Maruble wiped the sweat from his aching head and pushed the broom across the long hallway, sweeping more dust into the growing pile. Even as a god, he had cleansed his own domain from top to bottom numerous times, but this felt different. This house didn't heal and restore power, and it didn't react to his movements like a living, breathing thing. No, this home was just that—a human thing. And like all human things, it was fragile and in need of care.

Even still, as he filled the dustpan and emptied it in the yard, he was satisfied with his work. Despite his throbbing headache and lingering nausea from last night's partying, it felt good to spend his day off classes doing something useful.

Brushing off his hands, he glanced at the bike leaning against the porch. Even if he would be reprimanded for it, the look on Taylor's face had been worth the trouble. Maruble marched back inside and scrubbed the countertops, smirking to himself—then, his movement slowed. He scratched his neck and sighed.

The humans here got along so easily. Even Taylor, who most of the Beta house disliked, would have been allowed to stay at the party if it wasn't for his thieving. Gods were different—their pride ruled all. They loved chaos and grand gestures, especially when it came to gods they hated. Maruble had done it himself plenty of times. But, at last night's party... No one had cared about power or status.

In his fabricated memories, he had grown up with friends and schoolmates, but his real memories were much different. The people of Derut had despised him. Before he had obtained his power, the children had sneered at him and threw sand in his face. Eventually, when he made his trip to Nira's Path and obtained his godship, they avoided him altogether. He wasn't sure which one he preferred more.

Maruble shook the thought. Needing to clear his head, he tossed a few ice cubes into a glass and poured a generous amount of water into it. He walked himself through the back door and down the hill to the dock. The weather was still cool, and as he leaned back on his arms, a feeling of calm washed over him.

Not too long ago, he had cried out to the skies to take him back—he would have swam into the horizon if it meant they would return his fire. Even though he hated to admit it, there were benefits to being a human— not having to attend his father's parties, being one. Another was that he didn't have to listen to his mother's vague warnings or speak to her covered face. Here, he was free to do whatever he liked. Even if being human was embarrassing and despicable, the quiet had been... almost nice.

"Well, now," The God of Death hissed behind him. "You sure look comfortable."

Maruble staggered to his feet in disbelief. "Noctavius?"

"Are you surprised to see me? I told you I'd be back." He raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you've started to like it here?"

Maruble huffed a laugh, but it sounded forced—even to his ears. "Of course not."

"Good." Smirking, Noctavius turned away from the dock. "Then let's take a walk."

For a moment, he hesitated. Maruble's eyes wandered to the bike leaning against the side of the house. His stomach churned, thinking about the two humans who had become—well, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he enjoyed Sarah and Jacob's company.

"I know what you're feeling, Maruble," said Death slowly, pausing. "When I was around your age, I fell for a human woman. We were to be married."

Maruble stepped forward. "What happened?"

"She was weak." He spat out the words like venom. "Her frail body could not bear to be in the godlands, and so she wilted away in my domain until darkness took her."

Maruble blinked. "Why didn't you take her back to the barelands?"

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Death stormed towards him suddenly. He leaned into Maruble's face, and a chill went down the god's spine—a feeling like he was about to die. Intaking a breath, Maruble was about to run when he noticed the god's hand. It was trembling.

"Don't you think I tried? Don't you think I wanted my future wife to live?" Noctavius pointed a shaking finger at him and muttered, "Even though she was sick, the Court declared that she could not leave the godlands unless her memories were wiped—memories of gods, memories of us." He took a staggering breath. "And, of course, my darling, my precious Gemma, she refused. So they barred her from leaving and let her waste away."

"Why?" breathed Maruble.

"Fear." He backed away and said, almost tiredly, "The Court fears the unknown. If we were to rule like the old gods, none of that would have mattered. My Gemma would be still alive, and this illusion of order would be wiped away. Gods would rule themselves, as it was meant to be."

Maruble studied Death. On the surface, he seemed like a god who simply wanted to go back to the old ways. But when he spoke of that human, there was something else there, too—something he had never seen before. The God of Fire bowed his head. "I'm sorry about Gemma. I'll come with you."

Without another word, Death turned on his heels and continued walking. He led him past the old house and down the driveway, opting to walk in the middle of the road. They moved in silence for a long time, and it wasn't until they reached an opening in the woods that Death murmured, "Through here." Leading them both down a narrow path covered with fallen limbs and curling brambles.

Even then, they didn't stop. Not until they reached the church.

"Here we are." Noticing Maruble's pause, he waved him forward and said, "Don't just stand there. Come in."

The abandoned church was a strangely serene place. The building was small, surely not able to fit more than thirty people at most, but there was a sort of charm about it. Even though it was old, it wasn't crumbling like the house he lived in. It seemed held together by some sort of magic. They walked up the wooden steps—the door creaking as Noctavius pulled it open—and Maruble's mouth dropped.

"Quickly," said Death, walking down the plush red rug between the pews. Light scattered through the stained-glass windows, spreading a kaleidoscope of color throughout the room.

At the front, there was a half-rotting piano that looked like it hadn't been played in decades. Maruble sat down on the bench and ran his finger along the keys. He turned a questioning gaze to the God of Death. "What is this place?"

"You feel it, don't you?" Noctavius breathed in deeply and sighed. "This is a house of religion, made special by the fact that it was accidentally built on divine soil."

"Divine soil? I've never heard of such a thing."

He nodded and explained, "It's place on land where the veil between the godlands is thinnest."

"That's impossible."

"Not if it's been touched by The Sea."

"The Sea?" Jumping to his feet, Maruble nearly knocked over the piano's bench. "How in Alta's name did you find such a place?"

"I had a map," he said with a wink. "A map from the Goddess of Paths. She studied our world and found places where The Sea's veil was thinnest." And, more reverently, he said, "It was her life's work."

Maruble touched the light scattered along the walls. "And it will take me back to the godlands?"

"Not quite." He raised a finger and continued, "Stepping through the veil is like being suspended between worlds. Even though it won't take you back in full, it will allow you to connect with your domain temporarily."

"And regain my power," he murmured, rubbing his chin.

"It won't give you back the full extent of your power—not yet. That will take time." He leaned against a pew, smirking. "Unless, of course, you've grown fond of the barelands."

"How long would it take?"

"I can't give you an exact time, but it should be slow enough for the court not to notice. At least, not until we're ready."

Maruble pursed his lips, contemplating the futures before him. On one hand, he could continue playing by Balance's rules and only hope to get his power back, but war would break out regardless. And perhaps he would be stuck here, forgotten. On the other hand, if he joined with Death, he could finally regain his power and shove the Court's judgment in their sniveling faces. Not only that, but the ideals he had dreamed about for so long might finally come to fruition.

But what would happen if Noctavius failed? What then?

"If you'd rather stay here," said the God of Death with a smile, "I'm sure your father would love to pay you a visit. He does seem to love the humans here—perhaps you two have more in common than you think."

Maruble strode to the altar, kneeling to expect the candles that had burned out years ago. He turned one over in his hand, feeling the wax with his thumbnail. That's right—he was beginning to sound like his father. Even his worries about the future sounded an awful lot like his mother, the Goddess of Sight. He let the candle roll from his hand and clatter to the ground, turning to the God of Death darkly.

"What do I need to do?"