D’Argen fell on his back in his haste to avoid Darania’s attack and then scrambled on his elbows and heels further away as she lashed out again. Her strikes were smooth, small hands cutting through the air far from him but turning the winds into sharp blades that took chunks of earth out from under him.

When she rose from her sitting position, D’Argen turned with his back to her, exposing a weakness but digging his toes into the ground. He was still on all fours when the winds Darania controlled lashed at his back, the crack too similar to a whip. The pain that lanced across his back almost had him falling on his stomach again. He dug into the earth, opened his mahee as wide as he could, and he pushed.

Darania, however, was the Creator. She could create anything at all. And what she created was water under his feet, so he did not have something firm to push off from. Instead of running away from her, he fell face-first into a puddle of warm water and grass. The next lash she sent out tore at the robes of his back and D’Argen felt pain like never before.

He lifted his head out of the water just enough to scream.

The winds disappeared so suddenly that it felt like everything froze to take in his pain. The heat across his back was eating away at him, duller than a blade’s bite yet sharper than anything he had ever felt before. D’Argen did not dare move, did not dare breathe, in case anything he did at all would make Darania lash out at him again.

There was nothing but silence and stillness around him though.

And a harsh breath. Somebody breathing fast and quick and so heavy behind him. He was not frozen in time.

D’Argen dared to slowly rise, warm water turning freezing as it dripped from his lashes and nose and chin. The movement did not stir another attack, so he wiggled his feet, trying to find a harder surface with his toes against the wet mud. It slipped under him, and his knees splashed down on—ice.

As he watched, the water under him froze. It surrounded his hands and little crystals climbed up his wrists. Yet he did not feel caught. The wind returned and it felt more like a caress, lifting his chin to face forward once more. His eyes focused through his frozen lashes to see a small figure in a gossamer white robe running toward him. Their long wheat hair was flying behind them even as their wind picked up their feet and made their steps longer.

Lilian.

When they neared close enough for D’Argen to see their face, it was creased with both fury and fear like he had never seen it before. Then the winds helping Lilian run reached him and they pushed under his chest, lifting him to his feet. The ice let him go with a final caress then hardened under his feet once he was standing. Lilian rushed right past him with a yell and D’Argen turned just in time to see them lashing out at Darania.

Darania, who had not moved since her last attack. As Lilian used the winds to lash out at their leader, Darania finally moved. She was a full head shorter than Lilian and easily ducked under one attack. The winds were sharp enough to cut some of her white curls. Darania’s returning attack picked Lilian up out of the air and threw them away, but Lilian used their winds to balance themselves and float for a moment, before rushing at Darania again.

D’Argen could do nothing but stare.

When Lilian attacked again, they had a sword in their hand. Darania quickly stepped out of the way and when Lilian’s feet touched the ground again, the grass grew so violently that Lilian tripped and got tangled in it. Lilian’s sword cut through most of the grass while their winds acted as a shield against the wooden vines that rose up and started stabbing at them.

One of the vines was unable to be stopped by the winds, so Lilian cut it down with their sword. The flash of silver caught D’Argen’s attention. It was moving so fast though. Lilian was never a fighter. Not in this set of memories. But D’Argen also remembered Lilian wielding that same sword with tears streaming down their eyes. Wielding that sword against D’Argen.

He staggered back, away from the two as Lilian once more flew through the air, silver sword flashing and sharp winds cutting, while Darania raised the earth itself to defend herself and bid the nature around her to attack.

Another step back had him slipping on the ice under him and falling back.

“Why?” he barely got the word out. Neither of the two could hear him though as they fought and defended. Lilian’s body was streaked with thin red lines. Darania’s flowing brown robes were tattered and cut in pieces.

Mahee could not harm mahee. It was impossible.

Yet he watched as Darania lashed out into the air once more, turning Lilian’s winds against them and sending them flying. A bright light appeared, as if the sun itself had risen, and Lilian screamed, trying to cover their eyes. D’Argen squinted through the light to see Darania urge the vines to circle and harden, turning into a spear that she aimed at Lilian as she rushed.

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D’Argen screamed. A warning. A denial.

Darania ignored him but Lilian opened their eyes just as the spear came at them. They spun through the air as if on solid ground and though the spear missed, the following attack from the vines did not. One of them struck right through Lilian’s shoulder, making them scream and drop the sword. Another vine struck through their thigh and then Darania came.

D’Argen had the weirdest sense of a visual echo as he watched Darania drive the spear through Lilian’s stomach even as she leaned closer to them. Her small face went right up against Lilian’s, and it was so ugly, her teeth bared in anger. Darania said something, but D’Argen could not hear it over the winds. He scrambled to rise, sliding on the ice under him until he was finally standing.

Darania, still holding onto the spear that extended bloody out of Lilian’s back, was bringing them both to the ground. When they touched, Lilian collapsed and Darania followed with the spear. Then Darania leaned closer, wrapping her free hand around Lilian’s shoulders in a mockery of an embrace.

