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He awoke to a warm, soothing light.

For a moment, Sadik imagined that he was bathing in the sun once more. Memories filled his mind. Flowers and leaves soaked in the waning cry of dusk. The gentle kiss of dawn, washing away the shadows of a training yard. Heavy bronze armor shining beneath the malevolent glare of noon, growing so hot that drops of sweat would sizzle as they fell. Glittering spires, shaded gardens, the cresting walls of energy. Faces he would never see again.

He leaned towards the light, and the light began to flicker. He opened his eyes.

A small candle stared back at him. It was a distended mound of animal fat, holding a thin flame atop its peak. For a moment, Sadik watched a thin line of smoke rise from the fire, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Slowly, the world returned.

He was back inside the foyer of his home. Ever since the Sons had moved below ground, he had taken up residence in one of the old mansions that still survived beneath the sluiceways. It had not been a pleasant experience. Every breath he took was full of dust, the half-rotten timber groaned whenever he shifted his hammock, and the smell of sewage was a constant slimy weight upon his senses. He would count himself fortunate if he survived a night without being splashed by a new, mysterious fluid.

Sadik fell back into his hammock. He stared up at the moldy ceiling, taking stock of himself.

His body was healed. He had returned to his men. For the first time since meeting the goddess of death, he was safe.

He sighed.

After a moment, he glanced around the foyer of the mansion, trying to imagine the citizens who had called it their home.

Acheron was an ancient city—in the millennia since her inception, countless buildings had been constructed, used, fallen into disrepair, and become the foundation for the next generations that followed. The homes of the ancestors were now the sewers and landfills of their descendants. When Sadik had led his men through the pipes and sluice gates, still reeling from the fall of the palace, he had found a crumbling city beneath the earth, stretching out through the dark and musty air. Abandoned homes leered through the dust, while statues of the gods laid fallen from their pedestals, their stone eyes watching over nothing but vermin. Many had taken it as an omen of things to come.

At the best of times, the old city was a maze. Many sections had collapsed into rubble. Others held strange noises and eerie lights, leading to superstition among the men. And, of course, the ruins continued for nearly a mile beneath their feet. The city of Acheron was built upon more layers than an onion, the buried crusts of history running so far underground that no one alive today had ever seen the Foundations.

There was good reason for this. Demons lurked below. The screams of the damned echoed from the depths. Not even the gods dared to venture too far into the past. The top layer of the sewers were safe, for the most part, but the fear of the underground was so strong that it had kept the Sons hidden from any search. It was the only reason the rebellion was still alive.

Some said that the plague victims were gathering below, as if called by a higher power. From the few reports available, they no longer resembled anything close to human. Sadik tried to keep the sketches from his mind.

Eventually, he noticed a letter with impeccably fine writing on his nightstand. He unfolded the parchment and began to read.

Most Honored Luminous Leader,

Glad you found the time to return to us. I suppose we all need a vacation now and then.

Your presence is requested in the war room. We need to discuss your newfound hobby of adopting stray gods as pets, and possibly the future of civilization, as well. If you could visit your lieutenants before pleasuring yourself to pictures of the sun, it would be greatly appreciated.

Kind regards,

Lord Haakon, Reader of Stars, Conduit of Faith, Master of Medicine, Chief Physician to the Vizier, All Titles Reserved

P.S. I have graciously offered a vial of orchid essence. Use it to wash off the smell of blood, if you please.

Sadik crumpled the parchment, tossed it away, and fell back into his hammock, watching the rivers of dust drift down through the candlelight. The dark, musty air seemed to smother him.

His wounds were gone. He had finally returned to safety.

He sighed.

He rose to his feet, washed himself with a barrel of water, and slathered a modest amount of oil on his skin. He tied his long black hair into a loose ponytail, trying not to concentrate on the silence that surrounded him. The old mansion seemed to absorb every sound he made. Rotten furniture loomed from the shadows.

He gazed out through a dust-coated window. Rows of lanterns burned along ancient lightposts. The stars in the sky had been replaced with a gnarled belly of pipes, ones that always seemed to sag further down every time they were glimpsed. Through the darkness, there were abandoned homes, piles of broken stone, a constant leak of fluid.

He blinked. Cursed himself.

He donned a spare set of armor. He splashed more water on his face. He gazed into a silver mirror, willing his tattoos to burn again. A bright phosphorescence crawled along his cheeks. His neck glowed with a crown of thorns.

You must be an example. You carry the light of the stars.

