Maruble looked down into The Sea, frowning. Those waves were so unlike human waters, always pulling the water into an indefinite in instead of pushing it out onto the shore. The idea that his lands, the godlands, were so unlike those of mortals made his frown loosen— just a bit.

“And yet we hide in Alta like vermin,” he muttered to himself.

Hatred seeped through him. All his life, it had been mortals this and the powerless that, and for once in his forsaken life, he longed to grip power in his fingertips— to not only use his power in their small lands, but to let it run free through the fabric of the earth. To let his fire singe the very seams.

Usually, The Sea’s waves offered him solace from his grinding thoughts, but lately that comfort had been lacking. The deeper he looked into those dark waters, the more he was able to see glimpses of the human lands in their tides; somehow, their worlds were deeply connected, but how that came to be, he had no idea.

Or, he had some idea.

Gods were supposed to rule over humans. They were meant to be given offerings, prayers, and the occasional well-meaning sacrifice, and yet those he saw in the waters didn’t know of their existence. The thought became so overwhelming at times that it felt hard to breathe.

He longed to use his power to burn their lands. To show them the real power of the gods.

If only the damned Court of Balance didn’t cater to them. If Maruble so much as burned a hair on a humans head, Belthore, God of Balance, would hear all about it. He would land himself in court and most likely have his powers stripped from him.

He grimaced. Seeking an outlet for his growing fury, he rolled the tension in his wrist and thought of his mother’s temple. Envisioning the red sands and white walls, he envisioned himself appearing on those marble steps.

Then, Maruble flickered.

In an instant, he reappeared on the steps of Athema’s temple, the smell of warm sand as familiar as the blood coursing through his veins. He allowed himself a deep breath, then stormed up the steps. It was so steep that Maruble leaned forward to keep his balance. Flickering inside the throne room would have been easier, but the effect of barging in would have been lost.

And so he climbed. And climbed.

One by one, the lowly gods and mortals haunting the steps noticed him and scattered. A few simply watched— but one cutting look sent them hurrying away.

Since his birth mother, Athema, Goddess of Sight, moved to Derut, powerless gods flooded to the surrounding area, enjoying all the greatness of being a god without having a real right to it.

And she adored them. Oh, she adored them.

My people, Athema called them— an obsession he would never understand and didn't care to. The only reason he endured it was the nostalgia he felt for the temple, for a time before the powerless haunted the halls, before stepping outdoors meant enduring hidden sneers.

Athema, Goddess of Sight, waited for him in the archway with her two guards flanking either side. She smiled at him, but the only evidence was the ripple of the fabric covering her face.

When she spent too much time in her seeing room, the only ones who could stand to look into her eyes without their sanity crumbling were other gods, and she took to always wearing the white covering when she was outdoors. He huffed, annoyed that she was spending so much time with that damned orb again.

“You’re in good spirits,” his mother said sarcastically— voice muffled by the covering. As she moved her arms, the white gown and gold clasps around her wrists moved with them. “What brings you here, my Lelo? I can’t remember the last time you visited your mother.”

“You know why I’m here.”

Maruble glanced at her hands, resting gently upon the hands of her kneeling servants: Ethera and Nile. The Goddess of Darkness and the God of Light. Since he was a boy, the cousins had been in service to his mother, mostly because their power wasn’t anything special. He eyed their face coverings and scoffed.

“It seems your ornaments have wormed their way into your seeing room.” He noted that their gowns were black in contrast to his mother’s white. “Since you’ve spent so much time with that orb, perhaps you can tell me why I’m here?”

“You will respect them, Maruble,” she said softly.

“Haven’t I always?”

He brushed past her, not waiting to be ushered inside. When he stepped through the archway, an array of colors shone through the stained glass ceiling and lit his clothes with dazzling light. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the smell of sand and lavender for just a moment, then kept walking.

The Temple of Athema.

As a child, he spent hours staring up at those stars carved into the class, letting the light fall onto his hand in wonder. One day, he had asked why she called him Lelo, since it was spoken in Altani— a language of the gods that only the most powerful knew. But she only ruffled his hair and smiled. It was a time before her obsession with the orb; a time before she always wore the face covering.

“Do you know what it means?” she had asked. When Maruble shook his head, she continued, “It means Little Harbinger. You, my son, are destined to do great and terrible things.”

