When Theon was a boy, his father shipped him off to the barelands. It was the first time a godchild had been forced to live amongst humans and find their own way. Many didn't think he would survive, hell Theon himself had become lonely and depressed, believing that his father had given him an impossible task and wanted him to fail.

Character building, the God of Retribution called it.

Theon clenched his jaw just thinking about it. He had to learn to find food on his own, how to interact with humans, and how to keep nosy adults from asking too many questions about his living situation. At the time, he didn't understand what sort of character his father wanted him to build, but he couldn't let him win. No, he was more stubborn than that.

And so he learned. He made friends with humans his age who brought him food and helped him survive. When he told them that he was a god, they kept his secret and treated him like some magical thing. To them, perhaps he was, but their powerless resilience inspired him more.

It was the same reason volcanoes fascinated him. They were wild things, natural structures that followed their own rules and never cared for the whims of humans or gods. They had molten rock in their guts and, now and then, they would spit it out. Simple. Not a touch of magic in them, but powerful.

Shaping a volcano to his will was no easy task. It was why Theon threw such grand parties: conquering one was worthy of celebration. A chance for him to reap the rewards of his work and, if he was being honest, show off his home a little.

The gods who attended loved it. All but his father. No, the God of Retribution didn't care much for his parties.

Despite his father's flaws, Theon wondered if he had failed Maruble by shielding him from the barelands. While his son's ruling had been harsh, the boy had become spoiled and traitorous during his time on Alta, perhaps his sentencing would snap him back to reality. No good came from a power-hungry god. Theon was sure of it.

"What's wrong, my love?" asked Dalla. The goddess eyed him as she combed her hair, and it fell down her back like long strands of silk. "Can't sleep?"

Theon rubbed his face. "I'm thinking about the party."

"Again?" She placed the ornate comb down gently and strode over to him, hips swaying under her lace gown. "Talk to me, my love. Tell me what's on your mind."

He brushed a piece of hair behind her ears. Dalla was so beautiful, even more beautiful than his wife, Athema. It was what had attracted him to her in the first place. Even in Alta, her looks were almost otherworldly. Theon murmured, "I'm just worried about Maruble."

"I see," she said, eyes as wide as twin moons. "Not many mothers would rally for their sons to be sent away to the human lands. If he had been banished to Derut, at least you could have kept an eye on him. He'll think he's been abandoned by his people."

Theon grinned wolfishly. "I'd prefer if you didn't mention my wife."

"I'm sorry to bring it up," she said but didn't smile in return. "I just don't understand."

Months ago, he would have brushed off any mention of his wife in front of Dalla, but things were different now. Their little affair had grown more serious as of late. These past few months, Theon was the happiest he had ever been, and he would chase that feeling to the ends of the earth. Theon rested his head on his hands and sighed.

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The ruling had surprised him just as much. While he understood it, there seemed to be something else under the surface, something that Athema wasn't telling him. The God of Volcanics had thought about it in length but had no answers. "Athema's sight is beyond even my understanding. Seeing is like daydreaming with a splash of truth; while it can sometimes be accurate, the future is made up of many branches and possibilities that change too easily for my liking. Perhaps she is trying to lead Maruble along a path that will benefit him, but there is no guarantee her decision won't backfire." He ran a finger along her shoulder and Dalla shuddered. "I can only hope it works out for the best."

"There is more to her seeing, right?" The goddess nestled closer to him and laid a head on his chest. "You've told me about that room in her temple."

He ran a hand through her hair thoughtfully. "You mean the orb? There's nothing special about that."

"Nothing?" The Goddess of Memory furrowed her brows. "It doesn't help her see the future?"

"The orb itself is nothing special, it simply stores the futures she has seen. When she doesn't, they tend to become overwhelming to her." Theon remembered what she was like before the orb. The weight of countless futures had been too much and had almost driven her mad. It had been... hard to watch. Even for him. "Think of it like a record book."

"Is it true that she predicted your future once?"

"You're quite interested in my wife tonight." Theon narrowed his eyes, but continued, "Of course, she had a vision that I would become God of Volcanics and helped steady my course, but that's all. Her power is more of a headache if you ask me. I worry she is lost and can no longer tell fate from possibility."

"You don't agree with the ruling she suggested?"

"I wish she would have consulted me first," he admitted. "Maruble is my son too, after all. Why do you ask?"

"I'm curious about her." Dalla frowned. "I want to know more about the woman you once loved."

"Don't be jealous, my heart. That was a long time ago." He pursed his lips and chided, "I hear you have been spending a great deal of time in Frost Holm."

Dalla pulled away from him gently. "The weather is a nice change, and the God of Death has many interesting ideals."

"Should I be worried?"

She smiled, and the sight made his heart skip a beat. "Why do you ask?"

"Death turned my son against me, remember? I don't know what he has planned, but Noctavius is dangerous, that much I'm sure. You should stay away from him."

"Who's jealous now, my love?"

"That's not what I'm saying." Theon rolled his eyes, but his shoulders relaxed. He ran a hand down her arm and it was as cold as ice. What could a goddess like Dalla possibly enjoy about Frost Holm? It was a barren wasteland that was barely liveable, even for a god. "I worry about you, that's all."

She asked slowly, "Do you think Maruble was wrong?"

Theon sat up straighter. After the party, he had ruminated over his son's words for a long time. While his son's tactic had annoyed him, there had been a passion in Maruble's eyes that he hadn't seen in other gods in a long time. Not since Balance took over. He knew everyone else in the room felt it too. "It's good that the boy can stand up for himself, I'll give him that, but he goes about it the wrong way. Setting the mountain on fire was proof of his immaturity. Truly powerful gods don't feel the need to flaunt their power over those who cannot protect themselves."

The God of Volcanics stood and faced himself in the mirror. He had been like Maruble once, desperate to prove himself to the other gods, but he had killed a human. Their lifespans were already so short and their lives so fragile-- what he did was unforgivable. Even so, Theon said, "I should have attended his case today. He will think I abandoned him."

"Why didn't you?" asked Dalla, pouring herself a glass of wine.

"I was afraid I'd lose my temper. Or perhaps I would have taken Maruble's ruling for myself, and he would have learned nothing from it."

"The God of Volcanics has a soft heart." A smile played on Dalla's face and she pulled him closer. "It's one of the many things I love about you."

He grabbed the wine from her hands and placed it on the table. "Many things?"

"I said what I said," she whispered.

And as she pulled him onto the bed, thoughts of Maruble and his wife melted away. He welcomed the distraction, but her words about Frost Holm and Maruble still bothered him. No god would willingly choose to be near Noctavius' Death Aura willingly. There was something she wasn't telling him, and Theon wasn't sure he was ready to know.