“You are sure about this, Hero?” asked Pevarin, frowning at him. The man’s real name was Tysendiel Terathon, former Lord of Morning of Kwinelyn, Protector of the Crystal Grove. That was a bit of a mouthful, and Tysendiel felt too personal. It was weird calling someone Exiled One, even if it was in a different language, but he felt more comfortable using that.

“Yeah. Yeah no, I’m sure,” he said, decidedly unsure. “I’ve gotta do this. Gotta get it out of the way. Maybe he’ll even tell me about his brother,” he said half-jokingly. He realized something then, feeling absently at the brand on his chest. “You knew it was the Sly One this entire time, didn’t you? Why did you say nothing? Did he brand the Emperor like he did me?”

Pevarin was silent as he considered his words, then spoke, “I will not tell you more than is necessary. The God of Shadows draws power from those knowledgeable of his existence. Even speaking his name aloud grants him strength. We, as well as the humans, have done much to make sure as few know of him as possible. Unfortunately, this has also lowered our ability to fight him as the information fades to little more than secondhand accounts. I know of none living who have consorted with the Sly One save the Emperor himself.”

“I see. So we know the god is dangerous, but not how or why?” He thought for a moment, then remembered about his dreams. He told Pevarin of them, describing both but leaving out the part where he confronted his father. That was something he wasn’t ready to admit, and he wasn’t sure he ever could.

“I recall the Emperor having similar dreams,” said Pevarin, gazing off into the unknown, “they never were more than that. Dreams to disturb his rest and sow seeds of doubt within.” The elf returned his gaze to Zach’s face, studying him, “Unless he was keeping details from me.”

Zach tried not to shiver, “There are parts I did not tell you,” he admitted, “but not because I think they’re important. I’m just...not comfortable telling you about them. Whatever it was showed me dark parts of my past. That’s all.”

The elf nodded in understanding for once, and he let it lie. Gloomfire was there with them, arms folded impatiently, standing in the tranquil ankle-deep water. It had been explained to him that the only way to speak with Jisaiyer would be to travel to the realm of the gods, which wasn’t possible at present for a variety of reasons they had refused to explain, or to summon him. Summoning him would require an offering, and they had gathered the hides of numerous Shadowstalkers and other fiends of the Dawn-Shatterer as tribute.

“So,” said Zach, breaking the silence that had stretched as they stood waiting, “is he coming to us? I guess that’s what summoning does, but like...I dunno, what are we looking for?”

“Neither I nor Rykaren has ever conferred with the king of Gods,” said Pevarin, “very few have. Certainly, no elf has ever had reason to do so. It is a thing of men to believe themselves worthy of standing in their presence.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of backhanded insult?”

“No, just the truth. In any case, I am certain as the Hero of Peratha you would command enough interest that Jisaiyer would not be cross simply for the chance to speak with you. In any case, there is little use in wondering. If he wished, we would all die before we could even register his presence.”

“Oh, joy,” he said, yawning and stretching, closing his eyes for a moment. He could not wait to lay down on an elven bed. Though he didn’t know what it might be composed of, he assumed that it would be quite comfortable. Elves had long spines, so it was safe to assume that back care was important for them. He opened his eyes again, looking around. Everything was still there. He was still in the little pond behind where the trial had taken place. The weird ass herons still stalked through the water, Pevarin and Gloomfire were still there. Zach had tried to give the god a way in since they usually liked flashy entrances, but just nothing.

“All right, Zach, smile for me,” said his father, holding up his smartphone. God, he hated taking pictures, but it would make his dad happy, so he did it. He jumped in place and spun, folded his arms, and leaned back, grinning wide. His dad stood, frowning and cursing under his breath.

Zach held the smile, his cheeks stabbing him with pain, “Got it yet?” he said, only using the back of his throat to speak.

“I think so. How do you tell? These damn things just don’t work,” his father said, frowning before giving the phone a small bop.

“Dad, don’t hit the phone,” he sighed, walking over, “you’ll break it.”

“I think the Wee-fee's busted again,” he said, entirely seriously as he let Zach take the phone.

“What the hell is a Wee-fee, dad?”

“You know, the Wee-fee. The little signal symbol. The internet.”

“Dad, it’s Wi-Fi,” said Zach, shaking his head as he smiled. He looked at the phone, flicking the screen to pull down the quick bar. Just as he suspected, his father had managed to turn off the Wi-Fi on his phone. “OK, so look dad,” his father leaned over at his command, peering with squinted eyes at the screen.

