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As Acheron burned, and the blood of gods ran through the street, Sadik was marched from his home.

The gap in the walls was little more than a crevice—winding, slanted, and narrow. Clearly, it only existed because the arcane energy that powered the walls was beginning to fade, the same way that the skin around one’s fingernails will recede upon death.

Everything was blue, like a jagged cave of crystal. Every sound seemed to be swallowed by a colossal weight, hanging perilously above their heads. When Sadik glanced to the side, he saw endless miles of arcane energy, so bright and pure of color that it seemed as if a god had carved out the sky and erected it as a barrier. When he touched the energy itself, he found it pleasantly warm. Smooth as glass.

Behind him, a Kesunae archer tensed at his movement. Sadik continued on.

They marched in single file. Kesunae riders rode at the head of the column, while Isaac and Zaria trotted their destriers at a leisurely pace, gazing straight ahead. Behind Sadik, the two gods of the pantheon—Kavaia and Xaeyr—were forced to crawl beneath the low, jagged ceiling. Amira clung to Xaeyr’s back, her legs still burned and severed. More Kesunae closed the gap at the end, their armor shining with a cerulean glow.

Sadik tightened his grip on Dusksong. The barbarians may have been escorting him by the tips of their arrows, but they had not taken his weapon. He did not know if that was a good omen.

It took them several minutes to cross from the ends of Acheron to the lands outside. The cerulean walls had a thickness of hundreds of feet, and the path they had to follow was tight. When they emerged on the other side, Sadik looked to the sky, hoping to take in the grand height of the city’s barriers. Instead, he saw the glow of the fires on the other side, melting a vivid orange through the gentle blue of the walls. Like a sunrise glimpsed through sheets of ice.

He lowered his gaze. He had already wept for his men, and the city at large. Now, it was time to focus.

Ahead, the camps of the Kesunae loomed through the night. There were thousands of tents, each of them built with cloth and hides. Most were empty. Sadik imagined that the only people left in the camp would be the women and children, as well as the slaves. How many refugees was the Lord of Bones supporting?

Isaac slowed his mount, glancing back at Sadik. For a moment, he seemed ready to speak.

“Khödöl!” a Kesunae shouted.

Isaac pursed his lips. Zaria clapped a paw on his shoulder, shaking her head.

They continued on. As they entered the camp, Sadik recognized the usual smells—fresh leather, smoking fires, dry grain and sizzling meat. There were waters barrels for bathing, temporary corals built for the livestock and destriers. Above, on the roofs of the tents, there were pans of cheese and curds, left to dry in the wind.

People scattered in their wake. Women retreated from the campfires and knitting benches, while children raced through the tents, eager to watch. The two gods took most of the attention. Xaeyr focused on carrying Amira, ignoring the whispers and stares, while Kavaia walked tall and proud, daring any to meet her gaze. Her new spine glistened through the gaps in her flesh.

Soon, Sadik saw a tent erected on a towering wedge of rock. It easily overlooked the camp, and it dwarfed any of the dwellings below, complete with multiple rooms, wooden supports and a large, central chimney. If there was any place on this desolate stretch of sand where a warlord would wish to stay, this was it.

The mounted archers took them to the base of the spire and led them up a winding path, following a series of short switchbacks and feet-worn trails. As they climbed, Sadik winced at his injuries—a bruised leg, cracked ribs, an arm shattered below the elbow. Kavaia had not been allowed to heal him. When she had tried, the Kesunae had shouted her down, wary of any display of magic.

Sadik did not mind the pain. As a soldier, he had suffered worse. As a child, he had nearly died of thirst, right at the edge of the cerulean walls, where he stood now. If anything, the pain reminded him of better times. It reminded him that he was still alive.

He took a breath. He cherished the wind.

When they reached the top, they entered a row of braziers leading to the entrance flap of the tent, the pathway covered in carpets of exotic furs. Around the tent itself, there were slaves patrolling the grounds, armed with spears. They were completely naked.

One of them turned to Sadik. His face was hollow, his skin loose and peeling. When he met his gaze, there were no eyes on his face. He had no lips, no ears, not even a nose. Instead, there were hints of dry bone peeking through the holes where his facial features should’ve been, as well as a sickly pallor to the skin itself, something that Sadik could only compare to tanned leather.

That was not a man. It was a skeleton, wearing a loose garment of human skin.

The Lord of Bones.

