Deep, deep in the woods, where the trees were charred black from volcanic flame and where creatures of the forest had long evacuated from the smoke, there was a sound. It was almost nonexistent among the shouting and the sirens blaring miles away. The police, who frankly did not get paid enough to deal with wildfires, much less the troublesome kids who ran into the fire, would have stopped cold in their tracks if they heard it. Even among the guilt and dread twisting at his stomach, Maruble couldn't help but smirk when he imagined the look on their faces—the ridiculousness of the situation.

His friend Sarah, however, did not share the same sentiment.

"I can't believe we're hiding a dead body."

Sweat dripped down Sarah's forehead in a steady rhythm, and she blinked as it stung her eyes. Unlike Maruble, Sarah was a human—one that had just faced the God of Death himself—and like any human would be in her situation, she was getting exhausted. Exhausted and annoyed.

"He's not technically dead," he corrected—not for the first time. Maruble paused dragging Jacob's not-corpse to add, "We're only hiding the body so that no one gets the wrong idea."

"The—wrong—idea?" huffed Sarah, pulling with all her strength. "What other idea could they possibly have? Please, I'd love to hear what you have in mind."

Despite her attitude, even her complaining sounded half-hearted with none of the usual spark. Red still lined the rims of her eyes where she had grieved for Jacob, thinking that her best friend was dead, and even though she had seen Maruble's power, doubt still lingered in her gaze. She still wasn't sure he could save him. The thought made her movements slow and jerky—burdened by her own hesitance.

The girl standing across from him was much different than the one he knew a week ago. When Maruble went to his first college party, Sarah and Jacob stayed by his side, and they helped him get his bike back from a fraternity that stole it. Thinking of it now, those were all very human problems—but it had felt important. Without either of them knowing, that was the night that he started considering them as friends. They had become people he loved and wanted to protect.

Not that he was doing a good job of it.

"There's Jacob's truck," she said, tilting her head to the side. The two of them heaved his body up and carried him over to the truck—where the doors were thankfully unlocked—and heaved him inside. Sarah brushed the ash from her hands and gave up when it only spread further. "Do you think he'll be safe in here? What if the fire picks up again?"

"It won't."

She opened her mouth to ask more, but Maruble was already heading toward the burned church—the place where the veil between worlds was thinnest. Pushing up his sleeves, he touched the embers thoughtfully. It was warm but didn't burn—a sign that his strength was returning, albeit slowly. He nodded to himself and stepped into the rubble.

Sarah, hovering near the truck, rubbed her arms and asked, "What are you doing?"

"There's a veil here," he explained. "It allows me to see the godlands and connect with it. If I can find the God of Death, then I can find where he's keeping Jacob's soul."

His voice sounded more confident than he felt. Maruble sifted through the ash, hauling away the larger pieces of wood near the center of the church. Lucky for him, the building had been small, and most of the rubble wasn't too much to carry on his own. Most of what remained had been eaten away by the fire.

Watching him, Sarah pursed her lips and said, "Tell me more about your home. Your real home."

Maruble tensed his jaw. He wanted to brush off the question—to talk about literally anything else—but then he glanced at Jacob's truck. The place where his friend's body lay still. Sighing, he tossed a chunk of roofing out of his way and ran a hand through his hair.

"There was a time that I was angry at everything."

"Shocking," muttered Sarah.

He cast her a look and continued, "When I was a child, my mother raised me among people known as Derutons—people who were born in the godlands but received no power. Most gods ignored them, but not my mother. She took the people of The Sands under her wing, and they treated her as a savior." He paused, taking a moment to catch his breath. "I hated living among them. No matter where I went in our home, there would always be someone begging for something or kissing my feet. Truthfully, I thought they were a nuisance."

Sarah frowned. "What happened?"

"They got the hint," he said, smiling sourly. "Slowly, the Derutons picked up on my disdain for them and started to despise me as well. When I obtained my power, they started to see me as a sort of symbol. I was everything they hated about the gods, and they treated me as such."