“You see this icon?”

“Uh-huh”

“So when your connection isn’t working—when you can’t access anything on the internet,” he said, checking to see his father nodding as if he understood everything perfectly, “you just check and make sure this icon is lit up. If it’s gray, then your phone isn’t searching for any networks. If it’s not searching for any, it can’t connect to them. If it can’t connect, then you’re going to be using your data instead.”

“Oooh,” his dad said, “that’s no good.”

“Yeah, so—what the—Dad, why do you have your phone on airplane mode?”

“I didn’t do that.”

“Well, who did then? Casper?”

“I don’t know son, but I sure as hell didn’t.”

“Alright alright,” he grumbled. “Just make sure it’s not on airplane mode either. That turns off everything—data too.”

“Oh, then keep it on. I don’t want to use my data.”

“Then people can’t call you. And you won’t receive texts.”

His father threw his hands up, “I just don’t get this computer stuff.”

“It’s not even a computer, dad,” Well, that wasn’t strictly true, with how powerful smartphones had become, “besides, it’s all simple. It’s not like I came out of the womb knowing how to do all this stuff. Just time and practice.”

“Bah, don’t be modest son, you’ve just always been good with the techy stuff.”

He sighed but smiled. It wasn’t that. It’s not like he just magically knew how to use everything. He struggled just like everyone else. He simply knew how to learn, and was willing. But explaining all of that was too difficult, so he kowtowed and said, “Yeah, I’m pretty good, ain’t I?”

“Not as good as me,” his dad grinned, and he focused for a moment on the phone again, then turned it to show Zach. “Now I just hit send, right?” He was in the messaging interface, trying to send the picture to his mother and siblings.

“Yeah, like-”

He was in a box, unable to move. It was wooden, and just long enough for his body. He coughed, dust getting in his eyes. His breathing was ragged, tight as he struggled to pull in air. Where was he? What was going on? He remembered...he remembered dying.

“Help!” he shouted, trying to move his arm around to pound the roof above, though he knew it was futile. “Someone, please!” He didn’t want this. He hadn’t. He had just..he had just wanted to be free.

Zach strolled down the sidewalk, his girlfriend’s hand in his. It was a nice night out, the neon lights lighting their way. He toyed with the ring in his pocket absently, thinking of when he should ask her.

“Zach?” she said, coming around to face him. She seemed worried, reaching up a hand to feel his head, “Are you OK? I’ve been trying to get your attention for the whole last minute.”

“Huh?” he asked, taking her hand off of his head gently, kissing it for a moment. “Yeah, I’m good. I was just thinking. I think.”

“You...think you were thinking?” she asked, frowning. “That’s a new one, even for you.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, shaking his head. What had he been thinking about? He swore he could remember, but everything was foggy. He put a hand to his head, stumbling for a moment. Stephanie tugged hard on his hand, keeping him upright.

“OK, we are going home right now. I almost want to take you to the ER. I will, if you keep acting like this.”

“No!” he shouted in panic. “Not yet. I-” Damn it.

She eyed him suspiciously, excitement dancing in her eyes, “Why not yet? You’ve been weird like, all week. What’s going on? Do you have something you want to tell me?”

How did women just know? He sucked his teeth, defeated, and pulled out the box. She put both her hands to her mouth, and his heart started racing as if he had run at a dead sprint for a mile.

“I wanted it to be more of a surprise, but I guess you read me pretty hard,” he said, blushing. His hands trembled slightly as he moved to open the box, but he steeled himself, taking a deep breath and opening it. Inside, however, was not the ring, but himself, gasping and choking for air inside of a small wooden coffin. He recoiled, dropping the box as it had burnt him, but as soon as it made contact with the ground, his world heaved, and he was sent flying upside down. He screamed for Stephanie, but she didn’t answer, and he doubted she could hear, the sound of the wind was so loud.

Then he was back.

He felt a strange sense of vertigo, though his head did not spin nor did the world around him move. It was deeper than a physical affliction, far deeper. Someone else stood atop the pond, feet resting atop the water instead of in it. It had the head of a lion, though its eyes were as sharp as any man’s, a deep gray. Each arm bore a long serpent, ending with the creature consuming the sun on one arm, the moon on the other. At least, at first, it seemed that way, but every second that passed they seemed to distort and flicker, the moon and sun exchanging places. He wore a modest tunic of white and black, his legs human and well muscled, covered in fine black silk. He had bear paws for feet however and held a long iron staff that gleamed with a black finish.