“Khödöl,” said a Kesunae rider, gesturing with his bow.

They approached the tent. As they walked through the braziers, the skeletons halted their patrols, beginning to stand at attention. Skin flapped in the breeze.

“Sadik,” Isaac said.

The scholar trotted his destrier to a hitching post at the side, hastily jumping off the saddle. Zaria followed his every move.

“I need you to trust me,” the human said, tying off his mount. When the reins were secure, he hurried over to the entrance of the tent. His mop of blond hair was dirty and wild. “Let me speak for you.”

Sadik glanced at the archers behind him.

“It’s your choice,” Zaria said. “But we’ve got him by the coin purse, in both manners of speakin’. He’s like to listen.”

“Khödöl!” a Kesunae barked, growing impatient.

Isaac frowned at the men, then softened his expression. “Trust me. You have more leverage than it seems.”

“I will speak for him.”

Kavaia stepped up to his side. Her green armor was in tatters, and the white of her spine was still visible against the hardened scales of her back. At the same time, she stood tall in the night, looming above the archers and skeletons. Fire reflected in her eyes.

“I led a war party under Huleon the Brave,” she said. “When I was young, I conquered the lands of Ascana, spreading their wealth before my lord. When Geshar rebelled, I slew him from his mount and set his tribe to torch, leaving only the children as slaves. When Huleon rode against Acheron, I led a vanguard through the walls, pillaging as I wished.” She glanced back at the archers. They flinched beneath her gaze. “I was known as Zolzaya. Destiny. For any who stood in my path would meet their fate.”

Isaac and Zaria glanced between each other. Behind, Xaeyr shifted Amira along his back, blinking in surprise.

“I appreciate your support,” Kavaia said. “But, if there is any of the tribe this man should respect, it is me.” She hesitated, glancing down at Sadik. “If you’ll allow me to speak for you, of course.”

He raised a brow. “I didn’t realize a barbarian needed permission, goddess.”

“Yes, well,” Kavaia said, clearing her throat. “I used to be fearsome. Now, I have manners.”

Sadik watched her for a moment, then lowered his gaze, wincing. His wounds were painful. Everything ached.

“Please,” he said.

Kavaia placed a hand on his shoulder. A wisp of healing passed through his skin, flowing like a gentle breeze. After a moment, she walked to the entrance of the tent. The skeletons released a dry hiss at her arrival, staring up at the crocodile with empty sockets. She ducked her head and flung the tent flap away, squeezing her way inside.

She vanished beneath the cloth and poles. Outside, there was silence.

“Well,” Amira said, resting her chin on Xaeyr’s shoulder. “Anyone got last words?”

“I really wish I wasn’t naked,” Xaeyr said.

“Here, here.”

Sadik walked into the tent.

Inside, he saw bone. Skulls, spines, and femurs. Every piece of furniture seemed to be decorated with a different manner of fetish—a chair backed with a pelvis, a fire pit ringed with skulls, ropes bristling with teeth and the joints of the tent poles connected with vertebrae. Beneath the corpses, there were carpets of furs, trims of gold, gems glittering from wardrobes. Smoke oozed from a smoldering pit.

At the back, beneath a veil of gloom and haze, there was a dais formed from the natural rock below, and on that dais sat a throne. The legs were constructed of femurs. The seat was formed from a net of fingers and toes, each of the appendages corded with sinew, and the armrest was made of arms, with each of the hand rests capped with a jawless skull. A field of spines rose at the back, sharpened and bound, like a palisade of death.

A human sat the throne. Unlike the rest of the chamber, his garment was simple—leather hides, bundles of furs. He wore the skull of a beast as a helmet, such that his face seemed to be swallowed inside its jaws. Fangs pressed against his cheeks. Incisors knitted his brow. Between the jaws, his eyes faintly glowed.

The Lord of Bones raised his hand. Around him, the skulls on the furniture began to rattle. They spoke with dry voices, scraping out the words.

“Approach.”

“Approach.”

“Approach.”

Kavaia was already standing at the edge of the fire pit, using the chimney to rise to her full height. Sadik moved to her side. Behind him, he heard Xaeyr attempting to squeeze into the narrow flap of the tent. Amira was swearing.

The Lord of Bones watched Sadik through the smoke and dimness. His posture was open, relaxed. His face was chiseled, like wind-worn bark.

“You are injury,” he said.

