The first map of the godlands had been made by a child. Barely old enough to leave home, the Goddess of Paths had become obsessed with the rolling void that was The Sea. That void lingering between god and human lands. The girl dedicated her time to studying and understanding this phenomenon to no avail. And so curiosity became determination, and determination became obsession, and even though her parents pleaded for her to come home, she refused. Instead, she had wandered into The Sea one day to never return. The first god to try and the last.

Leaning over that same map, Noctavius ran his finger across the black abyss, then averted his gaze to the mainland. Strange. The godlands were home to ten thousand gods, but their lands looked so minuscule, scattered across the page like spilled wine. If he could only gain the favor of five hundred—no, six hundred—powerful gods, then this war would not be in vain. They would stand a chance.

"Somel," he said, not bothering to look at the God of Rot lurking in the corner. "I want you on Nira's Path. Get as many godlings as you can to join our cause."

Somel slithered over to the map and wrung his hands together. "Sir, those children will have just gained their power. Surely, they wouldn't be much use to us."

"One good ability could mean the difference between victory and defeat, old friend." Death smirked and peered at him over the map. "And if it bothers you so much, we can put the useless ones on the frontlines."

"As you wish."

Death waited until Sommel's footsteps disappeared and pulled himself away from the map. Pushing open the stone doors to the war room, he stepped onto the long terrace. A fresh layer of snow greeted him, glistening on the horizon as far as his eyes could see, and the fresh air helped to clear his head.

Down below, gods trained together in the courtyard. They looked freezing. Most were not used to Frost Holm's icy temperatures, but Death did not share their discomfort. He had not felt the cold, not for many, many years—not felt much at all, really. And yet, looking down at his people now, warmth tugged at his chest.

They would build this new world together, free from the Court of Balance. The only ones welcomed in Alta would be gods. And the bare? They should have been left in the human lands long ago instead of withering away in Derut. There was no shame in being powerless, but there was a place for them in the hierarchy that belonged down below-- not in those miserable sands.

The terrace doors opened. Petra and Petir, the identical twins, came forward. They were barely old enough to have walked Nira's Path, but they had been Noctavius' best find yet: Gods of Many Faces. If not for their preference of looking alike and traveling side by side, they would look like strangers.

"Someone is here to see you, sir," said Petra, her voice sweet and deceptively pleasant. "She says it can't wait."

"Who?"

"Memory," spat Petir. "Let herself in the back door."

Noctavius clenched his jaw. "Bring her in."

They bowed in unison and let themselves out. Moments later, Dalla strolled onto the terrace with her long, black hair rippling in the breeze. She snorted and said, "Am I in the God of Death's domain or an orphanage? It's hard to tell with all the godlings running about."

"They are useful."

"Speaking of children." The goddess leaned over the rail and smirked. "I have new memories from the boy's father. You'll find them rather interesting."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

He nodded. "Show them to me."

Dalla held a hand over his head, and the world shifted into colors, blurred faces, and strings of noise. It was like a tangled web unraveling itself until the image of Theon became clear. He watched their conversation in silence, as he had done many times lately, and steadied himself as it slipped away.

"A record book?" Death rubbed his chin.

"The orb holds futures inside of it, all that Athema has seen, and that is why she keeps it tucked away."

While everyone had heard of Athema's orb, many speculated about its origins and purpose. Some believed she had forged it from The Sea, while others thought it was just an enchanted glass ball. It had been the goddess' best-kept secret for years and years. And yet, it was her own husband who shared the information freely.

Death rubbed his chin and studied the dark clouds above. "Did he tell you anything else?"

"That is all," she said, trailing a finger through her hair. A nervous tick. "The God of Volcanics grows suspicious of my questioning."

Noctavius stilled her moving hand and said, "You did wonderful, Dalla."

"The old man has a loose tongue." She shrugged, but her cheeks were red. "It was not hard."

Death shouted for the twins, and, in an instant, they walked onto the terrace. Petir cast a vile glance at Memory-- who rolled her eyes in response-- but Petra only smiled sweetly. Noctavius waited until they were close enough and spoke softly. "I need a favor. I need you to go to The Sands, to Athema's temple. Transform and blend in. Try to get all the information you can about her seeing room, the orb, and how to get in." They bowed, and he continued, "I'll call upon you when it's time to strike."

They exited obediently. Even Dalla looked impressed as she watched them go, their silhouettes changing form. When they were gone, Noctavius turned to Dalla and said, "I need you to keep a close eye on Theon."

"Am I not already?"

He breathed a laugh. The goddess was a hassle, but she had proved herself useful. "You've done beautifully, and I couldn't do this without you. It's his suspicion that has me worried."

"You're always worried," she purred. Dalla sidled over and straightened his cloak. "You look tired, Noc. It doesn't look like you've slept at all."

"And I won't until Alta is free at last."

She studied him and said slowly, "You're worried about the boy."

"He is the key to everything," he admitted. "Without him, we'll have a hard time winning this war."

"Maruble is young."

"It's not his youth that worries me," said Death, taking Dalla's hand. "It's the doubt in his heart. Already, I can see the passion for his noble cause wavering. We must be vigilant."

She squeezed his hand. "Keep speaking with him. He'll come around."

"If you need me, I'll be in the war room." Gently pulling away, Noctavius waved his hand and left her on the terrace. He always thought better when someone wasn't chatting away in his ear, which seemed to happen more often lately than not. The more followers you had, the more needed you were, it seemed.

Not too long ago, Frost Holm had been empty and deserted. There was nothing but Death, his domain, and the biting cold. Now, gods were constantly bustling in and out of his castle, chatting away or asking him for commands. Since he was always being tugged this way and that, he appreciated any moment of quiet he could get. He figured it would get worse when the war started.

Closing all the doors, Noctavius' eyes traveled back to the map—the life's work of a young goddess with a dream. Yes, the two of them were not all that different. That was why he had worked so hard to find this map, even if it was a little outdated: it reminded him of himself. Of gods like Maruble.

Even still, their numbers were weak-- there was no denying that. Only two hundred gods and goddesses were inhabiting his domain, and if the Court of Balance gathered an army, who knew how many that would be up against?

Death rubbed his brow and sighed. Too many gods had become comfortable in their riches. Even the poorest of gods, the weakest, lived like human royalty. Not many of them would be keen to have that lifestyle uprooted, even if it meant fighting for what they believed.

Still, restlessness was stirring. Many gods itched to see the full extent of their powers. Death scanned the map. Which gods would long for that power the most? Not the gods of Florum, who rarely left their lush forests, but perhaps the inhabitants of Druge. Those barbaric gods were hard to trust, but they were second to none when it came to war and power. His finger roamed the map until it landed on the Sands, Land of the Bare, and Death stilled.

Of course.

Of course, the most passionate people would not be gods; they would be the bare, powerless beings who had been mistreated for many ages. If he could mold their tempers in the right direction, he would have an army of his own. He shook his head and chuckled. Of course, of course.

And more importantly, the Goddess of Sight would never see it coming.