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Kavaia ascended the stairs, smiling gently.

After the arduous journey back to Acheron, and all the chaos of the intervening week, she had quietly come to a decision—it was time to relinquish her dress. The soft linen had long been ruined by strife and battle, and she knew there would be more trials in the days ahead, where fine clothes and delicate jewelry would only become a hindrance. More importantly, the dress belonged to an identity that she would soon need to abandon.

It was time to move on. It had been this way for quite some time.

So, a few days ago, in the middle of all their work, she had asked the Lord of Bones for a favor: a set of rawhide Kesunae armor, built specifically for someone of her stature.

She had known it was indulgent. Resources were thin. The armor would have to be specially made, and it would need to be crafted remarkably fast, to meet the pace of their preparation. Kavaia had fully expected a rejection, and even some admonishment for the timing of the request—instead, the Lord of Bones had paused, raised a brow, and said he would assign his best tanner to the task.

“Zolzaya returns,” he had said.

Kavaia had not denied him.

Today, a messenger had brought the armor. All together, it consisted of a well-proportioned breastplate, a wolf’s pelt on the shoulder, a belt of leather faulds on the hip, studded vambraces, fur-lined boots, and an underlying pad of cloth and straps to keep it all secure. Once worn, the material was remarkably sturdy. It still carried a scent of beeswax and tanning oil.

Kavaia had immediately fancied the design. She had been smiling as she donned the armor, and she had still been smiling as she walked through the ruins of the Sons of Sorrow, listening to the subtle flex of leather, brushing her fingers through the soft wolfish fur, and enjoying the strain that the heavy bulk put on her chest and back. It reminded her of days she had thought long forgotten.

Now, climbing the stairs of Rushan’s temple, the smile only grew wider. There was a feeling of warmth spreading through her torso. She felt that things had finally been placed where they belonged.

Behind her, in the sea of ruins below, a flurry of torches moved through the dark. People poured through the cracks of the streets, the dusty crevices, the worn and leveled homes. For many days now, the Sons of Sorrow had been a bustling hive of activity, from the successful integration of Kesunae refugees to the sudden return of several thousand people from the depths of the earth, courtesy of Aleph.

There was shouting, confusion, guards rushing to keep peace. It was a tumultuous time. Even still, the circumstances were improving.

The people had hope.

Kavaia adjusted her armor, still smiling. She climbed the rest of the stairs. As she approached the temple sanctuary, she began to hear the sounds of argument

“—ars above,” Haakon yelled, “why is there always something wrong with these crossings? Why can’t we go here? Why not there? Why can’t this just be simple?”

“Would you rather we kissed your pecker,” Zaria asked, “and told you sweet lies?”

“Yes, actually!”

Kavaia strolled through the high arch of the entrance. Inside the cloistered room, there was a gathering of four souls—Haakon, glaring up at the hologram, the Lord of Bones, standing in front of half a dozen skeletons, and Isaac and Zaria, lingering by the edge of the painted columns. Isaac was still heavily injured, leaning against Zaria’s side. The scars had returned to the hyena’s face.

Behind them all, the statue of Rushan laid broken and destroyed. The Sons had fixed the wooden altar, but left the statue itself in ruin.

Kavaia found the sight pleasing.

“Ah,” Haakon said, noticing Kavaia through the hologram. “Excellent! I’m glad to see—” The falcon frowned, searching the space around her hip. He had removed the mask of the Vizier some days ago, and his avian features were as sharp as ever. “Is Sadik not gracing us with his presence?”

“He’s still busy organizing the soldiers,” Kavaia said. “I’ve been sent to take a report.”

“Oh, truly? A god acts as his secretary?” He threw up his hands. “What next? Will we find you serving his meals and pampering his bottom?”

“Perhaps,” Kavaia replied. “When you love someone, you give them favor. Are you familiar with this concept?”

“I take no lovers. Only concubines.”

The Lord of Bones nodded in agreement.

Kavaia cleared her throat. “Is there anything this council can report?”

Haakon released a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his beak. His feathers no longer shifted color—instead, they remained a constant dullish brown, like a dying field of grass. The only display of grandeur left to him was a few necklaces of gold and gems.

The Lord of Bones shrugged. His skeletons twitched behind him. “I am thinking we agree.”

“Aye,” Zaria said. “Clear enough, I’d say. Some won’t listen.”

“Look here!” Haakon shouted, stabbing a talon into the hologram. The projected light was currently depicting a topographical view of the region surrounding Acheron, with canyon passes and mountain ranges highlighted in red. “This route is madness! We will not summit this mountain without sustaining heavy losses! It will be catastrophic!”

While Haakon raised his voice, Kavaia moved over to the side of the broken altar. She smiled at the foreign mercenaries. “Isaac. You’re still injured?”

The human blinked, flexing his arm in the sling. “Um. Yes? I’ve broken several bones.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Right.”

“You forgot how normal people heal, didn’t you?”

“A little, yes.”

Zaria squeezed Isaac closer to her side, looking at Kavaia from head to toe. She gave a low whistle. “Well there, miss godliness. You’re lookin’ barbaric today.”

Kavaia knocked on her leather breastplate. “It fits me well.”

“Aye. So it does.”

“But if we go here,” Haakon said, swiping a talon through the hologram, “then we stand a chance at preserving the most lives. The journey will be much longer, of course, but there will be ample water, and a few villages to petition for grain. Another half year of travel is well worth avoiding the risk.”

“Not working,” the Lord of Bones said. “Exposure. Very bad.”

“How, exactly, could it be ‘very bad’?” Haakon asked.

“Because,” Zaria said, “you’ll be caught with your draws down once the Diet stomps through. You think you’ll stand against a wizard army? On their terms?”

The falcon raised a pinioned hand. “Surely, with our combined force of arms—”

“Terrain makes the war,” the hyena replied. “All that tech of yours won’t mean nothin’ when you’re down in the flats, bein’ flanked and routed like a bunch of geese. You need to be up in the peaks, where you got one way in, and all the defense you please.”