Sadik glanced down at his broken arm. At the same time, Isaac and Zaria moved around the sides of the tent, brushing past the skeletons that were rising from the shadows. The Lord of Bones gave them a cool acknowledgement as they took their place below the dais, opposite Sadik and Kavaia.

“That is how you say?” he continued, gesturing. “Wound?”

“Yes,” Sadik said, trying not to wince. “Wound. Very much wound.”

“Bi tüüniig edgeej chadna,” Kavaia said. “Bi Glimmer ashiglan tüünii makhyg öörteigee, solikh—”

The Lord of Bones raised a hand. Around him, the skulls and bones began to shiver. “No tongue of the mother. I speak this thing. English.” He hummed in his throat. “Your words stain the mouth. They are clumsy.”

“English is the language of the ancestors,” Sadik said. “We have preserved it for thousands of years.”

“Old things must die. It is the way.”

Sadik did not reply.

The Lord of Bones leaned on an armrest. Through the smoke, Sadik noticed that one of his hands was bare—the other was encased within a glove, some mixture of cloth and metal that seemed more machinery than armor. There were blinking lights, a glow of a holoscreen.

He opened the gloved hand. Around him, the skeletons twitched in response, centering their gaze upon Sadik. Patches of dried skin, an eyeless skull.

Some kind of technology. It seemed just as sophisticated as those of the ancestors. Yasmin would want to see this.

“You are the death,” the Lord of Bones said, looking at Kavaia. “The one who sung the plains.”

“Death,” said a skeleton.

“Death,” whispered another, lurching behind the fire.

Kavaia kept her expression calm. “My name was Zolzaya.”

He leaned back against the throne. Beneath the skull of a beast, his eyes faintly glowed. “Your tribe is dust.”

“As all things must go.”

“Your name does survive. It is known. Studied.”

“It will fade, just as yours.”

He grunted in amusement. “Heal him. I will see this from you, Zolzaya.”

Kavaia did not move. She glanced at Isaac and Zaria, who kept their expressions neutral, and looked to Xaeyr, who had sat on the furred carpets beside the fire. Amira watched the skeletons, as if preparing for attack.

After a moment, the crocodile squatted, bringing herself eye level with Sadik. When she placed a hand on his shoulder, he felt the bones in his arm begin to squirm. Slowly, they retreated back into his flesh, like worms into dirt.

A whimper escaped her chest. Her arm bulged with bone, her scales cracked with bruises. When Sadik placed a hand on the nape of her neck, softly rubbing the skin, she tightened her grip on him, hooking the edge of her long snout against his hair. They leaned into each other.

He could feel her exhaustion. There had been many difficult days.

After half a minute, the worst of his wounds had been drunk from his body, and Kavaia rose back to her feet, her arm sizzling in rapid repair. Sadik saw the Lord of Bones sitting forward on his throne.

“Amazement,” he said, blinking. “A miracle.”

“Miracle,” hissed a skeleton.

“Miracle,” rasped another.

Several whispered at once, joining a chorus. “Miracle. Miracle. Miracle.”

“Hoi,” Amira said, pushing herself up Xaeyr’s shoulder. “Can I get the good stuff, too?”

“Miri,” Sadik said. “Not now.”

“Sir, respectfully—I got no fucking legs.”

“Later,” the Lord of Bones said, waving a hand. “We must talking.”

“Yes,” Isaac said. “We must.”

Amira gave a scoff, settling against Xaeyr’s back. The baboon awkwardly patted her arm.

Sadik stepped forward. Around him, the skeletons began to tense. Jaws opened along the furniture. Hands squirmed from the ceiling.

“What are your demands?” he asked.

The Lord of Bones tilted his head, blinking. “I am demanding?”

“You have invaded my city.”

“I did this thing for you.”

“You have taken me hostage inside your camp.”

The Lord of Bones raised his chin. The fangs of his helmet caught the light. “You have your weapon, yes?”

Sadik glanced at Dusksong. The blade was more than broken—after his escape through the plague zone, it had begun to melt at the edges, half the runes gone dark. Still, it remained in his hands. Its weight was reassuring.

The Lord of Bones opened a palm. “I show the tail of my mare.”

Sadik remembered the severed appendage that Isaac had presented in the aqueduct. A black tail, covered in quills and gems. According to Kavaia, cutting the tail of your mount was an utterly submissive gesture. Complete prostration.

“You are supreme?” the Lord of Bones asked.