He lowered his gaze. The silence rained upon him.

When he opened the door of the mansion, he almost collided with Amira. The human nearly dropped a steaming bowl of stew, her twin-pupiled eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh, look at that.” She examined him from head to toe, the scar on her lip stretching as she smiled. “We’re not shit rolled over.”

“Appearances are deceiving.”

She snorted, settling the bowl of stew on a windowsill. “Nearly had to carry you in a bucket. No idea how that goddess of yours turned you back from slop to man.”

Sadik glanced over her shoulder. Out in the gloomy street, a footsoldier walked patrol by the light of his sunspear, carefully picking his way around fallen pipes and broken flagstones. His pace was relaxed. They were not under attack. “Where is she?”

“Camped out with the wounded. She’s been tearing herself apart trying to heal everyone.” Amira followed his gaze for a moment. “Gotta say, it’s a bit unnervin’ to see a god bawling her eyes out. Especially the Jade Demon, of all of ‘em.”

He nodded slowly. “I suppose that means you let her in.”

“Well,” she said, leaning against the doorframe, “it was that, or let you stay a pile of mince. Wasn’t much choice in the matter. Though Haakon’s not stopped squawking my ear off about it.”

Sadik rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Casualties?”

“None. Got out clean. Wouldn’t poke my head up for a while, though. Half the garrisons got their puckers tight.”

“Dusksong?”

“Waiting in the armory. Oiled it myself.”

“Very kind of you.”

“Sure thing, sir. Pleasure to serve.”

Sadik eyed the bowl of stew. His hunger became ravenous. “Well, I’m glad—”

Amira hugged him. The action came so suddenly that Sadik almost stumbled backwards, feeling her dense musculature wrap around his body like a second set of armor. She was capable of firing a bow taller than her body, capable of launching arrows powerful enough to gore a sandwyrm, and Sadik could feel every inch of that strength pulling him against her.

“Fuck me,” she said. “We thought you were dead.”

Sadik took a moment to return the hug. “The Neheamatt gave me guidance. It was still quite the trial.”

“Oh, yeah? The tree herself, taking a personal interest?”

“Yes, actually.”

Amira pulled back, holding him at arm’s length. “You had five men with you. They not make it out?”

Sadik looked away, shaking his head.

“Fuck.” She took a step back. Her sand-colored uniform had turned ochre under the light of a lantern. “All we got was the beacon. No sign of you. No sign of fucking anything but a massive pissing stream of drones coming from the palace. I wanted a full team for search and rescue, but Haakon and Yasmin both voted against it. Fucking jubans would rather—”

“No,” Sadik said, firmly. “They made the right decision. You would’ve only put more lives at risk.”

“Oh, it were a fool’s errand trying to save our leader, was it? Trying to preserve the last line of succession from the stone mask on down?”

“I had been taken up to the pantheon. You would not have found me.”

Amira blinked in surprise. She worked her jaw a few times, failing to come up with a response. “You’re chewing sand.”

“The Jade Demon asked for my help,” Sadik said. “I couldn’t refuse.”

“Oh, sure, yeah, I’d not refuse a ten-foot croc, neither.” She nudged a broken splinter of wood with her boot. “You know, we got reports that buildings are falling from the sky. Pure chaos up there, from the sounds of it.”

“She . . . needed the assistance. Very much so.”

“You don’t sound quite humbled by it all. Land of the gods and such.”

“They should’ve sent a poet.”

She snorted, folded her arms, and glanced down the street. A strand of black hair fell against her lip. “Terrific. I was just thinkin’ we need new problems. Not enough that we got terror in the streets and blood in the sky, sure, no, let’s have our gods start killing each other, as well. Why not, right?” She shook her head. “Thimera’s cunt.”

“I’ll give a full report in the war room,” Sadik said. “Hopefully, Haakon lets me speak.”

“Oh, you’ll be spittin’ out feathers the second you walk in, believe me.” She gestured to the bowl of stew. “Fuck him, though. Eat some grub. Get your strength back.”

Sadik picked up the bowl. The ceramic was hot to the touch, and the smell of destrier meat sent his mouth watering. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re still here, Miri. Nema knows we need something to go right.”

“Well, shit. Don’t make me blush, sir. Got my reputation to think about.”

Sadik began to exit the doorway, scooping up meat and onion with a wooden spoon. “Let’s not waste time. I can eat and walk. We should discuss the security—”

“Sadik.” She placed a hand on his chest. Even through the bronze scales of his armor, he could feel the gentleness of the touch. The human was looking at him very carefully. “You alright?”

