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Sadik had not seen the sun in weeks.

Since the revolution, the new Vizier had declared all members of Hisana's regime to be enemies of the gods. Even during the succession crisis that followed, when the average lifespan of Acheron's leaders had been measured in days and hours, this edict had been upheld. Any member of the previous dynasty was to be killed on sight. With armies besieging the walls, most districts under martial law, and the rest of the city lying in rubble, Sadik had taken the last few souls who had escaped the palace and brought them deep into the maze of sewers below the city. Thus, the Sons of Sorrow were born.

The loss of sunlight had pained him more than he expected. Every dark and rancid tunnel seemed as foreboding as a tomb, every bloody gutter another reminder of how far he had fallen. For years, he had served beneath the glittering spires of Kohav Yaran. He had taken sacred vows, borne the tattoos upon his skin, endlessly modified his body with Glimmer to suit the whims of deity and state. There had been countless battles. Enough sunspears to break the sky. He had blinded the enemies of Acheron, carried out the justice of the Vizier, stricken the peasants into awe and wonder. In the sunlight, marching through the most ancient city in the world, Sadik had finally felt as if he carried the light of the stars.

And then he had been reduced to darkness. The air he breathed was cold and ancient. His only companions had been torch and shadow. He was the last member of the Path, and every source of fire struggling against the dark only reminded him of his fate.

Now, as consciousness returned, Sadik began to feel sunlight once more. There was warmth upon his face, a bright light piercing the lids of his eyes. In a moment, he began to feel as if he was in a dream of days past. There was no mistaking the light for the dry heat of a fire, or the searing gleam of his sword. It was the sun. It enveloped his skin like a gentle hand. He found himself leaning into the soft light, aching for it grow stronger, remembering the long days spent in the garden. . . .

He opened his eyes. There was a tunnel of rushing water above him, falling into the sky.

He was alive.

He bolted upright. He reached for his sword. He readied himself for battle.

He saw a goddess.

She was sitting beneath a curving wall of purple glass. Outside, a river of water was flowing upwards, casting the sunlight into shimmering lines. The goddess seemed to exist as a nexus of color, a central prism of light. There was dark green skin wrapped in pink hues, a urakh collar of turquoise and amber, a royal nemes falling down her shoulders in stripes of black and gold. Every arm and leg was adorned with silver bracelets, and every gleam of light seemed to highlight the white linen of her kalasiris dress. An air bubble rose through the water, shadowing the sun for a brief moment, and it was only then that he saw her face. A crocodile. The goddess of death and renewal.

Kavaia.

He had not seen her since he was a boy. No ceremonies were ever held in her honor. As the goddess of death, her name was only invoked as a curse. A warning. The people would be thankful for her absence, terrified of her appearance, and almost always left weeping once she was gone. It was said that even the gods disdained her presence. By all accounts, no one who had seen her had wished to do so.

But Sadik had seen her once, long before he followed the Path. He had been a child, running barefoot over red rock, hunting lizards through the dry gulches. . . .

A pair of eyes opened through the morning light. They were slitted, the bright yellow color of saffron stems. Sadik had stared into the faces of many gods, and he had learned to tell which of them were truly ancient by the look they held in their eyes. Kavaia seemed to gaze right through him, as if she could take his full measure at a single glance. She might've counted dynasties the same way he counted years.

For a moment, the only sound was the gentle thrum of water.

“Is the ember still burning?" she asked.

Sadik could only blink in response.

Kavaia tilted her head, shaking the nemes on her shoulders. “Has the clay returned to stone?"

“I—I'm sorry? Goddess?"

She heaved a sigh. “Are you still injured? Must I heal you further?"

It took him a moment to realize he was standing. His leg was no longer injured. His missing fingers had returned. He rubbed the open holes in his bronze kepresh, the spots where the assassin had stabbed him with blade and tail, and felt only unblemished skin. There were no wounds that he could see—only tattoos and bare, swarthy skin.

“No," Sadik said, taking a deep breath. He felt no spores. “I am well. Goddess, I—"

“Well?" Kavaia waved a hand, as if fanning the light. “The destrier is not well if his rider is reckless. He finds his death merely postponed."

Sadik felt the glass around him shake with an air bubble. Water churned and thrummed.

The crocodile looked right through him. “Are my words too arcane for you, mortal? Do you find their meaning illusive?"

“. . . I believe you are calling me foolish, goddess."

“Oh," Kavaia said, drawing out the word. “Are you sure of this?"