Sadik paused. “I’m sorry?”

“How you say. . . .” The Kesunae searched for the word. “Charge? Control?”

“Hm. No. I am not. There is a man, Haakon, who represents the next line of succession. I hope to see him masked, once the city is under control.”

“I do not speak to mask,” the Lord of Bones replied. “I do not suckle your tree. I need a man, like me.”

“Like you?” Sadik asked.

“We are similar, yes?”

Sadik pursed his lips.

“Say your mind,” the Lord of Bones said.

“I am nothing like you. I do not conquer, pillage or burn. I defend my city with honor and faith. If you compare us again, I will make you regret leaving me armed.”

The Kesunae warlord leaned on his armrest. His face was contemplative. His eyes were searching. Behind him, sharpened spines rose like spears.

Sadik thought of all the people who might’ve stood before this man, at one time or another. Conquered foes, disloyal subjects, emissaries and slaves. How many had begged? How many had lied, desperate for any reprieve? How many of the skeletons around him were once people who had earned his wrath?

The Lord of Bones watched him, in much the same way that a surgeon watched where his hand was cutting. He had the face of a man who commanded a nation through fear and force. He had a gaze under which all falsehood would wither and die.

The silence stretched on. None dared to break it.

“You have lost many,” the Lord of Bones said.

Sadik did not answer. Behind him, Kavaia shifted.

“The wind whispers their voice,” he continued. “The silence cuts your soul.”

Sadik shifted his gaze toward the back of the tent, where the cloths and hide fluttered against the desert breeze. His eyes grew distant.

The warlord sat forward on his throne of bones, placing an open hand on the furs of his chest. “I feel this. The death rains, like a storm.”

“Senseless,” Sadik said.

“What is this word?”

“Pointless. Wasteful.” He took a deep breath. “In vain.”

The Lord of Bones nodded. “Senseless.”

“Senseless,” a skeleton hissed.

“Senseless,” said another, skin slipping from its skull.

“I must rely on sellsword,” the Lord of Bones said, “because my trusted have returned to sky.” He gestured at Isaac and Zaria. “Mogoi. I am certain they would refuse, if I order you death.”

Isaac held a careful expression. Zaria shrugged.

“The Diet of Nine,” he continued. “You have heard this?”

“Somewhat, yes,” Kavaia said, stepping by Sadik’s side. “Your . . . advisors were forthcoming.”

He grimaced through the jaws of his helmet. “They destroy my home. Burn with fire, scatter with wind. Flying in metal machines, killing with magic and gun. None stand before them.”

“They are expanding aggressively,” Isaac said. “It’s my fault.”

“Isaac,” Zaria said.

The human looked at the carpets below. “The story is long. Suffice to say, I was . . . tricked into adventuring toward a ruin. The Diet followed after me. And, inside the ruin, they found ancient technology. They were already experimenting with magic, developing machines. After that, things began to boil.”

“They’re a bunch o’ greedy cunts with wands longer than their cock,” Zaria said. “Woulda done this, regardless. I’d sooner expect them to fuck their own beards than stop their schemin’.”

Isaac continued to watch the floor. Zaria flicked her ears.

“They spread like plague,” the Lord of Bones said. “In all direction. Ravenous.” He gestured at the wall of his tent. “Many tribe flee under my banner. Sons and daughters. Slaves. All that remain. There is violence. Sickness. It is as you say—senseless.”

“Ildnii ayuulgüi baidal,” Kavaia said.

The Lord of Bones grimaced, shifting on his throne.

“What does that mean?” Sadik asked.

Kavaia folded her arms. “The Safety of Sword. A war chief must keep all violence from his camp, on threat of death. He must bring peace through force. If men fight, then it says he is weak. If he is weak, he is unworthy of command.” She made a noise in his throat. “It is why he has been bombarding the walls. He cannot be seen begging.”

“I do all I can,” the Lord of Bones said.

“History will not care for attempts. Only success.”

“None could succeed where I have walked.”

“I have,” Kavaia said. She gestured at the mechanical glove on his hand. “You united your tribes with trickery. A persona of death. I did it with blood. For weeks, you have laid siege to Acheron, where I cracked its walls within a day.” She raised her chin. “You are a beggar lord. I became a god.”

The Lord of Bones gripped the skulls of his armrest, fingers digging into eyes. “I save my people. You leave them to dust.”

“Dust,” hissed a skeleton.

