Hartley brushed the dust from his clothes as he entered the city of Derut. His eyes stung with sweat, searching the temple steps that towered before him. There had to be five hundred of them. Maybe more.

Truthfully, he was avoiding the climb to Athema's throne room. He was used to the high number of steps in the court, but those were not sizzling with the heat of the sun, which was already making his back damp. And considering the small laughter coming from the building next to him, the local children didn't think he could make it, either. Their buildings were low to the ground and reinforced with thick walls, presumably to keep sandstorms from toppling them over. In the shadow of Anthema's Temple, the structures looked almost cowering.

Derut. Foresaken. Most gods referred to it as The Sands or Athema's Domain, but Hartley just preferred Derut. It was... an uncomfortable place. For the most part, people eyed him curiously and nothing more, but more than a few stared. Hartley was used to stares but these made him fidget. Never had anyone looked upon him with such hatred.

A cloud of red dust swirled around him and Hartley sneezed. Damn, he hated sand. It was the annoying kind that latched onto every inch of skin and, due to the heat of the sun, stung viciously. He raised his hand to brush it off again and thought better of it. More would take its place; it was a waste of energy.

Hartley scanned the area. He was being followed, he was sure of it. Even though there was a strong possibility of it being a citizen of Derut, or perhaps a curious child, there was tension in the air. So thick it was almost tangible.

'choo.

A boy had emerged from the building next to him, where the children had once been laughing. Now, they looked on silently. The boy's clothes were torn and drenched with red sand, pairing well with his equally red hair and nose. His eyes were dark and hollow. Much too hallowed out for a boy his age. He sneezed again and held out his hand.

"I'm sorry," stammered Hartley. He tapped around his pockets for good measure. "I don't have anything to give you."

A girl appeared behind him. She was older but not by much. One by one, children appeared and outstretched their hands. One of them murmured, "Please."

Hartley sighed and patted around his vest. The only thing he had was a small candy he had taken from Belthore's chambers earlier, but it had already started to melt in his pocket. Even so, the children eyed it hungrily. He cleared his throat. "You can have this, but you have to share."

Before he could continue, the boy snatched it from his hands and ran. The older girl chased him down and pulled his legs out from under him. He toppled down, and his chin hit the pavement with a crack. Still bleeding, the two of them fought wildly with their fists. While they were distracted, a third girl, the smallest of the lot, ran over and grabbed the candy as it rolled away. They were too deep in their fists to notice. Hartley opened his mouth to speak and thought better of it. He backed away from the fighting children, and a few adults frowned at him in disgust.

Look what you've subjected us to, those gazes said. Look what you've done to our children.

The steps of Athema's Temple had started to look appealing. He turned and walked quickly. Hartley didn't stop until he was a good fifty steps up then turned and watched the adults break up the fight, both children were already crying as they realized their bounty was lost. Guilt swirled in his stomach, but he ignored it. No, he had a job to do today. He couldn't get sidetracked.

Step by step, more sweat drenched his clothes, but he kept going. Easy as it would be to flicker inside, it was considered rude to enter a god's domain for the first time by doing so. And so he climbed until his legs ached and his eyes were cloudy with sand. After what seemed like ages, he finally graced the top step of the temple, his breath coming out in quick huffs. Exhausted, Hartley looked up at the temple before him.

It was incredible. He had seen many domains before and most of them had been made with normal wood or stone, but this was made with sandstone. At the top, there was a large star that seemed to be made entirely of gold, and it shone brilliantly in the sun. He braced against the tall doors and they slowly creaked open.

Inside, the temple was much more dim. He had to blink and let his eyes adjust before moving any further. When he could see properly, there were even more powerless gods inside that eyed him warily and Hartley cursed under his breath. Even if they said nothing, the way the barren looked at him was uncomfortable.

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This was the place Maruble grew up?

"The throne room?" he asked his onlookers. One of them pointed to the door ahead. "Thank you."

Hartley walked past them. More Deruvians lined the walls, talking and laughing amongst themselves, likely seeking a break from the pressing sun. Only a few were pale and coughing. One sneezed, much like the boy outside, and something tightened in the god's chest. All of them grew quiet when they noticed him and watched as he opened the door.

