D’Argen had never understood how others described it when they ran with him. He thought it was the equivalent of someone trying to explain colours to a person born colourblind. Yes, he was linking that to his own experience because, to be honest, there were some colours that D’Argen was already forgetting. Most worrisome were the shades of eyes for each of the dead gods that he could not recall – colours that he would never see again, even if they were in the nature around him.

And there were some colours he was forcing himself to forget, their swirl of brown holes in a pure white space making him sick just thinking about them.

He also never ran with mortals without either holding them or carrying them. It had been thousands of years since the last time he tried. The thing was, when someone ran with him they still had to actually run. Yaling, Abbot, and Lilian had gotten used to D’Argen’s long legs and even longer strides. They were able to keep up with him. Some of the other gods could as well, even if they were always queasy after it. And some could not without D’Argen either holding them or outright carrying them.

But mortals had never been able to keep up with him.

And now… with his new speed…

Yet, this time, he felt there was no need to carry either Fran or Joel. He knew that there was no point in holding their necks or even touching their skin. As soon as he wrapped his mahee around them, they became a part of him. He did not want to think what it felt like, having him control their bodies like this, but it was better than the alternative of leaving them behind in pieces or letting them try to learn and fall apart. There was only so much he could do to save their lives if that were to happen.

When his mahee wrapped around all four of them, Yaling, Abbot, Fran, and Joel, D’Argen did not focus on them. He did not even think of them. Even Yaling and Abbot were just an itch at the back of his mind that he could easily ignore. The mortals were barely even that.

He was, however, aware of them completely for one simple reason: he was so slow! Every step that could have had him soaring over a forest or sliding through a field, turned into a heavy thud that bounced around his knees and came out from the top of his head. When his head started pounding, it was in tune with his steps on the ground.

But he did not stop.

D’Argen ran as fast as he could while still making it possible for the mortals to breathe. If Lilian was still with them, they could have used their mahee to give them all more breath. But then again, if Lilian was still with them, Fran would not be. And while the thought was sobering and immediately put D'Argen in a bad mood, he could actually see. It was not the blur when he had run away from Darania – and Thar – nor was it like in the past – the drop of ink in water, spreading into distinct and strange shapes that his mahee recognized and then discarded as useless information. It was not the black strands guiding him, the places that could hold his weight, the handholds that could help him change direction, the obstacles he could jump over, or an empty space where he could close all his senses.

He actually saw the world the same way he did when he was not running. Just a little faster.

But he did notice something now that had not caught his attention when he first felt this new speed. His sense of touch was much stronger than before. Maybe it was because he had not been touching anyone – though he was not touching them now either. It was just his mahee. Yet he knew that the scarf Yaling had wrapped around her head was made of the finest silk that ran through his fingers like water. He knew that the tobacco in Abbot's pouch was the perfect consistency to light up when stuffed in his pipe. He knew that Fran carried an extra dagger in her boot made of iron that could cut even the toughest of fabrics with ease. He knew that Joel’s family ring was etched with an eagle clutching a snake.

And now… he felt the thin silver threads woven in between the silk that could break at the slightest pull. He felt the loose herbs mixed in with the tobacco that could turn to dust at the gentlest of breezes. He felt the rough edges of iron that could tear skin apart like a torture device. He felt the eagle’s talons piercing the snake as it hissed and spat venom.

He also felt ink bleeding into thick paper that Joel had stuffed into his pouch before it dried. He could almost read it. He felt the single word ‘must’ repeated at least three times.

But instead, D’Argen focused on everything else. He felt every blade of grass that bent under their feet, every pebble that tried to escape, every grain of dirt, and fallen leaf, and every breath as if it was exhaled against his neck. He could not stop.

And he did not.

Not even when he felt lungs constrict and complain that they had no air. Not even when he felt a limb going numb and then the pins and needles that followed. Not even when his thighs started burning from the exertion. It was only when the blurs around him became too bright and too close to that horrible white that he finally slowed to a jog and then a trot and finally a walk and to a stop.

Sliding through the ground, though much easier for him with the sudden cut of contact to his mahee, was bound to have the mortals tumbling head over heels and getting broken bones and egos. If they even survived.