“Dust.”

“Dust.”

Kavaia blinked. She opened her maw, finding no response.

“Regardless,” Isaac said, stepping between them, “the Diet of Nine are still advancing. We believe they will be at your border within the month.”

“They got some mean magic on their side,” Zaria said. “And no lack of science, neither.”

Isaac opened his palms. “Whatever trouble you think your city is in now, it will pale in comparison to the Diet. You will miss the trebuchets when they are raining fire from the sky.”

“If they do come,” Sadik replied, “they will not find the sky empty. We have the Mezlat, the Exalted. Several gods. With Glimmer, we would give wings to every soldier.”

The Lord of Bones raised a finger. “This is the exact.”

“This is exactly what we want,” Isaac said, clarifying. “It’s why we have arrived at your door. Acheron may be the only city in the world that could effectively oppose the wizards.”

Sadik looked between the mercenaries and their lord.

“You are starving, yes?” the Lord of Bones asked. “You have little men, much disorder?”

Sadik nodded, slowly.

“I bring food. Medicine. I will—how you say—sodomize your forces.”

“Supplement,” Sadik said.

“Right, yes. What did I speak?”

“Nothing.” He stood for a moment, thinking. “You are being honest, so I will return the gesture—I need your assistance. Desperately. Anything you can provide, I will take.”

“Ah, yeah,” Amira said, “let’s just have some mud-eatin’ barbarians patrol the streets, watch over the people they’ve been itchin’ to rob. What could go wrong?”

“It’s either that,” Sadik said, “or anarchy. Riots, starvation. You know we won’t be able to control it. Not without help.”

Amira shook her head, displeased. Xaeyr scratched the fur on his cheek.

“What’s more,” Sadik continued, “the gods seem to be breaking out in war. They will retreat to the pantheon, for now. I can’t promise your people will be safe, but, with the Demokrats gone, you should be able to billet your forces on the surface.” He paused. “There are many empty homes.”

The Lord of Bones nodded, his face solemn. “Your enemies will be mine. Your streets a palace. I promise this.”

“You have already invaded,” Kavaia said. “You have the city burning in your hand.”

“Your own bloody gods set it alight,” Zaria replied, “not us.”

“Regardless,” the crocodile continued, “you have the upper hand. Why not press the advantage? Why not betray your alliance and take the bounty?”

The Lord of Bones reclined on his throne. Like before, his face grew contemplative. In the dim light, his eyes glowed beneath the jaws of a skinless beast.

He watched Kavaia. She stood tall, gazing back with saffron eyes. Sadik felt nearly a millennia of history collide with their stares. The ancient warrior, the modern tyrant. It did not seem as if much had changed.

The skeletons leered. The fire cracked and smoked.

“Zolzaya,” the Lord of Bones said. “What was the worth?”

Kavaia was caught off-guard. “Pardon?”

“Glimmer. The sand in your soul.” He leaned forward. “You cannot travel, yes?”

After a moment, she shook her head. “No. The Glimmer will destabilize.”

“And you must suckle this tree for more, yes? Your life depends on its ooze?”

“. . . I would use different words.”

“Yes, I am sure,” the Lord of Bones replied. “The bird does not like to know its cage.”

Kavaia frowned, shifting on her feet.

“So, tell me, Zolzaya.” He opened his palm, gesturing. “Do you miss your mount? The wind on your scales? The lands you could’ve seen?”

Kavaia did not answer.

“If you were young,” he continued, “as once you were, would you leave your tribe again?”

The air was filled with smoke. Outside, drums began to pound.

“No,” Kavaia said, softly.

“Then you know why I will not conquer,” the Lord of Bones said. “I will shelter from this storm, I will survive its wrath, and, once it is passed, I will find a new horizon. I will not lose myself within another.”

Kavaia looked at the carpets below. When Sadik placed a hand on her hip, she did not react. Her gaze was low and far.

The Lord of Bones rose from his throne—strong, swarthy, weathered by wind and sky. He stepped off the dais, walking between his two mercenary advisors. Bones rattled in his wake. Hands squirmed from the ceiling.

He stopped in front of Sadik. Kavaia tensed. Amira gave a soft, leopard hiss.

The Lord of Bones offered his hand, watching with glowing eyes. Around him, the skeletons kneeled in respect, rattling their bones and stretching their skin.

“Is there understanding?” he asked.

Sadik stared at the hand. His stomach twisted.

