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They began to follow the branch.

It had come straight down through the earth, much like an arrow, breaking the crust of Acheron’s streets and stabbing a wound deep into the world. If Sadik had to guess, he would say that only a fraction of the heavenly limb was still remaining above the surface—the rest was carving a path through endless layers of ruin, where the stone of old cities had crumbled before its might, like a sword splitting a hive.

Normally, voyages below the surface could take weeks of time, due to a combination of collapsed tunnels, leaking sewage, confusing architecture, and the threat of demons lurking in the shadows. More often than not, those who descended into the earth were never seen again.

It was expressly forbidden, by Aldunya’s decree.

Look to the tree in the sky, not the history below your feet.

Those who broke this commandment had been forcefully converted into an Exalted, when the technology still existed. Soon after, they were merely executed.

Here, now, Sadik was following the winding path around the branch, leaping across the gaps and sliding down the rubble. Blood and sewage poured from the pipes. Loose rock tumbled through the air. Leaves and stems still clung to the branch itself, creating small forests amongst the stone. When he looked into the distance, he could see many sections of Acheron stacked together, stone ceilings and metal pipes, folding up toward the surface and twisting down endlessly into the dark, like the layers of a colossal cake.

Or, perhaps, it was more like the honeycomb of a bee’s hive, ready to unleash a swarm of angry defenders, now that their home had been breached.

The demons. The plague.

Rushan.

With Dusksong raised above his head, Sadik peered down into the hole, trying to gaze between the leaves and stems of Aldunya’s branch. Below, a sea of darkness yawned from the earth. The layers of old cities stretched into the distance. Slowly, they began to seem like rows of teeth, as if he was staring into the mouth of some ancient, colossal creature. It seemed like it might swallow the stars.

Ascension.

Come and see.

Sadik decided that he should not be alone with his thoughts. He turned away from the branch, making sure the rest of the expedition was still following behind.

Some distance away, Xaeyr was sliding down an embankment of rubble, both a torch and a sunspear clutched in hand. Lanir remained on the perch of an ancient street. Directly below, Kavaia stood in a half-crumbled courtyard, attempting to coax the dragon down.

“It will hold,” the crocodile said, tapping the floor with a foot. “Just take the leap.”

Lanir rested on her hind legs, silent.

Xaeyr strode forward, wiping dust from the folds of his toga. “Oh, Lannie, don’t slow us down! Come now! You’re just dragon your feet!”

His words echoed through the dust.

“Oh, come on. That was funny.”

Lanir rose to her feet, shook her posterior like a cat, and leaped down to the layer below, forcing Kavaia to scramble for safety. The dragon collided with the courtyard walls. Flagstones shattered. Deeper inside, a few walls continued to crumble.

After a few moments, Kavaia approached the dragon, waving the dust from the air. “Are you well?”

Lanir remained on the floor, half on her side, staring up at Kavaia with an expression of silent, desperate need. Her scales were dull and flameless.

“Yes?” the crocodile asked. “How can I aid?”

Lanir stared at Kavaia even harder.

“She can’t speak,” Sadik said. “Not without Glimmer.”

The goddess of truth and justice began to blink, as if she finally realized that no one could hear her words. When she opened her draconic maw, her words were quiet and halting. It was clear she had not used her voice in centuries.

“C-c-cold.”

Kavaia tilted her head.

“Cold,” Lanir said, her entire body beginning to shiver. “B-bitter cold. No flame.”

“Yes. That’s ordinary.”

Lanir gazed up from the floor, her red eyes begging for help.

“I am always cold,” Kavaia said. “And I know that warmth will only give me reprieve, not escape. You must learn to weather the chill.”

“P-please. The flames. . . .”

“When you had me banished, Lanir, I fell to the mortal world, and there was not a time in my life I had been more cold and frightened. Instead of cowering, I drew on the support around me, and now I have felt more passion than I have in centuries. It was all a blessing, in the end.” She gave a look that was not unkind. “You have to do the same.”

Lanir closed her eyes, resting her head in the broken courtyard. Kavaia took a calm breath, reached into her pack, and began to fashion her tent into something of a blanket.

Nearby, Xaeyr peered down into the hole between Aldunya’s branch, his torch nearly igniting a canopy of leaves.