When he finally stopped and faced the others, though, he realized that just maybe he should have listened to the lungs earlier. It was not his own that had been screaming for air.

Fran was hunched over, heaving large breaths that had her shoulders shaking.

Joel was not breathing at all. The mortal prince collapsed on the ground with his eyes closed.

When Abbot noticed, he immediately unhooked his bag from his hip and started sorting through his herbs. Yaling, on the other hand, found the right whistle in her hair. The pitch was low enough to vibrate through D’Argen’s stomach. It was also just deep enough to penetrate inside Joel’s lungs and urge them to expand once more. With an aromatic herb from an incense stick wafting through the air over his nose, Joel was soon awake. His eyes shot open and, for barely a moment, D’Argen could have sworn they were the same dark abyss as the black ink that had spilled from a little boy in a small village.

Joel blinked rapidly, tears forming at the edges and spilling down to his ears before he sat up and wiped his face quickly. He was gulping air as if he was starved for it.

And he was.

D’Argen had almost killed the Cialii prince.

For some reason, the thought did not have him tense and panic like it would have in the past. He did not feel his muscles shivering or the tense tick at his jaw. Instead, all he felt was displeasure.

They were still in Oltria.

D’Argen scowled. They had crossed the still water and most of the mainland of Trace, but there was still a lot of land to cover before they came to the strait that separated the mainland from the Rube Islands. At this speed, there was no possible way of him running over the water with all four of his companions and keeping the mortals alive.

If he could even step on the white caps at all. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that he would falter and drop them all in the deep and hope the waters would bring them out instead of dragging them under.

He wondered, for a moment, if he could harden the water the same way Thar had softened it under their ship when they travelled north.

“What was that?” Yaling growled out, her voice low and dangerous.

The tone of it, along with the fleeting anger that crystalized in his veins, had D’Argen turning his mind away from the thought. He knew he had to examine it, but Thar’s mahee was—

Fran repeated Yaling’s question. Her eyes were sparkling under the sunlight. Still, she collapsed to sit on the ground, taking in deep breaths as if she was tasting air for the first time.

Abbot was immediately at her side and guided his scent into a simple spell, using Lilian’s breeze to force air down her lungs and relax her muscles. Yaling only glared at D’Argen. Joel was sitting up, holding his head as if he had a headache. Lack of air to the brain would do that.

“That was incredible!” Fran gasped out, her voice slowly coming back.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

D’Argen stared at her with wide eyes.

Joel nodded frantically, even though he looked like he was still in pain and still could not breathe.

“I mean, breathing is pretty incredible too, I like to do that, please don’t steal my breath away again any time soon, but, you know… wow.” Fran continued.

D’Argen felt his cheeks warm with a blush, but the ice inside his veins cooled him down before it could become visible. Hopefully. “You… liked it?” he asked.

Fran nodded quickly though she was still talking very deep breaths. Joel tried to voice his agreement, but all that came out were harsh gasps.

“Are you alright?” Yaling asked them both in turn.

Fran nodded once more. After a moment, so did Joel.

“Is that… you can run even faster than that?” Fran asked, speaking slowly but then paused to yawn with her mouth wide open. Once her lungs were completely expanded, she exhaled with the rest of her thought, “That was extraordinary.”

“Yes, but not without killing you both,” D’Argen said. His words sobered up Fran’s smile and made Joel’s eyes narrow at him. D’Argen continued, “We will have to take a boat to the Rube Islands. I won’t be able to carry you across the water.”

“Finding a boat to take us will take time,” Yaling said. She still sounded annoyed.

Abbot was too quiet. When D’Argen looked at the artist, he noticed the man’s hands shaking slightly as he packed his pipe. Had D’Argen truly scared them? Or was it anger?

“You lot rest up now. I’ll run ahead to make sure there is passage available by the time we get there.”

He did not wait for any of them to say anything, even though Yaling had opened her mouth – obviously to disagree. D’Argen ignored her and ran. He started at a jog that would keep the ground intact and only once he was far enough away with nothing in his way did he open his mahee. Only to close it almost immediately. He was knee deep in the waters that kept him from the Rube Islands. He could have crossed over, talked to Darania, and come back before Fran and Joel fully recovered their breath.