“Meeting the Diet head-on is foolish,” Isaac added. “They have elemental artillery, skilled enchanters, and a bevy of firearms. There is a reason why no other empire has managed to stand against them.”

The Lord of Bones made a grunt. His skeletons hissed and swayed.

“We are not like the other empires,” Haakon said.

“I’d bet your feathered prick,” Zaria said, “that all them dead kings thought the same way.”

Haakon glared at the hyena, then back up at the hologram.

“Forget of this,” the Lord of Bones said. “I am thinking we outrun the Nine, through the pass. It is expert. Very difficult. I am certain the wizards could not follow. Once we are through, the safety is certain.” He opened his palms. The metallic glove glinted in the candlelight. “Journey ahead. Find peace.”

The Kesunae warlord swiped through the hologram. A flat desert became a jagged range of mountains, full of snow and treacherous ascent. From there, the man swiped again, and an expanse of rolling plains became visible, with a sea of thin grass and narrow streams. Oceans teemed in the distance.

Haakon looked at the simulated landscape, his expression slowly growing bleak. “Many will not survive the crossing.”

“Cull the few,” the Lord of Bones said. “Save the many.”

“You realize that I must knowingly send hundreds to their deaths?”

“To lead men is to pay this price. It is the way. You must take the sorrow upon your soul.”

The falcon looked over at the foreign warlord, who was dressed in a combination of furs and leather, and wearing a skull as a helmet of ceremony. His beak closed. His feathers fluttered against his neck. Kavaia did not doubt that, in a previous time, Haakon would have been deeply insulted to take orders from a barbarian.

He released a sigh.

“What are we doing?”

Zaria folded her arms. A legion of skeletons leered through the masks of skin.

“I can’t believe this,” Haakon said. “And what truly scrapes my gizzard, I think, is that I can believe it. After everything that’s happened, I understand why we have to run. In the face of our enemies, we have to be cowards. I understand it perfectly well. Even still, I can’t believe it.”

“What in the fuck are you sayin’ now?” Zaria asked.

The falcon shook his head, staring through the hologram.

“Is something wrong?” Isaac asked.

“Don’t mind me,” Haakon said. “I’m an old bird, singing an old song.”

Zaria unfolded her arms, opened her mouth, saw the pensive expression on Haakon’s face, and seemed to reconsider.

“Two hundred years,” the falcon said. “Oh, I’m quite old. Not as old as the gods, but, still, old enough. And being old means that you’re stuck in your ways. Stuck in the past.” He stared through the dust and flickering light. “Two hundred years. All my life. And I just . . . I can’t believe it. Not anymore.”

A silence fell over the sanctuary.

“Kavaia,” Haakon said.

She straightened.

“You may tell Sadik that we have decided on a course through the mountains. He is to instruct the men to pack light, to expect a treacherous path, and to bring warm clothing. We are leaving the desert behind.”

Kavaia nodded.

Haakon continued to stare at the hologram, letting the dust and silence drift around his feathers. The others waited for a response.

“There was a dream of Acheron,” he said. “A city that would stand as a bulwark against the savage world. A beacon into the stars. Acheron would preserve the light of the future. Acheron would return to us all that had been lost. And though we must now abandon our home, the dream of this city will not leave our hearts.”

He stared through the hologram, out through the sanctuary exit, where a tide of thousands roamed through the dark.

“And though our pasts may burden our shoulders,” Haakon said, “we will carry them on, because they have made us who we are. And though our technology has turned us wretched, we will press it to our hearts, because it is a gift, and its purpose is only what we make of it.” He drew a small breath, letting the jewelry on his chest dangle and clink. “We will strive to build ourselves anew, in the days yet to come.”

The Lord of Bones nodded. “Some homes cannot be returned. But they can always be made.”

Haakon closed his eyes, making a steepled tree with his hands. His brow was troubled, and his whispers were soft. Around him, candles flickered and smoked. The statue of a god laid in ruin upon the floor.

Slowly, trying not to draw attention, Kavaia adjusted her armor.

“Right,” the falcon said, loudly, trying to project his usual tone of voice. He turned to face the mercenaries. “Isaac, Zaria—are you sure I can’t convince you to join?”

“Quite positive,” Isaac said.

Haakon folded his hands behind his back. “We could certainly use the help.”

Zaria raised her hand from Isaac’s hip to his shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Got some old business to take care of. Been a long time comin’.”

“I’m going back to the Diet,” Isaac said, standing tall through his injury. “I think the truth of this place needs to be shared, before the Archons trample everything in their path. I think it’s time to . . . stop running. Return home, and make a change.”

Kavaia blinked in surprise. “Is that wise? Aren’t you considered a fugitive?”

“The Diet festers with infighting. All the nine kingdoms want a voice, and they always want more power. When I return, I can take advantage of their disloyalty. Make allies, strike down rivals. It will be very dangerous.” The human smiled, his eyes shining a bright blue. “But I’ve survived worse odds before.”

“He’s got a devil in him,” Zaria said. “The little cunt. Drives me mad, half times.”

“You love it, Z.”

“Didn’t say no, squire.”

“Well,” Haakon said, clearing his throat. “You deserve a payment. Our treasury is open. Feel free to take as much as you can carry. It would lighten our own burdens.”

“Oh, no, no,” Isaac said. “That’s quite alright. We can’t possibly accept—”

“Isaac!” Zaria hissed. “Shut up!”

“Z, please, we should—”

“Shut your gob!”

“But—”

She pressed a padded finger to his lips. “Shut.”

Isaac glared up at her, silent and stubborn.

After a moment, Zaria turned to the rest of the room, giving Isaac a forceful squeeze. “What my squire means to say is that we’re delighted to take your gold. To lighten the burden, I mean. Ease the weight. Relieve the temptation of sin, that gold brings to all men.”

“Oh, yes,” Haakon said. “Very generous of you.”

Isaac shrugged off Zaria’s paw, trying to step toward the altar. Zaria attempted to grab him. There was a bit of slapping. “What I wanted to say—”

“Squire!”