“Every time I look away,” Sadik said, “it seems to grow worse.”

The baboon collected a wad of saliva, spitting into the darkness. It disappeared within seconds. He gave a low grunt, attempted to turn toward the ruins, and quickly lost his balance, beginning to tilt back over the edge.

“Shit!”

Sadik grabbed the god of cataracts by his long, thin tail. He pulled with all his strength, and Xaeyr tumbled back to safety, sprawling on a ledge of stone. Both ended up surprised.

He had just thrown a god with little effort.

“Sorry,” Xaeyr said, gesturing to the empty space above his head. “Used to be top heavy.”

Sadik looked down at his arms. One of them was an amalgamation of flesh and metal, and the other was glowing with a soft, cerulean light. He could feel a tingling in the bones, as if the joints were being strengthened.

Xaeyr cleared his throat. “Don’t, uh—don’t pull my tail. That’s for special people.”

“It was the only appendage in reach, my lord.”

“Don’t pull my front tail, either.”

Sadik wiped his hand on the scales of his armor. Xaeyr hesitated, almost said something else, and decided to walk away instead. He didn’t need to voice his thoughts. Sadik understood.

Had he been infected? Would Sadik transfer the plague with a single touch?

So far, none of the usual symptoms had presented themselves. His body had not been twisted with growth. Spores had not erupted from his skin. If anything, he was feeling better than he had in weeks, as if his body had been flushed with a cocktail of endorphins, something that Yasmin and the other technicians had often performed for the nobles of the palace.

In the distance, Kavaia was swaddling Lanir’s flank with several lengths of cloth, trying to blunt the chill in the air. The crocodile did not appear infected. At the same time, he could now feel a constant resonance between their bodies, similar to the one he had felt with Rushan.

Xaeyr glanced at Sadik, still moving to a safe distance. His expression was almost frightened.

Sadik sighed.

Eventually, Kavaia approached the edge of the branch, her myrtle scales nearly the same color as the canopies of leaves. “Lanir is not well. Neither is Xaeyr, though he hides it better. They will need constant rest to lessen the withdrawal.”

“We need to keep moving,” Sadik said, gesturing into the depths. “Rushan already has a sizable lead.”

“The strain might kill them.”

Sadik did not answer.

“Please,” Kavaia said.

“Ten minutes. They can have double rations, for now.” Sadik reached into his pack, pulling out several torches and a bundle of rope. “Here. Fashion a harness around these torches. The flames should give Lanir comfort.”

“A harness, you say?”

“Goddess.”

“Oh, yes,” Kavaia said, grinning with her maw. “A fine solution. Her harness will be practice for ours.”

“I have agreed to nothing.”

Kavaia took the supplies in hand, winking as she left.

Sadik remained by the edge of the hole. Eventually, he sat on the broken lip of stone, legs dangling into the open air, gazing down the length of Aldunya’s branch.

The bark was no longer glowing. He tracked the length of the bough with his eyes, deep down into the ruins, and did not see any sign of divinity. It had been a fashion among the nobles to carve furniture out of Aldunya’s bark—wood was an expensive luxury, and the wood of the gods would always retain a wondrous light. Hisana’s chambers had never needed a fire.

Another vision began to overcome him.

He was standing on a rooftop, overlooking a plaza, and the people were flowing into a temple, singing praises for the god of war. Incense was burned. Idols were brandished. Some were falling to the flagstones and opening their arms to the tree, thanking Aldunya for the salvation of the city.

“The demons! The demons! The demons!”

Sadik felt nothing but contempt. He looked down at his hands, examining the black fur and golden lines, and he could only imagine the blood that had stained their grasp. He saw barbarians crushed beneath his fingers. He saw demons screaming inside his palm. It was a struggle to remember the time before, when he had not been a god.

Rushan watched the people in the plaza, singing and dancing for his triumph. After a moment, he turned his back on the city, hating the mindless chants and wasted tribute.

Sadik blinked. He was sitting on the ledge, overlooking the depths. Above his head, moonlight shivered through the leaves.

These were not his thoughts.

Was the jackal’s mind bleeding into his own?

Kavaia approached him again. Behind her, Lanir was attempting a clumsy walk, her torso roped with a ring of blazing torches. Xaeyr poked his own torch down into the layer below.