"Weren't you just a child?"

"In Alta, we're called godlings." Maruble pulled another plank from the rubble and tossed it to the side. "Don't get me wrong, I was a spoiled brat and probably deserved some of it, but the Goddess of Sight—my mother—would always take their side. Little Harbinger, she called me. Even as they sneered, stole from my room, and laughed with their friends as they tripped me. Her pity for them always won in the end, and so, I began to hate them." Maruble's heart pounded. Even though it was a long time ago, his shoulders tensed at the memory. "As I grew older, I started voicing my opinions to anyone who would listen, and it would often get me into trouble. My last attempt landed me here."

"With the powerless," she murmured, studying him carefully.

"I was banished here, and my power was taken from me." He nodded, somewhat guiltily. "But there was one god who paid attention."

"The God of Death—the one we saw in the forest."

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"He promised me a new world," he said with a sigh. "A world where gods could live like the days of old, and after a public dispute with my father, our disagreement was all the talk among the gods. And so, Death plotted an uprising—with me at the face of his cause."

"The days of old?" Sarah paled. "Where do humans rank on that hierarchy?"

"The bottom."

"Ah," she said slowly and then blinked. "Wait—you mentioned the days of old, but that doesn't make sense. There's nothing in human history that mentions gods ruling over us."

"Isn't there?" He paused hauling a charred piece of furniture to meet her gaze. "Mythology, folklore, fairytales—isn't it all written down? Most of it is made up, but there are fragments of truth scattered within the stories. I would know—I read some of them myself."

Sarah crossed her arms and flicked her eyes to the ground. Even from where he stood on the collapsed church, Maruble could see her mind racing, piecing together everything he was insinuating. Gods had lived above them all along. All this time, there were beings more powerful than she could ever imagine—and yet, humans had been none the wiser. Her eyes widened. Something akin to panic crossed over her face as she spilled out, "If all this is true, then that would mean—"

"Humans are at the mercy of the gods."

She exhaled shakily and leaned against the truck. Maruble looked away, giving her the privacy to digest this new information. He continued moving things around in search of the veil, trying to shift things around as quietly as possible. It would take him time to process everything as well. In all honesty, Maruble wasn't sure if he was ready to face down the God of Death. The god was an enigma—one that many Altan children heard stories about growing up—and most considered him to be a living legend.

The air shifted.

Sarah's head snapped to him. "What the hell was that?"

"The veil," he murmured, staring at the place he cleared just moments ago. Placing his hand at the center, he ignored the tingling in his arm and met Sarah's eyes. "I need you to look after my body while I search where Death is keeping Jacob. If anyone comes, take Jacob's truck and get out of here. Say that you found him in the woods."

"How long will you be gone?" she asked uncertainly.

"Not long."

She nodded slowly. "Be careful, Maruble."

It was the first time she had said his name—his real name. He met her eyes. There was so much to say, so many questions that needed to be answered, but there was no time for that now. He knelt by the veil, and his knees felt warm as the denim singed off. Before he could waste more time, he smirked and said, "See you soon."

Maruble closed his eyes. Remembering Death's words from what felt like so long ago, he imagined The Sea—those flowing waters where godlings received their power for the first time, the place where he had taken that pilgrimage down Nira's Path and found crackling flames. He saw the flowing fields of his domain and tore his eyes away, traveling further down the water's edge. Maruble was barely more than a wisp—moving faster and faster until the air became tepid. Those warm fields shifted to a landscape of ice, and winter surrounded him on all sides.

There.

Frost Holm loomed in the distance. The Castle of Death towered over the fields like a watchful eye, and Maruble's breath caught at the sight of it. He had heard stories, but those stories didn't do this place justice—the place where the God of Death had been banished. It was the only place that could conceal Noctavius' aura. Before he could turn back, Maruble passed through the gates like a shadow and then stopped suddenly.