“What I wanted to say—” He slapped her hand. “—is that we are still owed another payment.” The human stepped out of her reach, looking through the hologram. “Aren’t we?”

On the other side of the altar, the Lord of Bones raised a brow. The teeth of his helmet casted a line of shadows across his chin. His skeletons leered and swayed.

“You wanted us to save your people,” Isaac said. “They are saved. You have united with the people of Acheron. The Kesunae will find a new horizon.” The mage opened his palm. “We did what you asked. Now, give me what is owed.”

The Lord of Bones kept his brow raised. “How mercenary. The Flaming Scholar, demanding the blood of his wage.”

Isaac shrugged.

“I am thinking,” the warlord continued, “that you betrayed me. Sold me to these jeweled people, as a bargain.”

“In a manner of speaking, sure.”

“You admit this treachery?”

“I’d be insulting you, otherwise.”

The Kesunae warlord snorted. He waved a hand, as if it didn’t matter. “And you are certain you are wanting?”

“Oh, yes,” Isaac said. “I am wanting.”

“This thing is cursed. Like gold, it compels the minds of men.” He raised his gloved hand. The metal twisted against his fingers, snapping and interlinked. “I give warning. To wield such power is to corrupt your soul.”

Zaria blew a raspberry. “Oh, that’s nothin’. Isaac’s got a soul like custard and pixie farts. I’ve seen him weep after crushing a snail.”

Isaac turned around and kicked her in the shin.

“You did! I saw it!”

The Lord of Bones cleared his throat, took a moment to undo the metal clasps on his wrist, and slowly slid the glove from his hand. Behind him, the skeletons released a rasping sigh. When the glove was fully removed, they all slumped to the floor, their bones clattering through the pockets of old, yellowing skin.

The Lord of Bones tossed the glove through the hologram. Isaac nearly fumbled the catch.

“Take it,” the warlord said. “Free me of its burdens.”

Isaac shrugged off his satchel, using his unbroken arm to place the glove inside. “Oh, I will do much more, believe me. Can you imagine? The ability to practice necromancy without decades of training? What if this could be applied to every school of magic?” He waved his satchel. “This glove—this invention—will revolutionize the entire wizarding world. When I show this to the Archons—”

“Right, right,” Zaria said, interrupting. “We’ve taken enough time here. Meeting adjusted?”

“Adjusted?” Haakon asked.

“Uh. Adjourned? It’s one of those, I think.”

“Right. Yes. Meeting adjourned.” The falcon relaxed his posture. “Thank you for coming. Hopefully, all our catastrophes will stay behind us.” He turned to Kavaia. “Tell Sadik I really would like to speak to him. There are urgent matters.”

“I’m sure he knows,” Kavaia said.

“Ah. Indeed. Tell me—what task is he performing, exactly?”

Kavaia adjusted her armor. “Raising morale.”

“He is indulging the men?”

“Something of the sort.”

Haakon sharpened his eyes, but refrained from speaking further. A moment later, his expression fell. “Just . . . please tell him, when you can. I would like his counsel. He is one of the few left who would understand me, I think.”

Kavaia gave a solemn nod. “I will.”

“Thank you.” He waved a feathered hand. “All of you. Dismissed.”

The sanctuary began to empty. The Lord of Bones was the first to leave, sliding his skull helmet over his head and allowing the long black hair to sway free. Haakon followed behind, his tall posture contrasting with a distant expression. After a few steps toward the exit, Isaac and Zaria became engrossed in a fiercely whispered argument, paying attention to little else.

Kavaia stayed behind. She pretended to admire the slow flicker of a candle’s flame. She kept a careful watch of the entrance. When she was sure that the room was empty, she released a sigh, untied a few straps on her breastplate, and pulled the leather from her chest.

Sadik stared up at her.

“Is my servant well?” Kavaia asked, sweetly.

With his face entombed between her breasts, Sadik replied: “I’m getting a cramp.”

“Hold on.”

They helped each other adjust. To make the harness work, Sadik’s position had to be fairly awkward—his wrists were tied beneath her shoulder blades, his legs were wrapped around the girdle of her waist, and, when the armor was fully secure, his body was squeezed very tightly against her torso, with his face swaddled between the weight of her breasts. He had compared the position to a cat climbing up their owner’s leg and clinging to the shirt.

He was also completely naked.

“Better?” Kavaia asked, pulling his leg toward her tail.

“Little more.”

“Here?”

“Left. No, the other way.”

“Um. . . .”

“The other way.”

“Oh, here?”

“Yes.

“I think—”

“Wait, yes. Right there.”

“Better?”

“Yes, good. Thank you.”

Once they were done, Kavaia kept the breastplate partially peeled open, giving Sadik a chance to breathe. Her chest was glistening, sweaty, and flushed with heat. She smiled down at him.

“Please don’t stare,” Sadik said, blushing.

She smiled wider.

“Goddess.”

“Oh, deepest apologies. You’re just the cutest warming stone I’ve ever seen.”

“I am more than a heat dispenser.”

“Yes, you’re right, you’re my precious little man, and you will stay here forever.”

“Goddess, please.”

She pried the armor wide, raised a hand, and poked him in the cheek. “Poke!”

“This is a terrible indignity,” Sadik said.

“Poke!”

She kept poking his face. Sadik tried to turn away, to shield himself from her finger, but he was completely strapped to her body, and he only succeeded in jerking his limbs against her soft inner scales, and rubbing his hair against the yielding pillow of her breasts. Despite his efforts, the poking continued.

She began to giggle.

“Poke!” Kavaia said.

“Goddess!”

“Poke! I’m poking you! Poke!”

With his cheeks burning hot, Sadik began to blow raspberries between her breasts, shaking his head so hard that it jiggled her entire chest. Kavaia gasped in shock.

“Are you ticklish, goddess?”

“Wait, please! Mercy!”