Sadik shook his head, rose to his feet, and continued to march.

Time passed.

For several hours, they continued to descend into the earth, using the destruction around the branch to bypass any obstacles. They leaped onto empty streets, collapsed stores, moldering bridges and crumbling stairs. Often, they found themselves balancing along the sewage pipes, bending the struts and snapping the wires. More than once, they were forced to make their way onto the branch itself, walking along the smaller stems to reach a new outcropping of stone.

Slowly, they moved in a spiral around the hole, much like a corkscrew through the neck of a bottle. As the hours continued, Sadik found himself comparing it to a celestial pattern—they were orbiting around the branch, constantly flowing along its circumference, the same way that the world orbited the sun, or the moon orbited the world.

This gave him pause. He raised his head, watching the moonlight trickle through the leaves and stems. Somewhere, far above, the stars were shining bright.

Just this morning, he had woken in the pantheon, ready to lead an assault that would reclaim the heavens. Now, the heavens were burrowing a hole in the world, and he was struggling to chase the man responsible. It was hard to believe that only a day had passed.

It was hard to believe that Amira was gone.

With his eyes wandering into the sea of darkness, down below his feet, he had to ask himself—what else was going to change?

Would Calisto reveal another horrible truth? Would the plague swallow his mind, enslaving his will, like a stone thrown into the tide? Would Rushan be lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting to. . . .

. . .

No.

Sadik shook his head, pulling himself away from his thoughts.

He would not ruminate any longer. He had made a decision. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he had made a number of decisions since his expulsion from the palace, several weeks ago, all of which had condemned him to his current trajectory like a sculptor’s chisel smashing into a slab of stone, creating a thing of beauty and truth, one strike at a time.

He had led a group of rebels. In Fading Dawn, he had invaded the palatial fortress of Kohav Yaran, where he had once been consort and lover to the ruler of men. In Severed Sky, mere days ago, he had become the first mortal to ever wage a successful invasion of the Neheamatt, giver of life and home of the gods.

Here, now, deep within the earth, he was walking a path of ultimate heresy, where neither men nor gods could hope to stay his hand, and it was a path he could no longer escape, because he had nearly journeyed to its end.

These were his decisions.

For most of his life, he had been a soldier. He had taken orders, and charged into battle, and always done what he considered to be his duty.

Faith. Discipline. Sacrifice.

Now, staring into the darkness, he took a breath of the cold, dusty air. The weight of the past seemed to unburden his shoulders. He was nothing more than himself.

He began to feel free, for the very first time.

“Sadik,” Kavaia said. “Do you see this?”

He turned his head.

They were standing on the edge of a large avenue. Like most of the ruins, the falling branch had violently severed the path. There was only a jagged outcropping of flagstones, a thin layer of dirt, pebbles and dust.

Just ahead, further down the street, buildings ringed the avenue, some of them sagging with disrepair, others looming in the shadowy distance, their brick walls long having splattered with cobwebs and lichen. He could see more of the city beyond. Adjacent roads. The edge of a plaza. Temples and stadiums that scraped the low ceiling.

Kavaia was standing next to him, and she was staring across the length of the avenue, her long maw opened in wonder.

“I see nothing,” Sadik said. “Just old ruins.”

Kavaia’s gaze began to dart back and forth, moving from building to post, doorway to alley. Off to the side, Lanir was lying on her flank, trying to relight one of the torches on her harness. Xaeyr searched for another way down.

“Goddess?”

“Look,” she said, pointing.

He tried to look again. Slowly, a resonance began to vibrate through his chest.

The street transformed. Crumbled walls became polished facades. Old buildings became bustling stores. The low ceiling of stone and pipes began to melt into a vibrant blue, replacing the heavy shadows with a bright, sunny sky. Slowly, as Sadik blinked in astonishment, a throng of people appeared in the street, materializing from nothing, growing as real and solid as the flagstones below.

There were hundreds of souls. Men and women, children and pets. Most were standing in a line, creating a great length of bodies. Sadik tried to look into the distance ahead—when he saw nothing, he turned to his side, watching the line of people continue to stretch behind his back. He expected them to disappear once they reached the broken street. Instead, when he turned, there was only the rest of the avenue, full of buildings and temples, leading to the rest of the city.