Maruble pushed the memory aside as he entered the main hall. A few elder goddesses, some that he remembered from childhood, sat at a long, ornate table holding needles and threat. Their wrinkled hands trembled as they pierced the dark blue cloth. No one spoke a word, and so there was only the sound of needles weaving through their family creat: a metor hurling over his father’s mountain,

Theon’s chain, in a ball of fantastic colors.

He studied the fabric in quiet admiration, holding the ends in his hands— until one of the elder’s noticed him. A woman, who looked to be the oldest among them, frowned tightly at him and narrowed her eyes.

“I think you missed something,” said Maruble, smirking.

The corner went up in a blaze of fire.

The lowly goddesses scrambled away from the table, beating the cloth with their wrinkled hands, but still the flame didn’t stop. It trickled up the crest until it reached the mountain. Then, the shortest of the bunch managed to put out the flame. She breathed heavily and shakily bowed her head to Maruble. Her gaze burned, brighter than the fire she had just extinguished, as she looked at him with her yellowing eyes.

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“Apologies, my lord. It won’t happen again.”

Another muttered something, but Maruble didn’t wait around to here it. He turned his back to them and geared toward the throne room.

His mother was already waiting when he entered.

Athema was seated on the step of the dais with her back toward the throne. The silken sheet fell over her face of a ghost, and for a moment, Maruble wondered if she ever got sick of it. Noticing his stare, she straightened— no longer his mother, but the great Goddess of Sight.

She rested a hand upon her knee and whispered, “I’ll ask again. Why have you come?”

“Is that how you greet your only child?”

“Hi, how are you, my son? Are you well?” She snorted and motioned to him in bemusement. “Now, tell me why you’ve come.”

Maruble pursed his lips. He had been through this fight with his mother again and again, but lately their tempers had reached a boiling point. And yet, he couldn’t stop. His frustration fueled him to keep going.

“Why do you stay here? Why keep catering to these powerless who would turn their back on you in an instant?” He imagined The Sea, seeing human faces in those dark waves. “Imagine if we used our power like the gods of old, taking control of the mortal lands for ourselves, letting our power run wild. Why keep working for those cowards at the Court of Balance?”

Athema sighed. “If you’re looking for someone to complain to, I’m afraid you won’t find them here.” Even with the cloth, Maruble could feel her eyes burning into him. “Your father is back in the godlands.”

“He’s back?” said Maruble weakly. Suddenly, it felt hard to breathe. “Since when?”

“Since yesterday. And before you ask more questions, he was able to calm the volcano successfully, and he’s hosting a party tomorrow to celebrate.”

“So?”

Athema massaged the bridge of her nose. Standing from the dais, she looked down on him and said, “Will you accompany me to my seeing room?”

Maruble faltered.

He was itching for a fight— longing for an outlet for all the anger raging inside of him. And yet, throughout his life, he had only been asked to enter his mother’s seeing room two other times: once before taking Nira’s Path to uncover his power at The Sea, and again when he was finally strong enough to create his own domain.

His father’s return was irksome. A party would be worse. But the thudding in his heart betrayed him, and instead of replying, he simply followed Athema out of the throne room. They walked until they reached a door, nearly as high as the ceiling itself and engraved with strange symbols along the frame, shimmering as if written with crushed diamond. He did not know the meaning of them, but he remembered the names he had given them as a child.

The bird.

The spear.

The god with three arms.

"Wait here," his mother whispered to Ethera and Nile. The two of them bowed deeply, and with a quick glance in his direction, took a step back. "This won't take long."

Athema waited until they obliged then slid her fingers across the doorway. She hissed words in Altani— a language that did not rely on memory like the common tongue, but one that came to powerful gods who needed it. Only a select few were strong enough to read it, and fewer spoke it. Even his father stumbled over the handful words he knew.

Athema completed her chant and pressed a hand against the center of the door.

It creaked open.

Much like the great hall, the ceiling was high— higher than anywhere else in the temple. Yet, it was dark. The only light came from torches lining the walls of the room, but even those had a lifelessness to them, as if the flame had been sheared from a starless night. Maruble took a staggering breath, the wrongness of it burrowing deep into his bones.

"Ignore the fire," said Athema, removing her face covering. "It is only temporary."

Maruble blinked. Even though gods aged slowly, new lines had found their way to the crease between her brows. There was an intensity to her eyes that he had never seen before. He cleared his throat and asked, "What's going on?"

"I brought you here for a reason," she said, smiling gently. "Please sit."