“Yes,” he replied, rolling his shoulders in demonstration. “Kavaia’s healing is remarkable. She could turn a skeleton back to man, I’m sure.”

“Oh, first name basis with the goddess of death, are we?”

“We have secret handshakes, too.”

Amira made a noise in her throat. Her eyes didn’t move. “You sure you’re good?”

He glanced down at the hand on his chest. “As good as I can be.”

“Let me rephrase,” Amira said. “It’s a bit odd, how your disappearance occurred. See, we got the metal beacon just fine. Pulled it right from a drain. You’d think we got the sap of the magic tree herself, from the way Yasmin’s been squeakin’ about it. And, yet, you were nowhere to be found. How does that work, exactly? How is it you managed to complete the objective without coming in yourself?”

Sadik opened his mouth to answer, but Amira’s gaze turned hard, and he ended up looking the other way.

“Stab in the dark, here.” She took her hand off his chest. “You had your old protégé dogging you the entire way. Same as always. You couldn’t leave well enough alone, and your pet goddess ended up peeling you off the pavement, afterward.”

He gazed up at the rotten porch ceiling, taking a deep breath.

“That’s it, then. Fuck me. You know she’s—”

“We’re not talking about this,” Sadik said, attempting to brush past her.

Amira blocked his path. The human was half a head shorter than him, but she had enough modified muscle to plant herself like a tree. “She’ll never stay down, jhubaa. Just gonna grow back in the life tanks every time you kill her.”

Sadik gripped the edge of his bowl.

“You go around barely modified, wielding nothin’ but a broken sword, and you keep choosing to face an assassin who’s downright feral about ending your life. You know, that don’t seem like a practical decision to me.” Her twin-pupiled eyes burrowed into his. “That just seems like suicide.”

Sadik didn’t answer.

“You sure you’re alright, sir?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Nothing I need to be concerned about?”

“Who said you had to be concerned?”

Amira gave a single, breathless laugh. “Gonna fuckin’ be like that, are you?”

Sadik tried to move around her again. Instead of blocking his path, she grabbed his bare arm with a callused hand.

“Hey.”

He stared ahead.

“Sadik, come on.”

He turned to look at her.

“You know we all. . . .” She tried to choose her words. “We’ve all taken this hard. You know? Just scramblin’ around in the dark, living like rats. Even Haakon’s letting the cracks show. It’s not . . . I mean, we know the Vizier—”

“Stop,” Sadik said.

Silence flooded the street. The oppressive weight of a city bulged above their heads.

Amira released his arm. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

He looked away.

“Just give me that, at least.”

“Yes. I do.” Sadik met her gaze again. “Thank you.”

She shifted on her feet, kicking another splinter across the porch. “How long have we known each other, sir?”

“Four decades, I’d say.”

“Have I ever mentioned that you got a ten-foot spear up your ass?”

“Many times, yes.”

“Right. Just making sure.” She flicked her head towards the street. “Let’s go, then. There’s a war that needs winning.”

---

Rushan’s temple rose through the darkness, a ring of iron braziers illuminating the pipes above.

When the Sons first occupied the underground ruins, they had spread themselves through the ancient buildings the same way an army would occupy a city. The senior command staff had taken the mansions. The enlisted men—or whatever motley band of citizens were capable of carrying weapons—had occupied the lesser homes. Warehouses had gone to food and armaments, bathhouses for water, an entire gladiator stadium cleared of rubble in order to house the ever-growing mass of refugees.

Above all else, there had been need for a command center, and the old, crumbling temple to the god of war had been a logical choice. It was highly defensible, located in a central position inside their perimeter, and tall enough to observe the surrounding ruins. Perhaps most importantly, the sprawling pyramid was still considered sacred ground. If the new Vizier wished to eradicate the rebellion growing beneath his palace, he would have to destroy one of Rushan’s holy sites, and earning the ire of the jackal would give any mortal leader a reason for pause.

As Sadik ascended the stairs of the temple, passing beneath pylons and flagpoles, he found a new sense of irony in their choice of headquarters. In some way, the Sons of Sorrow had chosen to occupy Rushan’s temple in a bid for the jackal’s assistance. They had hoped that the god of war would become aware of their plight, find their resilience admirable, and bless them all with a sliver of his strength. Now, Sadik would not be surprised if it was the jackal himself that invaded their home.