I have already spoken with the dragon,” said Jisaiyer, his voice deep and his cadence slow, “he was predictable, though interesting enough. I am much more interested in you, young Zachary.” The god turned and began to walk, waving a hand at him absently, “Come, young one. Walk with me.”

Zach wasn’t sure he wanted to go anywhere with the beast after what he had just been through, but he supposed this was what he asked for. He jogged to catch up to the god, and he found himself jogging on an open road in the countryside somewhere with rolling green hills, the path paved with rough stone and fenced in by wooden posts. The god lay ahead, waiting at a fork in the roads.

“Cute,” he said, panting slightly as he neared him, “God of Paths, fork in the road. What’s down the right?” he asked, nodding towards it, “Pure happiness? Love everlasting?”

“Would you like to see?” it asked, voice rumbling in the spring air.

“Sure, I guess,” he said, not quite feeling as if he had a choice.

As if the god has read his mind, it slammed its staff into the ground, two branches sprouting from it and digging into the ground. They rose from the dirt by both of the roads, each bearing a sign, though nothing was written.

“The interesting thing about choices is that many believe if they knew what would happen afterward, they would perhaps have done things differently. Before I answer your many questions, each leading to their own paths, I would ask that you partake in a very simple experiment, young Hero.” he said, and each sign suddenly blazed with bold words. One read “Ask for help.” and the other read, “Resolve it alone.”

“I would ask you to confront choices you have made before, now knowing the consequences.”

This was some sort of test to determine his worthiness. That much was obvious. Was he supposed to choose the exact same as he had before, thereby proving that he was happy with who he was as a person? Or the opposite, to prove how he had learned? Both were possible, but both were flawed and fraught with counterarguments. He had no choice but to simply play it true.

“Alright, fine,” he said curtly, “I see the signs, but what’s the choice about?”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He stood in front of a door, an old, familiar door. A light was on, the yellow light leaking out from under. The knob was in front of his face, for he stood at equal height. In his hands he clutched his blanket and teddy bear tightly, and he looked down, realizing he wore his old pajamas from his childhood. It became apparent where he was, and what choice this was now. He heard his parents fighting behind the door, and knew what his father would do. He could stop it, this time. This time, he would.

He dashed off to the kitchen, trying to find a phone. It hung on the wall, just out of reach, and he threw aside his belongings to drag a chair over, weak arms straining, and climbed atop it, reaching for the phone. Dialing 911, he sat and waited, praying for them to pick up. Finally, someone did, and he spoke eloquently, though his voice was high-pitched and easily discernible as a child’s, “Hello? Yes, my name is Zachary Ali and I live at 8570 Arrowhead Road. My father is beating my mother, please, you have to hurry!”

“Well done, Zachary. Your mother is saved now. Would you like to see what happens next?”

He was about to tell the god off and throw the phone, but the chair disappeared from underneath him, and he fell into a car seat, suddenly buckled and strapped in. His mother was in the driver’s seat, a lit cigarette in her hands. She started the car and drove off, then turned to look back at him, but now it was Jisaiyer’s face, not his mother’s that looked at him.

“Look out the window, Zachary.”

He obeyed, though he was certain he would dislike what he saw. But he didn’t. It was his life, flashing before him. It was...wonderful. Free of the burden he carried from his mother living her life as a battered woman, he grew up as he knew he should, excelling in everything, and eventually, he graduated from an ivy league school with a degree in Computer Science, with honors. He landed a job at a large tech company and eventually left to join a start-up venture. With his help, it became wildly successful, and he eventually sold his share to retire early, as a multi-millionaire. He married a beautiful woman, had children—the whole nine yards. Something strange occurred, though, for he saw himself standing in front of the door again, no, it was a different door, that much was certain, and-

“No,” he whispered in horror, wishing he could gouge his eyes out rather than witness what lay before him. “God, don’t let this be true.”

“Your life was easy, and you were talented, smart, handsome. You never struggled, not past those first years, and you grew confident, arrogant. You believed yourself right, that your word was law because of how successful you were. You only did what you knew how to do. Make those beneath you understand their place.”

“No!” he shouted, slamming a fist against the window, “I-I would never. Never!”

“Yes, the you that sits here now,” the god agreed, “but you are not the man that made that choice. Even as a child, you were different. Have you noticed nothing else?”

