Both Olde’s words and Vain’s records, Zetha’s worries and Acela’s urging, they all said that so much had changed. And yet nothing really had. Mortals had always been fickle. They changed their minds too fast and wanted everything done right away. For them ‘soon’ meant within the month, the week, or even the same day. For the gods, soon meant within a decade. Maybe. So, even if D’Argen was the fastest thing in all of Trace, he still took his time escorting Joel.

While D’Argen was curious if he could really cross the ocean with Yaling and Abbot wrapped in his magic, he was not curious enough to try it with two unknown mortals in tow.

As such, their first few months consisted of leading the Cialii princeling around a well-established route that D’Argen had become more and more familiar with as the years passed. This was not D’Argen’s first time escorting a mortal royal around. Fortunately, none of the mortals he escorted around in the past were alive to share it with their progeny. And since Joel’s father was so worried about his son, D’Argen made sure that they remained close to Cial and Evadia, ready to run them back within a few days if needed.

Even though, to D’Argen, it looked like nothing had really changed, mortal relations truly had. Construction in the north started in earnest, the Elesee Queen built up her alliances, a blockade had been constructed near the White Pass, and even the White Sea now had multiple ports building new ships – not the low canoes that D’Argen could have sworn would have thrown him overboard with the rougher waves, but something much more sturdy.

As he saw all of this, D’Argen could only curse everyone under his breath because they had not felt the passage of time like he had in his dreams.

Dreams.

Seven thousand years in that world.

Did that make him older than all the gods residing in Trace? Could he still, confidently, call them gods even if only in his own head, or should he return to calling them the Never Born? To him, the title of gods had seemed like a mockery in the past. Yet now, he knew, that they truly were gods. They may not all fit into the neat boxes the mortals constructed for them, but they deserved each of their titles, whether given to them by the mortals or the Queen of the Gods herself, or otherwise.

D’Argen truly was the God of Discovery. Just as Lilian was the God of Spring. Just as Abbot was the God of Light and Yaling the God of Music. Just as they still held that title even if it was changed.

Just as they also deserved the name of Never Born.

D’Argen decided that it was yet another topic to cover with Darania as soon as the two met.

And there it was again. Soon. Darania probably meant for him to return much faster to the Rube Islands when she sent her message to Zetha for him. Well, that was on her. It was not D’Argen’s fault if Darania had started to think of ‘soon’ the same way the mortals did. The same for Zetha and Acela. The same for the other gods that stared at him in confusion or surprise every time he led his party back to the city of Evadia.

And when the winter snows finally came, he took them back to Evadia yet again. Joel’s few months of travel with them were enough. D’Argen was done with the princeling and was ready to hoist him off back to his father. Fran, on the other hand, there was no escaping from. Not for another... forty? Fifty years? How long was the mortal lifespan again?

Well, in any case, it was soon.

Once D’Argen had delivered his report to Vain, straying away from Zetha’s probing mind and Acela’s narrowed eyes, he decided to leave the castle and let Joel fend for himself. There was no need to hold the princeling’s hand even within the castle’s marbled walls. He left the castle grounds altogether and made his way to the tavern Abbot liked to frequent when they were in the city.

D’Argen did not spot the man on the main floor, but he did see both Yaling and Fran with two other mortals, drinking. While D’Argen wanted to avoid Fran until she died of old age, he knew that was not an option. He would… warm up to her. Eventually. Soon.

With no Abbot in sight, D’Argen joined the two women. His sour mood, though, quickly made the other two mortal companions leave.

“Well, you seem to be a joy. Did Zetha finally catch you?” Yaling questioned as she finished off the last of her ale.

“Not yet,” D’Argen muttered under his breath.

“Then what has you in such a foul mood?” Yaling asked and then yelled over the din of the tavern to call over for more drinks. When the server came to their table with their drinks, the door opened to let in a cool breeze. D’Argen shivered out of habit instead of the cold. He took his mead and started drinking until the honey warmed his throat and chased the ice back into his veins instead of pouring out his fingers.