He was standing in the middle of Acheron, back on the surface. No revolution, no plague, no storms of blood. The sun was bright and warm. Voices filled the air.

“Stars above,” Kavaia said, raising her head.

In the sky, people flew through the air, modified with wings and adorned in robes. Metal dirigibles floated near the clouds. A swarm of Mezlat gathered around a guard tower, repairing the mortar with soldering tools, while, in the distance, the palace of Kohav Yaran rose high upon its hill, ringed with a glowing, cerulean wall.

Down below, the people in the line were chattering. Some were discussing politics. Others played with their children. There were vendors walking the line, holding platters of beer and baskets of bread, always haggling the price. Dozens of species, hundreds of mods, a thousand different anatomies.

A machine was walking towards him. It was designed to resemble a man, built with a metal somewhere beyond steel, and the smooth motion of its stride assured Sadik that it was far more advanced than anything Acheron had ever created for itself. True, thinking machines had been extinct for centuries. To him, they were only ever a myth.

The android stopped a single stride from Sadik. It seemed to look right through him. After a moment, he realized that it was holding a glass device, the screen coursing with light and words, much like the one that Yasmin often used. From the way it was surveying the long line of people, and entering data with a tap of its fingers, Sadik guessed that it was a city official, though the specific rank eluded him.

Why were the people gathering? Why form a line?

Almost on instinct, he reached out his hand, his fingers rising to the layered metal of the android’s chest, slow and cautious. Right before he touched the machine, his hand felt Kavaia’s instead. They had both reached together. After a glance, they looked back at the street, and the people were gone.

Now, the street was abandoned, just as it had been before. The buildings sagged with age. The street cracked with time. All traces of the sky had been replaced with a low ceiling of stone, and all the warmth of the sun had been snuffed by a flood of dust, webs and shadow.

There was a loneliness in the air, deep within the silence.

“I remember,” Kavaia said, slightly retracting her hand. “The machines—the androids, the shuttles in the sky. They were nearly gone by the time I was young.” She stared across the street, blinking. “That vision was . . . ancient. More than a thousand years.”

Sadik felt a presence in his mind, just on the edge of thought.

Kavaia took a moment to speak. “Sadik, the invasion of the demons was nearly five centuries past. If that vision was a memory of the plague. . . .”

“It seems,” he said, “that it’s older than we thought. Or it remembers its time as Glimmer. My question is—why were the people forming a line?”

Kavaia did not answer. She was staring at her outstretched hand, as if the android she had seen was still standing in its position, invisible to the world. Her gaze was long and wistful.

He began to appreciate how old she truly was.

With a sudden flourish, Sadik took her hand, stepped to her front, and gave an exaggerated bow, kissing the rough scales with an audible muah.

Kavaia was caught off-guard. “What was this for?”

“A fair lady stands before me.”

Her surprise turned to amusement. “Indeed? Do you think flattery will cheer my thoughts?”

“I could kiss lower, if you prefer.”

She pulled her hand from his grasp, flicking his chin with a finger. He feigned a dramatic anguish. She gave a toothy smile.

Xaeyr cleared his throat. “Hello, yes, I’m here now.”

The two of them faced the god of cataracts, smoothing their dress and adjusting their armor.

“So,” the baboon said, standing a few strides away, “I don’t see an easy way down. The ground’s unstable in either direction, and the best drop is at least thirty cubits. I don’t think we’ll survive that, in our state.” He looked between them. “Well, mine and Lanir’s. We could attempt to climb back the way we came, hoping to cross along the branch, but that would cost us hours, and there’s no guarantee we’d find a better passage.”

“Why not venture inside?” Sadik asked, gesturing down the street.

Xaeyr began to grimace. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not test the myth of these demons. They were real, at some point.”

“My lord, we’re already venturing into the heart of the plague.”

“Yes, well, Sadik, I can stick my cock in a bee’s hive, but I’d rather not slather it in honey first. That’s just tempting fate.”

“Xae,” Kavaia said.

“Don’t—no, Kivie. Stop.” He took a moment to speak, looking at the floor. “I’m not ending up like Amira. That was . . . quite enough for me.”

Sadik unsheathed Dusksong from his back and held the sword aloft, gesturing to the electronic components above the haft. “Yasmin reinstalled the same countermeasures that repelled the Exalted. You will stay safe within a certain radius.”