Around him, faded murals depicted the god of war running into battle, tearing apart entire regiments with nothing but his fists.

“Finish your meal, sir,” Amira said.

Sadik glanced down at the stew in his bowl. He had been ravenous during the first few spoonfuls, but, after several more, he had quickly found himself losing all appetite. It had been this way for weeks. He tried to eat again, could not bring himself to the task, and handed the bowl off to a passing guard.

The temple sanctuary was housed at the top of the pyramid. As they climbed the last of the stairs, passing beneath the roof of a narrow colonnade, the sounds of argument began to echo across the stone.

“—absolutely no sense of propriety! We are running a war, not some holy daycare! Does he think to invite the rest of the pantheon for tea and supper?” Something clattered to the floor. “The sheer audacity!”

“You sure I can’t smack him?” Amira whispered. “Just the once?”

“He’s served the people longer than we’ve been alive,” Sadik replied. “He represents the most legitimate line of succession.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So I would not advise slapping the next Vizier.”

The sanctuary to the god of war was a small, cloistered affair. All four corners of the room were covered in a tight forest of columns, each of which was painted with colorful and intricate scenes of battle. In the center, a life-sized statue of Rushan stood on a red marble plinth, its ears scraping against the low ceiling. At the feet of the statue was a shrine made of wood, one of the rarest commodities to be found, still covered in a bed of decorative candles.

Yasmin was the first to notice their entrance. The young rat let out an involuntary squeak and rushed over to greet Sadik. “Oh, you’re alive!”

“So I keep hearing.”

She stopped in front of him, her whiskers dancing through the candlelight. “Can—can I hug you? I want to hug you.”

“. . . yes, you may hug me.”

The rat pounced into his chest, her technician robes rubbing against the scales of his armor. Both of her pink hands held seven fingers, and her short gray fur still carried the stench of boiled blood, as if she had just performed a Glimmer administration. Considering the number of refugees the Sons had been forced to shelter, it seemed likely that she had.

“I’m sorry,” Yasmin said, pulling her muzzle from his chest. “Amira wanted to search, but—but there were so many drones, and I-I didn’t think—you would have told me not to risk—”

“You made the right decision,” Sadik said. “Our location must be protected at all cost.”

She stepped back, nervously rubbing her hands.

“A fire is capable of warming others,” Sadik said, “but it must destroy itself to do so. That is the way of things. All light requires sacrifice.”

“. . . I’m really sorry, though.”

“I understand. Think nothing of it.”

Yasmin attempted a smile, nodded stiffly, and shuffled back to her position at the edge of the shrine.

“Right,” Amira said, shrugging off her uniform jacket. Underneath, she wore a sleeveless vest and numerous scars. “Well, before the yelling starts—”

A man cleared his throat.

At the other end of the shrine, Haakon stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back. The old falcon wore nothing but a white linen kilt and a ring of necklaces around his collarbone. His bare chest was covered in a thick plumage, and every one of the feathers had been modified to change color with the speed of a chameleon’s skin. They were as yellow as sulfur at one moment, purple and green the next, glowing bright and falling dark in rhythmic patterns, each of the iridescent waves of color spreading like oil upon water.

“Sadik.”

“Lord Haakon.”

The falcon straightened his posture, as if the title of Lord was a thermal of wind beneath his wings. “Were you pleased with my essence of orchid? I know it’s your favorite.”

“Yes,” Sadik replied. “Thank you. I’m sure your private stock has become limited.”

“Do make it count. We may live like vermin, but it would be rank heresy to trek blood inside a temple. The stars would twist from their sockets.”

“I appreciate the concern.”

“Are you feeling better?” His citrus-colored beak reflected the candlelight. “If you need me to examine you. . . .”

“I would prefer we address the matters at hand.”

“Of course.” Haakon leaned on the shrine, feathers shimmering like fire. “Just as well. I was already telling Yasmin what a senseless cockup you are.”

Yasmin gazed at the statue of Rushan, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, give it a rest, you mangy parrot,” Amira said. “Dragging a god down to the sewers ain’t some—”

“Silence!” His chest feathers turned a fiery red. “Sheltering a god puts our entire rebellion at risk! Has that thought crossed the plate of metal you call a skull, Sadik?”

“Of course I—”

“You are gambling thousands of lives for the sake of one crocodile!” The pinions on his arms leaped to life. “These deities—these holy conduits of faith and love—they are political creatures! Devious minds! Always scheming, always attempting to attain greater faith from the masses! They will take advantage of whatever scandal has sent her running into our arms, mark my words! I’m sure, right now, several of them are forming alliances to hunt down the goddess of death, all in the hopes that they might present her to the Vizier—”

“She is not a god any longer,” Sadik said. “She has been stricken from grace.”