He would let a warlord into Acheron. He would allow this barbarian to settle upon the surface, taking the homes of the dead for shelter, while his refugees would be led into the sewers, adding to an already swollen mass of desperate souls. He would have to rely on his food, swallow his medicine, trust his archers and spearmen to patrol the streets.

It was a betrayal of everything he had stood for. His entire life’s work. How many battles had he fought? How many armies repelled? How many men had given their lives upon his command, hoping to defend the gifts of the ancestors?

Shrines and temples, weapons and Glimmer. Sadik thought of a bee hive, cracked and shattered, oozing its honey upon the sand. Wasted.

What was the point? It couldn’t have been for nothing. He had fought with honor. He had held his faith, through trial and doubt. He had abandoned his family, all those years ago.

It couldn’t have been for nothing.

His guts twisted. The world swam.

What would Hisana do?

Sadik shook his head, trying not to think of her. She was dead. Dead as Ilios, dead as the Luminous Path. A storm of blood had washed her away.

For a moment, he felt utterly alone. The ground fell. His world collapsed.

Kavaia stood by his side. Amira watched. Down below, Haakon and Yasmin would be waiting for his return, while thousands cried out for aid.

There was still something left. It was worth the cost.

He looked down at the Lord of Bones’ hand, swallowing his pride. Slowly, he shook the offered hand.

The Kesunae warlord returned the gesture. He had a firm grip and a steady gaze. If he had seen any of the doubt on Sadik’s face, he did not say anything.

“I only have one condition,” Sadik said.

The Lord of Bones grunted, waving a tuft of smoke from his face.

“Don’t track shit on the carpet.”

He blinked, confused.

“Baasyg büü mördöörei,” Isaac said.

The tall Kesunae laughed, his voice deep and boisterous. Around him, his skeletons bent over in hilarity, losing arms and flaps of skin as they rattled.

“You’re not funny, sir,” Amira said.

Sadik wiped some imaginary dust off his armor.

Kavaia leaned over his head, whispering. “Tell him to pull your finger.”

“Kivie!” Xaeyr shouted.

Both man and crocodile tried to look innocent. The Lord of Bones chuckled for a few moments longer, as if he had not had the pleasure for many days, then slowly grew serious again. His skeletons readjusted their skin.

“My men hold breach,” he said. “Many flames. Assistance?”

“Thank you, but no,” Sadik replied. “The Mezlat are trained to extinguish fires. They should have the blaze under control before morning.”

The Lord of Bones nodded. “What of the homes? What is for taking?”

“Well, I would prefer—”

An explosion shook the tent. Curtains swayed, the ground trembled. Some of the skeletons lost their bones inside the pouches of skin.

“What the fuck was that?” Amira asked.

A Kesunae archer poked his head through the tent flap. “Burkhad uurlaj baina!”

“What?” Sadik asked, growing uneasy. “What did he say?”

The Lord of Bones raised a brow. “You are attacking me.”

“. . . what?”

Another explosion came. This one was closer, the shockwave strong enough to stretch the cloth and hides of the tent.

“Sir,” Amira said, pushing herself on Xaeyr’s shoulder. “That can’t be ours. Right?”

Sadik glanced back at the Lord of Bones, who was watching with the same piercing gaze he had levelled before. Outside, drums began to echo throughout the camp, followed by the pounding of destrier hooves. A war horn rang through the night.

“There . . . may have been a miscommunication.” Sadik stepped toward the exit. “My apologies.”

“Yes,” the Lord of Bones said, gesturing him to leave. “Do not be more sorry, for our sake.”

Sadik ran for the entrance flap. The gods followed behind.

Outside, the night was full of color. There was the grand, blue edifice of the walls, smeared with fire and smoke. There were dozens of yellow lances firing from the top of the ramparts. Below, the sand was growing molten, twisting into raw fields of glass. Fires grew with frightening speed.

“It’s a warning salvo,” Sadik said. “A show of force. They—”

Kavaia pushed a Kesunae off his mount, grabbed Sadik by the waist, and hauled them both into the saddle. There was much shouting and confusion.

“Stop picking me up!”

She lashed the reins, and the destrier sprinted to life. Kavaia took the beast on a mad dash across the spire where the Lord of Bones had raised his tent, taking them down the rock at a frightening pace. Sadik hugged himself against the hard scales of her back.