“Won’t that work against your own plague?”

“Possibly. It might have become resistant, since the last encounter. The plague is nothing if not malleable.”

“Then what’s the fucking point in having it?”

“Xae,” Kavaia said, more firmly.

The baboon took a deep breath, shaking his head. “For once, I’d just like to make an easy, rational decision. You know? It would be nice.” He turned away from the branch, facing the gloom beyond. “Fine, fine, I suppose there’s not much choice in the—”

He paused. Ahead, a short distance away, Lanir was lying on her side, struggling not to cry.

The goddess of truth and justice had been hit hardest by the withdrawals, owing both to her size and the extent of her divinity, all of which had left her struggling to remain on her feet. Over the hours, it had become clear that she would not survive without aid.

Currently, Lanir was attempting to relight one of the torches on her harness, bending an outstretched wing against a blacksmith’s store. She no longer possessed any telepathy. Her efforts were clumsy. The flint would not spark. Eventually, she sagged fully onto her side, completely limp, releasing a weak, draconic bellow.

“Silty fucking marsh,” Xaeyr said, beneath his breath.

Kavaia began to step forward, but the baboon held out a hand, his long tail swishing against his toga.

“I’ll handle this,” he said.

Kavaia looked down at Sadik, then back up at Xaeyr. “A gentle touch—”

“I will handle this,” Xaeyr said, walking forward.

By the time Lanir noticed the baboon approaching, she was already deep in tears, flopping on the rubble and stones like a whale beaching upon a shore. Her long, frilled neck was coated in dust, and her tail was so lengthy that it battered a door on the other side of the street.

Xaeyr squatted down, waiting until the dragon opened her eyes. Tears flowed from the red sclera. Her sniffles were deep and rumbling.

“Are you going to keep being selfish?” he asked.

She flinched. Kavaia stepped forward again, but Sadik grabbed her hand, slowly shaking his head.

“Look,” Xaeyr said, “you’re slowing us down, you great big lumbering fuck, and we need to travel fast, because something a little more important than your godly court is happening below. Do you think you’re the only person who’s suffering?”

Lanir tried to speak, her voice full of shivers. “N-n-no.”

“Do you think you’re the only person in the world?”

She closed her eyes, attempting to breathe.

“Good,” Xaeyr said, his gaze pitiless. “Then I don’t need to explain how much depends on our success, now do I?”

“I-I’m sorry.” She raised her head, bringing it level with his moonless face. “My judgement was improper. I was zealous. I searched the souls for truth, but I did not care to find it.” The scales of her face began to twist and pull. “I owe a horrible debt. To everyone.”

“Words mean nothing,” Xaeyr said.

“I deeply regret having you tortured.”

“Good for you.”

Lanir lowered her snout, still sniveling. Xaeyr reached forward, wrapped her scaly cheeks in each of his furry hands, and gently lifted her head, forcing her to keep his gaze.

“Hey,” he said. “I forgive you. Alright? This isn’t the time to hold a grudge. It’s exactly how we got here, in the first place.” He shook her snout for emphasis. “You kept the gods fighting against Rushan. You saved me from falling. That counts for something.”

She blinked her red, pupilless eyes.

“Who knows?” Xaeyr said. “If you hold your weight, and become the same old imperious cunt against our enemies, I might even start to like you.”

Her wings fluttered through the dust. Her chest expanded with a breath.

“I will try,” she said, quietly.

“Good. Now, roll over.”

Lanir flopped onto her back, much like a dog. Xaeyr used his torch to relight the ones on her harness. Flames grew bright. Creamy fur mixed with light blue scales.

After a moment, Kavaia gave a small rumble, looking all the way down at Sadik.

“No,” he said.

“Listen to me—”

“We are not talking about the harness.”

“The more you resist, the tighter it grows.”

Sadik sighed.

A minute later, Lanir managed to climb back to her feet, the ring of torches around her midsection giving the appearance of a ritual circle. Xaeyr gestured deep into the sunless city.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They ventured forward, moving down the center of the avenue. The moonlight grew thin. Darkness pressed against their torches. Eventually, the sight of Aldunya’s branch became a small strip of light against the black, like a nebula among the stars.

