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“Do you want to know the truth?”

Rushan stood next to the open hole in the floor. It was the only source of light in the feasting hall, bleeding a scant illumination from the afternoon sky. At eye level, Sadik saw a pleated skirt and black, muscular legs. When he craned his neck to the ceiling, the black fur began to blend with the shadows, leaving only the vague impression of a god above.

There were burns. A shredded ear. Flesh peeled back from the muzzle, leaving a row of ever-snarling teeth.

The god of war waited for a response.

Sadik stayed quiet, feeling the gnarled pockets of bone in his flesh. Faustine stood next to Rushan’s hip, keeping her eyes on the floor.

“You denied my invitation,” Rushan said. “Tried to slay my champion.”

Sadik did not answer.

“I’ve killed mortals for less. Even the gods would leap at the chance to kiss my feet. And, yet, you. . . .” He leaned from above, bringing his burns and teeth into the light. “You continue to defy me.”

Sadik met his gaze, silent.

“You stole Kavaia from my grasp,” Rushan said, “and shot me with your sword. Somehow, you interrogated Thimera, right beneath my nose. I had to kill her for that.”

The jackal began to squat, bringing his gaze to eye level. When his face entered the light, Sadik saw drool leaking between his teeth. There was a sucking noise, followed by a hiss of pain.

“Even now,” Rushan said, “when I could shatter your bones, rip your limbs from your body, like petals from a flower—even still, you look at me with nothing but contempt.” He bent forward, sniffing the air. A hot breath blew across Sadik’s chest. “No fear. I only smell a mouse, squirming through the sewers, defying the claw that looms above its nest.”

“I’ve made my peace with death,” Sadik said. “Do what you will.”

Rushan leaned back, displaying the exposed bone of his arm.

“What?” Sadik asked.

“I can see why she chose you.”

“Kavaia deserved better.”

“Not her. The tree.”

Rushan rose back to his feet, strolling along the edge of the hole. Sadik managed to crane his body just enough to glimpse the city of Acheron, nearly two miles below, still swallowed beneath the scarlet clouds of a storm. The god of war watched the chaos unfold.

Behind him, Faustine was watching Sadik. When he caught her gaze, she looked away.

Somewhere in the pantheon, the ground began to rumble, like a sandwyrm approaching through the dunes. Amira had once described a sinking feeling in her belly, when she knew that one of the colossal dragons lurked beneath her feet. Was the plague doing the same?

Amira.

Had she met the clones Faustine sent? Was she organizing a rescue mission?

Gamó.

“Sadik,” Rushan said. “You remind me of myself, in a way.”

“I am nothing like you.”

“Oh, not yet. But you will be.”

Sadik jerked against the vines on his arm. The bone in his hip began to flare wider, leaving him limp and gasping. “I’ve given—my life, defending the city.”

“So have I,” Rushan said. He stared down at the city, tracing the blue glow of the walls. “I’ve killed more mortals than I could possibly remember. The blood on my hands is equal to plagues and famine. From men to gods, everyone falls before me. Every last soul. And over the centuries, it’s all become so. . . .” His ears flattened. “So disgusting.”

His flesh began to ripple, like waves through a pond. Outside, the sandstorm continued to rage.

“I fall from the sky,” Rushan said, “wrapped in a seed, and I slaughter every soul I find. The barbarians are slow and fumbling. Many scream for mercy. When I return to the city, I am greeted with prayer and worship. I cannot walk a street without a wave of prostration, without begging and gasps. Even my fellow gods—they are afraid of me. Few meet my eye. Most will cower, the second I show annoyance.” He growled. “That’s all anyone can give me. Irritation. Too much power becomes a curse.”

He stared at the city, silent.

“I respected Ilios. He was noble, despite his godhood. The only man I considered an equal.”

Sadik stared down at his lifeless tattoos—vines and thorns, wreathing across his chest.

“Kavaia was different,” Rushan continued. “She resisted. I knew she still had a sliver of her warrior past, somewhere within the shell.” He gazed at Sadik. “And you. You are not weak, or complacent, or serving your own selfish ends. I think, in a way, you remind me of a time when I was not disgusted with people.”

Their eyes met, holding for several moments.

“Yes,” Rushan said. “I can see why Aldunya chose you. You are her best option, after me . . . and Ilios.” His gaze grew distant. “Especially Ilios.”