In the distance, the sunspears were joined by a swarm of Mezlat, rising above the cerulean walls. As Kavaia raced through the tents and cookfires, the sky began to glow. There were many yellow stars, bristling with weapons, bleeding through the clouds of smoke. Hundreds upon hundreds.

“Faster!”

She lashed the reins again, earning a whinny and several angry quills. Above, Xaeyr was attempting to fly through the air with jets of water streaming from his palms—in practice, he was bouncing from tent to tent, barely stealing enough liquid to achieve each thrust. Amira seemed little more than a backpack against his fur.

A new light appeared in the sky. It was a fiery red, bright and bristling, with two pairs of violet wings flapping at the sides, like the dual wings of a butterfly. It was a person. Falcon. So modified that he could only be nobility. As he flapped through the sky, surrounded by drones and sunbeams, his feathers began to shift in color, growing from red to magenta.

Sadik recognized the man. He cursed beneath his breath.

“Attention!” Haakon roared, his voice louder than natural. “My name is Lord Haakon, Reader of Stars, Master of Medicine! I am the new Vizier! And you horse-fucking savages have earned my wrath!”

A new salvo erupted from the cerulean walls, aimed closer to the Kesunae camp. Kavaia was forced to dodge around women and children as they ran for safety. Above, the Mezlat spread through the sky, like a constellation of rage.

Haakon spread his four, glowing wings. “You have taken hostages! Both men and gods! You have five minutes—five minutes—to return them to me, safe and unharmed! If you send arrows in reply, I will strike them like flies! If you are late, I will teach you the meaning of regret! And if I see a single misplaced hair on their heads, I will burn your camp to glass!”

The Mezlat rained sunbeams on either side of the camp, timing their strikes with another salvo from the walls. Bombs exploded in the sky. The air was filled with noise and fire.

Sadik had always been on the other side of these displays. He had to admit—Haakon was looking very fearsome.

“Typical barbarians!” he shouted, his feathers glowing orange. “You have no concept of honor! No discipline, no decency! Oh, you consume what civilization has produced, but you will never create it yourselves! You will never know the virtue that brought such fruits into being! You pick your teeth with bones, you wear your foes as loincloths! When the ancestors return, you will be judged unworthy, and you will watch as we ascend to the stars, flying—”

“Haakon!” Sadik shouted. “Haakon!”

The falcon flinched. As he looked down from the sky, watching Kavaia race out from the edge of camp, his feathers shifted from orange to purple.

“Stand down, ya stupid cunt!” Amira shouted, falling with a jet of water.

For a moment, Haakon hesitated. Then, quickly, he changed his feathers to a glowing white, spreading his wings to the edge of their span. Behind him, the sunspears ceased their fire. The Mezlat continued to swarm above, like fireflies.

“Sadik!” Haakon yelled, quickly descending on his four wings. “Are you hurt? Injured?”

“I’m fine,” Sadik replied, leaning out from behind Kavaia. “The Lord of Bones was receiving me, as a guest.”

Haakon landed in the sand. He was a foot taller than before, his weight so impressive that it created low clouds of dust. “I thought they’d taken you. Stars above, the city’s on fire, the palace is infested. I thought—”

“We were negotiating,” Sadik said. “Quite successfully, as it happens.”

“You—” Haakon closed his beak. Slowly, he bristled the feathers on his chest. “You should’ve said something, you hairless monkey!”

“There wasn’t a chance—”

“Gods, I thought they were holding you prisoner! Eating you! I don’t know!” He flapped his wings. “Oh, it’s just like you to thrust your cock wherever the wind is blowing, isn’t it, Sadik? First the gods, now the barbarians! I expect you’ve already sired a lineage while my back was turned!”

“Haakon,” Sadik said. “I’m sorry for concerning you.”

The falcon gave a loud harrumph. “Yes, well. . . .” He took a sharp breath. “Are you alright?”

“I’m still alive.”

“Good. That was my concern, as you saw. I needed to be sure. If only you had told me before I embarrassed myself.” He turned. “Amira, have you—”

Haakon paused. For the first time, he seemed to take note of the ten-foot baboon standing in front of him.

“Hello,” Xaeyr said, waving a hand. “I’m here now.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Haakon said.

Kavaia cleared her throat, easing the reins on her destrier. “We should return to the Lord of Bones. Quickly.”

Sadik glanced behind him. Through the tents, he could see dozens of Kesunae rushing back and forth—straddling mounts, nocking arrows, forming into lines. There was much shouting.