Maruble sat cross-legged on the floor. Memories coursed through him as Athema approached the orb: running barefoot through the halls of the temple, covered in sand, the heat of the summer filling the air like a promise. It spun as she got closer, the buzzing in his head growing louder.

The god raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. "Is something wrong with the orb?"

"Every choice is a forked path, each one with the ability to shape our future in different ways. I was once able to see every possibility, but not anymore.” She moved a hand over the sphere for a long time before speaking, the irises of her eyes turning white. “A choice will be made soon. A dire choice— one that will shake the very foundation of the godlands."

"Perhaps Alta needs to change," he mused.

"Perhaps." Her fingers tensed over the orb. "Or perhaps it will bring us to ruin."

Maruble leaned forward and asked darkly, “Should I take that as a warning?”

Instead of answering, Athema closed her eyes. He fell silent. Maruble could almost see the visions swarming her, all the possibilities laid out like far-reaching branches.

Maruble searched her face, as if he might see the future written there, but something else caught his eye-- the orb. It lifted from the marble pedestal and poured light into the seeing room. The weight of time surrounded him, countless futures and possibilities filled the air and made it hard to breathe. It felt as if he was falling, and he pressed his palms to the floor to stay grounded.

Then, The Goddess of Sight severed the connection.

He waited until he could hear his mother's huffing breaths and finally stood. She leaned against the pedestal, the orb now safely back in place, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. The pressure in the room subsiding, Maruble finally relaxed. His mother secured her face covering and turned to him, the silk murky in the strange torchlight.

"Do you know how I met your father?"

The question threw him off balance. "You met him on Nira's Path, right?"

She nodded. "I was a child returning from my journey to The Sea when I found Theon moping on the path. He had been a day and a half without water and was near his limit. When I approached, I had my first vision: a man living in a great volcano, and the molten core bowing to his divine will."

"Did you tell him?"

"I did. I pointed to that chain of mountains and told him, One day all of that will be yours. But you have to keep going." Maruble rolled his eyes, but she continued, "When he received his power, he walked straight to those mountains and began to dig, using whatever tools he could find."

"He didn't do it by himself."

"No," she said, and he could almost hear the smile in her voice. "More established gods saw the effort he was putting in and felt inclined to help. The God of Seasons lent him perfect weather for digging. And the Goddess of Stone kept the tunnels he built from caving in."

"Why are you telling me this?" He rubbed his temple. "Theon uses his efforts for the betterment of humans rather than his own lands. He's complacent."

"Why not content?” Athema raised an eyebrow. "When he reached the core of the volcano, your father was fearful, but I urged him to keep digging, and when his hands finally reached the lava, it didn’t burn. And his first thought was how he could use that power to help others— those that couldn’t help themselves."

“And that’s how you fell in love,” muttered Maruble. "You’ve told me this story before."

Athema placed a hand on his shoulder and said quietly, "Give your father a chance."

He snorted and turned away. Not once— not once— had his father ever stepped foot in his mother’s temple. Not even to come see him as a child. Instead, the God of Volcanics stayed holed in his mountains, often leaving for months to ease the threats to humankind.

Maruble only met with his father at his celebration parties— ones he threw for himself after quelling the volcanoes. There, he was expected to act as if he respected him. Like they were family.

“Hasn’t he had enough chances?”

Pursing her lips, Athema opened the door to her seeing room, but the trickling light did nothing for the deep shadows under her eyes. She looked more tired than he had ever seen her. When her guards approached, she took Ethera’s arm and leaned into it as she walked. .

“Your hatred grows stronger by the day, my Lelo.” She looked back at him and smiled sadly. “Don’t let it control your heart.”

“Your tolerance is weakness,” he spat, the words tumbling out faster than he could stop them. “Your power is but a shred of what it used to be. You take pity on humans and let the powerless live in your temple— our ancestors would be ashamed of us.”

“Promise you will go tomorrow,” said Athema softly. “Your father expects you.”

Maruble groaned, knowing the argument was lost. He rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head in frustration.

“If that is what you wish.”

Without another word, Athema and her guards left him at the diamond-crusted door. He waited until their footsteps disappeared and finally stormed away, walking briskly past the stares of the lesser gods, past the too-familiar marble walls, until desert’s tepid night air stretched out before him. He breathed in the red sand, but it didn’t taste as sweet as before.

Not with his father's party hanging over him.