He blew hard. Scales and skin began to ripple. Kavaia nearly doubled over, both laughing and trying to pry his lips away, but he was now hugging her with all his strength, and he gave her no quarter. They stumbled around the sanctuary. Footsteps echoed.

“Death before dishonor!” Sadik cried.

“Oh, you’ve sealed your fate! I shall fold you like a towel! You will rue the day—”

They stopped. Around them, the footsteps continued to echo.

Someone was coming.

Both of them scrambled back together. Sadik pressed himself against her chest, and Kavaia hurriedly slapped the leather breastplate into place, fumbling with each of the clasps and strings. Several knots had to be tied.

“Hello?” Isaac called. “Goddess? Are you still here?”

“Yes! A moment!”

After some hasty work, Kavaia rushed out in front of the altar, still patting the breastplate into place. Sadik flinched beneath her blows. His erection pressed against her stomach. At the moment, she was very glad that she couldn’t blush like a human.

Isaac and Zaria stood at the entrance to the sanctuary, looking awkward and hesitant.

“Were you gabbin’ to someone?” Zaria asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Kavaia said, slightly breathless, “I was just—merely—um, praying. Yes. A final prayer. A proper send-off to—to Rushan. Of course.”

Isaac raised a brow.

“Humility for my enemy. Paying respects.” The crocodile adjusted her armor. “You know.”

“Right. Of course.”

She closed the distance at a slightly excessive pace. “Can I help you, in any way?”

“Oh,” Isaac said, “my apologies. No. We didn’t mean to interrupt. Z and I just wanted to give a personal goodbye, before you departed.” He glanced at the hyena, who encouraged him on. “And—well—to congratulate you. On the child.”

Kavaia managed to give a genuine smile. “Oh. Yes. Thank you. The discovery has been . . . .” She placed a hand on her abdomen. Sadik’s erection slid against her belly. Her smile deepened. “It’s been wonderful. Sadik and I are both very excited. We may try for several more babes, if the technology allows. The future holds much possibility.”

“Several more?” Zaria asked, amused.

“I want a big family.”

“You mean, as big as you?”

“If possible.”

The hyena whistled. “Careful you don’t crush your husband, there.”

“He has the spirit of a warrior.”

Beneath the armor, Sadik kissed her chest.

“Well,” Zaria said, patting her own belly through the lamellar plates. “It’s funny you say so. We were thinkin’ the same way.”

Kavaia blinked. “Oh.” She blinked again. “Oh! Oh, I see! Oh, my goodness, are you saying. . . .”

“Just so,” Zaria said, her smile wide and toothy. “The rat of yours let me step into the needle bed. It peered inside my womb.” She pulled Isaac into her side. “I’m growin’ a little tyke.”

“Even with the Glimmer withdrawal?” Kavaia asked, genuinely astonished. “The timing—I mean—all the competing factors. It was only a brief exposure. That is . . . very extraordinary.”

“Yasmin said it was a miracle,” Isaac said, blushing through his beard.

Kavaia clapped her hands together. “Well! That’s terrific! Oh, I’m so happy for you both! Please, if you need anything, we would be more than happy to offer blankets, diapers, some advice from the midwives—”

“We’re dandy,” Zaria said. “Don’t worry. Like you said, the future has possibility.” She squeezed Isaac against her. “That’s all we need.”

Isaac adjusted his broken arm. “Sorry. We know you’re busy. We just . . . wanted to tell you. Share the good news.”

“I’m glad you did,” Kavaia said. “Thank you. And, well—if you ever find yourself close to our new city, or the world leaves us fortunate enough to cross paths, wherever it may be—please, feel free to come calling. You’ll always have a home with us.”

“You know,” Zaria said, “we’ll think on that offer. Truly.”

Isaac extended a hand. “For now, at least, it is goodbye.”

Kavaia shook both their hands. They exchanged a few more words. Kavaia was so lost in a haze of embarrassment, happiness, and bodily warmth that she wasn’t quite sure what was being said, or how she was appearing. In the end, Isaac and Zaria waved to her as they descended down the temple stairs, slowly disappearing into the gloom and ruin.

Kavaia stood at the sanctuary entrance, taking a moment to gather her thoughts, and appreciate the silence.

“I’m glad for them,” Sadik said, his voice muffled.

“So am I.”

He blew a sigh. It tickled and warmed. “I should really speak to Haakon. He seemed in a dire mood.”

“Later,” Kavaia said.

“We agreed to a few hours.”

She gave the breastplate a solid thwack. “Later.”

“. . . as you wish.”

With a returning smile, Kavaia walked away from the sanctuary, leaving the statue of Rushan to flicker in the dark.

---

“Just a little more,” Yasmin said.

Xaeyr lifted the work bench onto his shoulder, trying to balance the hanging tools and loose wires. “Where? Here?”

Yasmin jerked away from the computer, her fur streaked with ash and carbon. She raised the goggles from her eyes. “What? Sorry, no. Talking to myself.”

The baboon grunted, gazing over the cluttered floor. “Where do you want this bench?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere?”

“You have too much shit in here, Yas,” Amira said, lounging on an old engine.

“Sorry, sorry!”

Xaeyr kicked his foot through a pile of broken sunspears and dropped the work bench in the clearing. Metal clanged and rattled.

Kavaia had ducked her way into Yasmin’s workshop less than a minute ago. She had found Yasmin working feverishly on a scavenged computer, Xaeyr attempting to organize all the cluttered machinery, and Amira reclining against the chassis of a great combustion machine, cleaning her nails with a paring knife. The air smelled of oil, rust, and excessive soldering.

The crocodile cleared her throat.

Yasmin flinched again, nearly burning one of her fingers. Her hands were already heavily bandaged. “What—” She turned. Her expression brightened through the goggles. “Oh! Hello! Yes, goddess, please. Come in. I—” She searched the area around Kavaia’s hip. “Oh. Is Sadik not coming?”

“He regrets to say,” Kavaia said, ducking her head beneath the hanging metal limbs, “that he is busy organizing the men. I’m here to take a report.”