“Fairly, goddess."

“I do not wish for my words to be wasted."

“They were very elegant. Like fireflies."

“Difficult to catch?"

“Beautiful. At a distance."

“Of course," Kavaia said, leaning back against the purple glass. Amusement glinted in her eyes. Sadik realized that the substance behind her was not glass—it was wet, translucent, and subtly shifting with the flow of water outside. “Perhaps you could entrance me with your own words, mortal."

“I—" He blinked, felt his tattoos light with embarrassment, and took a knee before her. “Goddess, I thank you for your assistance. My life is in your debt. If there is any way I can repay you—"

“You may start by not groveling at my feet."

He glanced up at her. From her seat upon the glass, she curled a hand, clinking the bracelets on her wrist. He rose back to standing.

“Mortal," Kavaia said. “Do I seem a cult leader to you?"

“Hardly, goddess."

“I do not desire worship. My name is used as a curse. 'May the Jade Demon be upon you.'"

“I suppose I have heard the phrase."

Her saffron eyes burrowed into his own. “Now that you are beholden to me, do you find the term appropriate?"

“No, goddess," Sadik said. “Jade is a common description. It does not befit you."

“That was not my concern."

“It was what caught my attention."

Her face was buried in sunlight. Underneath the glare, he saw that the top ridging of her snout was wrapped in red cloth.

“You have experience talking to gods," Kavaia said, as if she found it a pleasant surprise.

“Enough to survive."

“Survive? Is that the way you would put it?"

“A careless word, surely."

“No," Kavaia said, leaning towards him. “It was not. I can see that you are well-versed in avoiding questions."

“I apologize if my words—"

“I did not say I found it unamusing." Her eyes roamed over his body. They were the size of his fist. It had been hard to tell in the sunlight, but she was just as large as Hisana had been, if not more so. Even while seated, she was looking down upon him. “Who are you, mortal?"

Sadik almost gestured at the tattoo circling his eye. “Goddess, do you not recognize—"

“Clearly not, or else I wouldn't ask."

“I am merely surprised—"

“Speak," Kavaia said.

He hesitated. By order of the new Vizier, he was to be killed on sight. He had been declared an enemy of the gods. His face could be seen on wanted posters all across the streets of Acheron. There was not a single place left in the city where he could bare his face without fear of recognition.

Was it possible that she did not know who he was?

Did she not remember how she had saved his family?

“So much armor," Kavaia said, considering him. “So little propriety. A soldier, clearly, but more than well-equipped."

Sadik felt a bead of sweat roll down his cheek.

“You've a broken candlestick for a sword."

“Her name is Dusksong, goddess."

“Her name," Kavaia said, “is Terminus Est. I am not surprised you cannot read the runes."

“The words are ancient, and the blade speaks for itself."

“It is not a toy."

“It is not a candle, either."

“My meaning," Kavaia said, “was that it must've been a fearsome weapon. Before it was shattered. Nema only knows why you're still wielding it."

She did not know of the Path. Ilios, god of the sun, was the opposite of her domain—the sun only brought life, while she had been charged with judging the dead. They might've never crossed paths. More importantly, the gods who had taken the mantle of death had always maintained a strict code of neutrality. For centuries, the crocodile had been no exception.

The Luminous Path had been young. Still an infant star. Why would a reclusive god know the cults of men? Sadik almost dared to believe—

“Palace guard?" she asked.

“Yes. Goddess. Y-yes."

A silence passed between them.

“Must I spin the web of your life?"

Sadik managed a dry swallow. “The spider should save its web. For different prey."

Another silence came. Sadik kept his vision trained on a point beyond her shoulder, just as he had been taught to do whenever speaking to the Vizier. Their enclosure thrummed with the force of rushing water.

Suddenly, Kavaia began to stand. He found himself stepping backwards—the glare of the sun had hidden much of her body from view, and it was more considerable than he had imagined. When she had fully risen to her feet, her form had eclipsed the light. The top of his head barely reached her elbow. He was forced to crane his neck, staring over a canvas of white linen and dark green skin.

“Is that so?" the goddess asked, the bandages on her snout swaying with every syllable. “What business does the fly have dictating the whims of the spider?"

“I—" Sadik suddenly felt very small. “The fly merely wishes to live. Goddess."

She did not answer. Her saffron eyes were looking through him again, as if they could strip him of armor and flesh. He could only imagine how many people had begged for their lives before her. She was nearly twice his height, she held the power of death in her grasp, and there was nowhere left for him to run.

