When the God of Peace flickered to the human realm, Maruble was already waiting for him on the dock. The boy’s clothes were soaked and clinging to his back uncomfortably, water droplets falling from his hair in a steady rhythm. And yet, the God of Fire sat completely still. Looking over the horizon, he seemed far off—like he might disappear into a wave. Hartley shielded his eyes from the sun, reflecting harshly off the water, and said, "It's been a while."

"Has it?" he asked, leaning back on his arms. He tilted his head to the sky. "I guess I've been busy."

Hartley took a seat next to him. When the boy didn't offer anything else, they sat in silence for a long time and stared out at the lake. There was something peaceful about it—despite the wind chopping over the water. It was easy to get lost in. If it wasn't for war looming over him, he might have even enjoyed himself. Clearing his throat, Hartley pushed the thought away and said, "After our last conversation, I wasn't sure that I'd hear from you again."

"I wasn't sure, either," admitted Maruble.

"Admittedly, you look awful—but it seems like you've been doing well." He motioned to the boy's dripping clothes. "Luckily for you, I think Balance will be restoring your power sooner rather than later. You'll be the God of Fire again in no time."

"Hartley."

The God of Peace blinked. "Yes?"

For the first time since arriving, Maruble met his gaze firmly. There was nothing godly about the boy—not anymore—and yet, there seemed to be an otherworldly glow to him. It shimmered in tune with the water's reflection. "I want to stay here."

"You—I'm sorry?"

"I want to stay here and remain human," he clarified.

Hartley's breath stole out of him, and he gripped the dock's post to keep from tumbling into the water. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again. And yet, he could not find the right words. He managed, "May I ask why?"

"I like it here." Maruble waved a hand through the air as if batting away the implications of such a thing. "In Alta, there's nothing left for me but war and destruction. I can see it in your eyes, Hartley. I know you're thinking the same thing."

War. The one word he was tired of hearing was the one word he couldn't escape. Hartley exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his thoughts to no avail. "No god in Altan history has ever given up their godship. You wouldn't be able to return to the godlands. Ever."

"You can make it happen—I know you can," he said, eyes suddenly wide and pleading. He grabbed Hartley's sleeve. "I don't want to fight in a war, and I don't want to kill anyone. Please—won't you at least think about it?"

His heart hammered in his chest. Breathlessly, he said, "You are one of the most powerful gods of our land—Belthore will see that as a responsibility. He will expect you to fight."

Even as the words left his mouth, they didn't feel like his own. They were words from the God of Balance—not the God of Peace. Hartley eyed a fish floating on its side. It was long dead and half-eaten, floating on the water like a forgotten piece of time. He wondered how many people he would lead to their own deaths soon. How many of his friends would stare lifelessly into the sky?

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"I can't do it," Maruble breathed. Looking down at Hartley's clothes, he suddenly frowned. "What are you wearing?"

"It's the uniform worn by Wings of the Court."

Maruble sat still for a long time and looked over the lake. His shoulders slacked as he said quietly, "Death has made his move, then."

"He infiltrated Athema's temple," he confirmed. "Her people have started rebelling in Death's name, and they've taken the orb to Frost Holm."

"It wasn't all of them, was it?"

Hartley shook his head. "It wasn't all of Derut, but it was enough."

"It looks like the war will be starting sooner than I thought." Tapping his bottom lip with his thumb, Maruble heaved a long sigh and slouched. He murmured, "Is my mother safe, at least?"

"She's taken refuge at the Court of Balance until the war begins."

The words left his mouth breathlessly. Athema was the last person Hartley could imagine fighting in a war. The Goddess of Sight had always been so peaceful, taking care of the powerless and letting them into her temple. And yet, she seemed more ready to fight than he did. More willing to give everything for Alta's future.

"How much do you know?" asked Hartley.

"Enough," he admitted. Rolling his wrist, Maruble explained, "I was going to join the God of Death in this war—oh, don't pretend you didn't know. I could see it in your eyes, even back then, but things are different now. I'm ready to change."

Hartley closed his eyes as the boy spoke. Maruble was barely more than a godling—too young to be fighting in a war—and yet, he knew that Belthore wanted to use him to his advantage. The God of Balance had been Alta's saving grace, and he would do anything to keep it that way, even if it meant recruiting those who didn't wish to fight. That thought scared him more than anything else. He sighed as he stared over the lake.

It seemed so peaceful here—no wonder Maruble wanted to stay. If they were lucky, perhaps their war wouldn't affect the human lands at all, and they could all live on normally. The idea soothed something in him.

Chuckling, Hartley ran a hand over his face. Even if it was a horrible idea, he made up his mind. "Your presence could win us this war. Balance knows that, and he will do anything in his power to put you in uniform and have you fight for the Wings of the Court." Taking in the boy's questioning gaze, he put a hand on his shoulder and continued, "But I will do everything in my power to stop that from happening—under one condition."

"Anything."

"Tell me the reason you want to become human."

Maruble released a shuddering breath. Slowly, he said, "I'm tired, Hartley. All my life, I've felt so angry and trapped in Alta. If I can become human, I can start over in a place that's far away from the gods, and I can build my own future here."

"So, you want to run away?"

"For the first time, I have friends who care about me." Maruble tensed his jaw. "And I don't want to fight in a war and see people die. Am I wrong for that?"

Hartley pursed his lips, understanding all too well. "I'll relay your request to the Court."

"Thank you," said Maruble shakily. "I won't forget this."

Hartley smiled, but his stomach felt uneasy. He would no doubt face backlash for this at the Court, but he had to try. If not for the boy, then for himself. "Is there anything else?"

"Sorry, I need to go. I—I have some apologies to make." The God of Fire stood and walked down the dock. Hesitating, he looked back. "Hartley, I don't know how The Sea chooses our power, but you truly are the God of Peace. Thank you again."

With that, the boy grabbed his bike from the porch and pedaled down the driveway. Hartley stared at the spot where Maruble disappeared for a long time. There was a chance they wouldn't win this war without the God of Fire. Without his sheer destructive power, the Wings of the Court would be considerably weaker—and it would be Hartley's fault. How much blood would be left on his hands before this was all over? He looked up at the sky and shook his head.

None of that mattered. He was the God of Peace, as Maruble said, and if a young god didn't want to go to war, then he would do anything to ensure it didn't happen. That boy would never step foot on a battlefield—not if he had anything to say about it. Ruminating on that, he looked up at Maruble's old house and smiled to himself.

If he could save one person from dying in this war, then perhaps he could find comfort in that. Perhaps.