D’Argen rushed at the two of them. Darania’s black eyes focused on him, narrowed in and sharp, freezing him on the spot. As if to help her, the grass at his feet grew and tangled around his ankles.

“This is all your fault,” Darania spat it out with a voice that was not her own.

The grass climbed up to his knees and forced them to buckle.

“I—I didn’t… I—”

“This is not how it was meant to be,” Darania interrupted his stammering and her hand around Lilian’s shoulders tightened. Lilian trembled in her hold but said nothing.

“What did you do?” D’Argen finally got the question out, unable to tear his eyes away from where blood coated Darania’s small hand and the spear she was still holding, tight to Lilian’s stomach.

“Me? This is all you,” Darania responded.

Lilian shivered in her hold once more and gasped out, their breath wet. D’Argen could not see their face, but he saw their trembling hands as they reached for Darania’s robes. Lilian’s clutch looked desperate, scrambling at the folds, and holding tight where they found a hold.

The light Darania had conjured up finally faded and a flash of silver caught D’Argen’s attention. He turned to see the sword Lilian had been using, struck in the ground with the hilt pointing up. He recognized that sword. That was his sword. That was the sword he had left at the top of Sky Mountain when he fell.

A grunt and a whimper had him facing the other two again. Darania was glaring at him again and her hand holding the spear had twisted, her small fist touching Lilian’s stomach where the blood flowed out.

“You will kill them,” D’Argen gasped out.

“No. This is all on you,” Darania spat back out.

Her voice was so strange, her face even more so. This was not his leader. This was not his creator. As if the thought was enough to make it true, Darania’s features blurred on her face and then her entire form followed. Lilian was still a sharp line, so it was not his vision playing tricks on him. Darania said something else, her voice distant and slightly warbled, yet D’Argen heard the words clearly as if they were whispered right into his ear, “She was not here.”

Darania’s outline blurred so much that her dark skin faded into the night and her hair turned into whisps of smoke before rising to become still clouds. Eventually, she faded away completely into nothing until Lilian was sitting there in the torn grass and upturned earth by themselves. The spear in their stomach remained only a little longer than Darania’s visage before it too faded away into nothing.

The grass that had held D’Argen tangled on the spot ripped at the smallest of shifts, so he quickly got up and ran to Lilian. He slid right beside them just as Lilian wavered. Their head fell on D’Argen’s shoulder, and he hesitated on wrapping his arms around them. Lilian was covered in bloody lines. They all looked like the sharp edges of their winds.

But the winds had finally calmed. D’Argen’s robes were torn, and his hair cut in some places, but Lilian finally stopped their violent outburst, focused more on themselves. There was a large wet spot in the centre of their stomach that made no sense for the attacks Lilian had unleashed on the lands and on themself.

Through it all, though, Lilian’s mahee had not been able to touch D’Argen to harm him. Throw him around a bit, keep him away, but not actually harm him. He reached down for the wound on their stomach and remembered that keeping the blood into the body was important. Immediately, his hands were soaked in red.

That was alright. Lilian survived this. D’Argen had too many memories with Lilian for them to all have been from the past.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he repeated and finally wrapped a trembling arm around Lilian’s shoulders. They slumped so heavily into him that he felt he was holding their entire weight. “You’ll be fine,” he said to both convince himself and them. He ran a hand up and down Lilian’s back, trying to provide both comfort and warmth, but froze when he felt something hot and wet against his hand. He lifted it over Lilian’s shoulder to see it covered in blood too.

No.

This was wrong.

Lilian coughed wetly against his shoulder. D’Argen felt another hot pulse of blood on his hand where he held it against Lilian’s stomach. Lilian murmured something into his neck, and he wanted to flinch away from their hot breath so close to his most sensitive and vulnerable part, but he leaned closer instead.

“Don’t speak. You’ll heal. Just give it a moment.” D’Argen suddenly remembered holding Abbot as the man bled to death in a field. The memory was so jarring that he flinched with his whole body. Lilian groaned in pain and then said something else. D’Argen still did not hear the words, even though their voice was clearer.

Clearer.

D’Argen hesitated.

“I am so sorry.” The words were clear, whispered into his ear and settling into his mind. He heard the wet quality of Lilian’s voice as they cried and then screamed those words to him on repeat.

Lilian’s breath at his throat stuttered and slowed.

“I am so sorry,” Lilian cried again in his head even as they stopped breathing in his arms.

Then came a pain that he was all too familiar with from his other set of memories. He had not felt this pain as he ran with Abbot in his arms. He felt it now.

Something inside him broke. A piece of him—the piece that belonged to Lilian—broke apart from the rest and it burned and dug and stabbed and whipped and did not settle or lessen at all. It was deep in his chest, his mahee screaming, as a piece of him died.

D’Argen discovered what it meant for one of the gods to die.