Maruble, God of Fire, Keeper of the Holy Flame, decided that the human who invented bicycling was both a masochist and a genius.

There he was, stranded in an abandoned house by a lake, his clothes shredded from learning to ride, and yet there was satisfaction in the skill and balance it took to conquer the blasted thing. As he pedaled faster, the Earth's wind brushing his face did not feel so much like a burden but rather an achievement. The Court of Balance didn't think he could do it, and his father didn't think so, either. That thought alone made him smirk as he gripped the handlebars and navigated the winding roads.

It would have been even more satisfying if Maruble had any control over where he was going.

Ten minutes ago, he found himself riding towards the human education center—community college, they called it—a place he had apparently been attending on and off for the past six months. If Maruble was honest with himself, nothing felt particularly good about pedaling towards this place. He felt awful about it, actually, but there was a sense of importance that he couldn't quite shake.

So, heeding Hartley's suggestion of trying, Maruble kept going. A honking car sped past, and Maruble cursed. His forehead was already damp from the ride—despite the cold—but it did little to quell his temper. "A human education," he muttered. Maruble huffed a laugh. "What a load of--"

The building came into view.

It was grand—perhaps even marvelous. The community college was a wooden structure three stories tall and lined with glass windows. Two strong pillars stood firmly at the front, only precluded by a bubbling fountain and lush greenery. He covered his eyes at the sun's reflection, but still, it washed over him like the light of a microscope.

"What in Nira's name is this place?"

He had seen it before in his memories, but those were washed out and bleak, with only vague comings and goings to mark the passage of time. The reality was vastly different: the landscape was brimming with humans rushing to class or lounging on the fountain's lip. Even if the sheer number of them was vile, he could not help but commend the impressive architecture it took to hold them all.

Leaning his bike on the rack, Maruble's eyes landed on the college's open doors. There would be two classes today, and then he would head to the school library to do homework and study. It was not exactly painless, but it was simple enough. He gathered his wits about him, took one last look at those tall windows, and strode onto the campus.

Memory pushed his feet in the right direction, past the fountain, past the looming pillars, and stepped through the doors. Almost instantly, dread writhed in his stomach. Some innate part of him would have rather thrown himself in the fountain rather than go inside. It was as if they had given him memories that were broken, lost to any semblance of logic.

He shoved the feelings down and focused his attention back to the building. It was less impressive on the inside as if all the glory had been saved for first impressions. While the outside held a classic sort of charm, the inside felt downright outdated, like whoever built the damned thing had forgotten all about it.

As he wandered to class, his anxiety melted into mundanity. Humans passed by, but to his relief, no one seemed to take notice of him. Maruble tracked the passing doors until he found one labeled American History and stepped inside—quickly before he could change his mind.

The class turned to look at him. Everyone, including the professor.

Ah, he had arrived late after all.

Professor Giles opened his mouth to speak and then hesitated. He cleared his throat and said, "Ah, Ruby. Thank you for joining us. Why don't you take a seat?"

Shrugging, Maruble wandered to an empty desk, but his shoulders remained tense. Every eye in the room followed him like a caged animal. They were thinking about his dead parents, he knew. And even though their deaths had never really happened, it didn't stop his heart from hammering in his chest in a way that felt uncomfortably real.

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The beauty of small villages-- small towns, rather. Humans seemed to have the same knack for gossip as anyone else in the godlands. And even though he knew his parents were safe in Alta, it didn't stop the minutes from crawling by at a snail's pace.

Even Giles yawned. Clicking through the slides on a monitor, the professor was an embarrassment to scholars everywhere. He droned on and on. After an hour of listening to him speak, Maruble decided that community college was a place of torture.

When they were free to leave, Maruble stumbled to his next class and nearly cried out in relief when he found it was canceled. The God of Fortune must have been watching out for him, after all.

He exited the large doors, not caring to look back at the building he was marveling at just an hour before. And instead, glanced toward the fountain and froze.

Two people argued next to it. No, not two people; they were his friends, Jacob and Sarah. Faces in his memories. He inched closer and listened.

Jacob huffed, "Audiobooks count as reading."

"I'm not saying they don't count; I'm just saying that they're different than books." Sarah rolled her eyes and said, "It's like listening to a podcast."

"But it's a story," countered Jacob.

"Podcasts can be stories."

"It's not the same."

Not understanding why, Maruble moved closer until he stood next to them. Surprisingly, the thudding in his heart eased as he cleared his throat.

"Finally, someone with some sense," said Sarah when she caught sight of him. Jacob threw his hands in the air, but she ignored him. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"Cancelled," he said simply. He still had no idea why he approached them or what he expected from the conversation, but for some reason, it felt deeply important—perhaps the key to regaining his godhood. A test from Balance himself.

"I can't remember the last time one of my professors canceled," Jacob mused. "Do you guys want to hit that party tomorrow?

"Party?"

"At the Beta house, remember? They always throw the best parties." Sarah waggled her eyebrows at him. "Lots of free booze."

Maruble had no idea what a human party looked like. Well, he had an idea from his memories, but it wasn't the same as seeing it for himself. Curiosity getting the better of him, Maruble murmured, almost inaudible, "I'd like to see it for myself."

"Seriously?" asked Jacob, blinking.

"That's great," said Sarah, elbowing the boy in the ribs. "I have to get to class, but I'll see you guys tomorrow. You'll pick us up, right Jacob?"

When he nodded dumbly, Sarah waved to the two of them and hurried off. Jacob waited until she was gone to mutter to himself and shake his head. As they walked toward the library, Jacob finally said, "Do you think she's right?"

Maruble blinked. "About what?"

"That audiobooks aren't actually reading," he said, blowing out a long breath. "I mean, you still get the story, right? Isn't that what's important?"

Thinking quickly, Maruble stumbled through his memories for the meaning of podcasts and audiobooks. They were interesting things—very interesting—but he would mull on that more later. For now, Maruble shook his head and said, "I don't think they're the same." Jacob visibly wilted, but then Maruble continued, "But I do believe they are equally important. They are two different mediums of storytelling that are beneficial in their own ways. There is no need to be disheartened by their differences."

Jacob blinked, then snapped his fingers. "Exactly! That’s what I was thinking."

Maruble highly doubted that was what Jacob was thinking, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue. As the human rambled about the audiobook he was listening to, his mind wandered to the God of Death, to the war brewing on the horizon—the one he would be the face of if he wanted anything to change in the godlands.

Jacob said his goodbyes when they reached the library. Maruble watched him go, his friend still muttering to himself as he stepped into his vehicle, then turned to the library doors.

He always studied here in his memories. It wasn't necessarily a bad place, but this time he could not bring himself to walk through the doors. Not when it reminded Maruble so much of Athema-- the one who put him in this situation. His own mother.

Heat rolled through him. If he still had his power, flames would have trickled from his fingertips in frustration. But he was not a god, and he had no fire to burn it down. Because of her. Because of them.

Maruble was about to turn and walk away from the library when Noctavius' words drifted back to him. Play their little game, the God of Death had said. Play by their rules. Opening the doors to the library, a smirk settled deep into his face.

Yes, he would follow their silly routine: he would pay attention in class, study for tests, go to that human party... And then, when he finally earned everyone's trust, he would burn the Court of Balance to the ground himself.

Just like their precious mountain.