“Busy, is he?” Amira asked. “Doin’ what, now?”

“Raising morale. Some have taken the evacuation poorly.” She opened her palms. “Leaving one’s home is always hard.”

Amira shook her head, leaning further against the engine. “Can’t come soon enough, for me. I miss scoutin’ the desert. Might just bag a wyrm, for old time’s sake.”

Xaeyr threw a heavy beam of metal off to the side, panting with the effort. He frowned at her. “Shouldn’t you be busy?”

“I’m restin’ my laurels,” Amira replied. “They’re tired.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“So?”

“Help me move this shit.”

“Oh, sorry, but you’re this big strappin’ god, and I’m just a dainty girl. Clearly, it’s meant for you.”

“Right,” Xaeyr said. “Clearly, I should be in charge.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“If I’m still a god, that means you have to serve me. That’s how it works.”

Amira shrugged. “Nah.”

The god of cataracts gave a look of exaggerated begging. “Please, honeypie?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Kavaia made her way through the workshop, doing her best to avoid the limbs dangling from the ceiling, and the field of gutted machines littering the floor. Some glistened with a blackish oil, only recently discarded. Others drooled their wires. By the time Kavaia reached Yasmin, it seemed as if half the rat’s experiments had been tortured to death. “Have you made any progress?”

Yasmin didn’t look up from the soldering. There was a small device sitting in front of her, flat and circular, covered with slots, glass panels, and a patchwork of wires, currently being sown together with a needle-like flame. Violet light reflected on the rat’s goggles. “Almost done! Just need to attach the voice modulator!”

Kavaia glanced at the data drive on the table. “You can bring Diana back?”

“Vision, audio, and speech! Lot of parts, lot of circuits!” Yasmin gave a bucktoothed smile. “I want to impress an ancestor.”

“Maybe you should temper your hopes.”

“Why? Isn’t she nice?”

Kavaia gave a smile.

Yasmin returned to her work. In the center of the workshop, Xaeyr continued to organize the various tools, piles of scrap and disused furniture that Yasmin had tossed around. Amira eventually joined him. For her part, Kavaia took a seat on a mortal-sized stool, watching the rat pour her effort into the makeshift device.

Nearly a week ago, Yasmin had promised there would be a way to bring Diana back to life—by using the schematics they had found, and a lot of her own technical knowledge, she could assemble a machine capable of housing the woman’s soul. It was not going to be perfect. In fact, the machine would likely be very crude, offering only the most basic of functions. It would certainly not allow Diana to rule Acheron again. In all practical terms, she would be helpless and inert, like a prisoner within a cell.

Even still, the woman herself could continue to live. In addition, the rest of them could finally speak to the last surviving ancestor. Yasmin had been giddy to ask her questions.

Kavaia watched Yasmin work, smiling at her passion.

Her thoughts drifted.

Beneath her armor, Sadik shifted his body against the harness, as if he was trying to stretch. She could see the breastplate flexing with his movements. When Kavaia subtly stretched her own body, making sure not to draw any attention, he seemed able to work feeling into his limbs, and gave her a silent pat of thanks.

Her smile deepened.

Kavaia had to admit—there was a certain delicious pleasure in keeping him strapped to herself, hidden from all sight. It felt as if she was playing a secret game. There was a sense of danger, a risqué sort of thrill. Every interaction with a different person made her heart race, and only made her more conscious of the feverish warmth spreading through her chest. She felt deeply alive.

She could get used to this. Oh, very much so.

Perhaps he could stay there longer. Another few hours. Perhaps, if she was persuasive enough, they could spend the night—

“Goddess?”

Kavaia flinched. “Yes, sorry. Um. What?”

Yasmin looked up at her, her robes stained with oil, her whiskers tinged with ash. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Oh. Sure. Yes.” She leaned against the table, trying to smile. “Of course.”

Yasmin glanced over at Amira and Xaeyr, who were busy throwing various sword blades and gutted machines into a pile. “Do we . . . really have to leave?”

Kavaia followed her gaze. “I’m afraid it’s the best choice we have.”

“But—no, no, look, it’s just—” Yasmin hesitated, kneading her pink hands through the sleeve of her robes. The extra fingers had long sloughed away. “There’s so much to lose. Think of all the—”

“I know,” Kavaia said.

“The elevator! I mean, the—the computers, the data stores, all the automated equipment, the—the surgery beds, the power generators, all that power, it’s incredible! We could harness the barriers! Make our own! And all the material components, stars preserve. Whatever material that tether is constructed from is incredibly strong. It resists the entire spin of the planet!” She managed to take a breath. “It’s—it’s—it’s a treasure. All of it. Truly. An incredible bounty.”

Kavaia’s smile began to fade. “I know.”

“And we’re just going to leave it behind?”

“We can carry much of it with us.”

“Not the elevator! Not all of it! It’s not enough! Not nearly! No, no, look—I mean—” Yasmin scurried closer to the crocodile, shrieking the legs of her chair. “It’s not hopeless. Isn’t it? We can fight the Diet! Aleph returned thousands of people to us. With the Kesunae on our side, we have the numbers to resist them! And—and—and if not, well, there’s always the life vats. Clones. You know. We can make more people.”

“Yasmin,” Kavaia said, softly.

The rat was on her feet, her round ears twitching, her body thin and lean. Her tail whipped against the floor. “Before—I mean—before all this happened, we would defend the wall from refugees. From petty skirmishes. People who just wanted medicine and food. That was bad. I know that now. But we have an actual threat! The Diet of Nine! They just want to plunder and steal! Isaac told me about them. He told me they betrayed him, they manipulated his entire life just to steal a dead colossus! They want to control every artifact left by the ancestors! If—if—if they get their hands on our weapons, and our clones, and Glimmer, and whatever else—”

Kavaia placed a hand on her shoulder. “Breathe.”

Yasmin took a few gulps of air.

“You’re so thin,” Kavaia said, feeling nothing but skin and bone. “How have you been eating?”