Sadik grit his teeth. There was a thin lake of bone on his chest, slowly scraping against the ribs. He could not speak without risking a punctured lung.

Off to the side, Faustine watched the god of war. She opened her mouth, adopting the same expression she had always worn in private, whenever she needed reassurance from Sadik.

A silence hung in the chamber.

Eventually, she closed her snout, leaving her thoughts unsaid. The look of worry remained.

Rushan continued to stare at the blood storm. A red hue, reflected from the clouds, washed across his chest. “Are we ready?”

It took Faustine a moment to respond. “Y-yes, my lord.”

“The plague beckons. We must descend.”

“Our forces surround the feasting hall. They know nothing. By the time they do, it will be too late.”

He nodded, contemplative. His fur seemed to smolder across his skin, like the slow drip of pitch-black tar.

“Another betrayal?” Sadik asked. “Were the Demokrats not enough?”

Faustine took a step forward, beginning to hiss.

“Killing your own followers seems a poor decision, really. Maybe it’s a matter of taste.”

She unsheathed her khopesh. As she drew it to the side, ready to slash, Rushan turned his head, gazing down at her. Faustine hesitated. After looking between the two men, she began to retreat.

“I’m sorry, my lord.”

Rushan grunted, turning back.

There was another rumble through the pantheon. It seemed to be drawing closer. Plates rattled on the dining table, scattering the flies. Above, the roots and veins on the ceiling began to writhe between themselves, as if recoiling in pain.

Sadik thought of the mass of plague he had witnessed inside the Neheamatt’s trunk. It had been titanic, amorphous, gorging on the walls of tissue, ready to swarm and surround.

Come and see, it had said.

He shuddered.

“Tell me,” Rushan said, turning to face him. “Why do the gods exist?”

For a moment, the rumbling intensified, belching a curtain of dust from the ceiling. In the distance, there was a sound of crumbling stone.

Rushan paced from the open edge, arms behind his back. “We are not natural creatures. You understand this, don’t you? No one is born this way—we are made. Chosen. Every one of us was mortal, some time before.” He opened a palm, gesturing. “Why?”

Sadik blinked, slightly surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“Why do I ask? Why shouldn’t I ask?”

“I . . . suppose I don’t understand the reason behind the question.”

The jackal blurred. In an instant, he was towering above Sadik, his face lined with burned skin and golden eyes. “That is exactly my point! You wouldn’t even think to ask! How could anyone know the truth when they can’t conceive the question?” After a tense moment, Rushan stalked away, beginning to pace across the marble floor. “Oh, but we’ll get to that. Soon enough.”

Sadik swallowed into a dry throat, scraping bone against his neck. Faustine dared to raise her head.

“The mortals,” Rushan said, “are divided. Slaves obey their masters. Their masters obey the Vizier. Even the Vizier, tyrant to all, answers to the gods. ”

He gestured into the chamber. Ahead, there was a feast spread along a table—previously luxurious, now rotting in the dark.

“But the gods are divided, as well. There are some, like me, or Lanir, who are stronger than the rest. There are some, like Kavaia, who are shunned for their duty. There are so many gods of minor standing that one wonders what purpose they serve, if they serve any at all. The result is always the same. Impotence. Distraction. Petty squabbles. As below, so above.”

The jackal continued to pace. His heavy strides shook the floor. On his left arm, bones began to crawl onto the central spike, like the branches of a tree.

“Those who are distracted,” Rushan said, “are easier to control. And I have to remind you—the gods are made. There exists a method to turn any man into a deity. So, then, why is everyone not a god? Why is immortality not shared?”

“Because men are not equal,” Sadik replied. “Because giving power to the unworthy will only lead to chaos.”

“Are the worthy wielding power now?”

Sadik glanced at the blood storm, so far below. He did not respond.

“I thought so,” Rushan said. “So what is the real reason?”

“I suppose. . . .” He closed his eyes, grimacing. Pain clouded his thoughts. “It’s logistical. Gods are created through Glimmer. Aldunya can only make a certain amount at a time. If everyone needed the same dose. . . .”

“She can make a certain amount?” Rushan asked. “Or she chooses to?”

Sadik blinked, watching the jackal pace through the dark.