“Goddess. I am not imposing—"

She held up a hand. He silenced himself. While water churned outside, a long moment passed between them. Sadik had wielded Dusksong during many executions, and the silence he felt now reminded him of the moment just before the killing, when the crowd would cease their talks, and it felt as if the whole world was waiting for the final stroke.

“You may keep your secrets," Kavaia said. “My questions were idle curiosity. Nothing more."

Sadik did not relax. He had not been given permission.

She tilted her head, dragging the tip of her nemes across her turquoise collar. “There I was, enjoying a leisurely swim through blood and muck, when a mortal falls through the water and begins to die in front of me. It seems as if my duties must follow me everywhere."

“I am grateful for your assistance, goddess."

“As you should be. It was rather imposing of you."

Sadik resisted the urge to wet his lips. “Were the Mezlat—"

“Bothersome to a god?" She leaned forward, towering high above him. “Were these drones chasing some deserter from decadence?"

He did not answer. All the answers were surely written on his face.

“At ease, mortal. Your identity was not the reason for your rescue. I saw a man in peril, and I intervened." She winced, pressing a hand to her side. “The Jade Demon can give life as much as take it."

“I know, goddess." Sadik had been staring over her shoulder again. He dared to meet her eyes. “I have seen you before, when I was a boy. You saved my family."

She blinked. “Did I?"

“Yes. Long ago. We were poor wretches outside the walls, begging for medicine."

Her surprise increased. “Outside the walls?"

“I know you are a healer," Sadik said, avoiding the question. “Not a demon."

“It is not often I allow myself to be seen."

“I've considered myself blessed because of it."

She searched his face. After a moment, she looked away. “I do not remember this."

He placed a fist over his heart, bowing his head. “It is twice now that you've saved my life. I am in your debt. Truly."

He held the gesture, waiting for a response. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Even through the bronze scales of his kepresh, he could feel the suppleness of her skin, the smooth curve of her fingers. They were so long that they nearly passed his shoulder blade.

“Rise," she said.

He straightened himself. Her hand lingered on his shoulder for a brief moment. When she pulled away, her face had changed—the reptilian features did not betray much expression, but there was a certain glimmer in her eyes, one distinct from the sun at her back.

“I do not desire worship, mortal."

“Of course, goddess."

“Do not bow in my presence. Your serenades offend me."

“As you say, goddess."

“You may especially wipe all trace of reverence from your tone."

“It was never there, goddess."

She continued to watch him, the sunlight rising at her back. A short rumble escaped her chest. “I—" She paused, clearly uncomfortable. “I am glad to have done you well. Has your . . . family survived the revolution?"

“They are not in the city," Sadik replied. It was a strategic admission. “Only I was allowed to pass through the walls. I have faith that they still survive, out in the barren dunes."

She absorbed this information, watching him carefully. “Do you regret your citizenship?"

“They wished for me to take it. Every mortal in the world would covet such a chance."

“So it is." She looked down at him for a long moment. “You are welcome. I do not require appreciation, but it is . . . pleasant to know that it exists. One can get lost in the suffering."

Sadik saw something else behind her eyes. Something she wished to say. It never came. After an awkward moment, she gestured with a hand, and he stepped aside. Kavaia moved forward, gazing up through the translucent ceiling of their enclosure.

He took a moment to look through the membranous wall where she had been seated, hoping to feel more of the sun's warmth. Instead, he was shocked at what he saw.

They were rising high above the world. Sadik had been educated enough to know that the planet was round, but it was a much different experience to see its curvature in person—the horizon was bending like a bow, the morning sun only barely risen above its endless line, and the red rock cliffs were so humble and small that they seemed no more than the rough imperfections of a brick. He almost began to feel dizzy. The sky seemed to be sucking him away.

He shifted his gaze lower, leaning into the membranous wall. A vast army arrayed itself before him, the fields of men stretching over a craggy red land. From this height, the trebuchets and siege engines were smaller than a fingernail. At the same time, they were working ceaselessly, pelting the cerulean energy barriers with missile and arrow, and the endless cookfires amongst the sea of tents said that the invading coalition was not lacking in supplies. The siege could last for years.

Of course, even from this height, Sadik could see the lack of discipline among them. There were clear divisions in their ranks, places where the armies were refusing to mix. The shape of their tents spoke of disparate cultures—tribal warriors, rugged mercenaries, conscripted militia. Their perimeter was thinly guarded, their water lines were stretched to useless lengths, and their latrines had been dug too close to camp, owing to the bed of red rock where they had placed their siege equipment. He could only imagine the strife and disease spreading through the ranks.

