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A mob was converging on the Neheamatt.

When Sadik emerged from the mouth of an alley, he saw dozens of people moving through the streets. Immediately, he knew that something had changed. The crowd before him was not a miserable procession of families, crying as they were forced from their homes. It was not the same rushing tide of bodies that had torn through the districts in search of food. It was unlike anything Sadik had seen in months.

The air was alive with murmur and cheer. People were chatting, laughing together, embracing strangers in fits of joy. Craftsmen poured from the buildings, abandoning their days work as they were swept into the crowd. There was excitement in every soul, vigor in every step. Sadik almost didn’t notice Amira and Kavaia slinking into place behind him—he was watching a child ride atop the shoulders of his father. The boy raised his head and yelled into the clouds above, as if his voice was strong enough to break the storm of blood.

“I hate missin’ the fun,” Amira said.

In the distance, above the mud-brick rooftops, the great trunk of the Neheamatt rose imperiously into the sky, impaling the clouds and rivaling the mountains. Flecks of light danced across her bark—they were members of the Exalted, churning their Glimmer into wonderous spheres and twirling stars. Clouds of pollen raced above the buildings, dipping and weaving like flocks of birds. Colossal leaves, each of them larger than the dam of a river, fluttered down through the storm.

Somewhere beyond the crowd, Sadik heard the sound of trumpets. The music cut through the rumbling voices. It crashed through the shadowed alleys, bringing celebration to a city long held in blood and shade. It made a chill run down Sadik’s spine.

In an instant, he was transported back to the glittering spires of Kohav Yaran. Marching in rhythm, firing his spear in parade formation, molding his skin into metal so that it gleamed with unrivaled brilliance. The days he had walked with Ilios.

“Apotheosis,” Kavaia said, wiping the iguana chines on her throat. “A new god is being declared.”

Sadik felt his ears begin to flick. His gray fur was soaked with blood.

“That’s fuckin’ grand,” Amira said. “The gods return, and all they do is pamper their bottoms. Not like we’re starving, apparently.”

Sadik gazed up at Kavaia. The frills on her chest had grown as straight as a ship’s sail.

“Goddess?”

“It’s Rushan.”

She stepped forward, hesitated, and looked down at Sadik. Her eyes searched his face.

“Most of the pantheon will be in attendance,” Sadik said. “Security will be high. If you are spotted. . . .”

Kavaia gestured toward a narrow creek below, where the rusted mouth of an intake pipe waited for their arrival. “Finish escorting the emissaries. I will go alone.”

“Going there would be foolish.”

“I am going there with or without your permission.”

“Kavaia—”

“Sadik,” she said. “This is my fault. My responsibility. I will not place that on your shoulders.”

He stepped up to her, his wolfish ears barely rising above her elbow. “What is your plan?”

“. . . I don’t know.” She looked away. “I will bear witness, if nothing else.”

Sadik wanted to reprimand her. He wanted to pull her down by the frills and force her back into the sewers. A ceremony of apotheosis was not a time to be foolhardy. But, after a moment, he glanced up at the great tree of life, and the anger began to pass. A part of him said that, if he had been placed in her position, he would already be sprinting for the ceremony.

Others would call it foolish. They did not understand.

Outwardly, he gave a simple nod, turning to face the emissaries further down the alley. “Isaac?”

“Did I hear that right?” said the blond human. “Apotheosis?”

“Yes. Several gods have perished. The roles must be filled.”

“Fascinating!” He peered over Sadik’s shoulder, watching the crowd stream through the street. He seemed enchanted by the more exotic body shapes. “So your gods are created, not born? How is the process accomplished? If any mortal man could become immortal, then it stands to reason—”

“Oi,” Zaria said, leaning over. “Them tree gods gonna be there? Flyin’ around and such?”

“Most of them, yes,” Sadik said.

“Right. Fuck that. We’re going to the sewers.”

“But Z—”

“Shut up, squire.” She took him by a robed arm and pointed down to the creek. “This way?”

Amira handed the hyena a map. “Follow the route. Passphrase is ‘night of a thousand sorrows’.”

Zaria grabbed the map, pulled Isaac by the arm, and forced a path through the rushing crowd, heading toward the rusted mouth of the intake pipe. Isaac gave some light protests before he was lost beneath the sea of faces.

“I like her,” Amira said. “Can I do that to you, sir? Just the once?”