Haakon’s beak opened in shock. His black eyes searched the painted columns around him, as if they might give him strength. “Ancestors return, Sadik, what in the blasted sands are you doing with an exile, you furless monkey! You brainless serf! We must cast her out immediately! The only fate that an outcast deserves is to suffer beneath the boots of a mob! If she was still divine, there would be privileges afforded, some mercies to be attained, but no—no—you had to drag a base criminal to our lair! A fallen god! The lowest scum imaginable!”

“If I may explain—”

“Not only that!” Haakon passed back and forth along the altar, his feathers swirling with color. “Not only that, but, out of all the pantheon to choose from, you decided to bring the Jade Demon! The terror of the peasants! The harvester of Glimmer, ready to suck the gifts of Aldunya straight from our souls! She is the shadow lurking behind every illness, the specter watching every battlefield! Half of those illiterate refugees think she’s the one who started the plague! She’s down in the gladiator ring, right now, trying to heal the sick and dying while it tears her body in twain, and, let me tell you, it’s frightening the people! They are terrified of her! She could be lynched! She could start a riot just by baring her face! We do not need that kind of risk when we are barely surviving as it is!”

Sadik folded his arms. His gaze never left the falcon.

“Go on!” Haakon said, flinging a feathered hand in his direction. “Do you have nothing to say for your blunders?”

“If you would stop leaping down my throat,” Sadik said, “I could explain what’s happened.”

The falcon scoffed. “Oh, yes. By all means, enlighten us. Why did you abandon your post?”

Sadik leaned his hands onto the shrine. He stared into the rows of candles, collecting his thoughts. After a moment, he allowed himself to sigh.

He told them everything that had occurred since his infiltration of the palace. From entering a plague zone while fighting Faustine, to waking up in the capture of a god, embroiling himself in the desperate conflict of the pantheon, and, finally, his destructive escape from the branches of the Neheamatt. He was very brief in describing his relationship with Kavaia, and the things they had shared together, but, otherwise, he was perfectly honest.

When he was done speaking, silence settled upon the temple sanctuary. The footsteps of patrolling guards echoed across the stone.

Amira was the first to speak. “Fuck me. How many gods have perished?”

“Too many,” Sadik said. “By now, more have been executed. Rushan needs to consolidate his power.”

Yasmin wiped tears from her eyes, trying in vain to control her breathing. “Ancestors save us. . . .”

“I must say,” Haakon said, “if any god should attempt autocracy, it would’ve been Rushan. The jackal was always supercilious. Hardly spared any mortal a glance unless he was killing them. Even still, to know that the Neheamatt can succumb to plague. . . .”

“What can we do?” Yasmin asked. “If we lose the Neheamatt, the city will fall. None of this will matter. We’ll lose the walls, all our Glimmer, we’ll lose the pantheon and the Exalted and. . . .” She wiped her cheek. “What can we do?”

“I don’t know,” Sadik said.

Another silence descended. All four of them took furtive glances at the statue of Rushan, as if the giant stone figure might spring to life at any moment.

“Sadik,” Haakon said. “The goddess—” He cleared his throat. “Kavaia still has her providence. She is healing the sick, right this moment.”

“Yes. The Neheamatt has continued to bless her. I have been embraced with her fronds, as well.”

The falcon looked at Sadik from head to toe, as if seeing him in a sudden new light. He closed his eyes, mimed a quiet prayer, and turned away.

“I understand your concerns,” Sadik said, leaning on the shrine. “I share them. Bringing Kavaia into our fold will only drive the god of war to anger. But, at the same time, her healing powers are remarkable. Far more than any medicine we could hope to provide. She has the strength of several men, and she has proven a loyal ally. I would not have survived to tell you of this if not for her intervention. In the interest of our mission, and the lives of those we are sworn to protect, I believe the risk is worth the benefit.”

All three of his lieutenants watched him in silence.

“I will leave it to a vote,” Sadik continued. “If the majority believe we should cast her off, it shall be so. To make it fair, I will recuse myself.” He shifted his gaze toward his second in command. “Amira?”

She shrugged. “I dunno, sir. You trust her?”

“I do.”

“Fuck it. Works for me. She stays.”

Sadik looked toward his chief technician. “Yasmin?”

