Theon came to a set of doors at the end of the open corridor. The frosted windowpanes prevented anyone from peeking inside, but Theon had sat in the level below many times, watching Ronin lean on the railing overlooking the compound.
His friend had been appearing more exasperated lately, despite his immortality.
Theon let out a long breath, mentally preparing himself for the conversation that he was going into.
A few days ago, he’d requested that Ronin and Naia give him the okay to go investigate Soren, unable to ignore the nagging in his gut. There were too many unanswered questions.
Who was the witch that created the monsters Soren had disguised? Why were they working together? And why the fuck did they want Ash?
Theon wouldn’t sit around and wait for Soren to attack again. They needed to be preemptive this time.
That was how his brother had slid through—with planning, and with his illusions.
Soren rarely ever made a true appearance. It was a part of his image, always using his Trickery and Mischief to make his foes question everything. He got off on mind-fucking those around him.
The perpetual annoyance from Theon’s childhood clawed back up, recollecting all the times he fell for Soren’s deceit.
With Marina as Ash’s protector, Theon knew the child would be safe. The High Goddess had proven herself trustworthy by dying for Ash. Blood for blood. Though he still couldn’t stand her, she was a frightening goddess that would rip anything to ribbons that so much as threatened Ash.
It was time for him to leave Hollow City and take care of his brother.
The question was, would Ronin and Naia agree to it? If they didn’t, what would Theon do then?
He ran a hand over his mask, assuring himself it was still intact—an old habit he’d adopted in his early years, due to the strict rules of the Morte clan.
With another long inhale, he entered Ronin’s office.
The distressed brick was decorated in old pieces of artwork left behind by Finnian. It was a way to preserve the memory of Naia’s brother, when everyone assumed he would remain locked away in the Land of the Dead.
Much of the compound still held his touches—the oak bookshelves on the third floor stocked with grimoires, the conservatory filled with cultivated, high-maintenance plants and herbs, and the random occult knickknacks: animal skulls, crystals, twigs tied with twine into runic shapes.
One hung behind Ronin’s desk on the wall, directly over his head, formed from thin willow limbs. Finnian had said that it was a totem for strong intuition, something he himself used during his time as the city’s leader.
Ronin sat on the leather furniture at the side of the room, munching on a rice ball and downing a can of coffee, old habits he’d brought into his eternal life.
Only, he wasn’t alone.
Sitting across from him was Solaris, the High God of Fire.
Theon’s jaw flexed at the sight of him.
It wasn’t that the High God’s presence was anything new. He regularly made appearances in Hollow City, never letting himself become irrelevant.
After his redemption on Nohealani Island, Naia welcomed him. Ronin treated him with respect, but it took years for him to actually acknowledge the High God. Theon assumed it would have bit at Solaris’s patience, but it never did. He was oblivious to Ronin’s reservations, continuing to chat away as if Ronin cared about what he had to say.
Five years later, Solaris was a close friend to the Blood Heretics.
Theon, however, was still skeptical—as he was with all deities. A breach of trust was near-permanent in his eyes.
Or maybe it was seeing Solaris, another god, swarmed and honored by members of the Blood Heretics that scraped at his nerves in ways he didn’t want to delve into.
The idea of holding even a modicum of jealousy was so childish that it made him want to vomit.
Ronin and Solaris both stood in greeting.
“Theon, right?” Solaris stretched out an arm to offer a handshake.
Theon responded with an unfriendly look. As if the motherfucker didn’t know his name in the five years he’d been hanging around. The High God showed up for a visit every other month, but when they were under attack and his presence could’ve been useful, he was nowhere to be found.