Sadik ignored her. He adjusted the leather sheath on his back, making sure Dusksong was secure. When he finished, he looked up at Kavaia once more. “After you, goddess.”

She tilted her head. “You said going there was foolish.”

“Did I? It seems so long ago. Surely my opinion has changed.”

Kavaia opened her mouth, blinking. She struggled to find the words.

“Don’t look at me,” Amira said, collapsing her great bow into a bundle. “I’m just followin’ orders.”

Sadik gestured toward the crowd. After a moment, Kavaia acquiesced, a hint of a smile on her face.

They entered the stream of souls.

Immediately, Sadik was swept away by the weight of the crowd. His armor was jostled by an unceasing tide of shoulders, and every step was assaulted by careless legs and racing children. Hundreds of voices became nothing but a flood of noise. A small distance away, Kavaia stood a full cubit taller than the sea of bodies, and Sadik quickly made his way to her, like a ship navigating a reef by lighthouse. Seconds later, Amira forced a path through a tangle of miners, earning several angry curses.

They moved forward together. Sadik watched the Neheamatt grow larger. Amira counted the number of guards lining the rooftops. Kavaia tried not to hurt anyone with a careless step.

Finally, after several minutes, the river of people spilled out into a vast plaza. It stretched for nearly a mile towards the great tree, like a raw blister of concrete separating bark and building. Hundreds had already gathered in the open space, and thousands more were still rushing from the streets and alleys, like the cracks of a dam finally giving way. The air squirmed with voices. The people moved in waves. Everything was alive.

Ahead, there was a sprawling stage of marble, wreathed in the same divine architecture as the pantheon—marbled columns, chiseled facades, gardens of fronds and vines. Despite its elegance, the stage was vastly overshadowed by the colossal roots of the Neheamatt, spreading from her trunk like foothills spreading from a mountain. From this distance, she seemed to encompass the earth. She swallowed the sky.

There was no sign of sickness—at least, none that Sadik could see. Aldunya’s bark held a slight radiance, the colors seeming to swirl the longer they were held beneath the eye. He remembered the oceans of pus and ooze, the hollowed cores of her fallen branches—he could only imagine the true horror that was lying beneath the surface, even now.

Down below, the new Vizier had taken the stage. He was a vulture, and no amount of finery was able to hide this fact—his scepter was gripped by a pair of talons, his posture was hunched beneath his silken gowns, and his red stone mask barely concealed a beak designed for ripping flesh. After a moment, Sadik realized that he was wearing Hisana’s mask—the likeness of a hippo could be seen in the features, even from a distance. Only a complicated series of belts kept it attached to his avian face.

The Demokrats had promised sweeping reforms. They would abolish the position of Vizier, form a council of representatives, and create legislative restrictions on the pantheon, lest any of the gods abuse their power. Now, weeks after the revolution, there was a vulture attending a crowning of new gods, ready to bend his knee and swear allegiance. The revolutionaries were so disorganized that they had not even managed to forge a new mask for their leader—instead, they had pilfered from their victims.

It was the worst insult of Sadik’s life.

A gasp rippled from the crowd. Above their heads, a constellation of lights spread across the sky, drifting down with the grace of snow. Surprise turned into cheer. Thousands of voices roared in celebration. As the motes of light descended further, Sadik could see that they were individual swarms of Exalted, holding chariots of pure energy between their swirling forms.

Rushan, god of war, rode upon the central chariot. He opened his arms to the masses, his obsidian fur untouched by the raining blood, his golden streaks polished to a mirror shine. When his sandals touched the stage, the crowd thundered in response. He sauntered forward. He waved and smiled. The Exalted at his back spread into a flurry of shining color, as if wrapping the jackal in a sea of stars. For a moment, he became the very image of the ancestors, and the crowd grew wild with adoration.

At Sadik’s side, Kavaia clenched her fists.

The other gods landed after him. Thimera approached from the left, sporting a beautiful smile and twirling horns. Gidros, the rhinoceros god of penance, approached from the right, wielding a five-pronged flail at his side. His grey hide was covered with innumerable scars, and he held the solemn expression of a man who had known nothing but asceticism and flagellation. Soon, several dozen gods were landing around the edges of the stage, quickly forming into a protective line. The entire pantheon had come in a show of force.

While the crowd grew frenzied, Rushan glanced at the Vizier. The vulture had been modified to an impressive height, but he was still more than a head shorter than the jackal. He flinched beneath the gaze. After a moment, Rushan returned his attention to the crowd, as if his glance at the mortal had been nothing more than idle interest, and opened his arms wide.

