The first thing that she saw after she had left the vestibule and found herself in the hall, with the vault as high as the heaven itself, was the god. He was the size of a tower, great and golden, and once the pillars weren’t obscuring her view anymore, despite the distance and the dim light he was impossible to miss.

In the bleak torchlight, shadows danced on his limbs and robes. She could barely see his features, a stern face with pointed beard and bushy eyebrows, golden eyes looking at her as if in accusation. In one hand he held a sword almost as large as himself, in another a jade orb. She stepped in closer. The figure was more detailed than any statue of any god she had ever seen – he had toned muscles on his strong but supple body, robes painted crimson with intricate patterns of flowery ornaments, dark, red streaked hair shaded as if they were real, jewelry and belt studded with lazurite and jade (or at least that’s what she thought they were), plated with precious metals of varying colors and alloys, never weathered, never covered with patina, as bright as new.

Was it True Silver and Star Gold? No doubt, though she wouldn’t recognize it. She devoured the statue with her eyes, trying to etch it forever in her weak memory of a street child. Until now, she didn’t care much about the concept of faith. The gods were capricious and cruel beings, far away, occupied with people much more important than herself. This forgotten warrior god, however, was someone she could pray to, simply because he was too beautiful to ignore. He had no name to remember, but apparently neither had she.

She took two steps further and the scenery changed. It happened in one blink – she closed her eyes, and when she looked again, she was standing somewhere else.

No, this was the same temple hall. She recognized the pillars, the walls, and the statue. Now, however, the paintings weren’t faded or the walls porous from the centuries of weathering, and the hall was brightly lit and full of people.

They weren’t praying. It took her a few breaths to figure out what she was looking at. Small groups of humans and nonhumans of all genders stood or sat together, talking or eating. Some of them gathered around what Nua first thought was a small bonfire, then she realized it was a red stone, probably etheric, because an iron pot sat on top of it, its contents steaming. They all had weapons – swords, axes, many of them ridiculously large, too big to handle. They didn’t seem to mind, though. Some wore armor. Or they just took the armor off and were cleaning or fixing it. More than half were of her kin – with dark hair and occasional red highlights, skin tone ranging from fawn to light bronze, and the most characteristic trait – a tinge of gold in their eyes, no matter if brown, amber or red. She had to look twice to be sure. She was used to her people being short, thin and crooked, with rickets or scurvy, aged beyond their years. These Unsagga stood tall and proud.

She looked around. She noticed two mechanized armors in the process of being cleaned by teenage boys. She saw this type of walking war machine, or rather a scrapped skeleton, in the junkyard once or twice – a person could fit in there. She was not sure how it worked, though.

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Apparently she was in a middle of a military camp.

They didn’t look like they were winning. You could feel the heavy atmosphere, the fraught silence, perceive the glances exchanged over the etheric fires together with shared flatbreads. Nua saw bedrolls lined up next to the walls, people lying in them, bloodied, battered and moaning. Others tended to their injuries.

Soldiers passed beside her, and only after a while – because she was so used to not being noticed – she had realized that they can’t see her. She was just glimpsing the past. She was not there, not really.

She jumped on a reflex, though, when a mechanized armor passed her by, stomping loudly. This one was bigger and more decorated than the other two. It opened its cockpit with a loud hiss, and a tired man in his thirties looked out from the inside. He exchanged a few words with a teen boy, who then scurried deeper into the hall. The warrior just stood there and waited.

After a while, a noble lady approached. Clad in a robe blue and gold, with the skin of deep umber tone and her eyes azure, and – dear mighty gods! – wings folded on her back, patterned like the falcon’s, she was easily the most beautiful person Nua had ever seen, apart from the god statue.

The warrior pressed his fist to his chest in a gesture of reverence, then started reporting. At first Nua could not make a word out of the conversation. Then, a strange thing happened – the longer she listened, the more she understood. At last, ancient tongue rang in her ears as clearly as if she had heard it all her life.

“… fell. We won’t hold much longer, Your Excellence.”

“You won’t need to. His Luminosity has almost finished the ritual.”

The man sighed.

“Glad to hear it. How long…?”

“Until Sa’utu, the Trickster Sun, rises today. That is about three long hourglasses.”

He closed his eyes.

“At last, this is over then.”

“Yes. It is over.”

Nua felt something touch her arm. Then the touch became firmer – she was being grabbed by her forearm and shoved aside. The scenery blurred. Then she blinked and once again she was back in the ruined, forgotten temple, centuries in the future. She sat on the floor, and above her Flavius Aetius was fighting, this time with just one sword and a shield, which exuded a faint glow. His enemies were barely visible, immaterial shadows of human beings with elongated limbs and faces, howling, gathering in the circle around them. She noticed how peculiar his movements were – before he sliced a shadow, he had to catch it in the shield’s light. Only then it dissipated.

After a while, the temple hall was empty and dark again.

“Ghosts”, she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Your shield is etheric.”

“It had better be. It cost me a palace.”

“…you had a palace?!”

“ I still have a few.”

“Are… are you an Overlord?”

“Not yet. Get up. We need to go.”

Flavius grabbed her again. Then, when she stood on her own legs, he proceeded to the statue.

“It’s a bad idea…” started Nua, then caught his annoyed gaze.

“Do you still think I’m your average scrap collector? Be assured, I’m not touching the statue. Dealing with more of them”, he tilted his head. ”Is a bother.”

He looked at the warrior god with an odd look on his face. A mixture of greed, malice, fear and regret.

“I’m here for a bigger prize.”