There were people on horseback. More people than he could count—and not all of them gods. A good many of them looked like Derutons, the people who lived in The Sands and worshipped the Goddess of Sight—his mother. What were they doing here?

He stepped out of the way as people hauled provisions and weapons around him, moving in flow with the chaos and tying them into large wagons. Some of the gods standing around looked young—much too young to be fighting in a war. Was Noctavius recruiting godlings?

Moving past them, Maruble crept into the castle and made his way up the stairs. He searched the corridor until a large door caught his eye. It looked to be painted with charcoal with strange engravings etched over the frame, but the markings were different than those he was used to. If the carvings on his mother's door had looked like light, these looked like they were made in darkness. They were like a void, and if Maruble stared at them for too long, it felt like they were sucking him in. Holding his breath, he shifted through the door, and it gave way without resistance.

"About time."

Noctavius waited inside. The God of Death wore his crown of bones, and instead of his usual dark robes, he wore leather armor stitched neatly together. Suddenly, the god snapped his fingers together, and the symbols around the door turned to shadow. Maruble's heart pounded, and he was almost sure there was a strange whispering coming from the markings.

"I was wondering if you would show up," said Noctavius with a sneer. He held up a hand, and Jacob's soul appeared in his palm. "Looking for this?"

Maruble was glad that he was a wisp, or else his legs would have been shaking. "Give it to me, Noctavius."

"No. No, I don't think I will." Death closed his hand, and the orb disappeared in a flicker of light. "I don't have time for your heroics. If you haven't noticed, I have an army to lead—one that you were too cowardly to join."

"Choosing not to fight is not cowardice."

Noctavius raised an eyebrow. "Is that right? You'll defend these humans that you just met, but you won't defend your people?" When Maruble didn't answer, the God of Death chuckled and said, "I thought so. You see, choosing not to fight for me is one thing, but it's another not to choose a side at all."

"I didn't ask for your input," he growled. "I came for the soul."

"How about a game?" Death stepped forward, but Maruble held his ground. "If you win, you can have your friend's soul back. No strings attached."

"And if I lose?”

"Your soul belongs to me."

His body went cold. Noctavius obtaining his soul could mean any number of things, and he couldn't even begin to think about the consequences of accepting such a deal, but looking at his friend's life in the god's hands, he knew that he didn't have a choice. All of this was his fault. Regardless of the fear racking his body, he would make this right—he had to. Forcing the words out before he could stop them, Maruble said, "I accept."

"Perfect," purred Death. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a war to win."

Noctavius waved a hand.

Suddenly, Maruble was yanked back. Landscape passed him in shapes and blurs—so fast that he could hardly breathe. He was pulled out of the gates of Frost Holm, back through those rolling fields, and pulled into The Sea. Panicking, Maruble tried to swim, but he was pulled deeper and deeper into the water. His vision became black at the edges as he struggled to breathe—reaching for something—anything—

A hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back. Maruble's eyes fluttered open, and he coughed, trying to catch his breath. He was back at the church and standing over the veil. Next to him, Sarah was panting hard, and her face was twisted in pain from the heat of the embers. She scrambled back to safety and through bated breaths, asked, "What—the hell—happened?"

"I spoke with Noctavius—the God of Death."

"Did he explain that?"

Sarah pointed at a spot next to the rubble, and Maruble's breath caught in his throat. A door had appeared. It was unlike anything he had ever seen in his life—which was saying something because gods enjoyed their cryptic doors—and it appeared to be made of bone. From where he stood in the remains of the church, Maruble could barely make out the depictions of faces with large, hollow eyes. The many faces of the dead.

Sarah asked quietly, as if the door could hear her, "What is it?"

"That," said Maruble, brushing the ash from his clothes, "is a gate to the underworld."

"Okay, but what's it doing here?"

He ran a hand along the markings carefully, peering into those skeletal eyes. "It's where Death is hiding Jacob's soul."