“My people!” he shouted, his vocal cords enhanced. “I have returned!”

The crowd thundered. Sadik and Amira were forced to stand closer to Kavaia, lest they get swept away by the rushing bodies.

“Your suffering is over!”

People swarmed ahead. The line of gods formed a protective barrier around the stage, stopping the onrush with shields made of light and fire. From high above, the clouds began to rupture, and a colossal gust of wind was exhaled from the trunk of the Neheamatt. Dozens of people went stumbling across the plaza floor, piling on top of each other in a confused stampede of motion. Kavaia visibly resisted the urge to move forward.

“Be calm! Be still, and be saved!”

Sadik was aghast. Why would the Neheamatt allow this ceremony to occur, and why was Rushan at its head? Just before his escape, Sadik had seen the jackal raging against Lanir and the tree itself. Now, the goddess of truth and justice was nowhere to be found, and the Neheamatt was filling the air with wind, pollen, and fluttering leaves, as if all that mattered was celebration and renewal.

What had happened up in the pantheon? Where was Lanir? Why was Rushan still standing tall and mighty, when it was Aldunya who granted him his powers?

Was the Neheamatt complicit in this ceremony? Had Rushan found some way to beat her into submission?

“We have not abandoned you!” Rushan shouted, placing a hand over his bare chest. “The gods were watching, all along! Oh, with great sorrow, did we bear witness to your plight!” He lifted his hand and swept it over the sea of faces. “But the pantheon has been gripped with sedition and traitors! The very branches have been ravaged with villainy!”

Silence washed upon the crowd. Bloody thunder echoed from the distance. Above, another swarm of Exalted began to descend, the chariot falling as swift as an arrow.

“Ilios is dead!”

Shock rippled through the masses. There were murmurs, quiet whispering, instinctive prayers directed toward the sky.

“The Jade Demon has been exposed as a traitor! She walks among you now, lurking in the shadows!”

Surprise turned to fear. Hundreds began to gaze at their neighbors, as if a single stranger might possess the power of death. Kavaia continued to watch the stage. When Rushan gazed out over the crowd, searching through the blood and gloom, she made an effort not to flinch.

The chariot fell faster. Sadik felt a pit in his stomach.

“And, now, I bring you the man responsible for it all!” He flung his hand toward the descending chariot. “Xaeyr! God of cataracts!”

The chariot landed. Xaeyr spilled from its grasp, landing upon the stage in a heap of blood and fur. His body was encased within a swirling shell of Exalted, the rush of wonderous light swarming upon fur and flesh. It was eating him alive like a plague of locusts. Even from a distance, Sadik could see the skin peeling from muscle, joints slithering from bone, gushes of blood boiling into acrid clouds. The consumption came with such merciless speed that it seemed as if the baboon might evaporate in seconds.

But this was the punishment for deicide. Eternal flaying. The Exalted was healing Xaeyr as quickly as it tore him apart. His body was a chaotic patchwork of fresh skin and melting muscle, the wounds seeming to crawl around his form like drops of oil upon water. He burned and grew, bulged and sagged, always tilting just above the edge of death. In this state, it was possible to remain alive for decades. Most gods lost their sanity within a month.

“Behold!” Rushan yelled, gesturing with an open hand. “Xaeyr murdered Ilios! He brought blood upon the sky! He brought barbarians upon our gates! And, if not for my intervention, he would’ve taken the pantheon within his grasp!”

The crowd roared. Thimera attempted to smile. Gidros, god of penance, ran a finger across his whipping scars, as if he was only waiting for the ceremony to end. The Vizier shifted uneasily beneath his flowing robes, the red stone mask nearly slipping from his beak.

“The monkey betrayed us all!” Rushan began to pace around Xaeyr. “Oh, how righteous he appeared! God of the cataracts! Protector from evil spirits! Who could’ve predicted the evil that lurked among our heroes!” He made an exaggerated sweep toward the baboon. “Who knew how far the best of us could fall!”

Rushan lifted his hand. At his feet, the Exalted glowed in response, as if awaiting command. When Rushan formed a fist, the sentient cloud tightened around Xaeyr’s body. It glowed like a star, rushed like a river. Flesh evaporated. Organs melted. As the Exalted swarmed into a fever pitch, Xaeyr finally began to twitch and move, as if knocked from a stupor.