Athema sat on her throne inside. Her face was covered and two people flanked her left and right. One in black clothing from head to toe, and the other in white. She shifted on her throne as he approached. "The God of Peace," she drawled. "Tell me, why would you come to my home unannounced, mere days after my son was banished? My house is in mourning."

Hartley bowed politely. "I don't mean to intrude, Goddess Athema, but there are important matters to discuss."

She snorted. The sound took him by such surprise that Hartley nearly toppled over, and then she laughed. A loud, delightful sound. She said, "I know why you're here, Hartley. I can foresee such things. Thank you for coming all this way."

"Of course," he breathed, shoulders relaxing. Even though the guards flanking her were silent, he could almost feel their smirks under their face coverings. "Would you mind if we spoke in private?"

"As you wish." Athema waved her hand and her guards bowed. They left the room, their steps almost floating, and shut the door behind them. When they were long gone, the goddess stood from her throne and approached him. "It's good to see you, Hartley. I apologize for the scene I made at the court."

"Think nothing of it."

"I would also like to thank you. It's come to my knowledge that you believe in Maruble, and that you would like to help him."

"I believe the boy is misguided. He fears the unknown, and that's why he hates the barelands." Hartley straightened his tie. "If he were nudged in the right direction, I believe Maruble would thrive."

"Would you walk with me?" said Athema suddenly.

Hartley blinked. And nodded.

The two of them left the throne room and returned to the main hall, where her servants passed around goblets of water. The barren took them gratefully. Most of them let the children drink first before taking a smaller drink themselves. Athema filled a goblet and passed it to an elder. The man sipped it gratefully.

Athema said quietly, "A child died in the fire."

"Excuse me?"

"The fire that Maruble started," she clarified. "A boy lost his life in the wildfire, the same age as my son."

Hartley froze. Why hadn't Belthore told him about this? Surely if a human had died, the punishment would have been more severe. Or would the sentencing have been the same? While the God of Balance had always fought for the law, he had never known Belthore to be particularly compassionate towards humans, more seeing them as wildlife to be protected. Nothing more.

"I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"What's done is done." She accepted his apology with a curt nod. "Tell me about your plan."

They moved back into the throne room and Athema removed her headrest. Looking into her eyes, the God of Peace suddenly had the feeling that he was looking down a high cliff. His gut twisted. Even her cheekbones were delicately carved craters, in contrast to her brown hair that fell to her shoulders in waves.

"Your plan, Hartley," she repeated with a smirk.

"Right," he said and cleared his throat again. "Yes, I would like for the boy's human life to be more... impactful. Right now, he is holed up in that empty house and has no plans to leave. If we were to make him part of the world around him, in a more integrated sense, I believe it would be beneficial." Hartley scratched his chin, staring up at the stained glass stars on the ceiling. The sight was dizzying. "Of course, we would have to speak with the God of Memory and make a few alterations, but I believe it would yield positive results."

"You have my permission."

"I believe he just needs something to work for. Otherwise, what is the point of all of this?"

"Hartley," she said, raising her hand. "You have my permission."

"Of course, I'll keep an eye on him and— sorry, what?"

She smiled, and it was a wonderful thing. As she stepped closer to him, Hartley got a whiff of sand and cinnamon. "I have already spoken to the necessary gods, and they will be here tomorrow to help your plans move forward. If it is no bother, I have prepared a room for you in the guest quarters. Will that be all?"

He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. Hartley managed, "You knew all of this already."

"Goddess of Sight, remember?"

"Ah."

Hartley shook out a breath, but the air in his lungs felt heavy. He had met many powerful gods in his time, but Athema was different. Her power felt on par with that of the old gods. He said his next words slowly, "Athema, may I ask for your insight?"

"Of course."

"I'm afraid that Death has already rooted himself in Maruble's head. Even now, he's trying to sway the boy to fight for him. I'm sure you know, but Noctavius wishes for war." He pursed his lips and held out his hand. The droplets of stained starlight flittered across his fingers. "Will he succeed in the end?"

"The future is not a straight line, God of Peace." Athema replaced her face covering and motioned to the star-shaped windows above. "We are all dust suspended in a sunbeam."

"You're saying that none of it matters?"

"Quite the opposite." Athema blew a breath, and the dust above her head scattered. "I'm saying that a single breath can blow everything off course, and nothing is written in stone. Have faith, God of Peace. Death has not won. Not yet."