Kavaia moved to his side. Her scales seemed to carry the sun. “What do you see?"

“As a soldier?"

“As a boy from outside the walls."

Sadik ran a thumb over his cheek, tracing the tattoo. “I recognize the tents. Otran, Shiy Suax, Besmiara, to name a few. The warlords of the plains. It's an impressive coalition, considering their history, but the siege itself is sloppy." He watched a trebuchet launch another boulder. The cerulean walls hardly shimmered with the impact. “They're no better than pond scum."

“Your ponds must be fearsome, mortal."

“The Exalted should've ended this invasion weeks ago."

“Perhaps the Vizier has more immediate concerns." Her royal nemes glinted in the light. “Power is a fickle thing. You must fear your friends more than your enemies."

“The palace fears another coup?"

“Experience tells me so."

“That does not seem to be a guess."

“And you do not seem surprised."

The Sons of Sorrow had received intelligence that suggested this was the case. Sadik did not enjoy hearing it confirmed. “The siege is running unopposed. They're free to encircle the walls and cut off supply lines. Soon, the peasants will starve."

“It is not the first siege Acheron has endured."

“It may be the last."

She did not answer.

“It seems as if the gods could end this siege, as well."

“Yes," Kavaia replied. “They could."

“. . . I have to wonder why they have not."

“As do I."

She walked away, falling into shadow.

Sadik looked down upon the city that had been his home since he was a boy, and he saw only dark red clouds pulsing above the streets. The invading armies were bathed in sunlight, while Acheron was drenched in blood and darkness. It was an ill-omen.

Like so many times before, he remembered the sound of Faustine's laughter. Hisana's blood flowing upon the marble. The caracal had thought she was saving the city. Liberating the people. She had only worsened their suffering.

Sadik's thoughts were as dark as the clouds.

“Mortal."

He turned away from the world.

Kavaia was standing in the middle of their membranous enclosure. Now that their positions were reversed, and he was not staring into the morning glare, Sadik could see the shimmer of her scales, the way her green skin shifted from myrtle to lime as her arms reached her chest. Her kalasiris left little to the imagination.

She was covered in bloody bandages. Torn cloth fell from her snout, her leg, her hand. The crocodile shifted her weight, wincing at the motion. “We are almost—"

“Goddess!" He nearly ran for her. “I did not know you were injured. Did the Mezlat—"

“It was not the drones," she said, as if it was something she'd spoken thousands of times before. “It was you."

“I would never dare—"

“I bear the suffering of those I heal. These wounds were yours. Now they are mine."

Sadik looked at the two shortened nubs where her fingers had been. He flexed his own, as if he might feel her flesh within himself. “I—"

“No bowing," Kavaia said.

He hesitated.

“Do not apologize, either."

“You leave me helpless, goddess."

Her sigh came with a rumble. She raised her hand. As he watched, he could see her fingers growing from the first knuckle, moving at a similar pace to an icicle melting in the sun. Steam rose from the nubs. Underneath the churning water, he realized that he could hear her flesh hissing as it regrew.

“The lizard does not mourn its tail," Kavaia said. “Nor does the starfish cry for its limbs. Their bodies will heal anew."

Sadik's gaze bounced between her fingers and her bandaged face. “I . . . hope you will not have to shoulder my burdens again." For a moment, he looked away. “They are my own to carry."

“I do not regret my decision. Even if my capture has proven quarrelsome."

“In what ways shall I serve, goddess?"

“You may start," Kavaia said, “by not interrupting me again."

“Were you about to speak?"

“I was, in fact."

“I would love to hear your words."

“Oh, yes. Clearly."

Sadik gave the slightest hint of a bow.

“We have almost reached the pantheon," the crocodile said. “I must warn you of what is to come. The turmoil that has gripped the city is not absent from the sky. Do not cling to any perceived notions—"

Sadik was already moving into the center of their enclosure. He looked up through the membrane, peering through the tunnel of water that was rising into the sky. Once more, he was shocked at what he saw.

They were inside the Neheamatt, the great tree that rose high above Acheron. Looking above him, he saw only half of the sky—the rest was an endless horizon of bark and leaves, stretching further than his eyes could see. The grooves of wood were the size of city blocks, the branches longer than lightning. The scale of the tree was so vast that it was difficult to see it as a single organism. How could a mortal comprehend something that rose above the mountains? A source of life that could swallow rivers with its roots?