The baboon screamed. His voice echoed across the plaza, hoarse and wordless, carrying a pain that travelled into the soul. When the Exalted invaded his lungs, ripping meat and sinew, his cry became an agonized gurgle. Soon, he was silenced. The crowd roared their approval.

Beneath the shouts and jeers, Sadik felt a rumbling come from Kavaia’s chest. She was staring at the stage with clenched fists and half-bared teeth.

“Goddess,” he said, speaking in a quiet shout. “He’s trying to bait us.”

“I know,” Kavaia replied.

“If you attempt to—”

“I know.”

Her body was tense and livid, a hair’s breadth from charging the stage. He placed a hand on her elbow. After a moment, she took a calming breath, glancing down at him with a stiff nod.

“We will house him in the palace stockades!” Rushan shouted. “We invite any mortal to visit and make their displeasure known!”

Fists shook. Hatred boiled. Kavaia trembled with rage.

Rushan sauntered back to center stage, once more casting his gaze upon the crowd. He seemed to be daring anyone to object. He stood with an easy confidence, carrying the knowledge that he had slaughtered thousands of mortals over the centuries, and knowing, with certainty, that he could do the same to all gathered today. He stood, imperious, and waited.

Kavaia glared at the jackal, as if daring him to find her.

Rushan watched the crowd for a time. Nothing seemed to catch his interest. With a flick of his golden ears, he gestured toward the Vizier.

“But enough misery! Enough talk of failure and punishment! May I present to you—the last Vizier of Acheron!”

The vulture hobbled forward. As he moved, Sadik could see the imperfections in his body—the bones in his legs had weakened from stretching, while the muscles in his hips could not properly lift his knees. In his hands, he carried the scepter of the Vizier, a symbol of authority carved from quartz, basalt, and gems of pure sapphire. He was forced to lean his weight upon the shaft like an old man clutching a cane.

“My people! The Free Assembly has been formed! By tomorrow, a parliamentary meeting will commence inside Kohav Yaran, free for all—”

The vulture fell silent. Rushan was standing in the center of the stage, his obsidian arms folded across his chest. The vulture, who had thrown away his name to wear the red stone mask, waited for the god to step aside. Rushan did not budge. After a moment, the vulture faced the crowd once more, speaking from an off-center position.

“We—I mean, the Demokrats will hold public meetings tomorrow! We will appoint representatives from each district! I invite all of you to attend! Cast your names into the ballots! Air your grievances, and let us know how we might best give you aid! I promise, all who attend will have their voices heard!”

There were murmurs and glances. Many stared in silence.

“You heard the god of war correctly! I am the last Vizier! Last of the dynasties, and last in our history! Come tomorrow—”

He began to cough, the red stone mask nearly slipping from his face. The vulture tried to readjust the visage, but his long, hooked beak did not match the features of a hippo. Hisana’s face would never fit him properly.

“Tomorrow,” the vulture shouted, “I will abdicate the throne of sacrifice, and, by formal decree, the position of Vizier will be abolished! No more shall the city be ruled by tyranny! We will be governed by parliament! Representatives! All of you—men and women, bird and mammal, any species you wish to become—all of you will hold the power of the vote within your hands! You may vote on your own taxation! Vote for better wages! Vote for deeper expeditions to the technology mines! Vote without the gods! Vote for yourselves! Vote for—”

He coughed again. It was more violent than before, forcing the vulture to lean on his scepter of quartz and sapphire. The people whispered and stared—those who succumbed to the plague always began to cough as the first sign of illness. Soon, black spores would stream from their throats. Metal would grow from their skin. Their bodies would leech into the walls, twist into vile shapes. Inevitably, their voices would join with the chorus of souls gathering beneath the earth, as if their very essence had been stolen for a higher purpose.

Sadik had seen enough Glimmer modification to know what was really occurring. When the vulture had been increased in size, some of the airways within his lungs had not been grown in accordance. If the man was coughing frequently, the alveoli had become too large, causing them to constantly rub against each other. It was a common mistake.

But, for a city that had lost entire districts to plague, it appeared far more like an omen.

“We—” The vulture tried to straighten himself. “Forgive me, I—”

In a flash of movement, Rushan was towering over the vulture. Some words passed between them, which caused the mortal to flinch inside his silken robes. As blood rained from the sky, and clouds of pollen danced around a tree vaster than mountains, the Vizier made an awkward gesture to the crowd, as if he had spilled his wine at a table. He stepped toward the back of the stage, where he could stand behind the scarred gray hide of Gidros and cough freely.

