Maruble studied the small figurine standing upright on the table. It depicted a man splaying his arms to a kneeling woman as she begged the deity for—what he assumed was—forgiveness for her sins. It was a simple thing, but it reminded him that bowing before powerful deities was human nature. Without it, they were lost.

Death moved to the heart of the church and placed his hand on the floor. "The veil is thinnest here."

Maruble tore his eyes away and felt the area himself. Immediately, a tingling sensation went up his arm. He laughed under his breath and whispered, "There's so much power here. I've never felt anything like it."

"Once you enter, there will be no turning back."

"I'm ready," he said, nodding once.

"Perfect." Noctavius grabbed his arm and said, "Place your hand down flat—right here—and close your eyes. Now, envision the godlands: the Court of Balance, with its high-rising pillars and white walls; see Theon's Chain, your father's string of mountains, and the smoke rising from his volcano."

It all came clearly to him. One moment, he was kneeling on the floor of the church, and the next, he was drifting over Alta. "I see it."

"Look past the wilds of Florum and bloody fields of Druge. Look to Derut and Athema's temple—casting a shadow over The Sands."

"I'm there."

"Maruble, there is something I need you to do for me first—before I can return your power," said Death, his voice almost a whisper.

Body reeling with power, he exhaled sharply. "Anything."

"Go up the steps to your mother's temple." Death gripped his arm tighter. "Show me to the door of her seeing room."

He obeyed, trailing up those long steps like a ghost. Her people sat along the halls, but in this place, they looked like a mixture of shadows and light. Skirting around them, he walked through the doors of Athema's throne room, past her empty chair on the dais, and down the hall. Maruble kept going until he reached the door.

"I'm here," he murmured.

"How do you get in?"

Maruble felt along those strange symbols. "It is sealed. I don't know the password—all I know is that it's spoken in Altani."

"Think, boy," muttered Death. "What words have you heard your mother speak in Altani? There must be something."

Maruble racked his memories but came up short. After a while, he stammered, "I—I don't know."

Death's fingers pressed tightly into his arm. "Think."

Staring at the door, his eyes roamed over the strange symbols, and his mind went back to that day before his father's party. He was visiting his mother for guidance. How naive he had been, thinking he could rally her to his cause, especially knowing how she doted on her people. When he was leaving—she had said something. What had she said?

Your hatred grows stronger by the day, My Lelo. Don't let it control your heart.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Lelo," he breathed in disbelief. "It can't be."

"Lelo?" After a pause, Noctavius chucked and said, "Of course, the Goddess of Sight knew that you'd figure it out one day."

Little Harbinger. Maruble shuddered, shoving down the fear and questions overtaking him. "What now?"

"Of course," said Death, a smile washing over his voice. "Leave the temple and head for the north, where your domain lies next to The Sea."

His body jerked from the temple. Quicker than before, it raised over the miles and miles of terrain, following Nira's Path until his humble castle came into view. At the sight of it, a weight lifted from his shoulders. Maruble floated down to the front steps and—hands shaking—pulled open the door. Everything was just as he left it.

"Are the torches lit?"

"They are."

Death made a sound—almost like a relieved sigh. "Good. Now, walk up to one and place your hand over the top."

For the first time, Maruble hesitated. His domain was wickedly hot—to the point it was almost unbearable. He asked slowly, "Will it burn?"

"It will hurt," Noctavius admitted, "but touching fire from your domain is the only way to reawaken your power."

A feeling bubbled up inside of him, something he had never felt toward his flames—fear. Maruble was afraid of his own fire. In human form, his body was susceptible to all kinds of injuries. To be burned by his own power, Maruble didn't know what that would feel like, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Do it," hissed Death. "Do it now."

Heart hammering, Maruble stepped forward and placed his hand on the torch. A searing pain enveloped his hand and raced up his arm. He screamed, trying to pull his arm away, but it wouldn't budge. The flames flickered up and grew brighter—as if they were devouring them.

Notctavius gripped his shoulder from the other side of the veil. "Don't let go. Let the flame course through you—make them yours! Pull them back through the veil!'

Death would have been a mercy. A torrent of panic and pain surged through him, and if he could move, he would have writhed on the floor in agony. It burned, he realized. This was what it felt like to be burned by his flame.

"Hold on, boy!"

Then, Maruble felt it. It was small at first and barely recognizable, like an ember hidden among the stars. As pain overwhelmed him, he groped for that feeling in the dark—until he felt it. That warmth he had missed so much.

Suddenly, it fell over him in a wave of power. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. He was Maruble, the God of Fire, a child born in the godlands. For so long, his power had been stolen away from him, but now it was back. This fire was his. He pulled that power closer to him—more and more—until the burning felt good.

"That's enough," called Death from somewhere far, far away. "Let go, Maruble. That's enough for now!"

But he was lost in it—that feeling he had missed so much. He was about to grip the torch tighter when someone grabbed his arm and yanked back. Maruble tumbled from the godlands with a scream of protest, falling backward into the church. His breath coming out in quick huffs, he laid his head back, staring up at the stained glass windows. Noctavius grabbed his arms carefully and frowned.

Two black marks ran from the palms of his hands to his elbows, curling up them like smoke. Almost to himself, he murmured, "Curious."

"It's back," he said between breaths. "My fire is back."

"Only some of it," Death reminded him. "You nearly got yourself killed in there. Taking too much power into your human form could have been deadly."

"But it will come back?"

Noctavius nodded and said, "In time. When you're ready, it will return you to your true form."

Maruble stared down at the fresh marks on his arm. They burned, but he didn't care. He waved his hand towards the candles, and they burst to life, burning with delicious heat.

"Wonderful," Death murmured. "Perhaps we will be able to pull off this war after all, God of Fire."

"You really believe it?"

Death looked down at the figurine that Maruble had been studying before. There was life in his eyes that wasn't present before, a new hope that radiated from the god and filled his features with life. He picked up the figurine and squeezed it tightly. Looking back at Maruble, he said, "When the time comes, you are going to free our lands and help us take back what was ours. That is your destiny."

The words of his mother came back to him. Little Harbinger.

Had Athema truly known, all this time, that he was going to betray her? Ever since he was a child, had she known that he was going to lead another god into her seeing room? Maruble shook the thought and turned back to Noctavius, but the God of Death was already gone.