The rat flinched upon being called. She glanced nervously between the three of them, fighting for her words. “We must think. . . .” She wringed her hands together. “No! I’m sorry, but, no, we shouldn’t. It’s too dangerous. Rushan could rip us apart.” She waved a robed arm at all the surrounding columns, each of them painted with scenes of battle. “We won’t survive. If he finds us. It’s—it’s—”

“Very well,” Sadik said. “Your vote is noted.”

“I’m sorry! I. . . .” She looked away. “I can’t sleep. I keep seeing the palace. The rush of bodies. I just—if we have to worry about a god invading, as well, then I’ll never—we will never—”

“Yasmin,” Sadik said, more firmly. “It’s fine. Thank you for speaking.”

She lowered her gaze toward the candles, whiskers twitching.

Sadik turned toward his chief physician and spiritual guide. “Lord Haakon?”

The falcon straightened his back, baring his feathered chest towards the rows of candles. His eyes remained deep in contemplation.

“You are the tiebreaker,” Sadik said. “May I assume your vote?”

Haakon gazed up at the statue of Rushan. There was a deep weariness in his expression. The former Reader of Stars was a century older than anyone else in the room, and, from the look in his eyes, he was feeling the years weigh upon his bones.

“Right now,” he said, “there are nearly eight thousand refugees living under these sewers. Wounded soldiers, desperate families, the sick and dying who had nowhere else to turn. I have spent endless weeks trying to care for as many as I can, but—” His feathers shimmered into a cobalt blue. “Hundreds die every day. Now that we are cursed with immortality, many do not even have that luxury. Often, we can do little but offer a dry cot while their wounds fester. I can’t even begin to describe the men who’ve died from Glimmer withdrawal. The way the flesh melts off their bodies. . . .”

“Quit preenin’ your feathers,” Amira said, “and get to the point.”

Haakon took his eyes off the statue. “Sadik, the goddess has been with us scarcely half a day, and she’s already performed enough miracles to fill a temple. I’ve watched her approach a dying man, someone we believed beyond all saving, and I’ve seen her take all his injuries upon herself until he is vigorous and she is howling in pain. Her pace is relentless. No amount of agony seems capable of stopping her.”

Man and falcon watched each other for a moment.

“The curse of immortality will not last long,” Haakon said. “If she is cast from our arms, thousands will perish in her absence. If she stays, and the god of war is angered by our insolence, all of them will perish. It is a choice between cutting off a festering leg or hoping to cure it later.” He waved a pinioned arm. “Of course, it also appears that your fornication has earned his wrath already, so the point is academic.”

Sadik did not reply.

“Very well,” Haakon said. “She can stay. I suppose I should stop doubting your ability to charm large women.”

“Shut your beak, juban,” Amira said.

“Just try not to break your pelvis again, old boy. I’ve treated you quite enough times.”

Sadik nodded. Haakon returned the gesture. The last member of the Luminous Path leaned on the wooden shrine, trying to ignore the feeling of relief spreading through his chest.

“Good. There are other matters to settle.” He gestured over the bed of candles. “Yasmin, have you had enough time to study the metal beacon?”

The rat seemed unprepared to be called on again. “Oh! Yes, yes—well, um, almost. The technology is from the ancestors. Very complex.”

“Five men died to obtain it,” Sadik said. “Was it worth the sacrifice?”

“It couldn’t be better! Oh, stars above, the design is wonderfully efficient! It’s quite modular, you see, so with a bit of tinkering, I could apply it to any one of our weapons. Minimal power drain! But—but the real challenge is mass-producing—um, the materials required are scarce—very advanced metallurgy—but I believe if the soldiers could scavenge more sections of piping, you know, the—the—the copper and at least a certain quality of steel—”

“Hoi,” Amira said. “Will it stop the Exalted or not?”

Yasmin straightened herself. “Yes. Um—yes. It will. The beacons emit a signal that only they can hear. They’ll just be stunned for a time, not truly dead, but it will be more than sufficient protection against a swarm. I should be able to produce several more for field use. As I said, if I could have the materials. . . .”

“You’ll have them,” Sadik said. “Provide a full supply list to Amira, and she’ll give the order.”

Yasmin nodded. Based on the twitching of her whiskers, she was already mentally cataloguing the list.

“Amira,” Sadik said. “What is the status of Operation Fading Dawn?”

“Completely fucked, sir. We’re not getting in.”

Sadik raised himself off the shrine, the scrap of his boots echoing across the sanctuary.

