There were many things that Maruble, the God of Fire, did not understand about being human. He was still young, barely more than a child in Altan years. Maruble had not yet traveled to the far reaches of the godlands: he had not seen the shimmering waters of Port Vontil, he had not looked at the stars that glowed above Saltis, and he had not explored Derut outside of his mother's temple. Even though the god could have flickered there in an instant, he chose to hide in the confines of his domain. But while there were many things he didn't know about the world, there was one thing he understood about himself.

He enjoyed quiet.

So far, his human life had been simple. Besides his schooling, Maruble had no need to connect with others or see things outside of his human home. He could eat, sleep, attend his classes, and do all of it again. Or so he thought.

When the God of Peace had given Maruble a collection of fabricated memories for his human life, he felt something unusual. A feeling that pulled him away from the refuge of his room and down the steps to the front door. It grew louder as he made his way to the dock and peered over the vast lake, where water raced away from the dark clouds and brushed against the shore. There, he stood in silence.

Watching. Remembering.

He ruminated on those feelings as he biked to class that day, weaving down the dark roads like a needle through thread, and murmured to himself, "Something is wrong." It was like standing on the dock—standing there while the rest of the world went on its way. And as the world rotated and time continued on, all Maruble could do was look at the water and see their faces.

The faces of his human parents.

Drinking coffee that morning, he thought of them. Maruble had remembered a father with his nose in a book, glancing at him over thick-rimmed glasses, and a mother who smiled and laughed so easily. The three of them argued at times—some days, they argued more often than not—but they had been happy. His parents had believed in him every step of the way. They had not been gods or goddesses, they had not ruled over a wonderous domain, but they had been together—they had been his.

This concept was so foreign that Maruble felt sick to his stomach, and by the time the community college came into view, he started to feel faint. He clipped his bike to the rack and moved slowly towards the looming building. It wasn't until he saw two familiar faces lingering by the school's fountain that a weight seemed to lift in his chest. Another strange feeling.

"I can't go to this party. You can't make me."

"You're going," Sarah told him, eyeing him over her notebook. "All you do is sit at home Just come out with us."

"You should come," said Maruble.

Sarah dropped her pen in surprise, and Jacob nearly toppled over into the fountain. Jacob raised his eyebrows as high as he could. "You can't be serious."

"See?" Sarah brushed off her pen. "Ruby's going."

"But he hates parties."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"I'm going," said Maruble.

Jacob blinked at him. "But you hate parties."

"I need a change of pace," he admitted.

Sarah shot Jacob a look, and his shoulders sagged. "Fine. I guess if everyone's going."

After that, the three of them walked together until their paths diverged—Jacob complaining about the party and Sarah chiding him for being a shut-in. As Maruble watched them go, their absence swept over him like the weight of a crushing wave, and he felt the strange urge to run after them.

It was a bad day, he decided. A really bad day.

Chemistry passed in a blur, then World Lit. Maruble tried and tried to focus on something, on anything, but his head lowered to the desk, and he fell into a troubled sleep. When he awoke, class was long over, and a teacher poked his arm.

Professor Wilson asked, "Doing okay there, Ruby?"

"Just tired." He straightened up and fought the urge to yawn.

"I see that," she said and then frowned. "Are... things okay?"

"Fine," he said shortly.

"Well... If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." She pursed her lips and paused. "I'm sorry about your mother. I went to school with Abigail—she was brilliant. The world is worse off without her."

Maruble felt like a tower then, crumbling piece by piece. Lonely, that's the word he was looking for. Ever since the God of Fire had come to Earth, he had been terribly alone. Realizing the teacher was still watching him, he managed, "Thanks." And rushed out of the door.

Heart hammering, he raced across campus until he reached the library's doors. Rain pattered on the sidewalk. Maruble clutched his chest and tried to steady his breathing. The memories weren't real—and yet. A wind that was both cold and damp swept across his face. And yet, why could he not stop thinking of them?

The summer they spent next to the lake before he left for college. Little things, like sharing meals together and asking about his day, like they really cared. He had given them such short answers—shorter than they deserved—and now he could never ask them the same question. It was foolish, stupid of him to think of these imaginary people as real. But the memories... Somehow, they felt more alive than his own, like a sketch compared to a painted canvas.

But the professor... How had she known about his mother? Did Hartley alter her memories as well, like Sarah and Jacob? He would think on it more later, he decided. For now, he needed to go home and get ready for the party. The God of Fire turned to leave.

Then froze.

Someone crouched over his bike in the parking lot, inspecting something. Maruble squinted, but the man didn't look familiar. The stranger pulled something from his coat, an object that Maruble couldn't make out, then cut the lock. Quickly, he hopped on Maruble's bike and sped away.

"Hey," Maruble choked out. Then louder, "Hey, wait!"

He ran after him. He ran through the parking lot, dodging car after car and nearly getting hit twice. Maruble ran until he reached the road—rain pouring from the sky—and called after him again, but the man disappeared around the corner. Out of breath, Maruble stammered, "Please." But he was long gone.

Maruble trudged to the bike rack with his shoulders slumped. Seeing the lock on the ground, Maruble kicked it and cursed, but the damage was done. He was soaked, his books were drenched, and now his only means of transportation was gone.

Carrying his books under his shirt, Maruble walked home in the rain. He needed to accept Death's offer. And soon. When he finally opened the door, Maruble walked up the stairs to his room and fell onto the bed—soaked through. He stared up at the ceiling in misery.

He had tried to live as a human. For a short time, perhaps, but he really had tried. If this was how humans treated each other, hadn't he been right all along? He promised himself that, as soon as he regained his godship, he would burn all bike thieves to a crisp.

Another strange feeling washed over him, but this time, Maruble knew the source: he missed home.

He missed the godlands and his domain by The Sea. He missed flickering anywhere he needed to go, and he missed not being bogged down by human memories. But, most of all, so much it hurt, Maruble missed his flame. He missed being the God of Fire.

And after today, he would do anything to get it back.