“Glimmer is our holy miracle. It can cure any wound, enhance the body beyond its barest meat. But, of course, those who take it are beholden to its grip. You must keep taking doses. Forever. If you don’t, the body will fail. If you leave the city, you run the risk of death. Suddenly, your miracle has become a trap. A single substance controls your very life. And who is holding the strings?”

In the distance, a sandstorm raged.

“Are you beginning to see the pattern?” Rushan asked.

The roots squirmed across the ceiling. Faustine watched the god of war, regaining confidence.

“It is a system. Carefully designed. Citizens against the barbarians. Slaves against the merchants. The Vizier against the gods, and the gods against each other. There is just enough Glimmer to keep the wheels turning, on through the millennia. But, of course, there is always one figure, standing above them all.”

What had he seen in the palace, when the tree squirmed in pain?

CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL—

“What did Aldunya tell you?” Sadik asked.

Rushan tightened his fist, growling.

“Before all of this, you spoke to her. With Ilios. That is the reason why all of this has been happening.” He breathed, hair falling to his eyes. “What did she say?”

The jackal blurred. In an instant, he rushed to the dining table, smashing his fist into the swirling wood. The table bucked, splitting in half. A rain of silverware clattered to the floor.

“It’s all a lie,” Faustine said.

Rushan kicked one end of the shattered table, sending it flying into a marble wall. There was a crack of stone, a flurry of rotten food. The god of war began to pulse and writhe.

“The ancestors are gone,” Faustine said. “They will never return.”

Sadik felt a numbness, creeping over his pain. “She knew this?”

“She’s known this all along.”

CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL—

Rushan became a whirlwind of motion, so fast that the eye could not follow. Destruction rained across the chamber, from columns and vines to plates and tiles.

Sadik watched the jackal, trying to suppress the growing horror. “I—no. They can’t be. They had spread to many so worlds. Their technology. . . .”

Faustine shook her head. “It’s all been pointless, Sadik. Everything.”

“Everything!” Rushan yelled.

He grabbed a section of the table and heaved it across the room. It shattered like a meteor. Sadik leaned against his restraints, trying to dodge the splinters. His gaze fell over the open hole.

Amira gazed up at him.

The human was clinging to the underside of the feasting hall, using all six insect limbs for grip. Her wings unfurled above an open sky, and her head poked into the room, trying to track positions. In her hands, she held a greatbow, already nocked with an arrow.

Her expression told him to remain quiet.

“Do you know how many I’ve killed?” Rushan shouted.

Sadik snapped his gaze back to the jackal, heart pounding in his chest.

The god of war stalked across the chamber, kicking through wood and stone. Gold squeezed through the pores of his flesh. Behind him, the distant rumbling continued to increase, so strong that the floor began to pitch and yaw.

Was there a battle outside?

“I gave her everything!” Rushan blurred again, creating a snap of wind. Out of the corner of Sadik’s eye, he saw Amira lean back into cover. “My fists! My very soul! I became a demon for her, and she killed my only friend!”

He towered above, gripping the marble slab where Sadik was tied. His eyes were gold and furious.

“Do you know what she told us?” The jackal leaned in, tall and black. “Ilios and I were to be her replacements. The next Aldunya.”

Sadik pressed himself against the stone, trying not to touch Rushan. His left arm was bristled with bone and sloughing flesh. A dozen eyes began to focus.

“She told us,” Rushan said, voice low and sharp, “that we should call her Calisto, and that she was an ancestor herself, who had become a machine to rule above us all. She thinks she is the only survivor. She thought she had done her best to keep Acheron alive, ever since her people fell. And, now, she wanted us to know that she was tired, and ashamed, and lonely, and she would like it if we could take her place. Would we take her place, so she might rest? Did we understand?”

Sadik stared up at the jackal, eyes wide.

“Did we understand? Did we understand?”

Rushan squeezed the slab of marble, beginning to crack the stone with his fingers. Outside, there was a deep tremor of sound, like a building had collapsed. Faustine cocked one of her ears, growing alert.

“I told her,” Rushan said, leaning so close to Sadik that every word dripped with heat, “that she had made us her slaves. We could’ve shared our technology with the world. We could’ve built a new society, instead of clinging to the one that had died. Instead, this Calisto—this filthy machine—had created a walled garden, ruled through faith and deceit. Millions had died in its defense. And for what?”