“Please,” Yasmin said. “It’s worth it. To stay. Whatever the cost of war, whatever we have to resist, it’s worth it. There’s so much we can do, now that we’re free. There’s so much technology we can finally use. It’s worth any cost.”

“Do you know the cost of war, Yasmin?”

The rat lowered her ears. In her eyes, Kavaia saw a young woman who had lived a sheltered life of study, and been suddenly burned from her home, and now feared a new fire at every corner. She was unhealthily thin. She couldn’t sleep, and barely ate. She wanted to stay because she valued security more than freedom.

“When the Diet comes,” Kavaia said, “they will siege the city. I have seen many sieges, in my time. I was a conqueror before I was a god. And I know how this siege will progress.”

Yasmin looked at her feet.

“Sieges are slow. They are a grinding of wills. A merciless attrition. They are not decided by glory, or honor, or the rightness of your cause—they are decided by thirst, and disease, and starvation, as well as artillery, arrows, stones, waning hopes, causing fires, digging mines, conducting sabotage, stirring mutinies, performing treachery, or tempting the weak with offers of mercy. Surrender is the only decent end. Otherwise, the walls will be breached, and the city will drown in blood.”

Yasmin rubbed her arm, sniffing.

“This all assumes,” Kavaia said, “that we have fixed the breach in our walls, which Isaac and Zaria used to enter. We haven’t done this. We don’t know if it can be done.”

“I can try,” Yasmin said, softly. “To fix them. With—I mean, when Diana comes back, she could help me . . . repair the, um. . . .”

Kavaia squeezed Yasmin’s shoulder, waiting until the rat met her eye.

“All of us are tired of fighting,” the crocodile said. “We’ve torn ourselves apart.”

Beneath her armor, she felt Sadik begin to stir.

“To leave Acheron behind isn’t to abandon the good it had. It’s merely . . . choosing a different future. Creating something better.”

“Is it better?” Yasmin asked.

Sadik’s breath quickened against her chest.

“It has to be,” Kavaia said.

“But you don’t know. If it will. We’re trading what we know for something we don’t. It could be worse.” She sniffed again. “You don’t know.”

“Would you rather take a chance for something new? Or would you rather have us wither and starve beneath the Diet’s sword, and watch them plunder our treasures, regardless?”

Yasmin looked down, wringing her hands.

“I know,” Kavaia said, rubbing her shoulder.

Yasmin nodded. She wiped her nose with her sleeve, scrubbed dirt from her whiskers. She breathed several times. After a moment, she looked up, tried to speak, wriggled out of Kavaia’s grasp, and dragged her chair back to her work station. She sat down. She looked at the makeshift computer. Slowly, she lowered her goggles, and began to solder.

Kavaia watched her for a moment, feeling pensive.

And, beneath the stiffened hide of her breastplate, Sadik was attempting to push himself away, as if straining for Yasmin’s voice. When it was obvious the conversation had ended, he gradually settled against Kavaia’s chest. His limbs continued to shift. His breath was troubled.

Kavaia glanced around the workshop, made sure no one was watching, and gently tapped her armor. It was an open question.

Sadik squeezed the muscle of her back. He made no other reply.

A few minutes passed.

“There,” Yasmin said, sitting back.

On the other side of the chamber, Amira paused, struggling to lift a half-assembled manifold. “It’s done?”

“I think so. Just have to . . . put her inside.”

All three of them gathered around the table. By now, the computer Yasmin assembled was a slightly horrifying amalgamation of loose wires, scavenged parts, and slapped-together systems. Kavaia was uneasily reminded of the chaotic growth of the plague.

The data drive sat nearby. On the side of Yasmin’s computer, there was a rectangular slot, matching the drive in size and shape.

Yasmin glanced up at each of them, as if asking for permission.

“Well,” Xaeyr said, deadpan. “The ancestors return.”

“What a joy,” Amira said.

Xaeyr folded his arms. “If she calls me primitive, I’ll piss in her port hole.”

Yasmin glared up at the baboon, turning the soldering tool in his direction. Xaeyr stepped behind Amira.

“Go ahead,” Kavaia said.

Yasmin dropped the tool, lifted the data drive, and began to carefully insert the device into the appropriate slot. There was some fuddling. At one point, she had to flip the drive. When it finally clicked into place, the rat began to flick various switches, moving with an obvious excitement. A screen came to life. Fans whirred. Yasmin read the data on one glowing panel, adjusted the telemetry on another, and began to slap a third piece of glass, as if it were misbehaving.

Eventually, she sat back on her stool, letting her creation stir to life. The machine grunted and groaned. There were clicks, and sighs, and shudders.

Nothing seemed to happen.

“Uh,” Amira said, leaning in, “is it supposed to—”

“Fuck!” Diana yelled.

They all stumbled back.

“God—fuck—holy shit!” Her voice was small, granular, almost crunchy in its texture, like a sword scraping against stone. “Jesus Christ, I hate this. I hate waking up like this. I’ve forgotten about sleep. It’s so weird. God, I just—”

There was a pause.

“Wait,” Diana said. “What is this?”

Yasmin scooted closer, whiskers twitching. “Uh. Hello?”

“Who are you?”

“Well—um—my name is—”

“Why can’t I see? What the fuck is this audio receiver?”

Yasmin wrung her hands. “I did my best—”

“Hold on. I see it now. One sec.”

The machine visibly stuttered. Fans whirred louder. Amira and Xaeyr exchanged a glance. Even Yasmin seemed surprised at what was occurring. Just as she leaned over the device, a metal hinge shuddered open, and a bulbous sphere rose upon a segmented pole, shooting up like a flare above the computer.

When the protrusion reached its peak, Kavaia noticed a black hole in the center of the sphere, ringed with contracting metal blades. It looked almost uncannily like the pupil of an eye.

“This camera is shit,” Diana said.

Yasmin now seemed very nervous. “It was the best I could—um—” She gave the camera an anxious glance. “I’m sorry, but you . . . weren’t supposed to be able to access that system yet. I tried to encrypt any access.”