“So?” Yaling prompted when he put his drink down. “What happened? If not Zetha accosting you, what is it?” She kicked him gently under the table. The action caught D’Argen off guard, remembering how she was barely a passing acquaintance in his other memories and had not even met his eyes since he started his drinking binge.

The mead turned sour on his tongue as he remembered how he had spent decades buried in a bottle with the hope of shutting his mind down.

“Is it still throwing you off how much has changed?” Yaling asked in the silence.

D’Argen only then realized he had not even bothered to remember her previous question, let alone answer it.

“Everything’s the same,” he responded and drank more of the mead.

Fran was suspiciously quiet. D’Argen had seen her mouth wide with a smile earlier before he joined. After another few gulps of staring at her, the mortal woman started fidgeting.

“I should—”

“No,” D’Argen interrupted just a fraction of a moment before Yaling did. Yaling was glaring at him.

“What colour is your hair?” D’Argen finally asked.

Fran jumped in her seat and Yaling hit her mug, tipping it over. D’Argen was fast enough to right the mug before any of the ale inside could spill. A drop landed on the back of his hand. He licked it off. It did not… taste that bad.

“So?” he prompted Fran.

The mortal glanced at Yaling. Yaling made a show of looking around the tavern, then back at D’Argen.

“They didn’t tell you, yet?” D’Argen asked. When he saw Fran’s confused face and Yaling’s expression one he could not name, he smirked. “I can’t see colours. And your hair, it changes under the light too much for me to connect it. At one point I wanted to say red, but it was too light for that. Here, in this tavern, I want to say brown. But there was also—”

“Orange,” Fran interrupted, her eyes still wide. “I… uh… some strands are more blonde and others red, but… we call it ginger, where I come from,” she explained, stuttering.

“It’s beautiful,” D’Argen said with a smile. Her curls truly were beautiful. “I didn’t know Oltrians had that in their genes, let alone a specific word for it.”

Fran was as stiff as a board. “I have… distant relatives. Kesenese.”

“Oh?”

“On… umm… on my father’s side. Many generations back. But I’m the first in my family with this hair.”

D’Argen nodded sagely as if he had just been told some truly important message that he needed to remember and relay exactly word for word.

“Umm…” Fran hesitated.

“Sorry,” D’Argen once more interrupted her just as she took a breath to speak. “I know I’ve not been the kindest to you.”

“No, no—”

“Yes. I know how I’ve been acting and my title doesn’t mean you should’ve had to deal with that. I’ve just been… in a foul mood since I awoke.”

Fran nodded, her cheeks darkening as if she was blushing.

“We know of you, you know?” she asked, so quiet that D’Argen barely heard her.

“Oh?”

“Of you and…” she glanced at Yaling, as if asking for permission, but Yaling only looked confused. “Of you and Thar.”

D’Argen’s mead spilled everywhere as the mug in his hand shattered. The cold whisps that had caused it to contract too fast wafted off his fingers. It was not loud enough to draw attention to their table. The shards of mead started melting as D’Argen brushed at his hand.

“Excuse me a moment.” D’Argen did not wait. He went right up to the bar to ask for a towel. As he left, he heard Yaling whispering something harshly to Fran and the mortal hissing back just as quietly. He did not catch the words. The woman behind the bar did not look impressed with him when he gave her the remains of the mug, but her frown disappeared when he dropped five gold coins. She gave him not only a towel to wipe the table and a new mug but also a cleaner cloth for his hand. Only then did D’Argen notice that some of the liquid on his hand was thicker. He licked at it and the mix of mead and blood exploded on his tongue.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Sorry,” Fran muttered as soon as D’Argen was back at their table.