With a great flourish, Rushan clapped his hands together. The sound was thunderous. Rain shattered into mist, while hundreds reeled from the shockwave. As the cracking noise echoed beyond the plaza, the god of war raised his arm.

“Commence the charity!”

Around the stage, a line of gods stepped forward to meet the crowd. They carried gifts in their arms—blankets, bundles of food, flagons of glittering tree sap, and entire baskets filled with hard-shell vials, all of which carried doses of pure, undifferentiated Glimmer.

“You have suffered without us!” Rushan shouted. “May we earn your forgiveness!”

The crowd surged forward in a wave. There were hungry eyes, clamoring voices. In an instant, Rushan clapped his hands once more, causing a shockwave powerful enough to nearly throw Thimera into a marble column. The chiseled façades began to shake.

“Do not trample your brethren! Our bounties must be shared!”

After a few startled moments, lines were formed. Dozens of gods began to perform acts of charity—giving gifts to those in need, crafting miracles with divine providence, flying above the heads of the crowd to make sure the proceedings remained orderly. The streets were drenched in blood, the cerulean walls were still the brightest source of light remaining in the city of Acheron, where once she had glistened like a million stars, but, for a time, the sound of the people became the sound of prayer once more. Tears were shed, and they were tears of joy.

“Sir,” Amira said.

As the people gathered toward the stage, the crowds in the outer edges began to thin. The three of them were becoming exposed. Amira nodded her head toward the gods roaming through the sky, as well as the swarms of Exalted diffusing into dust. On the rooftops, mortal guards had taken strategic position, armed with bow and spear. Sadik did not doubt there were more converging on the streets.

“Goddess,” he said, tugging her arm. “We have to go.”

Kavaia nodded, but did not move. She was staring at Xaeyr. In their excitement, the people had nearly forgotten about the baboon. Even the gods on stage had given him a wide berth, like a stray dog rotting in the gutter of a street. But he was still there, still lying defenseless on the floor, his creamy fur still awash with rabid swirls of Glimmer. The only sign of life was the occasional twitch of his tail.

“I will return,” she said.

Rushan remained standing at the edge of the stage, peering through the gaps in the crowd. He was searching again. The streaks of gold on his chest glinted like a storm of daggers.

Kavaia remained in place, her gaze flittering between the god of war and the god of cataracts.

“Goddess.”

She turned and marched away, her face covered in shadow.

The three of them began to leave the plaza, weaving through the forest of citizens being shepherded into line. As his boots squelched across the bloody flagstones, Sadik heard Rushan begin to speak again.

“Know this! The Jade Demon still walks among you! She assisted the god of cataracts in his crimes! If any of you should discover her location—if any should manage to apprehend her—you will earn a blessing from the gods! Bring her to me alive, and you will earn my eternal favor!”

Kavaia walked straight ahead. Sadik and Amira followed at her flank, tracking the position of archers and gods. Just as they were about to leave the plaza, Sadik spared a glance behind him, taking in the colossal spire of the Neheamatt’s trunk, wreathed in leaves and radiant bark. On the stage, Thimera and Gidros had joined next to Rushan, forming a trio of divinity. Swarms of Exalted began to gather.

“The Neheamatt has blessed me with authority!” Rushan shouted. “Until Acheron is free from her woes, I will hold command over her treasures! By the power invested in me, by the grace of all that may bear witness, I appoint new gods to the pantheon!” He gestured at Thimera. “The god of beauty shall become the goddess of death! No more shall we suffer!” He gestured at Gidros. “The god of penance shall become the god of the sun! No more shall we languish in darkness!”

The stage was invaded by more than a dozen minor gods. Sadik could already guess the complicated line of succession that Rushan would have to follow, now that so many of his brethren had perished in Xaeyr’s attempted coup. The ceremony might last for hours.

The Exalted began to envelope Thimera and Gidros, condensing into streams and swirls. Specks of raw Glimmer raced through the air. The crowd roared their approval. As their bodies began to twist and grow, Sadik looked away, following Kavaia’s massive strides.

They walked for some time. Amira insisted on cutting through several streets and alleys, just in case they were being followed. Sadik took the chance of unsheathing Dusksong. Kavaia followed every order with a grim silence.