“Your encryption wasn’t that good. No offense.”

“Oh. Um. . . .”

“Hey,” Diana said, her voice weak and distorted, “that’s about all I can do, looks like. Nothing else here.” The machine stirred again. Parts moved and clanked. “Audio receiver is half functional. The speaker barely works. I’m basically just a talking frisbee, at this point.”

Yasmin didn’t answer. Slowly, the spherical camera turned on its pole, swiveling from left to right. The metal lens began to dilate.

“So, anyway,” Diana said. “Hello again.”

Amira folded her arms. Yasmin gave an awkward wave. Kavaia stepped next to Xaeyr, leaning over the two mortals below. “How are you feeling?”

The speaker whined. “Oh. Gee. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Do your best,” Kavaia said.

“Well, Kavaia, if I had to put my finger on it, it’s almost like my creations have risen against me, and my entire legacy is ruined, and now my soul is locked in a cage, and I’m half-blind, and mostly deaf, and just as goddamn useless as a paperweight, and now I get to face the prospect of spending the rest of your lives as a prisoner. Oh, and, if people know I’m still alive, they’ll either want me dead, or try to worship me.”

There was a silence.

“Does that answer your question?” Diana asked.

Kavaia glanced at Xaeyr. The baboon rolled his eyes.

“Do you do nothin’ but bitch and moan all the time?” Amira asked.

“I can do magic tricks,” Diana replied.

“Oh, yeah? Show me.”

“No, wait,” Xaeyr said. “I don’t like that.”

The camera swiveled between them. Amira gestured it on.

There was another silence. After a few moments, the makeshift computer began to erupt with sparks, fountaining out in a spray and dancing across the table. A flame licked the air. Smoke curled between the lines of solder.

“Please don’t do that!” Yasmin yelled, slapping the fire with her sleeve.

Something like a laugh came from the speaker. “Well, look at that. I can kill myself. That’s good to see. Good to know.”

Yasmin blew away the smoke. When it seemed like the computer would not burn, she took a glance at the people behind her, looking helpless and dismayed.

Kavaia cleared her throat. “Diana.”

The camera refocused, the lens whirring in contraction. “Yes?”

“We realize,” Kavaia began, “that you have been through quite an experience, as of late.”

There was a distorted snort.

“We also realize,” Kavaia continued, “that you are, perhaps, quite accustomed to your solitude, which is why you feel free to speak so bluntly.”

“A little, yeah.”

Kavaia leaned over Yasmin. “I would just like to say that this woman—Yasmin—went to great effort to bring you back to life. She did so at our request. We asked her to do this because we would still like to inherit your wisdom, and all the technology you could help us create. And, despite everything, you are still our friend.”

Diana didn’t answer. The camera slowly unfocused. As the silence drifted on, there was a smell of drifting ozone, of ancient rust and burning wire.

“Hello?” Yasmin asked.

“I’m sorry,” Diana said. “I was just—this computer is actually really impressive. Now that I’m looking at it. Yasmin, right?”

She fidgeted. “Yes?”

“Yasmin, did you . . . really build this by yourself?”

The rat began to brighten. “Well, actually, the main processing unit was a relic passed down between the palace technicians—your internal matrix is way too advanced for some slap-dash circuitry—but, uh, everything else was me, yes. I had to make the motherboard personally. It was very tricky getting some of the soldering right. Very precise.”

“What, you eyeballed the whole thing?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean, you made the motherboard by hand?”

“Oh,” Yasmin said. “Yes. I’ve done it before. The hardest part was sourcing the copper and resin, honestly. Xaeyr had to help me strip some fiberglass from the anchor station.”

Diana fell silent.

Yasmin wrung her hands. “Is it . . . good enough? I did my best.”

“No,” Diana said. “I mean, yeah. Shit, girl. I don’t think I could have done all this. I mean, working with what you had?” The camera lens constricted toward the rat. “I can’t believe you got this fucking thing running. A ripcore like me, bootstrapped into a tin can. You did very good.”

“I haven’t slept much this week,” Yasmin said, sheepishly.

“Though, I gotta say, your coding is a little sloppy. I’m getting poked with a few sharp edges. Runtime inefficiencies, mostly.”

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean—well, I haven’t had much practice writing software. It’s hard enough getting the hardware to run. If you want, I could try opening up the chassis and resolder the—”

“Hey, Yas,” Amira said, interrupting. “Are we good here?”

Yasmin flinched, as if she’d completely forgotten the others. “Oh! Yes! Yes, yes, of course!” She turned back to the camera. “I mean. Yes, right?”

“Sure,” Diana said. “I’ll be alright.”

“Are you certain?” Kavaia asked.

There was a pause.

“Yeah,” Diana said. “For now.”

Amira unfolded her arms. “Good. In that case, we’ll tell Sadik you’re kickin’ sparks again, and take things from there. Still gotta sort the evacuation.”

The camera snapped over to Amira, the lens turning wide. Xaeyr flicked his tail, looking down at the human as if he was considering smacking her upside the head.

“Somethin’ the matter?” Amira asked.

“Did you say evacuation?” Diana asked.

“Sure did.”

For a moment, Diana’s voice sputtered, becoming almost gravelly in texture. “What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?”

“Don’t play a fucking game with me.”

Amira frowned.

“I hope that means,” Diana said, “you’re evacuating the sewers. Right? You’re returning to the surface? Reclaiming the city?”

“No,” Xaeyr said. “It means we’re leaving the city.”

Amira snorted. “Clawin’ out of a grave, more like.”

The entire computer seemed to shudder. There were claps and whines, a belch of vented heat. Yasmin began to look concerned.

“Diana?” Kavaia asked.

“Are you serious?” Diana said. With the low quality of the speakers, her voice was almost demonic. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It’s our decision,” Amira said. “Not yours.”

“It’s my entire goddamn life you’re ripping apart, you stupid bitch.”

Xaeyr leaned above the computer. “Watch your tone.”