“That was an overreaction on my part, nothing to be sorry for,” D’Argen dismissed with a wave of his hand. The small cut had already healed. He mopped up the spilled mead and poured himself a new mug. Yaling made a show of taking the cloth with his blood on it out of his hand and then shoving it in her pocket under the table.

“Next round is on me!” Fran said and jumped up, running to the bar. All their drinks were still full.

“Since when can you do that?” Yaling hissed under her breath, glancing at the table where a single shard from his old mug still remained. “I know you are fast enough to generate heat, not the opposite. Not to—”

“I’ll tell you next time,” D’Argen interrupted her with a smile.

Yaling’s frown lines deepened and then she muttered, “That is not normal, and you know it.”

“I do. But I don’t know what to tell you. Just… don’t let the others know. Not yet.”

Yaling’s thin eyebrows shot so high up they almost disappeared under her bandana. “Nobody knows?” she asked.

“Darania suspects. Nobody else.”

“Not even Thar?”

“I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He was just—”

“Are we talking about Thar, again?” Abbot’s voice interrupted the two.

“Not anymore,” Yaling announced and kicked a chair in Abbot’s direction. “And since we should discuss where to go next, your timing is perfect.”

“Wait, that’s how you decide? You just talk about it?” Fran asked as she returned to the table, four mugs balanced between her hands. She must have seen Abbot earlier.

“Well, now that D’Argen’s boring tour duties are over, we can actually go where we wish as long as there has not been a request from one of the others for something specific. Any requests?”

“Not to me,” D’Argen answered with a shrug.

Abbot scoffed and down half his mug before muttering, “Not like he sticks around long enough for anyone to give him a task. Who are you delivering the news to? Vain? Ah, thought so. I am honestly surprised he does not have us running the Moving Islands again.”

D’Argen tried to remember how they got their name.

“So, wait, wait, wait,” Fran pulled the last mug closest to her. “You’re saying that we are free to do as we wish now?”

“In a sense,” Yaling answered with a shrug.

“Yeah. He does not like to run that far out with the royalty. They tend to complain too often of hard grounds and lack of food,” Abbot added in.

“No wonder everything was so comfortable,” Fran muttered under her breath.

“Have they only been taking you to the forests and swamps of Trace?” D’Argen asked with a wide grin, trying to lighten the earlier mood.

“Not exactly.”

“Took us a year to reach the peak of Sky Mountain,” Yaling muttered with a scowl. “And another two in the caverns under the western chain.”

D’Argen laughed and it felt real. “You are hopeless without me,” he grinned wide.

“None of us have a good sense of direction,” Abbot explained with a shrug. “It was always you or Lilian that…” Abbot trailed off, his smile fading.

D’Argen felt his own drop so fast that it hurt. Yaling also looked pained. Fran, on the other hand, looked like she had been run through with a sword. She knew. She knew about Lilian and what Lilian’s role had been in their group. She knew that she was brought into this party to try and replace Lilian. She also, clearly, knew that she never could.

“Fran,” D’Argen drew the mortal’s attention to him. “I’m giving you one freebie. Right now. Only the one. Any question you have, I will answer truthfully.”

“What?” Fran asked.

“I know the mortals have a lot of questions. Trust me. I know. A child once asked me how I pooped. One question. No judgement at all from my end, I promise. And, maybe, in the future, you will get one more.”

Fran’s eyes lit up and she bit her lip. It was tempting. Clearly. Her eyes darted back and forth as if she was reading a list in front of her. She had a lot of questions. D’Argen wondered if any of them had to do with the mahee or that ore. He should have been paying more attention to her instead of Joel these past few months, but he had more time with her. He could start now.

Finally, Fran took a deep breath as if she had settled on it.

Yaling looked wary. Abbot looked curious. D’Argen… D’Argen just wanted to get to know her a little better. For now. Only then he would decide on what reason to give Acela to leave Fran behind. Or, maybe, for him to leave the rest of his party behind. He wondered if a few hundred years alone would be enough to straighten his head again.