As they continued, the air grew choked with dust and age. Every breath seemed like a disturbance. The claps of their feet seemed to echo far in the distance, bouncing endlessly against the misshapen buildings and heavy stone ceiling. When Sadik waved Dusksong against the window of a baker’s store, the shadows inside began to leap and scatter, and he almost grew convinced that something was trying to slither from the light.

Just like everyone else, he had believed in the legend of the demons.

Shapeshifting. Ravenous.

Pure evil.

Suddenly, they heard a scuffling.

“Amira?” Xaeyr said, readying his spear.

Kavaia hissed for quiet. Behind her, Lanir stumbled to a stop, cracking an entire building with a careless sweep of her tail. In the distance, a group of rats scurried from a pile of bricks, dashing for the alleys and broken walls. Dust billowed between their feet. Nothing else emerged.

Xaeyr lowered his spear, tail swishing against his toga.

“Keep a tight formation,” Sadik said. “Stay mobile and check your corners.”

Kavaia hefted her hammer. “I can form a path to the lower levels. Wherever the street is cracked, we can continue our descent.”

“I sure hope that won’t cause an avalanche,” Xaeyr said, looking up at the ceiling.

Lanir began to shiver.

Once again, they advanced. There was more caution in their steps. Xaeyr led the group with a raised torch, Sadik and Kavaia watched the sides, and Lanir brought up the rear, covering the breadth of the street with her wings. It would not be an optimal position to survive an ambush, Sadik knew, but he was beginning to suspect that there would be no ambush at all.

The demons had been the plague, nearly an age ago. The plague was evolving. Now, it was smart enough to find allies against a mutual enemy.

Calisto.

There were many sides to this engagement. Rushan wanted revenge. The plague desired to ascend, whatever that entailed. Faustine would obey her master. And Calisto, presumably, just wanted to survive, as everyone was now arrayed against her.

Sadik felt a twinge in his chest.

Faustine.

She had been acting strange, during the confrontation in the sanctuary. The way she had looked at him. . . .

“There,” Kavaia said.

Ahead, on the left of the avenue, there was an auditorium of considerable size, so tall that it nearly scraped the ceiling. On the right, there was a river flowing through an open plaza, deep enough to cover his knees, fed from somewhere further in the city. It had been flowing for so long that the flagstones had dissolved into a small canyon.

Kavaia marched forward. “I’ll break the stone. Cover me.”

They took their positions. Sadik managed to refill his waterskin just as Kavaia raised Dawnstar above her head, bringing the warhammer down into the middle of the stream. The ground quaked. Water sprayed with the stone.

He placed himself at Kavaia’s back, facing the auditorium. Dusksong remained slung at his side. The greatsword had been so thoroughly used—so broken, so melted with heat—that it was now little more than a hunk of raw metal, with the last few runes struggling to glow. In earlier times, Sadik would have dressed down a soldier for letting their weapon fall into such disrepair.

At least it still worked, he told himself.

Minutes passed. Kavaia continued to pound the stone, and the sound of her blows echoed across the ruined city. As the noise crashed around him, and nothing emerged in response, Sadik found himself staring at the auditorium, tracing his eyes across the shadowed columns and vaulted gates. Something about it was calling to him.

He could not be certain that these were his thoughts.

In the vision, he had seen a line of people, stretching far across the avenue. He had walked this avenue for quite some time. He had a feeling—an unconscious certainty—that this building was where the line had ended.

Slowly, he stepped forward, wiping dust off a bronze placard. The words were barely legible.

VOTING HALL

He blinked, stupefied. He stumbled back from the auditorium, searching the high walls and crumbling pylons above, as if the stone before him had suddenly become a horrifying creature, a nightmare manifest from his soul. There was nothing. Only dust and age.

The people had been lining up to vote.

Had there been a democracy in Acheron, some long time in the past? Had there been no Vizier, no noble class, no need for slaves? Had he spent all these weeks fighting against democracy, when it had always been the city’s true heritage?

How much history had been taken from him?

Sadik tried to control his breathing. The resonance in his chest started to yawn, opening wide, like some creature of colossal proportion was attempting to gaze through his flesh. It had led him right to this spot.

The tattoos on his skin began to feel like strangling vines.

“Sadik,” Lanir said.