He reviewed this life again, wondering what he could mean, then he realized, “My..my siblings. They don’t exist.”

“Naturally. Your mother and father divorced and never reunited. You were an only child, as your mother never sought another man, too scarred and broken from the experience. Instead, she clung to you, her little hero.”

What? That was impossible. His mother had always been such a strong woman. Been strong because...of what she had been forced to endure. In this life, she had never had the chance to show her true strength. Had never needed to.

“So what’s your point?” he asked bitterly, “That I was wrong to save her? That letting him continue to-to hit her, that was the right thing? The decision I was always destined to make?”

“No,” said Jisaiyer simply, “but you have not seen the end yet.”

What end? He continued watching. Beyond that, his children grew up well, taken care of. Surprisingly, despite his temper, he was a great father. They never wanted for anything, loved him, and were successful as well. His wife never divorced him, despite his transgressions, and they grew old together, and he died surrounded by his loved ones. His funeral was not lacking for attendees.

“I don’t...I don’t understand,” he said, back again on the fork in the road, the signs devoid of writing, “I was a terrible person. I repeated my father’s sins. Why did my life go so well?”

“You were a charismatic person, successful, a joy to be around. You resolved things with your wife, apologizing, though deep down she never forgave you for what you did. She still loved you, however, a complicated thing, and chose to remain with you, especially after seeing how you treated your children. At your core, that is who you are. The choices you make forge the path, but the person who walks it is still the same. It balances out in the end.”

“But you said I’m a different person than-than,” he said, sputtering, “that monster. I am different. I would never do that to the one I loved. And I wouldn’t treat people the way he did,” thinking of how he had fooled his co-founders into taking fewer shares and eventually diluting theirs. It was smart, and good for him, but a terrible thing for a friend to do. Speaking of, he realized that despite those that had attended his funeral, none had ever really been close to him. In fact, he had no person in his life he could truly call a friend. He simply never had the time for them. He had always been too busy with work, his wife or his children. There wasn’t room for anything else. What of the friends he had helped through extreme mental crises? What about them?

“How many more times are you going to make me do this?” he asked quietly. He had assumed it would be less...draining.

“I have seen enough to know what kind of man you are, Zachary. I will present to you now choices you have made of a smaller scale. Ones you may have wondered about yourself. If you feel that you are done, simply say so, and we shall return and discuss this covenant you wish to make, as well as other things.”

He nodded his head, taking a steadying breath, and the signs blazed once again. It read, “Practice” or “Play for fun”. He was standing on a basketball court, wearing a shirt and shorts, a ball in his hands. It was late, about the time he would normally be heading home.

“Really?” he asked, his voice echoing slightly into the night, “After that, this? Well, whatever,” he said, raising up to shoot, the ball clanking off of the rim. Cursing, he gathered the rebound and dribbled around for a bit, practicing. Just like that, every day, he actually practiced this time, putting aside his gaming, and focusing hard. He was good, unsurprisingly, as good as he thought he might eventually be. He got into D1 College Basketball on a scholarship, though he never went far past that due to his size and genetics, and instead used the opportunity to get a degree free of debt. Beyond that, everything went fairly normally, not much different than the other path he had walked down.

It went like that for some time, almost fun in a way. His greatest “What-Ifs” were answered, bringing him a sort of closure. In the end, though, he did feel somewhat unsatisfied. It wasn’t much beyond confirming what he already knew. If he put his mind to something, he could excel at it. He just had to try.

“Alright, yeah, that’s it. I’m good.” he said, clapping his hands. They returned to the pond, which was more like blinking with his eyes opening. Incredibly disorienting for the mind, really. Gloomfire was there, waiting, though Pevarin seemed frozen in time.

“Speak the nature of the promise you wish to make,” said the king of gods.

“Should-should I say it, or you?” he asked, turning his head to Gloomfire.

“It matters not.”

“Well, like, if you want to do it...” he said, trying to be polite.

“Must I repeat myself in everything with you, Hero?”

“Alright, fine. Sorry,” he cleared his throat, trying his best to sound authoritative and solemn. It was just that kind of atmosphere. Maybe he should use words like “prithee” and “dost”. “I, Zachary Ali, and the dragon Rykaren Es’Rundar wish to forge an Arcane Covenant. I pledge to do battle with-” he faltered, about to say “him”, but that didn’t feel quite right, “the Dread-Flame of Peratha,” there, that flowed better. Sounded more esoteric, and that had to be good, right? “if he swears to aid me in purging the land of Kwinelyn of the corruption it suffers.” He stopped, feeling satisfied.