“I have been wondering this for a while now, but why do you sleep?”

That… was not what he expected. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that nobody had ever asked him that.

“What do you mean?” Abbot asked, clearly confused. Yaling mirrored his expression.

“I get the not eating thing, I mean, no—I don’t, but I’ve seen it, but what about sleeping? You don't actually have to sleep, do you?”

“If you had to live through every second of every day for all of eternity, would you?” Yaling muttered.

“Ah… that is a hard one to answer. In truth, I think it’s mostly because… well, we got used to it,” D'Argen replied in earnest with a shrug.

“What do you mean, you got used to it?”

D’Argen smiled at her and took a large gulp from his own mead. He was not sure why this question made him uncomfortable, but he was sure that Yaling and Abbot were feeling it a lot worse than him. Was this Darania’s doing again? Yet another part of their compulsion when they fell to the mortal realm? Was sleep, somehow, related to the gods’ old realm? The thought terrified him for a moment, ice running through his veins and forcing his spine to straighten.

“When we first came here, all of the mortals treated us with reverence. It was to the point where we didn’t have to do anything for ourselves. If we were hungry, they gave us food. If we were thirsty, they gave us drinks. If we were bored, they entertained us. At one point, it got so that there wasn’t anything for us to do other than sit around and wait for the next mortal to appease us.”

“Ah, the good old days,” Abbot interjected with something that could have been a grin or a sneer. D’Argen gave him an unimpressed look. His sarcasm was too subtle. It was true that some of the gods missed those days, but most did not. Abbot and D’Argen had both loathed those times.

“Anyway,” D'Argen continued, “We started sleeping to make the time go by faster. Then I guess... We got used to it.”

“Plus, using our mahee does tire us out,” Abbot added in. “We all have different ways to recover and replenish our mahee, but sleep is the most common and easiest one.”

“And then there was Santis,” Yaling added in. “He was the God of Dreams before the demons took him from us. He taught us to dream and gave us joy in sleeping.”

D’Argen hid his grimace behind his mug.

Fran looked uncomfortable at where the conversation had taken a turn. She looked around as if looking for a new topic to start. Abbot noticed and saved her. “So... where are we going next?”

“I have to go back to the Rube Islands. I want to talk to Darania. I will, however, be there for a bit longer than usual, so you decide if you want to come.”

“I’ve never been,” Fran whispered.

D’Argen slammed his mug down in surprise. He looked at both Yaling and Abbot.

Abbot raised his hands, clearing himself from any blame quickly.

“We did not have access to a ship,” Yaling defended.

“For seven years?” D’Argen asked.

“All new ships have been directed north. We explored most of the mainland at first and then, two years ago, huge parts of the Rube Islands were flooded. Relief efforts took priority.”

Flooded? While D’Argen was there? Darania had not even hinted at it.

“Well, easy as that, then,” D’Argen said. “It’s been decided.”

Early the following morning, D’Argen having barely slept at all and only stared out his balcony doors at the changing sky, the runner packed his small bag and left the castle. The meeting spot they had decided on the other day was on a small hill east of the city’s framing fields. D’Argen ran there, barely flirting with his mahee so he would get there faster, but not enough to destroy the ground under him either on his start or finish.

Yaling and Fran were there, leaning against one another and yawning. Abbot was not, but there was another pack between the two women.

When Abbot finally crested the small hill with the sun’s rays behind him – and for a moment he truly looked like the God of the Rising Sun, no matter what the mortals thought of him – there was another figure with him.

“I thought your trial was over,” D’Argen muttered.

“It was. I… wait… did no one tell you?” Joel asked quietly, his smile quickly fading. He glanced at the others. Yaling and Fran barely paid him any attention, even when his eyes lingered for longer on Yaling.

“Tell me what?” D’Argen asked.

In answer, Abbot handed over a scroll. It was sealed with Zetha’s mark and the contents were a simple explanation and request: Joel wished to continue to travel with them. His father was overjoyed with the idea. It was up to D’Argen to decide whether Joel would continue or not.