“For starters,” Amira continued, “the palace has been a hornet’s nest ever since you kicked them in the nads. Double patrols, constant watches, a swarm of engineers crawlin’ over every ditch and wall. The Vizier hardly goes a couple paces without a dozen guards shadowing his step—probably has a couple hold his cock while he takes a piss. Some bit of tech that hurts the Exalted was worth it, sure, but it cost us the element of surprise. They got spooked by you getting inside once before, and they ain’t gonna let it happen again.”

She swiped some dust off her bare arm. Somewhere above, a sluice gate opened, sending a rumbling flood of sewage through the pipes.

“On top of that, we just don’t got the men no more. Forward base off in Apreport got cut off by a collapsin’ tunnel. If they move, they gotta do it above ground, and they can’t risk it with the garrison so riled. Might as well consider them stranded. At the same time, Taso district is just plain gone.”

“Gone?” Sadik asked.

“Got the plague,” Amira replied. “Didn’t check a refugee well enough. Whole place’s just a sack of meat and metal by now.”

Sadik took a deep breath. “How many men could we muster for the assault, right this moment?”

“Not much. Wouldn’t hardly be trained, neither. The guards in the palace could just spit on ‘em, and they’d fall apart.” She shrugged. “The numbers ain’t there, sir. No way around it. Best we wait until things calm down, at the very least.”

Sadik gripped the edge of the wooden shrine. “We don’t have time to wait. The granaries are empty. Hundreds will die without another dose of Glimmer. It’s not just about slaying the Vizier—we need access to their stockpiles. We need food.”

“You know my answer to that.”

A silence washed over the sanctuary.

“No,” Sadik said. “Out of the question.”

“It’s the only play we got, sir.”

“I will not ally myself with some savage warlord!”

Acheron had seen its share of sieges. Over thousands of years, many armies had attempted to sack the city. Most had been crushed to dust. Some had survived for a time. A very select few had even managed to breach the cerulean barriers. But, no matter what, every warlord who had wished to taste immortality had found their ambitions broken. The gifts of the Neheamatt had always remained under watchful protection.

It was different now. Acheron was on her knees, and a new threat had emerged over the horizon. They called him the Lord of Bones. From the tales Sadik had gathered, the man had put entire cities to the sword. He wore armor fashioned from the corpses of his enemies, riding into battle beneath a patchwork of bone and sinew. Supposedly, he could control the dead with a sweep of his fingers, and he would often eat the souls of those who displeased him. Some of it must’ve been myth, but one thing was certain—the Lord of Bones had amassed an army of disparate tribes and rugged mercenaries. He was running his siege unopposed outside their walls. And he would not rest until he had claimed victory.

For the most part, Sadik was unimpressed. The world had seen many leaders like him before, and it would see many more after he was gone. If Acheron had not been gripped by turmoil, his army would’ve easily been crushed by the gods.

But, above all else, the Lord of Bones was clever. After finding himself unable to break the city from the outside, he had begun to weaken it from the inside.

“He is a barbarian,” Sadik said, measuring his words. “Just another petty tribal who thinks to make himself a deity. His only goal is to divide our loyalties.”

“Just so,” Amira replied. “But, as far as my scouts tell it, the man’s quite diplomatic when it suits his needs. Most of the tribes under his command were earned by alliance. He grants mercy to any who surrender. And he’s got that sorta savage honor to him, so it’s told. Never once broken his word on a promise. For good or ill.”

Sadik wiped a loose strand of hair from his face. “What has he offered? Shipments of food for a dose of Glimmer? A journey to the pantheon? Only the Neheamatt could grant such a blessing. We have nothing to offer but slaves, and I will not stoop to such a level.”

“Dunno what he wants, exactly. All I know is that he’s managed to slip a pair of emissaries inside the walls. They’re hiding out above ground, waiting to offer his terms in person.”

“They’re here?” Yasmin asked, eyes widening. “Inside the walls?”

“Sure are. Not like anyone’s standing guard anymore.”

Haakon steepled his fingers into an image of a tree. His prayer was silent.

“I’ve heard enough,” Sadik said. “You can tell his emissaries that, once a proper Vizier has been restored, he will be crushed like every other savage who thought he could make himself a god.”

“Will he, though?” Amira shrugged. “The current Vizier’s too busy worrying about another coup. The gods are going mad up above. Ain’t much stopping him, sir.”

“He only wishes to give us aid so it will weaken the city! If he draws out our conflict, his siege will succeed! All he’s doing is pitting us against each other!”