Minutes passed. The cerulean walls grew larger, rising like tidal waves above the mud-brick hovels. Somewhere in the sprawl, they would find a manhole down into the sewers, where they would have to crawl through rubble and sludge before returning to their home. Sadik knew he was being practical by retreating. He felt like a rat scurrying back to its hole.

Kavaia punched a building.

Her fist travelled through the wall like it was made of clay, sending bricks raining across her feet. With a snarl, she punched again, caving the wall inward with a belch of dust. Her third punch split the roof. Her fourth sent it quaking to pieces. She grew frenzied, kicking and tearing. By the time she landed her dozenth blow, the house was little more than a shattered husk, furniture and cookfires buried beneath rubble. Sadik was relieved that no one was inside.

“I should’ve stopped him!”

She kicked one of the last support beams, sending a hail of brick down across her shoulders. She hardly seemed to notice.

“I let this happen!” Kavaia shouted.

She picked up a section of wall and flung it down the street. It shattered into rubble, cracking the flagstones, knocking a signpost clear off its stand.

“Coward! Filthy coward!”

She shattered the chimney. She stomped on the furniture. Every blow was accompanied by a shout.

“Coward!” Smash. “Coward!” Smash. “Coward!”

As she tried to break the front door across her knee, she managed to see Sadik and Amira watching with stunned expressions. Realization washed over her. She looked down at the rubble and splinters at her feet, breathing heavily, hugging her arms to her chest.

“What’d I tell you, sir?” Amira said, her voice cold. “Bad for the mission.”

Sadik kept his attention on Kavaia. She shifted her gaze between him and the destruction she had caused, as if both were painful to witness.

And, from far in the distance, as if he had shouted at the top of his lungs, there came the sound of Rushan’s voice.

“Let there be light!”

The heavens trembled. Far above their heads, the bellies of the clouds began to quiver. Streaks of light raced through the vapor, boiling into a swarm. With rapid speed, the raining blood receded from a gory torrent to a calm patter, fading all the way down to a fine sheen of mist. The air became clear. The only sounds were gentle drips and flowing gutters.

A beam of sunlight stabbed through the clouds. It grew from a thin spear into a thick beam, forcing Sadik to squint his eyes. As he watched, the clouds began to recede like waves upon a beach. There were millions of gallons in the sky, enough blood to fill countries of people, and it was all evaporating before his eyes, fading into the sky as if it had never existed at all. The sunlight became a flood, gushing faster than any liquid, shining brighter than any torch.

Outside the city, where a warlord gathered in siege, and red rock cliffs spread across the land, there was an endless bounty of light. A perfect blue sky.

Sadik felt the sun wash upon his fur. It was warm. Bright. Everything he had remembered from his dreams. The blood coating the streets began to reflect the light back up towards his face, forcing him to shield his eyes.

The blood storm was gone. They stood motionless in the street, struck blind with light and warmth.

Amira was the first to speak. “Uh, sir?”

“Yes?”

“You said the great tree was aiding you, right?”

“Yes.”

“Said the god of war was her enemy. Said he was fightin’ her to the death, last you saw.”

“Yes.”

It took the leopard a moment to speak. “What the fuck is this, then?”

“. . . I don’t know.”

Several moments passed. All three of them continued to blink in the sunlight, like a family of mole rats testing the air after a long hibernation.

“Aldunya’s mind is beyond our comprehension,” Kavaia said, wiping dust and blood off her scales. She was making an effort to sound formal once more. “She is subtle, giving punishments and blessings that seem to defy all logic, only for their true reason to become clear after decades. If she is aiding Rushan, then it is for a purpose.”

“For whose purpose?” Sadik asked.

Kavaia did not answer. In the distance, a crowd began to roar.

“Hoi,” Amira said. “Still got your powers, dontcha? Still got a leafy hug and a kiss out the door?” She waved in the direction of the tree. “Don’t that mean she’s still on our side?”

Sadik remembered something Rushan had said during their escape from the pantheon. In all the confusion and danger, he hadn’t paid the words much attention. Now, standing in the sun-soaked streets, the jackal’s voice began to echo in his mind.

You are nothing! Pawns in her game!

Ilios was her mistake!

The blood storm had ended. The curse of immortality was over. The gods had returned to the city of Acheron.

This would complicate things.

Sadik began to walk toward the sewers. Amira took her place at his side. After a moment, Kavaia descended from the pile of rubble and began to follow behind.

Despite the sunlight, a chill remained in the air.