“Well, I didn’t need all of that,” said Jisaiyer dryly, “but very well. Rykaren Es’Rundar, do you understand the gravity of this pact? I will bind your soul to the man, Zachary Ali, and should either of you renege upon the Covenant, it will take your lives.” Um, huh?

“Whoa whoa whoa,” said Zach, putting a hand up, “what do you mean, ‘lives’? If he fucks up, I’m dead too?”

“Yes,” the god replied simply.

“Oh man,” he said, looking at Gloomfire, who waited impatiently.

“I will not break the Covenant, Hero. I value my life above all others.”

Well, that was true. “OK,” he said hesitantly, “I feel like this is a hard grief, but whatever,” he mumbled to himself.

“Yes, I understand,” said Gloomfire, his voice wiped free of any irritation.

“As your companion has stated, you are bound then to purge the land of Kwinelyn of its corruption. He is bound to duel you at your discretion afterward.”

His discretion? Zach did not like the sound of that.

“I understand the oath I am to take, and do pledge, on pain of death, to fulfill it.”

The god turned to Zach, “as the forger of the Covenant, your pledge is implicit. Prepare yourself, young Zachary.”

“Prepare for-”

Everything slammed into him, bringing him to his knees. This had to be what it was like to fall within the event horizon of a black hole, chilled fully by the freezing vacuum of space while being vaporized by the radiation of it, all while being pulled apart atom by atom into one long strand of particles. Zach grit his teeth, fighting back though it was little more than grunts of pain as his body simply would not rise. As suddenly as it had arrived, it passed, and he was grateful at least to see that Gloomfire was panting, sweating with his teeth chattering just as he was. He didn’t feel any different than before, but he supposed he had too high of expectations.

“It is done,” said Jisaiyer, “with I, the sole witness. Do you require any other service of me?”

“No,” said Zach, looking questioningly at Gloomfire, and the dragon shook his head, “but I do have some questions I would like to ask you, my...Lord Jisaiyer?” he said, unsure how to address the god formally.

“We think alike then, young Hero. I have knowledge I must impart to you before we bid farewell.”

“The Sly One,” he said, and Jisaiyer’s lion face snarled reflexively, “they speak of him as he is the most dangerous thing in this world. I know they mentioned that knowledge of him only increases his power, but I have to know. He is the one controlling all of this, after all.”

“The Dawn-Shatterer was a primordial evil, one that we struggled against since creation, yet its defeat was predicated by the Sly One. He orchestrated its downfall, without any of us realizing what was happening. In your world, the gods with the greatest strength rule over the others, yes?”

He must mean gods like Zeus, Odin, Amun-Ra, Izanami, and Izanagi. They were the most powerful, so naturally, they ruled over the others. It was common sense, not really anything groundbreaking. “Yeah? Wait, how do you even know about them?”

“Our worlds are intricately linked. Your gods are not real, however. Invented by men who sought to explain the way things were. Here, power is measured by more than just strength. I preside over the pantheon for my wisdom, for my ability to see where all decisions might lead.”

“If that’s true,” he said slowly, understanding but still skeptical, “then how is your brother running free, doing whatever he pleases? How can he be dangerous when you can see his every move?”

“Ah, but there lies the issue,” he said, frustration clear in his deep rumbling, “his power is that to obscure my vision. I cannot see the paths he walks, nor can I see more than what he allows me of those he involves himself with.”

Ah, a hard counter. He felt for the god.

“My brother’s foremost powers are his intelligence and his manipulation of things. His is the ability to obscure everything to all but himself. Such strength is inestimable. It brought down the most powerful being this world has ever seen. And the fall of the Dawn-Shatterer was only one piece of his machinations. He will not rest until the entire pantheon is dead, the world his to control as he sees fit.”

“Why didn’t you kill him, then? Is he sealed somewhere? Banished? Why are you letting him walk free?”

“One of my greatest failures,” the god said, his voice soft and forlorn for once, “I was too weak. Tell me, Hero. You have a younger brother, yes?” Zach nodded, understanding where he was going. Killing his brother, no matter what he did, would cause him hesitation. He couldn’t just throw away the memories of helping raise him, of seeing him grow, changing his diapers, watching over him. That was a hard thing indeed.