Well… no. Talking with Darania would most likely take much longer.

By the time he returned to the others, they were all on their feet and walking. By the time they reached the boat D’Argen had booked for them, it was nightfall. It was all… so slow.

D’Argen suddenly understood the urgency that mortals had. It was not because they wanted things done ‘soon’ but more because they could not have them soon. D’Argen could be anywhere at any time. He never needed to be. He had never not been able to be somewhere he wanted. There had been occasions in the past, mostly during the demon wars, where he could not be where he needed to be, but that was always due to orders, never a lack of speed or—

No. It was the same feeling he had every time he had been asked to remain inside Evadia’s walls for longer than needed. He had felt it start at his feet, and uncomfortable itch that had him rubbing his bare feet against rough carpets to try and ease it. it had been a discomfort that left his hands trembling and his eyes twitching, his entire body flinching at the barest of sounds—he knew what it was like to want something done soon.

It was not an itch yet, a tremble, a twitch, or a flinch, only a thought at the back of his mind that made him want to reach Darania as soon as possible. He could run. He could tip the ship as he shot off over the water and be there in moments. He could—

As if the thought alone was enough, his feet started itching and he could only pace the deck of the ship to try and ease it. The breeze blowing at his hair did barely anything at all to—

The breeze.

Lilian’s breeze.

Could D’Argen use Lilian’s winds the same way he had used Thar’s ice before? The same way Lilian used those winds to fill his lungs and strengthen his muscles as he ran in the past? Was it—

The shores of the Rube Islands came into view with the sun rising above them. And the caravan ride from the port to the city of Ruby was too short for them to bother renting horses or D’Argen to try and run them over. Not with how crowded it was. Not with how his hands had started to shake.

That was one thing that had not changed, even with his new speed. He still could not see the mortals in full. They were still a blurry dark mass as he ran. Though so faint that it was almost as if it was not there at all. Faint enough for his mahee to show him that he could run through that spot with barely any resistance at all.

Lisa was the one to greet them by accident when they arrived at the complex. She looked as surprised as D’Argen felt.

“I did not expect to see you again,” the old woman said, her hand reaching for D’Argen’s cheek. When she noticed the others with them, she drew it back. D’Argen appreciated that she did not touch him, even if her touch had been a comfort to him before.

“Is he here?” D’Argen whispered quietly.

Lisa looked confused for a moment before understanding dawned and she shook her head in the negative.

“And Darania? I need to speak with her.”

“Good, she has been waiting for you. I believe Mayan is with her now. They are in the courtyard,” Lisa directed.

D’Argen nodded and brushed past her quickly, ignoring the four at his back.

Lisa proved to be very good at reading the situation because she guided the others into another part of the complex and away from the courtyard.

Darania and Mayan were, indeed, there. They were surrounded by a gaggle of children who looked like they were trying to become mountaineers with the way they were stepping all over Mayan’s large frame. One of them was hanging off his neck and another had looped her legs around Mayan’s raised arm, hanging upside down.

Darania was encouraging them.

From where he saw her, Darania’s white hair seemed to glow with its own light. The tight curls were loose and framed her head lake a cloud. Her skin was so dark it looked like a starless night. And her eyes. Darania’s eyes were the only ones of the gods that he knew changed. They were endless black depths with no light – not even the shine of tears could be seen if she ever shed them – a matte black that collected all light that there was no possible way for him to mistake them for the mahee’s stands reaching for him.

And, as he watched, D’Argen remembered seeing every star and nebula and full galaxies be birthed and then die. He knew what those were. He knew how small they all were. He knew Darania was bigger than them all combined. And, once, long ago, so was he.

Darania was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

And when she noticed him and smiled, he felt something inside him calm. He had not even realized how hard he had been clenching his fists or how tight his shoulders were, until it all relaxed. His jaw loosened. His eyelids stopped trembling. His ears popped. Every muscle in his body released and even the itch at his feet was gone.

