It was rare for a god to die. Rare, but not unheard of. For example, Maruble's Uncle Iris could bend the earth to his will and accidentally managed to open a gaping hole beneath himself, consequently falling through and meeting a swift end. It took five days and the entirety of the Court of Balance to pull his uncle's crumpled body from that dark pit.

Of course, Maruble had been too young to remember the god, but stories of that catastrophic fall haunted his childhood. He would lay in bed at night trembling, overrun with the strange sensation that he was falling. There were times that he had nightmares, even now. The rarity of a god's death only added to the shock.

And while death happened more often in other parts of Alta, such as the barbaric lands of Druge or the monster-ridden forests of Esselwood, it never happened around him. Gods didn't live forever, but they lived damned near long enough that it wasn't something worth worrying about. In simpler terms, no one had ever died in his immediate vicinity. It never crossed his mind that this could be something that happened to him—or to someone he knew.

Much less a friend.

Even as the flames around Maruble grew smaller, he couldn't tear his eyes away from Jacob's lifeless body. For all the emotions he had felt before, now he felt completely and utterly numb as if a vast void had opened up inside of him. The world itself felt like it had stopped spinning. He dragged his gaze to Sarah, whose whimpers had become more hushed and muffled in Jacob's chest. Her face was scrunched in agony as she trembled, whispering words he couldn't hear.

All of it was his fault. If he hadn't egged on the God of Death, none of this would have happened, and Maruble would have never been involved in the Altan war. He struggled to his feet and realized that his power was still drained from consuming the fire. Wobbling in place, he took a step toward Sarah—whose gaze hardened.

"I'll get him back," Maruble choked out.

"Get him back?" Sarah swiped at the tears rolling down her cheek and shook her head. "Ruby, he's dead. There is no getting him back."

"My name isn't Ruby."

She stared at him, confused. Steadying his thoughts, Maruble trembled and exhaled slowly. Sarah deserved to know the truth. After everything that happened, both of them did—but he would settle for this. It should have happened a long time ago.

"What's going on?" she asked, shakily. "Who was that man?"

"I think you already know." He pursed his lips and asked, "You saw what I did with the wall of fire, didn't you?"

"I don't know what I saw."

He motioned to the charred forest around them. "I have power over fire, but I only have control over a fraction of it for now. The man who took Jacob's soul is known as Noctavius, and he is the God of Death. He comes from my world."

"You're crazy," she whispered, her entire body shaking.

"I was sent to Earth as punishment for abusing my power," he continued, heart hammering in his chest, "and Noctavius used that as an opportunity to get back at me for not aiding him in a divine war."

"You're lying," she said, almost to herself. "I—I don't believe you."

"Sarah, you saw it."

"I don't know what I saw."

Maruble's chest ached. He was to blame for all of this destruction—for all of their pain. He met her eyes and said carefully, "The God of Death took Jacob's soul—but he's not dead. I think that we can get him back, but I need you to hear me out first."

"Are you claiming you're some kind of superhero?"

"A god," he corrected quietly.

"Why are you doing this?" Sarah laughed in disbelief, rubbing a hand over her face. "Jacob's dead. Whoever—whatever—that man was doesn't matter. He's gone, and if what you're saying is true, you're going to have to prove it. I refuse to hope—not unless you can prove it."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"I spent my reserves getting rid of the fire," he admitted, showing her his hands, "and I haven't regained my strength yet."

"Convenient," she said bitterly.

Suddenly, Sarah stood and grabbed Jacob's arm. She took a deep breath and began to pull. Maruble watched in disbelief as she attempted—albeit slowly—to drag Jacob's body across the forest floor. He blinked at her and then asked, "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" She snapped her head in his direction, but her next words came out as a sob. "I'm taking his body back to his parents so they can bury him. If you're not going to help, then stay out of my way."

