I'm not making myself small.
For the first time in my life, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be—standing next to a mad god in the ruins of everything I used to be, and I'm not even a little bit afraid.
That's probably the most unhinged thing of all.
The city is too quiet.
I'm at the window of my study, watching the streets below. Discord territory. My territory. Safe. The fires from last week are out, the bodies buried, the Concord held—barely—and everyone's pretending things are normal.
That's the problem.
Things aren't—the thread count is wrong. Too many lies layered over lies layered over—
My hand tightens on the window frame. The wood groans.
Iowyn shifts in the next room.
Everything stops. The rustle of sheets. Her breathing pattern changing. Soft sound, could be a word, could be nothing. Is she awake? Is she—
No. Settling back. Asleep still.
I breathe.
She's here. That's what matters. She's here and I know exactly where she is and I could walk in there right now—
The city. Focus.
I let go of the frame before it splinters. Too quiet. That's what's wrong. Not the thread count—the silence. The moment before something breaks.
Faith is gone. Dissolved. I killed their god and Iowyn told them what they were—nothing. That should feel like something. It doesn't.
Coin recovered too fast. Someone's feeding them resources. I can see the flow patterns even if I can't trace the source yet. Faith took the fall and Coin just—walked away. Like they weren't part of it. Like funding a massacre doesn't count.
The whole system runs on consequence. You break, you bleed. You reach too far, the world slaps you back. That's the deal. That's the only thing keeping gods from—
But someone has to deliver the ending. Someone has to be the teeth.
There used to be someone.
Death walked away. Centuries ago. I've always known—he muted himself during the war, buried what he was under something that reads mortal. Maybe distant divine blood if you squint. Enough to explain why he won't die easy. Not enough to flag as a threat.
Everyone thinks he's gone. They're wrong. They're always wrong about the things that matter.
He just. Left.
I respected that. I did. The world was functioning. Broken cycle, but holding. Let the dead stay dead. Let the Titan who chose peace—
But they won't stop.
I'm gripping the desk now. When did I cross the room.
Caius is already moving troops. He feels it too—I can see it in his thread patterns. The alliance we built isn't the end of something. It's preparation.
This war. The one we just barely survived. It's not over.
I can feel it in the threads. The ripples spreading out from what happened, touching everything, pulling at fault lines that have been building for centuries. Faith was just the first crack. Whatever's coming—
Iowyn makes a sound. Small. Quiet. Sleep-sound.
