Vayra stepped into a smoke-filled hall. Amber windows let in slices of light, given form by the smoke, and yellow lanterns hung from the rafters, swaying in the faint breeze. The floor was made of uneven flagstones, and ashy debris littered it, turning them from gray to black.

Vayra approached a table at the opposite side of the room, where a few figures stood. They were all muscular, and like the guards, they all carried oversized blacksmith’s hammers on their backs.

Farrir stood at the very end of the table, tapping a sheet of paper and speaking softly to his descendant subordinates. Most were Admirals, though there was one Grand Admiral with hair that glistened with an unnaturally coppery tone.

Farrir, the only one of them who radiated the presence of a God, wore a sleeveless coat and had coppery hair that seemed a little more natural on him. He’d tied it up into a ponytail. “Leave us,” he instructed, and without a word of debate, the God-heirs bowed their heads and filtered out of the room.

Once their footsteps faded, and even Vayra’s reforged ears couldn’t hear their boots thudding down the stairs, Farrir asked, “What are your intentions, Mediator?” He stayed behind the table, leaning on it with his hands. The wood seemed to creak and groan under his weight, and the end of the table closest to her lifted slightly.

“I am going to destroy Karmion and any other god who doesn’t ascend back to the upper realms, where they belong,” Vayra said. “The gods may have temporary holdings for their children, as I understand is tradition, and they may raise god-heirs, but those will never hold sway over their mortals, and their lives won’t be considered more valuable. They won’t do damage to the peaceful planets or upset and defile nature.”

Farrir reached up and stroked his chin. “I see…”

“Why?” Vayra asked. “Why descend and occupy this realm? You aren’t advancing, are you? You’re not gaining strength. Why do this?”

Farrir snorted. “Because Karmion bade us to, and no one resists his will. Because there is no good in having power if you can’t use it. Because the realm above is an intermediary plane of heaven, a dull and desolate wasteland, and the gap between the realm of Emissaries and what lies beyond is far more than you could imagine, than even the Stream could comprehend, and in the meantime, we must keep ourselves sane.”

Then sending them back would be a suitable punishment for what they’d done.

“Do you agree with Karmion, then?” Vayra asked.

“I’d rather ascend again than die,” said Farrir. “To that end, I am not interested in fighting you, or earning a grudge. I am also not fond of Karmion, especially of his behaviour lately. I know he’s making a weapon. I’d be the best for the job, but he doesn’t trust me. He’s butchering the best ingredients available to him and making a mockery of my craft, but if he truly forges a Mediator-slaying weapon without me, it would greatly diminish my authority and standing in the eyes of the mortals.”

Vayra glanced over her shoulder, regarding the mouth of the stairway, where the two guards who had brought her up still stood. She couldn’t see them, but she sensed their presences.

Every passing second, the further they got into the conversation, the more she sensed danger from the god-heirs. Presumably, most of Farrir’s family still sided with Karmion.

“Don’t worry about them,” Farrir said. “They have been briefed and selected specifically for this purpose—they were expecting you, after all.” He lifted his hands, then marched around the side of the table. “In many ways, Karmion has arranged my downfall, and my family along with me.”

“So you’d help me?”

“I’d make a deal with you.”

‘Earning a favour from a God?’ Phasoné asked. ‘Not bad, but I’m not sure if that will turn the tides in our favour.’

“I need more than a favour,” Vayra said. “You side with me, you’ll get to live. You’ll have to leave this realm, but I won’t hold any ill will against you. What can you do to help me?”

“Let’s start simple,” Farrir said. “Karmion is making a weapon, but it won’t be perfect—not like an implement from my forge. But he’s forging it from the most valuable, rare materials in the galaxy. He is using the strongest shadowthorn he has. That is priceless.”

Vayra let a grin slip onto her face. “And say, if I stole it…”

“It would hardly be suited for you.”

Her expression dropped and she breathed a sigh. “Right. Sorry.”

“That is, in its current state. My dear, who am I?”

She blinked a few times, unsure how to answer.

“You are speaking with the Forge God. I can adjust the weapon and turn it into a godslaying bane, and a tool perfectly aligned with you. But…”

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‘He can’t just do that with his bare hands,’ Phasoné provided.

“I’ll need dragonfire.”

She rolled her lips inward and chewed the insides of her cheeks. “Dr—dragonfire? They’re extinct. I can’t find it any more than you can.”

“I need something on par with the level of the shadowthorn. He’s making an Emissary-grade weapon, and though it may have cracks in its form, imperfections, he will need a strong, arcane fire, too—even if he hadn’t realized it yet.”

“Just a strong arcane fire?” Vayra tilted her head. “Or specifically dragonfire?”

“Fire from the man who inherited the godly authority of the flame dragons, perhaps?” Farrir continued around the side of the table, running his fingers over the varnished wood and sweeping aside clutter. “You’ve met him. I tried to make an arrangement, but there were complications.”

“Nathariel?”

“There you go.”

“But…how long ago did the dragons go extinct?” Vayra swallowed. Nathariel was five centuries old, and the other gods were older than that. If the current pantheon was a progression from the dragon gods, the dragons had to have reigned thousands of years ago. “There’s no way a dragon could’ve taught him to wield fire.”

“Ah, yes, a flame-wielding prodigy comes out of nowhere five hundred years ago. Or four hundred, or however long it was before Nathariel revealed himself. Advances to Admiral with ease, though he claims the effort heavily damaged his spirit. But he’s not a Mediator, and he doesn’t have the guidance of ancient gods himself—one would think. But the god of fire no longer exists, so it’d be impossible.”

Vayra shut her eyes. “Are you saying he’s older than he claims?”

“I’m saying he’s much older. The last dragon was spotted some two-thousand years ago. Granted, there were likely many enclaves of hidden dragons that survived another millennium after, but there is only so long that even they could live, especially after their age passed. But while alive, they could’ve trained apprentices.”

‘It’s possible that Nathariel was stronger than he claimed,’ Phasoné said. ‘We both saw his core. Farrir seems to know the most about this topic.’

“What are you saying?” Vayra asked.

“I’m saying he was trained by the dragons, and I’m saying I need his fire. Can you get it for me?”

“If I were to steal the weapon from Karmion, I’d do my best to break Nathariel out as well.”

“Excellent.”

‘Wait a minute,’ Phasoné said. ‘Ask him more about Nathariel. I need to know more about him.’

“I wanna know more, too,” Vayra whispered. “But—”

‘Just ask him!’

“Fine. Sir, who is Nathariel?”

Farrir snorted. “I think that’s a question best left for him to answer.”

“Please. Enough with the mystery. I can’t exactly ask him right now. Karmion…has him. Is using him.”

“I don’t know, fully. I have guesses, but it isn’t my place to say.”

Vayra exhaled forcefully and tightened her fists, then circled around the table opposite of Farrir. “Humour me, then. Is there no one else’s fire you can use?”

“There are other flame-Path god-heirs across the galaxy, yes. None as strong as him. Over the years, they’ve diluted their powers or died off. If I were to use their fires, I wouldn’t make a masterpiece. I seek to make a masterpiece, a weapon worthy of my eternal remembrance, even after I ascend.”

She tilted her head. “No God of Flame to borrow from?”

“Phasoné will corroborate: the last God of Flame, Lyze, is gone.”

Vayra gulped. “Dead? Then what happened to his Godly Authority? Is it still floating around the Stream, waiting to be claimed?”

“I cannot say for sure; the God of Flame was gone well before the skyclash pact. Before then, if a God died, their authority had to be remade and reclaimed the hard way—from the ground up.” