D’Argen waited for what felt like days, yet the sun had only moved to be visible from the barred window. Kassar, on the other hand, had not moved at all. At one point, D’Argen helped him sit up and Kassar was gently swaying on the spot, but his eyes were still glazed over. D’Argen did not feel the need to try and start a conversation with him.

A few times, he heard children laughing and he went up to the barred window, but it was too high up for him to see them without touching the walls. The laughter was a welcome sound though, even if he could not eat it up. It had been too long since he heard children being playful. Before the demons rose, for sure.

Yet here they were, not that far from where he had last seen demons, and the mortals here did not seem to have a worry at all.

Not for demons at least.

The sound of metal scraping against stone drew his attention to the wooden door and a moment later it opened. An elderly woman waddled in, supported by a walking staff made of stone that looked too heavy to be useful. Behind her came in the same woman that had given them the bracelets, carrying a wooden chair. She put the chair down facing D’Argen and Kassar, then walked out and locked the door again.

The older woman sat down with a heavy sigh and pulled up her walking staff to rest across her legs.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I am D’Argen. This is Kassar,” D’Argen introduced them both. Kassar turned his head in her direction but did not seem to be looking at her. “And who am I speaking to?”

“I am called Varuba,” the woman introduced herself. “Why are you here?”

“We were told that the frontlines had fallen in the north. We were tasked with confirming the rumours and providing aid to any mortals in the area that may need it.”

“We do not. Why—”

“How?” D’Argen interrupted her. Varuba scowled, the wrinkles on her face deepening as she glared at him. D’Argen ignored the look and furthered his question by asking, “How is it that the demons have not touched you?”

“What demons?” she asked, and the corners of her lips quirked up in a sly grin.

D’Argen was thrown off by her question, enough that he was not sure how to even ask her to explain herself. His vision started blurring and he had to swallow back a bout of nausea.

“You and your magic. You believe you are gods and all-powerful, but that has been proven false time and time again. You have done nothing to help us, even when we ask of it.”

“We have—”

“You have killed us,” Varuba interrupted him. “Time and time again.”

“We are trying to save you.”

“We do not need your help.”

“How?”

Varuba made a point of looking all around the small interior of the house before looking back at him. “What is your power? What are you known as the god of?” she asked instead of answering him.

D’Argen was wary of answering her and hesitated.

“We do not have much time,” she said, looking over his shoulder at the window.

“Why? What will happen?”

“The creatures you call demons will arrive soon. They come at night.”

D’Argen tensed. “How have you survived them?”

Once more, Varuba smiled. “You believe your magic is the only one in the realm? That is not the case. After our culture was destroyed, thousands of years ago when you all first came to the lands, we have searched and finally found a way to be apart from you. To not be affected by you.”

D’Argen tried to focus on her words even as the stone’s weight made his head spin. Even as the pain inside him turned into a stab of fear. His mahee should have been responding but did not. The stone digging into his wrist under the cuff was a heavy weight and the more he twisted his hand, the deeper it dug. He would not be surprised to find his wrist bleeding once the cuff was off.

“What will happen when the demons arrive?” he finally asked, wary.

“They will kill you. As they have all like you who have come here before you.”

“But not you?”

“No. The demons… do not exist,” she said those words with a pause, closing her eyes. “They do not exist. You do not exist. It is not real.” It sounded like some sort of mantra that made D’Argen question the woman’s sanity.

He scoured his memories, both sets that went into the past and the one that revealed parts of the future, but none of what she said made sense.

“Why would you let the demons kill us?” D’Argen finally asked.

“When you are gone, the creatures you call demons will be gone as well. And the realm shall be as it once was.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“I just do.” Varuba started stroking the stone staff in her lap.

“As it once was?” D’Argen asked instead, but Varuba just smiled again instead of answering. “Do you truly believe that?”

“That you are the cause of all this? Yes. Do you know why they call me Varuba?”

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D’Argen did not and he shook his head without tearing his eyes away from her.

“Varuba is the name given to the eldest of our culture. I only gained it a week or so ago, when the Varuba of a settlement not too far from here passed away. Do you know what passing away means? To you, death is still so new. You probably did not even know you could die before these creatures arrived, did you? Well… we can. We have.”

D’Argen let her talk and eyed the staff on her lap. It was not just made of stone. It was the same stone as the walls around them, but it was also carved and smooth and worn. It looked too old.

“The main purpose of the Varuba is to remember,” she spoke again, bringing his attention back to her face. “We remember. We remember when you killed us.”

“What do you mean?” D’Argen asked.

“When you first appeared in our realm, you did not do so without consequences. Varuba was the name of our city. The name that you tried to erase from history to hide your mistakes.” D’Argen felt a shiver run down his spine. “It was the city that thrived at the skirt of a mountain. It was the city that your lot buried in snow. It was the city that became a tomb, hidden forever. You thought we all died or forgot. We did not.”

The nausea that took over D’Argen had nothing to do with his empty stomach or the stone around him and under his cuff.

“Sky Mountain,” he whispered the name.

“That is what you call it now, yes.” Varuba nodded. “We called it God’s Peak. And then one of you crashed down and destroyed not only our hope but everything we ever knew. You are not a god. None of you are. And our false name for that mountains just proved it.”

At least she did not know it was him. D’Argen chanced a glance at Kassar and noticed that the man was finally focused, looking right at her. His eyes were still slightly glazed, but he seemed to be paying attention to the conversation.

“And because of that you condemn us all?” D’Argen dared to ask.

Varuba shrugged her wide shoulders then nodded. “We have been searching for a way to keep you out of our lives for centuries. Millennia. Since your fall. We were able to escape and then promised to ourselves we will always remember.”

“You are aware that telling me this now will most likely reach the queen.”

“Your queen, not mine,” Varuba spat out, anger finally colouring his tone. She took a deep breath and then seemed calm again. “And if she did, what would she do? Try to wipe us out again. We survived your slaughter once. We will do so again.”

“It was not a—”

“And that is—” she interrupted him, “—if your queen even hears of this.”

“What do you mean?” D’Argen questioned.

Varuba shifted in her chair and dropped the stone staff on the ground to help her heave herself up.

“Night is coming,” she said. “You will not live to tell this tale. But we will never let you forget. You must know why you will die.”

“How do you keep the demons at bay?” D’Argen almost shouted the question when she knocked on the wooden door.

She turned to look at him over her shoulder and said, “There are no demons. Only those I see before me now.” The door unlocked and opened. She waddled out and then the door slammed closed and the sound of the lock falling into place sounded like the final hammer at a trial, sealing their fate.

“Do you know what she was talking about?” Kassar asked quietly from beside him, his voice still airy and eyes unfocused.

D’Argen nodded but instead of explaining himself, he took one of the daggers from his boots. The stone around his wrist made the thin blade feel like it weighed more than his sword.

“Give me your hand,” D’Argen said and kneeled beside Kassar. The closer he was to the stone floor, the more he felt the weight of his body, making him want to lie down. When Kassar’s wrist landed in his free hand, that weight doubled. He tried to ignore it as he stuck the sharp tip of the dagger into the lock on Kassar’s cuff.

It took a lot more energy and strength than he thought he would ever expand on such a simple task, but finally the lock broke open and the cuff fell from Kassar’s hand. When D’Argen ripped the bracelet off, the man’s eyes immediately cleared. He shook his head and glared at the leather string.

“What is this thing?” Kassar asked.

“Something that affects the mahee. Both the stone and the gold.”

“We should destroy it all. Ban it from use.”

“Yes, yes. For now, help me get this off.”

With Kassar’s help, D’Argen’s cuff came off as well and then his bracelet. They pried the lock to the barred door much faster. While D’Argen crouched at the wooden door to destroy that lock as well, Kassar nudged the shutters on the window open slightly to peek outside.

The light was fading too fast.

“Wait, wait,” Kassar said quickly and D’Argen stilled. Kassar kept an eye out and a hand raised toward D’Argen. After a moment, he let out a breath and motioned with his hand for D’Argen to continue.

“I want my sword back,” Kassar said as soon as D’Argen clicked the lock open. “I want them to taste what it felt like to do this to us. I want to burn this place to the ground.”

“That is what started all this,” D’Argen replied, though he did agree on getting his sword back. Specifically, his bow. “It was my fall that caused this.”

“Yours?” Kassar questioned.

“I was the one who fell on Sky Mountain,” D’Argen explained without looking at the other.

“As if you were aiming for it!” Kassar hissed out, the anger obvious in his words even if it was not directed at D’Argen. “It was an accident.”

“One that killed their ancestors.”

“Ancestors they do not even remember. Drop it. This is not your fault.”

D’Argen nudged the door open and then Kassar’s scent came flooding out. The two stepped out, each armed with only a single dagger. The streets, however, were completely deserted.

“Where did they go?” Kassar questioned.

D’Argen turned to face the fading light and then he heard the howls in the distance. “The demons are coming.”

Kassar swore, poured more of his mahee out, and then started jogging.

The scent of his mahee somehow seemed to reach the demons that were not even visible yet because the howls became louder and closer together. D’Argen, however, did not tell the man to drop it. Instead, he followed. A moment later, Kassar stopped in front of one of the smaller wooden houses with a recently patched-up roof.

“Here.” He pointed at the door.

D’Argen nodded and then kicked the door near the knob as hard as he could, infusing just enough mahee into his legs to keep him balanced and to hit harder. The door splintered as it slammed inward. Immediately, they were greeted with screams and cries. The fading light revealed a small family huddled together in the corner, hugging one another.

D’Argen ignored them when he noticed the shine of his metal bow. It lay on a long table in the exact same state he gave it over beside Kassar’s own weapons. As he slipped the belt around his waist, the first of the demons reached the settlement.

He heard the roar loud into the night and then the roof of the house shook as it landed right above them.

“They do not exist. They are not real.” A mantra started from one of the mortals in the corner. D’Argen saw her pull out a small stone disk from her robes and hold it in the huddle. The others all reached for it, including a set of fat and chubby fingers belonging to a child that could not yet speak. There were five of them and the mantra took on an echo as those that could said it over and over under their breaths.

“Close your mahee!” D’Argen hissed out the order.

“But my luck can—”

“Close it!”

Kassar followed the order without arguing further and they both silenced, staring at the ceiling.

The wooden beams creaked, the demon howled, and the mortals kept their quiet chants. A moment later, the demon jumped off the roof and landed in front of the shattered door. It had the same frame as any mortal or god did, but it had a clump of leaves and branches like large wings growing out of its back. Its back that was turned to them.

The demon sniffed the air and then walked out of sight.

“How?” Kassar whispered the question out.

D’Argen looked at the small family that finally stopped chanting.

“There is another magic than our own in this realm,” D’Argen paraphrased what Varuba had said to them. He knew it had something to do with the stone disk and the mantra, the belief that demons did not exist, but he did not dare to take the stone disk from the mortals. If that was the only thing keeping them alive, he would find another source of it.

Like Varuba’s staff.