“Then you can understand. I hesitated, and he escaped from the realm of gods. He walks the realm of men now. Who he is, we can only guess. He could be anyone, anything. You may have already encountered him without ever knowing it.”

That was...unsettling. More unsettling was the fact that even a god would not be able to discern if it was the Sly One right in front of him. Suddenly he was very suspicious of the dragon standing beside him, but he realized with a sigh of relief that he was currently holding the dragon’s power, and that wasn’t possible if the Sly One really was so dangerous. Unless he was letting him.

“So his plan is just to get back at you guys for chasing him away? How does he plan to do that?” asked Zach.

“We can only guess,” said Jisaiyer, “but it is clear as to what he needs in order to do so. You and the man they call the Emperor are vital to his plans. How, I cannot be sure, but it is undeniable. He manipulates this prophecy to his whim and will move you two in accordance with his designs.”

He was worried about his safety asking this next question, but he asked it anyways, “So then, why haven’t you simply killed the Emperor and I?”

“There are limits to what gods may do without manifesting themselves physically upon earth, and that would mean leaving our realm,” said Jisaiyer.

He frowned, not understanding why they would impose such a limit on themselves, but the god did not seem to want to explain the point any further, and he felt that he would not be in his good graces if he asked. “I’m in your realm right now, though, but you don’t seem ready to dispose of me. Why?”

“Are you so eager to leave your mortal coil?” hissed Gloomfire, “you forget my life is bound to yours now. Cease this line of questioning.”

“I have no intention of killing the Hero, Rykaren. You may relax. It would be a simple solution, but only a temporary remedy. How many must we kill before he abandons this strategy? What if that is what he wants us to do? Besides, the Emperor has not made himself vulnerable, and even if he did, he would be difficult for even the gods to defeat, as things stand.”

What? There was no way the Emperor could be that powerful. Then he remembered the way even Gloomfire spoke of him, the respect and almost reverence of his power. The rabbit hole just kept getting deeper.

“As long as you are alive, you are a link to him. A weakness we can use to exploit him. Even better if you decide to aid us. I have seen enough of your character to decide that, for now, you are more help than harm.”

The way he worded that was explicitly implicit. He had no illusions about what would happen once the god decided the opposite was true.

“All right. I guess that’s most of what I wanted to say,” that wasn’t quite true, for he wanted a full guide on what the hell he was supposed to do, but he doubted he would get one. “All I want to ask is, I guess...um, shit, I have two questions. Is that OK?”

“Our time together runs low, so ask quickly, Hero.”

Well, there goes that. “OK, what other powers do I have? Can you bring them out? I just want to know what I can do.”

‘You have no latent powers, Hero. All that you have is awake and working. I suppose you are referring to the acquisition of your magic?” He nodded, and the god said, “Do you remember the two magi whom you slew?”

He did, though it was not a happy memory, “Yeah, what are you-” it struck him then. “That’s my power?” He had to admit, it made sense. He had always stood on the shoulders of giants. So, he just had to kill something to get its power? Or could he do it without killing them? He hoped so.

“It is,” the god nodded. “Though you must let the Sly One direct you to make use of it.”

That made sense, unfortunately. That power had not been his to control, though he had resisted it. “I assume then that there is some sort of price to giving him access?”

“I cannot say, though it would be like my brother to do so. All I can tell you for certain is that the Emperor, the man he has become...he was not always that way. As he grew in power, however, his personality changed. He became more paranoid, more merciless. If his power is similar, and the conditions to use them, then I would be wary of the same occurring to you.”

“Got it,” he said, wishing things didn’t have to be so complicated. “Last question—am I on the right path?”

The god gave him a flat look.

“Right, yeah, ‘there are no right paths’, huh?” he grumbled. “Thanks, then. Anything you want to tell me before you go, I guess?”

“Only this. Give yourself the chance to rest and make the choice that is true to who you are. I have seen countless paths and countless souls falter along those paths because they chose the road that did not align with their essence. Your journey may have begun in darkness, young one, but it may still end in the light, if you wish it to. Farewell.”

Zach blinked once, and the god was gone.

Pevarin turned to him, unsurprised to see him in a different spot than he had been, “I trust everything went well?”

“Yeah, it did,” he said, unsure of how to feel about the encounter. “We’ve got work to do, but first, and I’ve been waiting to say this for a while—I need to sleep on a goddamn bed tonight.”