The dragon approached him from behind, her head stooped below the ceiling. The ring of torches casted shadows from her legs and wings. Nearby, Kavaia continued to smash through the river.

“Yes?” he asked, barely hearing her.

Lanir hesitated. She looked at the auditorium, then down at him, clearly uncertain.

“What do you want, Lanir?”

Her hesitation deepened. Sadik knew that refusing to call her “goddess” was still a spot of soreness for her, especially since he maintained the courtesy for Kavaia and Xaeyr. Honestly speaking, he found the presumption irritating. What did a single word matter?

But, then, why was he continuing to use the titles?

“Could you. . . .” Lanir flicked her chin, aiming at the harness on her flank. “Could you adjust the ropes? Right here? Some are . . . beginning to pinch.”

Sadik looked at her for a moment.

“I am unused to physical manipulation,” Lanir said, holding up a draconic forelimb. “I am also learning the benefit of hands.”

Sadik repressed a sigh, glanced at the auditorium, and went around to the dragon’s side, beginning to tug and adjust the ropes. When he gave a particularly insistent pull, Lanir lowered herself to the floor, giving him easier access.

“In addition,” the dragon said, her deep voice rumbling through her body, “I have completed the task you assigned me.”

Sadik did not remember assigning her a task. “Yes?”

“I have learned the origin of ‘Calisto’.”

He paused. Nearby, Kavaia’s hammer struck the stone floor, sending another wave of sound crashing across the city. Xaeyr attempted to lift the river with a wave of his hand.

“The name,” Lanir clarified. “And the myth. Not the ancestor herself.”

“You have? Truly?”

“All arbiters of justice, such as myself, maintain a careful archive of previous rulings. After some study, I found mention of the name in the ancient slabs, far in the past.”

“How long have you known this?”

“The dawn of today.”

“And you didn’t feel the need to share?”

“I was thrown out of the sky.”

Sadik conceded the point, continuing to adjust her harness. “Tell me, please.”

Lanir twisted her long neck to the side. From above, her pupilless eyes watched him work. “It’s origin is a myth among the ancestors themselves. Even to them, the story was ancient. Its inception was likely from Earth.”

“Go on.”

“As I understand the events—there was a human god, almost entirely unmodified, whose beauty and power were granted by her purity. Her name was Calisto. One day, a deity approached her, disguising himself as a familiar patron, and took his pleasure from her form. A child was conceived. This caused great anger amongst the pantheon of gods, as the woman had sullied her vow of purity, even if it was unwilling. Her powers were stripped as punishment, and she was transformed into a large, fearsome beast.”

Sadik tightened one of the torches against Lanir’s chest. “Why not punish the god who seduced her?”

“He was king of the gods. None could dare to bring him censure.”

“Some things never change.”

As Sadik adjusted the last of the ropes, Lanir flexed her hindleg, testing the new range of motion. There was a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

He motioned for her to continue.

“From there, the child of rape was born. He grew to be an excellent hunter, while Calisto remained as a beast, roaming the wilds and shunned from the gods above. One day, her son discovered his mother, and, thinking her no more than an animal, attempted to slay her. Instead, the god who raped Calisto intervened, scattering both the hunter and the beast amongst the stars, where they would remain together for eternity, among the distant worlds and burning suns.”

Sadik stepped back from Lanir. He glanced at the auditorium. His mind was full of thoughts, like dust drifting through the city.

“If I had to interpret the myth,” Lanir said, “I would suppose that it represents lost innocence. Calisto was a beautiful, virginal figure who had unfortunate circumstances thrust upon her.” The dragon paused. “My entendre was not intended.”

“Calisto was turned into a monster,” Sadik said, still staring at the auditorium.

“I suppose, yes.”

“Are we supposed to be the son? Ready to kill our mother, ignorant of her true nature?”

Lanir did not offer an answer.

Sadik felt a rage bubbling in his chest. “I have a question—was Acheron ever a democracy?”

“No. Of course not. The Viziers have always reigned supreme.”

“You’re certain?”

“The archives are quite explicit.”

He pointed at the auditorium. Lanir rose to her feet, sauntered over to the building, and strained her neck to read the bronze placard. After a moment, her wings fluttered in surprise.