“Look here, you squawkin’ shitcan,” Amira said. “Some of the more noble types may have given you mercy, but there’s plenty of us who don’t like you, and don’t forgive what you did, and think all the blood you spilled ain’t never gonna dry. To my mind, you’re the real demon of old. And we’d rather leave your taint where it lies instead of wallowing in some ancient fuckin’ legacy.”

Diana didn’t reply. The glass panels were thrumming with data, showing a vast racing of thought.

“You gonna say somethin’ back?” Amira asked.

The data raced faster.

“This is how it is,” Xaeyr said. “The rest of us had to learn humility. We had to strip ourselves of power. If you can’t do that as well, then maybe it would be best if you don’t come with us.”

“Yeah,” Diana replied. “Maybe it would.”

Yasmin swiveled in her chair, trying to catch everyone’s eye. “W-wait, wait, no. Look. Um, just everyone—”

“Yasmin,” Diana said. “I see there’s a power saving mode, here. Partial shutdown. It needs to be manually activated.”

The rat hesitated. “Um. Yes.”

“Good. Turn me off.”

Kavaia opened her palms. “Diana—”

“I want to sleep,” Diana said. “I don’t want to be conscious. I know if I keep talking, I’m going to say things that I’ll regret.” The speaker crackled. “And I’ll need some time to see things calmly, because I suffered thousands of fucking years for this city, and the second I lose control, you all just leave it for the dogs. It’s gonna break me. If I’m awake. I promise you.”

Yasmin tried to search for words. “I don’t think—”

“If I woke up in a different place, I think I could manage. I could move on, if I had that. But if I have to watch all of you leave Acheron, if I have to see it happen in this shitcan box, then I really do think I would rather die.” The camera focused on Yasmin. “Please turn me off.”

Yasmin wrung her hands.

“Please turn me off,” Diana said. “Otherwise, I might kill myself.”

Kavaia nudged Yasmin’s shoulder.

Yasmin reached around the camera, trying not to make eye contact, and flicked a hidden switch. The segmented pole descended. Hinges flipped shut. There was a brief surge of data across the panels before the glass fell dark, and all the fans blew a final breath.

Silence filled the workshop.

“Well,” Amira said. “Sorry, Yas. Coulda told you what she’s like.”

Yasmin turned sharply, glaring up at Amira with an expression more furious than Kavaia had ever seen from her before. The human looked almost shocked to see it.

“What?” Amira asked, stepping slightly back. “Am I supposed to kiss her metal bits? Come on.”

“Get out,” Yasmin said.

“For fuck’s sake, Yas, don’t be like—”

“Get out!”

Xaeyr bent down, grabbed Amira beneath the arms, and slung her over his shoulder.

“Hey!”

“We’re leaving,” Xaeyr said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Yasmin turned back to her table. As she clenched her fists, the bandages on her fingers began to bleed.

Xaeyr moved out of the workshop, avoiding the clutter of machines. Amira struggled and cursed. Kavaia hesitated, looking down at the smaller rat. Yasmin refused to meet her eye. After a moment, Kavaia turned, strode across the stone floor, and ducked through the doorway leading out to the ruins beyond.

The whole time, Sadik was struggling through the harness, trying to grab her attention.

Outside the workshop, where the ceiling of pipes dripped a stagnant fluid, and slabs of stone leered through the dark, Xaeyr was placing Amira back on her feet.

“I ain’t some fuckin’ child,” she said.

“Well,” he replied, looming above her, “once you have more social grace than a child, I won’t carry you like one.”

“How’s that, you say?”

“What did you think was going to happen, telling Diana about the evacuation?”

Amira made a sour expression. “Look. Sorry, right? I didn’t mean trouble. Just not gonna spare her feelings. She had to face the new way of things, at some point.”

Xaeyr straightened himself, addressing Kavaia. “Will you talk to Yasmin, when she’s calm?”

“Of course,” Kavaia said.

“Good. Some of us are better at it than others.”

Amira made a grunt.

“For now,” Xaeyr said, “I’ll leave the two of them alone. And I will highly encourage others to do so, as well.”

“I get it already, you shitheap monkey.”

Xaeyr took a step back. “Tell Sadik that Diana is alive again, and . . . our two technicians have some doubts, about the evacuation.”

Kavaia felt a gentle squirming against her chest. “I’m starting to think he shares those doubts.”

“Where is Sadik, exactly?”

“He is entangled further below.”

Xaeyr gave an inquisitive look. “You said that a little . . . oddly.”

Kavaia kept her face composed, ignoring the weight and feverish heat beneath her armor. She was thankful for the cover of shadow. “He’s . . . busy, with pressing matters. But he’s always close by, if needed.”

Amira cocked her head. Xaeyr raised a brow.

There was a silence among the ruin.

“Oh, fuckin’ stars,” Amira said, beginning to grin. “No way.”

“Kavaia,” Xaeyr said, sternly.

The crocodile stepped forward. “I didn’t mean—not like that. Please.”

“‘Pressing matters’,” Amira said. “Come now. You cocky weasel.”

“By the silty river,” Xaeyr said, “you haven’t changed at all, have you? You kidnapped him again.”

“It’s a figure of speech! I wasn’t—”

“Hoi, sir!” Amira yelled, facing Kavaia’s belly. “I see your bulge in there! You breathin’ alright?”

“It’s a bulky armor! I’m—I’m pregnant!” Kavaia dodged away from Amira’s poking finger. “Listen, we have to—”

“We?” Amira asked.

“Fuck!”

Xaeyr shook his head, turning away. “I’m leaving.”

The baboon began to walk through a ruined gateway. After a few more pokes, and a stern growl from Kavaia, Amira followed after him, giving one last show of rubbing her belly before the two disappeared into the gloom. Kavaia remained close to the workshop. She was very flushed, and not just with heat.

In the falling silence, Sadik said: “We should talk.”

Kavaia blew out a sigh, adjusted her armor, and began to make her way through the shattered buildings, trying to keep her thoughts on Yasmin.