The God of Fire was barely more than a teenager in Altan years. As far as gods were concerned, his pilgrimage to Nira's Path had been not that long ago, and most still viewed him as a child. Normal godlings would have been too young to have done anything meaningful or interesting with their lives—but Maruble was not like most.

When his ideals went ignored, he didn't beg the Court of Balance for an audience—he set fire to a human mountain, and they called for him themselves. Sure, they might have turned him into a mortal and banished him to Earth until he learned a lesson, but they had been forced to sit there and listen, dammit. He had been in control—if just for a moment.

Another wave of nausea rolled over him, and Maruble groaned. After the God of Death helped him retrieve his power, his body fought his godship like an illness, and he was unable to leave home or attend class. Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, he shivered and pulled the blankets tighter around him—the threads scraped against his skin like needles.

It wasn't that he cared about his human education. With war knocking on the Court of Balance's door, he doubted those uppity gods were paying much attention to his progress. Yet, it would have been preferable to the pain he was suffering now. The pain—and the long hours spent ruminating in the dark.

In those hours, he could almost see the lush godlands burned to ash: his father’s dazzling chain of mountains, his mother’s temple bordering The Sands, and the white marble of the Court of Balance. In his mind's eye, they all lay in ruin, and the faces of those he had known were pale and lifeless.

It was worth it, he told himself. It was worth it for all the gods who had been wronged by the Court to find Justice. Things would finally go back to the ways of old—a time when power wasn't something you shied away from but a birthright.

Yet, as pain engulfed his body, that thought did not hold the same weight. Perhaps it was the human part of him, but he could swear he was almost agitated by the idea. For what reason, he wasn't sure, but the war was too close to linger on such things.

“Ruby?” Sarah called, rapping on the screen door. “I’m worried about you and just wanted to check-in. Will you please open the door?”

Maruble groaned quietly. Since he started skipping class, Sarah’s visits had grown more and more frequent. He didn’t answer, of course, but that didn’t seem to deter her.

“That’s it,” she said suddenly. “I hate to do this, but it’s been almost a week, and I haven’t heard anything from you since the party. If you don’t open up, I’m calling the police.“

Maruble swung the door open and glared at her from the other side of the screen. For a moment, she took in his appearance: his disheveled hair, clothes that hadn't been changed in days, and his ashen features. Since he fell ill, he hadn't bothered taking care of himself, and most days, he hardly slept or touched his food. As she narrowed her eyes, a strange feeling washed over him, something that pushed past the annoyance. He angled his head out of the sun’s path and asked, “What do you want?”

“What happened?” she asked gently. “You’ve been holed up here since the party. Is there something I can do to help?”

He scoffed and turned away. “If you want to help, you can leave.”

“Talk to me,” she said, holding the door before he could shut it. Sarah paused and asked slowly, “Is it about your parents?”

Something snapped inside of him. Maruble whirled around and growled, “What do you care? Did you think I would answer the door, cry, and everything would go back to normal?”

“I'm not trying to piss you off.” She frowned and scratched the back of her neck. “You’re my friend, and I want to help.”

“Friend?” asked Maruble, laughing in disbelief. “All of this is pointless. I’ll save you any further embarrassment: we’re not friends, we were never friends, and the time we spent together these past couple of weeks has been a lie."

Sarah took a breath—her hand on the door shaking. “You don’t mean that.”

“I've decided to move on," he said with a smirk. Maruble put a hand on the wall to keep from swaying. “I suggest you try and do the same.”

The door slammed in his face. Maruble blinked, processing what had happened, and was about to complain when Sarah’s voice came from the other side of the door. Even without seeing her eyes, he knew that she was crying.

“After everything we’ve been through, how dare you say that to me,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “You're not the only one who's lost someone."

Maruble waited until Sarah got in her car and drove away. He stood there for a long time, trying to steady his breathing. When he was sure she was gone, he opened the door and stepped out into the driveway, even as his body screamed in protest. A warm wind welcomed him, hinting that winter was almost over. The world would wake up again, and flowers would bloom—but Maruble wouldn't be there to see it. There would be no school, no parties, and no more long rides on his bike. If he lost the war, it was likely that Sarah and Jacob wouldn't remember him at all. Even his house would crumble and rot. Gods had no use for such things, after all.

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The God of Fire walked until he reached a familiar opening in the trees, the place Noctavius had brought him only three days prior. His stomach twisted as he followed that trail and stepped through the church doors. Light filtered through the stained glass, and Maruble lay in the heart of the church, where the veil between worlds was thinnest. Here, he was suspended between different lives: the god who quietly lived out his days in Alta, the god who became human and remained on Earth, and the god who started a war and burned his homeland to the ground.