D’Argen frowned. He rolled the scroll back up.

“I know you’ve been going easy on me,” Joel said quickly. “I can—I can at least try. You don’t have to cater to me or—”

“Who told you I’ve been going easy on you?” D’Argen interrupted.

Joel scoffed, caught himself, and then cleared his throat and bared it to D’Argen. He had learned the meaning of that action. “You are the fastest thing in all of Trace, everyone calls what you do running, yet we have never gone anywhere without at least one extra horse to carry our packs.”

D’Argen frowned. He had never been called out before on his little tours, no matter how long they lasted.

“I promise not to be a burden,” Joel added quickly.

“You can’t promise that,” D’Argen answered just as quickly.

“I can promise to do my best and try.”

“Why?” At Joel’s confused expression, D’Argen clarified, “You won’t have the comforts of home. You won’t have anyone carry your packs or serve you food. Why?”

“I didn’t want to do this at first, I admit,” Joel said quietly. “But if the boring old places you’ve taken me are like that, I want to see more. Everything you’ve shown me is fascinating. And every time we’ve returned to Evadia, I’ve been reading about your past travels. You have seen everything in Trace and that is… that is awe-inspiring. I want to see but a fraction of what the God of Discovery has.”

D’Argen thought about it. He eyed the man’s pack. It was definitely smaller than before. The man’s robes were also sturdier. A glance at his companions revealed that Fran was still squinting at the sun, half asleep. Yaling, on the other hand, looked so guilty it was as if she had forged the scroll in D’Argen’s hand. Clearly, whatever interests Joel had in her had affected her in some ways.

“Okay. Fine,” D’Argen nodded. He shouldered his own pack. The others quickly followed. “We’re running to the Rube Islands,” he announced.

“Oh, yay. Are we stopping by that place near Kaariai? They make—”

“No stops,” D’Argen interrupted Abbot. The artist’s wide smile dropped. “No ship,” D’Argen added on. Yaling straightened from where she was hunched over to click the straps of her pack down. “No horses. I am running us all to the Rube Islands.”

“D’Argen,” Yaling started, her voice wary. “You have never been able to run the water that far. And we have two mortals with us.”

“Before,” he corrected her with a grin. “I’ve never been able to run the water that far before. Now, let’s see if I can do it with others. Come, come.” He raised a hand in her direction and beckoned. Yaling seemed wary, but she still swung her pack around, clipped the straps to her shoulders, and stepped closer to him.

As soon as his fingers touched her bare skin, he felt his mahee wrap around her. Completely. Within a breath. Even the beads in her hair took him no problem at all. He decided to test himself and pulled his hand back, no longer touching her. She remained completely wrapped in his mahee, not even the usual fluctuations he was used to when not in physical contact.

“Remember, Fran and Joel have never run with you before. They are mortal. Be careful.”

“I will,” D’Argen answered with a grin, feeling the worry force her voice into a tremble that ran down his own throat as he swallowed the fresh air.

Abbot touched him next before D’Argen could test it out to wrap around him without physical contact. As with Yaling, his mahee surrounded the man and poured into him as if it was just another vessel.

A single breath.

Fran and Joel were new. He held his hand out to Fran, palm up. The moment her fingers touched him, he dropped his hand and broke the contact. She was part of him. Joel was just as fast, D’Argen’s mahee focusing on wrapping around each strand of his hair at the same time as the few jewels on him, his purse of coins in a hidden pocket, a single nugget of gold that almost rejected him, and then the rest of him.

When D’Argen took in a deep breath, his lungs expanded so much that it felt like he breathed in the world. The others copied him as if they were his shadows. His exhale was slow, through the mouth, clearing out the old air. On the next inhale, the others mirrored him instead of shadowed, and on the one to follow the walls of Evadia were already far behind them.