“I think,” Sadik said, “that we have been lied to. For all our history. And I don’t really care how this machine wants us to feel. When I find her, I’m going to believe what I can see.”

Lanir glanced between Sadik and the voting hall, blinking rapidly, as if her entire understanding of the world had just been altered.

Nearby, there was a violent crash of stone, followed by a gushing splatter.

“I’m through!” Kavaia shouted.

She lifted her dust-coated hammer. On the floor, there was now a wide, jagged hole, cratering the canyon where the river had flowed. Water flooded through the gap, and Xaeyr wandered over to the broken edge, thrusting his torch into a new darkness.

The dragon began to turn her massive body.

“Lanir,” Sadik said.

She paused, crouching down to his height.

He placed a hand on her scaly cheek, just below the ruby eye. “Thank you, goddess.”

Lanir blinked in surprise, gave a shudder, and pulled away from his hand, trying to hide her embarrassment.

They made their way to the broken floor. Down below, at the edge of Xaeyr’s torch, there was a hill of fresh rubble, drowning beneath a waterfall. A similar street spread to either side.

“I’ve earned the lead,” Kavaia said, jumping in.

She landed on the rubble, creating a small avalanche of stone. After a moment, Xaeyr followed in kind, stumbling on the loose hill. Sadik waited for them to examine their surroundings. Slowly, the two of them swiveled their heads, weapons at the ready. Kavaia saw something to the south. When she tapped Xaeyr’s shoulder, and directed his attention, the baboon gave a very loud curse.

“What is it?” Sadik called.

“Come down!”

She opened her arms. He paused, shrugged, and leaped into the air, landing directly in her grasp. For a moment, she kept him held to her chest, spread in a bridal carry.

“I heard you call her goddess,” she said.

“Don’t be jealous.”

She chuffed, lowering him to the rubble. The three of them had to descend the hill before Lanir could land safely. When the dragon landed, the vibrations crumbled a building across the street.

Once he had adjusted himself, Sadik saw what had caught Kavaia’s attention.

There was another hole in the floor, a short distance away, which had clearly sucked several buildings into its open maw, leaving an ancient temple to sag precipitously over the edge. A cerulean light pulsed through the gap. The glow was thick and bright, casting shadows on the ceiling. It shimmered before his gaze.

Slowly, he realized he could feel the beating of a heart, far below his feet.

“We have to go in there,” Xaeyr said. “Don’t we?”

Kavaia approached the hole. Sadik followed at her side. Slowly, the two of them peered over the edge, trying to discern any detail. All they could see were a few nodules of cerulean light, like blisters grown to enormous size. Darkness swirled against their edge. Things pulsed and writhed.

“I have discovered something,” Lanir said.

She flicked her snout. Close to their position, there was a sunspear impaled inside a cracked wall. Its blade was free of rust, its energy chamber still beaming with light. Someone had placed it here. Quite recently.

A necklace dangled from the edge of the haft, containing nothing but an old, dented arrowhead.

Sadik felt his heart begin to pound.

“A trail marker?” Kavaia suggested. “Some means of tracking a path?”

“Maybe Rooshy’s trying to scare us,” Xaeyr added.

“It’s not him,” Sadik said, approaching the necklace. “It’s Faustine.”

He took the necklace in hand. The arrowhead was made of a crude iron, barely maintaining its shape. It had not been hammered by a competent smith.

“When she fought her first battle,” Sadik said, “she took an arrow to the thigh. It didn’t go through. I had to pull it out of her, right in the thick of a charge.” He rubbed a thumb across the metal. “The shaft broke. The head remained lodged. She only had it removed a day later, by a surgeon. When they offered it to her, she . . . kept it. As a memento.”

None of the three gods responded. Sadik continued to examine the arrowhead, remembering days long in the past.

“She left this here for me.”

The hole pulsed with light. A heart pounded in the depths. Around them, a city lingered in darkness.

With a deep breath, Sadik closed his fist, wound back his arm, and threw the necklace as hard as he could. It bounced across a rooftop, disappearing across the side. He heard the sound of iron clattering against stone. The echoes slowly vanished.

A rage simmered within his soul.

He turned, examining each of his followers. Kavaia nodded. Xaeyr swallowed. Lanir raised her chin, spreading a pair of wings.

Without hesitation, Sadik leaped into the hole.