Page 174 of The Gods Order

Riven’s fingers linger over each one we pass. He’ll never admit it, but the countless statues spread across the entire home are what led him to learn how to make them himself.

Aside from us…those were his friends.

Between the carvings, glass displays hold artifacts collected over thousands of years. Weapons, paintings, pieces of history presented like trophies. Amick would love nothing more than to finally free them and learn their truths.

Our father couldn’t care less about this shit. He just enjoys reminding visitors exactly how insignificant they are compared to him.

It’s fucking ridiculous.

The familiar scent of cedar, old parchment, and ash settles into my lungs the farther into the wing we go.

It hasn’t changed.

Twenty years, and it still smells exactly the same.

My fingers curl.

The corridor ahead bends gently to the left before disappearing from sight. Doren never hesitates. His attention remains somewhere beyond the walls themselves, following a trail only he can fucking see.

Each step he makes, he makes with complete certainty.

He listens for the scrape of boots that echoes through the halls. His head turns when conversations drift our way, although the words are too distant to make out. I do trust his judgment, but instinctively, I measure in my own mind how long it would take me to reach the front of our line to stop someone before they reached him or anyone else.

He’s got it. He’s also got Sevryn, Barir, and Prath at his back.

All of whom are more than capable of killing quickly.

We round another corner, and my footsteps slow as my soul thrashes in my chest. An enormous tapestry hangs proudly right there for all to see.

It’s me, standing prominently with my swords strapped to my back. They look too fucking big for me.

They were too big for me.

No seven-year-old should’ve been handed that kind of weapon.

I look away too late. The memories and screams arrive anyway, and my hand tightens around the handle of my sword.

I remember how my arms shook the first time I held them. They were too damn heavy, but I wasn’t going to say shit about that.

I smiled. Said thank you.

I remember how hard it was to lift just one over my head and bring it down. It sliced through flesh like butter.

They still do.

Keep walking. Don’t think. Don’t remember.

Ahead, Doren stops in his tracks and raises his fist in the air. Every muscle in my body locks, but I force myself to take even, steady breaths.

The measured footsteps grow closer and louder. Each of us takes a step to the side, trying to get as close to the fucking infuriating decorations that block the wall.

A Dark God adorned in black armor rounds the corner with one hand resting lazily atop the pommel of his sword. It isn’t a shock to see him, but our father only ever allowed his most trusted and well-trained minions to walk the halls of his home. I haven’t a clue who the fuck this one is, and he doesn’t spare so much of a glance toward us as he continues his patrol.

Ten strides. Nine. Eight.

My pulse slows instead of quickening when his march slows.

He listens and waits. I know for a fact he hasn’t seen us, but something caught his attention. His head turns ever so slightly, brow furrowing as his gaze drifts across the marble floor.