Faustine began to move across the chamber, sword at the ready.

“She told me it was the best she could do. Ilios said it was not enough. He told her that the people needed to know—the ancestors were dead and gone, and we had preserved their culture for nothing. If she would not speak the truth, then he would do it himself.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sadik saw Amira begin to pull herself through the jagged hole, completely silent. He tried to keep his gaze steady.

“The argument grew heated,” Rushan said. “She told us she would find another. Then, she killed Ilios, blamed his death on me, and brought you into the fold. She has saved your life several times, according to the plague. They tell me that she watches your every move.” The burns on his face began to curl. “Tell me, Sadik—do you feel blessed?”

For a moment, Sadik found himself unable to speak. Revelation flooded his mind.

He had been saved from the plague. Wrapped in the Neheamatt’s fronds. Whenever he did something against her will, there had been a sense of anger, as if he had betrayed an unspoken bond.

Was it really all for nothing?

CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL—

“No,” he said, softly. “Not at all.”

“Will you take Aldunya’s offer? Will you rule as the god of gods?”

“Never.”

There was a slight creak of a bow, almost lost in the wind. A quake rumbled the floor.

“Tell me,” Rushan said. “How much of your life have you given?”

He took a slow breath, ignoring the sweat and pain. “More than I could bear.”

“Do your wants outweigh your duties?”

“Always.”

“Just like me.” The god of war stooped to a knee, bringing his face to equal level. “Just like us all.”

He met the jackal’s eye. “I am tired of sacrifice.”

There was a nod, a flash of gold.

“I will not serve blindly,” Sadik said. “Not anymore. I want to live, on my own terms. I want to create something better.”

A smile through lipless teeth. “No more Viziers. No more gods.”

In the distance, Faustine pressed her ear to a door, listening.

“Leave all the masters behind.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Amira crept into position.

“The plague tells me,” Rushan said, “that she has a core, deep within the earth, where she has buried the rest of her mistakes. I will go there, escorted by the hive of souls, and I will rip her heart from its metal womb.” Marble cracked beneath his grip. “The machine in the tree will be no more, and the survivors will know freedom. The first any of us have ever known.”

“Thank you for telling me. I think I will go there myself.”

Rushan released his hand from the marble, holding it in an open gesture. “Join me.”

“No,” Sadik said.

Amira loosed her arrow. Rushan blurred, fast as sound. When he stopped, there was a wyrmkiller clutched in his palm, the barbed tip so close that it almost impaled his eye. Slowly, he began to crush the missile beneath his fingers, loosing a snarl.

The god of war turned his attention to Amira.

“Get fucked,” she said.

Around the feasting hall, walls exploded in.

They came from three directions—dozens of gods, rushing fast, bearing flames and light, snakes and thorns, robes and halos and wings. Faustine threw herself prone, trying to dodge the rain of stone. The air grew violent with motion.

Rushan faced them all.

He blurred, snapping the air, leaving a trail of wind across the floor. His spike of bone speared through a belly. One god screamed as he was kicked across the chamber. Lanir’s forces surrounded Rushan, outnumbering him by the dozens, but the god of war was always in motion, dodging through the attacks, weathering the flames and spears. Blood began to fly.

Outside, in the storm of sand, the renegade gods were attempting to plug the hole in their defensive line, flanking Lanir’s forces from either side.

Meanwhile, Amira ran toward Sadik, knife in hand. She cut the vines on his limbs. When he sagged against the stone, unable to bear his weight, she wrapped her arms around him, draping his body against herself.

In the distance, Faustine ran for cover. Sadik heard a shout.

“Hold on!”

Amira fell through the hole, dragging him along. A sea of earth stretched below. Sadik gasped, heart in his throat, reeling with the wind. Before he could scream, Amira spread the wings on her back, bringing the two of them into a steady glide. They began to sail beneath the floor of the pantheon.

Roots and stone raced above, blanketed in a storm of sand. Ahead, a massive tree impaled the sky, its bark swirling with light. In the distance, cliffs and dunes spread across the land, miles away, leading out to the distant plains.

For the first time in his life, Sadik saw the ocean. A sliver of the world.

Gravity pulled. Organs lurched. He clung to Amira as she swerved through the hanging roots and gnarled growths of bark. There were grasps and breaths and terror.

A pressure filled his mind.