Darania made a motion with one hand. Mayan noticed him and smiled. D’Argen nodded in greeting, but his eyes were immediately drawn back to Darania as she approached him.

“I’m ready to talk,” D’Argen said before she even reached him.

“So am I,” Darania said. Her smile was still there, but she looked so… mortal. Her hair was no longer glowing, her freckles were almost invisible, but her dark eyes were still fathomless.

#

“Thar!” the call of his name had Thar stopping and turning to face the source. “Were you going to leave again without stopping by to see me?”

“I am here on Vah’mor’s orders and by their permission only. My task is complete so I must leave.” It was a thin excuse and they both knew it.

Simeal finally caught up to him in the long hall. It was empty of staff, visitors, and even other gods. Thar knew the halls to take to avoid being seen by other people.

“I said I needed to see you a few years ago,” Simeal said. “I have Zetha’s permission for you to remain long enough for me to examine you.”

“What for?” Thar asked. He knew of her request and had done a fine job of avoiding her these past few years. “You are the Court Physician. There is nothing wrong with me.”

Simeal scowled. She did not, however, reach out to grab his wrist and drag him to the medical rooms as she did often with others. Sometimes, Thar appreciated how his old rank still rattled those that were now considered above him.

“It is just a regular check-up,” Simeal said.

“I am fine. I promise.”

“I know. Even though I also know you would keep quiet about it if you were not. Please. This is mostly for my own benefit.”

“There is nothing—”

“By the mahee!” Simeal interrupted him with a frustrated yell. “Everybody else seems perfectly fine with ignoring this and forgetting it happened, but somebody else used your mahee!!”

Thar raised an eyebrow in question. She looked beyond frustrated.

“And, once again, you are the Court Physician. I am fine. My body is fine.”

“And your mahee?”

“Is fine,” Thar said, his voice firm.

Simeal did not look happy. She started chewing on the inside of her cheek, the skin there distending and bulging randomly. Thar considered turning around and leaving, but he was not sure she would let him. Just as he decided to try anyway, she spoke up again.

“I may not be a spiritualist, but I have been the Court Physician at Evadia for over three-thousand years now. All of the gods here come to me first. If there is something—”

“There is nothing wrong with my mahee,” Thar interrupted. Simeal looked angry at the interruption, but she bit her cheek again. Thar knew better than to interrupt one of a higher rank, but he could not help himself. Not when it came to lying about this.

“I promise—” Thar started, softening his voice to try and make his words catch, “—I am fine and there is nothing wrong with me. Or my mahee. What happened with D’Argen was just him latching onto my spell.”

Simeal did not look happy. Thar did not feel it either. But that was the lie that had rolled off his tongue those seven years ago and that others latched onto so easily. Too easily. Except for Simeal and a few others, most of them believed it. No god could use the mahee of another. However, they could all aid one another in strengthening their spells. Thar had done it multiple times, letting his mahee leak into Nocipel’s waves and Lilian’s winds as they travelled north with the ship. He had done it before that even more times. During the demon wars, the others, Simeal included, had poured their mahee into his own spells multiple times to strengthen them, and all of them had aided Delcaus as best they could to help end the demons.

Thar walked away once he gave Simeal a final confirmation he would visit her first if anything at all felt wrong. Vah’mor had allowed him into Evadia long enough to deliver his report of the construction in the north, but his banishment was still in effect. He would leave before the sun set.

In the meantime, he would rest a bit in the room provided for him. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he relaxed. His entire body started trembling. The itching at his feet was absolutely unbearable and as soon as he discarded his boots he started rubbing his feet on the course pad used to clean the dry dirt from his shoes. It helped alleviate the itch, but did not stop the rest of him from trembling so bad.

Was this how D’Argen felt all the time? This itch to run that coursed through his veins like ants?

It was so easy to lie to Simeal and the rest in Evadia, especially when he was hardly in the castle for longer than a day due to his banishment, but Haur was already noticing something. Fortunately, the cold of the north calmed the itch.

As did the soft breeze that he felt slipping through his hair and tangling in his fingers.

Thar left the castle and the city barely an hour later, his feet begging him to run and his mahee calling him to the cold north.