there was breath and heat, weight and touch. The rest faded away.

“Goddess."

With a lurch, they climaxed together—twin gasps, blindly searching hands, a feeling of gentle, shuddering release. Every ecstasy came as blunt as a hammer. Kavaia hugged him tight against herself, contracting her walls, urging Sadik to paint her with every rope of his seed. He obliged with a throbbing moan. By the time his awareness returned, he was left clinging against her, completely drained.

They remained coupled, for a time. Neither wanted to move. The smell of moldy hay and old droppings began to mix with their emissions. Slowly, Kavaia leaned backward, freeing Sadik from the wall of scales. Her saffron eyes watched him through the firelight.

Sadik felt a grin crack through his lips. He was never one to smile—as a commander, most of his men had never been graced with the sight, and those who had considered it a miracle. Right then, with her, he couldn't deny it.

She bent down and pecked him with the rim of her snout.

From there, the two pulled apart, ignoring the sticky sensations. Sadik tried to arrange their pile of blankets and hay. Kavaia checked the barricades on the door. By the time she returned, he had splayed himself across their makeshift bed, patting an open spot.

“Goddess," he said. “You're on top."

She looked down at him, hesitating.

“Trust me." He gestured at a few strategically placed blankets. “Lay here. Like this."

He coaxed her forward. She crawled on her hands and knees, obeying his directives. Slowly, with some encouragement, he got her to lay down on top of him, slightly to the side, using several of the blankets as cushions against her weight. He had used the same trick with Hisana.

“Oh, yes." Kavaia nestled herself deeper. With a twist, she was able to lie on her stomach and wrap her arms around him, pulling his body through the gap of her breasts. “This is sublime."

Sadik felt her maw settle above his hair. A leathery neck bulged behind.

“You can breathe?" she asked.

“Well enough."

“Nothing crushed?"

“Not particularly."

“Good. Great." She pulled him tighter. “Fantastic."

“Please do not roll," Sadik said.

“Hmmmmmmm."

She covered them with the last of their blankets. A warmth began to cocoon. As their breathing settled together, Sadik felt a drying fluid on his crotch. He began to worry about bathing. Some of the gods would smell him tomorrow.

Suddenly, he remembered Isaac's mention of fatherhood. Kavaia was filled with his seed.

Glimmer. Possibility.

He blinked through the darkness.

“Sadik?" Kavaia asked, voice muffled.

“Yes, goddess?"

“Are you well?"

“. . . as well I can be." He found one of her hands and began to stroke a knuckle. “Are you?"

There was a soft hum. It vibrated through his bones.

“Are you sure you're well?" she asked.

“Do I have reason not to be?"

She gave a breathless snort. “This morning, I had to fuse your head back to your shoulders."

“Oh, yes. I suppose."

“Did that not give you pause? Not even a thought?"

“It was quick. You healed me well. I haven't had time to worry."

She released a breath. Hay blew with the gust. He could feel more words in her chest, battling for release. Her fingers gripped him with subtle frustration.

“Goddess," he said. “You can speak to me."

“Don't leave tomorrow."

“Leave?"

“On the secondary team. Alone. I . . . want you to stay with me."

He tried to look at her, but her maw was resting atop his head, and he had little freedom between her arms. “It was your idea to kill Thimera."

“I'm aware."

“My choice is infiltration or assaulting Rushan in force. Both are dangerous."

“Yes," Kavaia said, “but, if you stayed with me, I could protect you, heal your wounds, make sure you don't get crushed or burned or decapitated or any number of different—"

“Goddess," Sadik said, insistent. “I'll be fine. This is how it has to be."

“I know. The strategy is clear. It's merely. . . ."

She trailed off. He continued to rub her hand. Beyond the bales of hay, a sandstorm screeched through the night.

“I cannot stop seeing your head," Kavaia said. “Lying in the garden. It infests my thoughts. If I had not been present, your fate would be sealed. I have felt a wretched need to hold you ever since, like you moment you leave my grasp it will happen again. And the thought that I will not be there tomorrow, when you will face even greater dangers. . . ." Her breath quivered. “It terrifies me."

Sadik didn't know how to answer.

“I cannot overstate how much this means to me." Her hand opened, taking his palm within her own. Fingers squeezed together. “How it feels to laugh, to care for another, to be vulnerable without reproach. I have yearned to love for so long. I. . . ."

He took a careful breath.

“Please come back," Kavaia said. “Please. I beg you. Whatever it takes, whatever you must do, please—come back to me."

“I will," Sadik replied. “I promise."

She gripped his hand. Her chest heaved. He did not need to see the tears.

“Before I met you," he said, “I wanted to die. I had a chance for happiness—a little sliver for myself—and when I lost it, I thought nothing but oblivion would save me." He pulled their hands to his lips, kissing softly. “Now I'm here, with you, and everyone else. I have a new chance. I will not lose it."

She curled beneath him. Their legs wrapped together.

“I will come back," Sadik said. “I promise."

Kavaia broke into sobs. They seemed long in coming, borne from the centuries behind. When he pressed his head into her jaw, rubbing his hair against the smooth underskin, her chest heaved with a whimper.

The storm blew on. They remained together, bodies locked, holding on through the cold and dark.