Grab on!

Lanir soared through the air below, spreading her fiery wings. A wave of telepathy cushioned their fall, like a thermal of wind. Ahead, a line of snakes began to descend from the outer edge of the pantheon, all wrapped into a single rope.

Amira took a hand off Sadik’s back and grabbed the snakes at full gliding speed, leaving them swinging through the air. Below, Lanir continued to push with her mind, steadying their motion, forcing them to rise toward the pantheon. The snakes coiled and writhed.

They were lifted. High above, there were figures racing beneath the veil of sand. Cyton, god of serpents, commanded the snakes to hold their grip. Several gods heaved the rope itself. There was one god, in particular, who leaned over the edge of the pantheon, holding out a hand.

“Sadik!” Kavaia yelled.

He raised his arm, fighting through the bones. As they rose through the sky, the goddess of death reached down, grabbed his elbow, and pulled his entire body into herself, falling back onto solid ground. He landed in a pile of linen and scales.

“Golden Son is secure!” Xaeyr shouted, somewhere close. “Break off! Now!”

Lanir crested through the sandy sky above, blue and flamed. In the distance, gods rushed through the gloom, beginning a retreat.

Kavaia sat up, hugging him, rubbing her snout against his head. She pressed right on the bones.

“G-goddess!”

She pulled back, startled. Through her eyes, Sadik realized how he must look—half-naked, filthy, sliced with bone, missing an arm. She released a horrified breath.

“You are never leaving me again,” Kavaia said.

Sadik tried to respond, but the goddess of death began to search his body for wounds, sucking out the bones like a pool of pus. He leaned against the leathery skin of her neck, shuddering with pain and pleasure.

“Idiot,” she said, hissing. “Absolute fool.”

“Goddess—”

“Don’t you ‘goddess’ me!”

He remained quiet, trying to peer at the battle over her shoulder. The feasting hall was somewhere across an open plaza, lost beneath the storm. Lights and motion, screams and bodies.

“I am crafting that harness,” Kavaia said, sternly, “and you will be slung against me forever, so help the stars. I will not trust anything less.”

“As you wish, goddess.”

“You will be the safest creature alive, living beneath my dress. Forget all dream of mobility.”

“Oh, goddess, punish me harder.”

She growled in his ear.

Amira raced from the edge of the pantheon toward the feasting hall ahead, bow and wings at the ready. “On your feet, lovebirds! Move it!”

Something exploded. Across the open plaza, Xaeyr pulled torrents of water from a nearby xylem, lashing at an unseen target. Behind them, far back toward the hippodrome, there was a thunderous crash of sound. Something black and fearsome rose into the air.

Kavaia stumbled back to her feet, slinging his body against the curve of her breasts. He did not complain.

“Hoi!” Amira’s voice split through the storm, using every ounce of her soldier training. “Fall back! Get to the seeds! We are leaving!”

There was a black shape surging through the sky. It eclipsed the light of the Neheamatt’s leaves, like a plume of smoke against a starry night. As Kavaia began to run, weaving through the columns and archways, Sadik kept his gaze on the strange shape rising in the distance. It kept growing. Expanding. Buildings flew through the air.

Slowly, he realized what it was.

The plague.

He had seen one of its main amalgamations, deep inside the trunk. Even then, it had been a colossal creature, moving like water, dripping like tar, gorging itself on an ecstasy of tissue and bark. Now, it was the size of a mountain, frothing from the open wound in Aldunya’s branch, like a parasite emerging from its host. Its skin was black and putrid, armored with a grinning ocean of skulls. The foliage trembled in its path.

With a colossal weight, it smashed the branch itself, bringing down a legion of flesh. There was a series of snaps.

Suddenly, the entire pantheon began to tilt.

Kavaia stumbled into a column, bracing for balance. Several gods lost their footing. As the floor tilted further, broken stone began to tumble through the halls, bouncing down the incline, smashing any that stood in their way. The shouts of battle became cries of fear.

There was another snap. The floor lurched. Cyton, god of serpents, fell into the air, his serpentine body tumbling down the ever-increasing slope.

“Move your fucking ass!” Amira screamed.

Everyone broke—Lanir’s forces, the renegade gods still following Rushan. A mad dash began to form. Every soul ran from the feasting hall, moving toward the very tip of the branch which held the pantheon aloft. There was a collection of seeds, built to withstand the fall from heaven. It was how the gods always deployed to battle. Right now, it would be their only salvation.