“Yes,” he said, shifting Kavaia’s tail on his lap. “That might be—”

He paused. A sensation passed through him.

Something was wrong.

His skin was itching. More than that—it was moving. Crawling, flexing. The sensation grew from barely noticeable to ticklish, quickly becoming unpleasant. It felt like a hundred colonies of maggots had suddenly awoken across every part of his body. His skin began to twist.

“Sir?” Amira asked.

Her face was growing gaunt. The leopard fur was falling out in clumps, and the exposed skin was taking a sickly pallor, sagging against her cheeks. As Sadik watched, a lesion suddenly sprouted on her cheek, gushing a trail of blood.

Then, Sadik’s skin ripped open, torn apart like stretching paper. Blood gushed from dozens of sores, while blisters boiled across his chest and limbs, painful to the touch.

“Aldunya’s wrath!” Haakon shouted.

Xaeyr lost much of his fur. Kavaia shed her scales and chines upon the sand, trying to catch them as they fell. Even Haakon, flamboyant and proud, saw his feathers spill from his wings, losing their colored light as they blew in the wind. Everyone gasped and squirmed. By the time the Kesunae arrived, they were reeling in pain.

Sadik had watched Rushan strangle the goddess of armors. Now, the Neheamatt was inflicting a curse, as a punishment to all.

The answer was lesions. Blisters and boils.

Sadik felt his skin begin to waste away. Most of his body was covered in weeping sores, and whatever was left was beginning to grow thin and pale, leaving him chilled in the cold, desert night. He felt like a gentle push would leave him horribly bruised. He did not wish to know how easily a sword would cleave through his flesh.

A bright light flashed in the sky. Thunder rolled across the sand.

Above the city of Acheron, over the crest of the high cerulean walls, clouds were beginning to form. They drank the smoke from the fires, blotting out the stars, rolling and folding upon themselves, stretching out until the entire city was covered within their length. A belly of red loomed above all.

The blood storm.

Lightning flashed. Rain oozed from the sky, falling in drops and splatters. Quickly, the fires burning at the walls were slapped down into smoldering flames, wilting like bushes before a storm. The city was slathered in red. Soon, the air was filled with thunder.

The god of the sun was dead. First Ilios, now Gidros. It had been nice to see the sky, for a time.

The Kesunae halted their charge. Many stared in wonder. Before long, the Lord of Bones pushed his way to the front of the line, his entourage of skeletons stumbling behind him. A trickle of fear broke through his face.

“Welcome to Acheron,” Sadik said, blood pouring from his face.

The ground began to shake. Sadik and his men struggled to maintain their balance, fighting the weakness of their flesh. He couldn’t tell exactly where the earthquake was coming from, but, wherever it was, it was strong. More importantly, it was growing stronger. Coming in waves, like the beating of a terrible heart.

The gods were now at war. Many had already died, and many more were likely to perish in the coming days. If that happened, the Neheamatt would unleash her fury upon Acheron, the likes of which had not been seen in centuries. The Metal Plague would seem tame in comparison.

The ground shook harder. Somewhere in the distance, he heard rumbling, distinct from the claps of thunder. It sounded like the very earth was breaking in twain.

Nothing was ever easy, Sadik thought.

He gazed above the storm of blood, taking in the grandeur of the Neheamatt’s trunk. Her bark swirled and glowed. She rose so high into the heavens that her branches seemed to kiss the stars.

Once, long ago, he had been a boy, standing exactly where he was now. The sight of the tree had filled him with awe. Now. . . .

Rushan was fighting against Aldunya. Everything he had done, all the misery he had caused—the plots, the schemes, the revolution, the murders of gods and mortals—all of it, he had done in the name of rebellion. There must be some purpose there. Something Sadik did not know. Rushan would not have risked his life to save the city, if he was only serving himself.

The jackal had discovered something about the tree. It had made him furious beyond words. It had led him to destroy the city he had protected for centuries, no matter the cost to anyone in his path.

Why?

Sadik raised Dusksong to his side. The sword may have been falling apart, but, for now, the runes were still shining, and the blade was still sharp. Despite the lesions on his skin, Sadik’s grip did not falter.

He glared up at the colossal tree, feeling his rage and sorrow twisting into a new purpose.

Something was rotten in heaven. Come light or death, Sadik intended to find out exactly what it was.