For the first time since arriving in the human lands, Sarah gave him a look—one that he had seen plenty of times in his mother's temple. It was the same look he got when he flaunted his power around Derut. The same look he got when his mother's people watched him control his flames so effortlessly while they suffered and starved in The Sands, cursed to never feel that same power coursing through their veins.

Hatred.

At that moment, Sarah hated him with all of her being. She thought that he was a coward and a liar—that he had gotten their friend killed. Even though she was exhausted and coughing up a lung, that hatred ran so deep that she would rather drag Jacob's body out of the burning forest herself rather than remain in his presence for another second. The realization, while not at all surprising, stung so much that he wanted to fall back down to his knees—but he pushed away the thought.

Sarah had every right to be furious about what happened, and she deserved a real explanation. It was the least he could do.

He took a step forward.

Every bone in his body screamed. For a second, he wondered if he would faint, but he kept moving in her direction and refused to stop. Slowly putting down Jacob's arm, Sarah furrowed her brows and watched him approach. Maruble's voice was hoarse as he asked, "How many photos do you and Jacob have together?"

"I—I'm sorry?"

"Strange that we don't have any together, isn't it? For how long we've known each other?" He took a step closer, legs shaking. "It's strange that neither you or Jacob have any evidence of my existence besides your memories."

"That's ridiculous," she said, shaking her head slowly. "You've never liked taking pictures."

"Remember," he pleaded.

"Remember what?"

"Think of—my parents' funeral. You were there for that, right?" He was so close now that he could see a bead of sweat roll down her forehead. "And yet, I bet that you can't remember any specific details, like what you wore or what you said to me after the funeral. What about what happened after?"

Even though the fire had died down, the forest was mercilessly hot. Sirens blared in the distance, and for a moment, Sarah turned her head in their direction before looking back at him. She took an exasperated breath and said, "That doesn't prove anything."

"You saw it."

They stared at each other in silence. Sarah had seen Jacob's soul leave his body, but she struggled to come to terms with it. Part of Maruble felt hurt that she didn't believe him, but another part was frustrated—angry, even. If she wouldn't listen, then he would just have to let his power speak for itself. He lifted his hands and blew out a quick breath. Pain seared through his body, but Maruble ignored it. He was the God of Fire, the Harbinger, and Keeper of the Holy Flame. Sarah's eyes narrowed in disbelief as he gathered the last remaining bits of his strength and pushed.

A flame, barely bigger than a small snake, crept through the grass. It moved towards him, curling up his leg until it reached his hand. He winced. The pain centered in his lower back, but he let the fire float on his palm for a moment before it vanished in a wisp of smoke. Smirking, he said through haggard breaths, "If I wasn't weakened, I'd do something a little more impressive."

Sarah cleared the small space between them. Words hung on her lips, but if they were angry or doubtful, she never said them. Instead, she grabbed his hand and asked, "Can you really save him? Can you really bring him back?"

"I don't know," he admitted, looking away. "I think so. It won't be easy, but I'm going to try."

"I trust you."

Maruble looked back at her. Sarah stared up at him with all the strength of someone holding onto hope—despite everything. He held her gaze, even though he wasn't sure if he could really do it. No god had ever stepped foot in the God of Death's lair before, and he was already weakened, but he had to try.

No, he wouldn't fail. He would get back Jacob's soul, even if he lost everything—even if it killed him. Looking into Sarah's eyes, he knew that there was no other option. They had called themselves his friends when he didn't deserve it. Now, he would pay them back in full. It was the least he could do.

"Ruby?" she whispered.

"Yes?"

"If that's not your real name, then what is it?"

He blinked. Maruble had almost forgotten that he had mentioned the fake name that Dalla, Goddess of Memory, had planted in their heads. Looking around at the burned forest, part of him felt sad. The illusion of his human life was about to shatter at last. In the same vein, the forest would never be the same, either.

"My name is Maruble," he said finally. "I am the son of the Goddess of Sight and the God of Volcanics. I hail from the godlands—from a place known as Alta." Despite the pain coursing through his body, he stood straighter and smiled. "They call me the God of Fire."