Otherwise, the curse of immortality would leave them splattered. Vestiges of flesh.

As the floor lurched, Sadik imagined the scene—the entire pantheon falling into Acheron, unleashing a catastrophe of damage. There were still civilians on the surface. The Lord of Bones’ men.

The plague slammed again. Everything shook.

Gamó.

Kavaia threw herself from the column, racing down the sloping floor. Sadik was clutched, very tightly, into a breast.

“Hold on!”

She barreled across the corridor, picking up speed. The feasting hall was barely glimpsed through the storm—due to the curse of immortality, none had died when Rushan ripped them apart, and there they still remained, lost in the rubble of the building, shattered and screaming.

Sand whipped at his eyes. Details grew slim.

Lanir flew through the storm above. For the first time, he noticed there was a saddle on her back, made to withstand her flames, and she was trying to gather as many souls as she could, sweeping down and through the corridors below. Sadik saw Yasmin huddling on the dragon’s body, surrounded by gods. It seemed like she was screaming.

Yasmin.

The clones.

Had Faustine—

Another lurch. The slope became an incline, steep and merciless. Kavaia’s sprint nearly became a fall through open air—instead, she managed to land on her hip, clutching Sadik tight, beginning a haphazard slide across the marble tiles and open gardens. Bushes and columns, statues and domes, racing through the storm.

Where were Isaac and Zaria?

By now, the branch of the pantheon had almost split in twain, leaving the buildings almost horizontal. Several gods leaped between the homes and corridors, treating the walls as floors, shimmying down the vines and overgrown roots. Behind them, there was a roar to shake the heavens.

Chaos grew. Voices screamed.

A swarm of Mezlat buzzed through the storm. Sunbeams evaporated the sand. Ahead, Rushan leaped into the sky, his fur slick with blood, his left arm forming into a wing of bone and sinew. The blood storm curled below.

It was all too fast.

“Amira!” Xaeyr shouted.

Entire buildings flew through the air, upheaved by the plague. A rain of stone and bodies. Many gods fell, either losing their balance or smashed with debris. Below their feet, the marble tiles began to crack with vines, gripping the stone with thousands of budding fingers. It was Aldunya’s last desperate effort to save the branch.

Too fast. Too late.

Glowing splinters rained from the mass of plague, smashed with flesh and metal, each the size of a street. There was an ocean of sap, glowing bright, dripping down from the branch.

“Amira!”

The human was using her wings to glide through the upended maze of buildings, trying to save a few gods who had fallen behind. She did not see the statue tumbling into her path.

“Miri!” Sadik yelled.

She turned. The statue struck. Amira went limp, plummeting down the nearly vertical floor. There was now a legion of vines, grasping and knitting the floor, trying to keep the pantheon together. All of them ignored her fall as the stone began to crumble.

“No!”

Xaeyr threw himself into the open air, trying to grab Amira’s leg—instead, the wall beneath him collapsed, sucking the strength from his leap. His hand missed her by inches. As Amira continued to fall, Kavaia leaped from a broken column, landing on the spire of a nearby dome. She reached out. Her claws caught empty air. Amira bounced off the dome, completely limp, and fell into the open sky.

Kavaia returned her hand to the spire, breathing hard. They were the only ones left. Xaeyr had disappeared in a hail of stone, his scream lost to the wind. Stone, wood, and bodies rained through the sky, rushing toward the world below. The pantheon was now completely vertical, swaying like a saw.

“Hold on!” she shouted, her dress flapping in the wind. “Hold—”

There was a roar to split the heavens.

Above, the mass of plague was stretching from Aldunya’s wound, spreading to the upper canopy, draping strands of molten metal like a spider’s web. Mushrooms plumed from the meat. Faces bled from the flesh. Birthed and cleaved, screaming and raw, pouring upon itself, breaking the last few splinters that kept the pantheon aloft.

It turned toward the earth, baring a thousand eyes. Sadik met its gaze.

The entire tree began to shudder. A great crack resounded through the air, as if the entire world was being split in twain.

One final lurch.

Kavaia tensed. As the pantheon broke away, the goddess of death leaped into the air, dragging Sadik through the severed sky.

They began to fall.