Sadik recalled his botany lessons. They were inside the xylem of the Neheamatt. Water flowed up through the tree because it was evaporating from the leaves—his instructors had used words such as cohesion, stomata, hydrostatic pressure. The enclosure around them was a parenchyma cell, a non-specialized storage vessel. The Neheamatt was such a colossally vast organism that some of its cells were the size of carriages.

He was being taken to the pantheon of gods.

“You must follow my every direction."

Visiting the pantheon was the highest honor a mortal could be granted. For millennia, men had worked their entire lives for a chance to walk among the fronds. Endless armies had waged war in the hopes of drinking the sap. It was said that not even the birds could roost on the lower branches.

“Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not offer any information that is not requested."

He was the most wanted man in Acheron. Kavaia may have been ignorant of his identity, reclusive as she was, but the others were surely not. They must've followed the events of the revolution. They would know the price that would be paid for his head. It was said that many gods were as watchful as the stars, and, during his time in the palace, Sadik had seen little reason to disbelieve it.

“You will stay by my side at all times. Do not wander. Do not make eye contact."

Would they have him arrested? Would one of the lesser gods slaughter him on first sight, hoping to curry some favor with the new Vizier? Was there any chance at all that they would simply ignore—

“Mortal. Look at me."

Kavaia stepped closer to him. She was tall enough to block much of the Neheamatt from sight.

“It is imperative that you follow my instructions. Do you understand?"

He began to step backwards. “Goddess, I . . . I do not wish to be granted—"

She placed a hand on his shoulder. It seemed to land with the weight of a rug. The tips of her fingers reached down his spine, his neck comfortably enclosed in the crook of her thumb. Silver bracelets sparkled in his eyes.

Hisana's face rose unbidden in his mind.

“Be calm," Kavaia said.

A wave of relief spread through his shoulder. Sadik could only compare it to taking off his boots after a long day's march. The sensation spread through his arm, crawled around his chest, sank deep into the pits of his stomach. It felt as if every ache and pain was being scoured from his flesh.

“Do not panic," the crocodile said, her low voice blending into the rush of water. “No harm will come to you."

Her hand was growing warm. It felt as soft as sunlight.

“Stay by my side, and you will have nothing to fear. I promise you this."

He breathed out. Every pull of his lungs felt like a gift. “Goddess, I. . . ."

Sadik saw the royal chambers again. There were marble floors, cornices laced with lazuli. Hisana was hovering above him on the bed. She had turned her face towards the fire, leaving the red granite mask of the Vizier in his hands. He reached for her, fingers gliding along smooth grey skin. . . .

Suddenly, the sound of water became the sound of blood.

He jerked away. Kavaia barely had time to relax her grip before he was peddling back into the parenchyma wall.

“Goddess," Sadik said, breathing fast. “Why are you doing this? What was compelled you to bring me here?"

Her empty hand hovered in the air. Slowly, it returned to her side. “Should the marble know the mind of the sculptor? Could it see the statue hidden within?"

“Do not play games!" Sadik felt as if he was drowning. The water around him was closing in. “Tell me why I am here!"

The parenchyma continued to rise up the Neheamatt. Orange light melted down the walls. Kavaia's face became held in shadow, leaving only the hard lines of scales and ridges. “It is not your place to know. Not yet."

Sadik continued to breathe. He used the methods he had taught himself before, whenever the pain overwhelmed him. Breathe. Focus.

“Have I not saved your life?" the goddess said, stepping towards him. “Do you not owe your existence to my blessing?"

Slowly, his heart seemed to leave his throat. Every breath lowered his pulse. He was gaining control again.

“Is this not the dream of every mortal who's gazed upon our city? Could you find a better paradise in all the world?"

Sadik managed to unhook his fingers from the squamous touch of the membrane. “I am sorry, goddess. Your hand. . . ."

“I was relieving your woes," Kavaia said, opening her palm to the morning light. “Nothing more. Clearly, you still wish to keep them."

“I apologize. I should not have yelled."

Her gaze fell from high above. Saffron eyes burrowed through him, like the slitted pupils were as sharp as daggers. The only sound was the rush of water.

“You refused to tell me your secrets," Kavaia said, evenly. “I believe it's only fair that I should do the same."