Was this how his mother, Athema, felt when she looked into her all-seeing orb? When she looked at all those futures laid out before her and realized that none were actually better, only less worse than the alternative? Perhaps the only thing she had truly wished for was normalcy. Just as he craved the quiet of her domain, had she only wanted to live out her days taking care of her people in peace?

And his father. Argued as they did, he was a god of routine and celebration. Why had that bothered him so much?

Maruble lay there for a long time, lost in thought. He didn't move until the sun had long set over the horizon, and his back ached against the wooden floor. Walking home, he ignored the cars that passed by and looked up at the moon. Just like that, the realization washed over him.

Even if Death had made him the face of this war, it was still Noctavius' voice that they were listening to—not his. All he had really done was encourage the squabbling of old gods. While there was no turning back, he couldn't help but wonder what part he was meant to play in all this. Did Death care what he had to say? Or did he just want him to destroy those in his path?

A truck was waiting for him in the driveway when he returned. Jacob stood outside, leaning against the bed of it—face contorted with fury. Ignoring him, Maruble walked by and said, "I'm not in the mood to talk today, Jacob."

"Really?" Jacob stormed after him, face growing more red. "Because I'm dying to talk about it."

Dismissing him, Maruble waved his hand through the air and said, "Just go away."

"I don't think I will go away, actually." He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. Do you know why, Ruby? Because all of us were just fine a week ago—more than fine. And suddenly, you disappear from school and snap at Sarah for checking on you. Sorry, but I'm not going away until you tell me what the hell you were thinking."

Maruble massaged his temple, fighting off an oncoming headache. "You don't understand— of course you don't. There's no point in trying to explain."

"Then help me understand," he fumed, but there was desperation in his eyes. "Look, I know you've been through some terrible shit these past few years, and it's not fair, but you have no right to take it out on us. We're the ones who have stuck with you through it all."

Even though the images that came back to Maruble were fabricated by the Dalla, the Goddess of Memory, the feelings that lingered were very real. The three of them had been inseparable. No matter how much trouble Maruble caused or how much he had hurt them, his friends had always stayed by his side.

No—that wasn't right. Those memories were fake. Even if they felt real, it was all a ploy from the Court to make him more obedient. Shaking his head, he managed, "I'm done talking to you. Just go home and forget any of this happened."

"Oh, I'm just getting started." Jacob grabbed the door before Maruble could shut it. "If I was going to leave, I would have disappeared when your parents died—like everyone else." He squeezed past Maruble and plopped down on the couch, crossing his arms. "Keep having your episode—or whatever this is. When you're done, I'll be right here waiting to talk."

"If you won't leave, then I will," hissed Maruble, rolling his eyes.

"Don't you hear yourself?" Jacob stood and threw his hands in the air. "What's so bad about the way things are? You have everything you need: friends, a home, and a future—and you are so close to making it, in spite of everything." He stepped towards him. "Listen, I know you're hurting right now, and I know that none of it is fair, but why shove it in our faces and run? Why now?"

Maruble hesitated. Opting for honesty, he said, "I'm leaving because I can't stand being here anymore."

"That's fine," said Jacob, hardening his gaze. "We knew that you wouldn't stay here forever—it surprised us that you came back at all—but that doesn't excuse what you said to Sarah. She doesn't deserve that. Not after everything she's been through."

Narrowing his eyes, Maruble searched his memories until the realization hit him. "She lost her father as well."

He pursed his lips. No wonder his tantrum had worried her so much. Guilt writhed in his stomach, but he shoved it down and locked it away. Quietly, he added, "I'm sorry."

"Don't tell that to me. Tell it to her."

With that, Jacob marched to his truck and sped away.

Maruble took a shuddering breath and leaned against the wall. Sarah and Jacob could never understand the weight he bore on his shoulders, even if he wanted them to. He was the face of a divine war—a fallen god—and yet. Looking at his empty driveway, his chest ached with loneliness. And yet, why did he long to tell them everything?

Maruble kicked the side table, and when the lamp shattered, he kicked the other one for good measure. He grabbed all the throw pillows and slung them into the wall. Screaming, the God of Fire released all the emotions building up inside of him, then charged out the door. He fell into a sprint, then a full-blown run, aimed right for the lake. When he hit the dock, Maruble ignored the pain in his body and jumped as far as he could.

He crashed into the water, slowly sinking to the bottom. Bit by bit, he released his power in small increments, suspended in that muffled silence. When the pressure alleviated, he swam up and breathed in the night air—filling his lungs—and floated along the lake. The night sky was endless around him, filled with stars that reflected off the water. For a moment, he wondered what his life would have been like if his power wasn't made to destroy, but then he released that thought as well.

Maruble felt empty. Surrounded by stars, he imagined he was the only person left in the world, and no one—not even the God of Death—was coming for him. He was nobody and nothing, just for a moment.