“I’m well aware. I also know we don’t got any choice. We need food, and we need men. He can give us both.”

Sadik glared down at the shrine, the candle flames dancing in his eyes.

“If I may,” Haakon said, his feathers a deep purple. “Sadik, you were embraced by Aldunya. She has protected your life even at the cost of the gods. As loathe as I am to admit my position. . . .” He cleared his throat. “If there is anyone in this city who should negotiate on its behalf, it is you. And, as I’ve said before, thousands of lives depend on our decision.”

Yasmin rubbed her hands through her billowing sleeves. “He won’t see a single dose of Glimmer. Aldunya never grants the honor to those who don’t deserve it. It will denature inside his blood, turn to dust in his hands the second he tries to leave the city. I mean—um—we could offer it to him, knowing that it will never happen. If that helps. At all.”

“We’ve beaten men like him before,” Amira said. “We’ll do it again. For now, we gotta suck our pride down.”

Sadik shook his head.

“Hoi,” Amira said. “You wanna put it to vote?”

“No.” Sadik suppressed a sigh. “Fine. I will meet with his emissaries, and I will attempt to treat fairly.”

She nodded. “Right. I’ll see about finding a safe route. Gonna take a bit.”

“Any other crisis we should discuss?” Sadik asked, unable to hide his tone. “Is the sky in danger of falling?”

Haakon brushed a few feathers on his chest. “Just out of curiosity—did Kavaia find your size adequate?”

Sadik turned from the shrine.

“Hold, hold! A poor jest, Sadik. My apologies.”

He stared past the columns and murals.

“Come now. We must pray to adjourn the meeting. We may lose our lives, but not our propriety.”

After a moment, Sadik returned to his position. Everyone lowered their heads, steepling their fingers into the image of a tree. Haakon began to speak.

“Ancestors, hear our words. We remain in your ashes. We watch the skies for your return.”

“We carry the burden,” Yasmin said.

“We carry the message,” Amira said.

“We carry the light of the stars,” Sadik said.

“May we continue to live by your grace,” Haakon said. “May our suffering be true, and may our memories be long. Ancestors, by your guidance, may we walk the stars again.”

“Amen,” they said.

Sadik left the sanctuary. The underground air was cool and damp, tinged with the smoke of torches and the ferrous rot of metal. He had barely gone halfway down the pyramid stairs before he heard footsteps behind him.

“Hoi, sir!” Amira shouted. “Can I bend your ear a bit?”

“If this is about the Lord of Bones,” Sadik began, “you don’t need to reassure me. I understand the logistics—”

“Not that. Fuck me, I’m as happy as you.” The human glanced over shoulder, waiting for a guard to pass around a corner. “It’s about the goddess you dragged to our doorstep.”

Sadik raised an eyebrow.

“Look,” Amira said, “she’s in a bad way, alright? If you go down to that stadium, you’ll hear her cryin’ above the refugees. I’ve seen more grace from a beached whale.”

From their point on the stairs, he tried to locate the stadium in the underground darkness. Through the low ceiling, he could just barely make the edges of its colossal shape. Below it, there were a sea of lanterns and torches crackling along the ruins of a city. The stones here had not tasted sunlight in centuries, and one could feel the darkness that had seeped into their pores.

“She’s lost everything,” Sadik said.

“No. She hasn’t.” Amira jabbed him in the shoulder. “Go talk to her. Better yet, let her talk to you. Let her lean on you. Give her a fucking lightshow with your tattoos or something, I dunno. Don’t really matter. Just go there and be there, you know?”

“. . . why are you telling me this?”

She quirked her head. “Sadik, you know I’m a woman, right?”

“Oh, yes. The breasts. How silly of me, I always forget.”

“Fuck off,” Amira said. “Look, as a woman, I’m telling you—go talk to her. Right now. Before the damage cuts deep.”

He stared up at the ceiling. Pipes slithered against rusted metal.

“I saw the way she looked at you. You’re the only voice that’s gonna matter.”

Sadik lowered his gaze, noticing that his fingernails were still caked with blood. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” She clapped him on the back as she walked ahead. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Thanks, Miri.”

“What I’m here for!”

Amira descended the pyramid steps. Sadik gazed out at the ruined city once more, feeling the sunless air settle around his skin. From where he stood, the lanterns and torches seemed as distant as the stars in the sky.

After a moment, he sighed, adjusted his armor, and returned back to his duty.