For a moment, she looked over his shoulder, gazing upon the army laying siege to Acheron's walls. She seemed accustomed to the sight. The only reaction was a shift in her jaw, a slight clench of her three fingered hand.

The sound of rushing water was beginning to thin. With the loss of pressure, the parenchyma membrane expanded, bulging out like the sail of a trireme.

Kavaia raised her chin, peering down the length of her snout. “You are a soldier, are you not?"

The Sons of Sorrow would be searching for him. He had left his lieutenants behind. They were waiting for the next phase of the operation. The intelligence contained in the beacon. . . .

“That was not an idle question. Speak."

“Yes, goddess," Sadik said, unable to hide his tone.

The crocodile turned away. “Then follow my orders."

She moved to the center of the parenchyma. Around them, the bark of the Neheamatt began to encase the xylem tunnel. The sun was vanishing again. He had not received the chance to savor its warmth.

Sadik walked towards Kavaia, careful to avoid the thick coil of her tail. He was not blind to the way she hissed and tensed, still nursing the wounds that had been his own. She must've been quite resilient to bear the pain.

He stood by her side, clasping his hands behind his back. Even after weeks of living in the sewers, the posture came naturally.

She must know who he was. There was no other explanation. Even if she had proclaimed her ignorance, even if he had seen a lack of curiosity written across her face, she was certainly smart enough to piece together the truth. He had admitted to serving in the palace of Kohav Yaran. He carried a magical sword that could've only been wielded by royal hands. There was no way she could've found him in the state he was in—dying from numerous wounds, chased by a swarm of drones—and not suspect where his true loyalties were lying.

He was an enemy of the Vizier. Kavaia must be aware of this.

Even if she was not, the other gods would certainly recognize him. Sadik had attended enough ceremonies to know that the minor gods were always quick to curry favor. The Vizier may serve the pantheon, but the Vizier ruled the people, and the gods relied on the people for their faith. Faith was power. Faith could be earned. A public execution would win the adoration of the masses. While it was still whole, Dusksong's blade had never remained dry for long.

Was she serving another god? Had she brought him to the pantheon as an offering?

Sadik remembered running through the plague zone. He had reached the other side without a single infection. It was impossible. Faustine had nearly been immobilized from the exposure, and yet he had emerged unscathed. If anyone had witnessed the event, they would declare it a miracle. Divine intervention.

One of the gods had saved his life. It couldn't have been Kavaia. But, then, who else? Did the Sons of Sorrow have a secret patron hidden inside the Neheamatt?

The xylem was nearly dark. The bark had enclosed them deep inside the trunk. Above them, in the distance, a light was visible. It was growing brighter.

“Goddess," Sadik said. “Why did you save my life?"

For a moment, she did not seem to hear him. She was gazing up at the light like one might gaze at the edge of the night, hoping for a dawn.

“May I answer your question with one of my own, mortal?"

“. . . if you must."

“Your wounds," Kavaia said. “They were only inflicted in the front, were they not?"

He looked at the blood staining her kalasiris dress. “I believe you know this answer, goddess."

“Rhetoric is lost on you, isn't it?"

“Like oil and water."

“I have saved many lives," Kavaia said. “I have ended many more. In all my time, I have found that most men will run from a lost battle." The bandages on her snout swayed in the growing light. “They die in cowardice, arrows lodged in their backs."

“A routing army is lower than a beast," Sadik said. “It is so."

“You did not run from your enemy."

“No, goddess. I did not."

“You faced them until the end."

“Of course."

“Was this a wise decision?"

He did not answer.

The light was almost upon them. He saw the beginnings of leaves, the edges of columns. Harps playing to a gentle breeze. He saw her clench her fists.

“Why did you make your last stand, mortal?"

Sadik took a deep breath. “I could not have forgiven myself for running. Not again."

“I see." Kavaia tilted her head, centering a single eye on him. “Perhaps we are aligned, in that regard. Perhaps I . . . needed someone who would understand."

“You face a similar trial?"

“Of a sort, yes."

“You need my help."

“Yes, mortal. I do."

“The situation must be dire, if the Jade Demon should ask."

“Even the gods have fallen victim to desperation. Such are the times."

“You said, 'the turmoil gripping the city is not absent from the sky.' You made it sound as if we were entering a battlefield, not a paradise."

It took her a moment to answer. “I would not ask if there was not great need."

Sadik nodded, pulling himself straight. “As you say, then. You've saved my life. My sword is yours."

Kavaia looked away. Her sigh was long and tired. “Thank you."

They were swallowed by light.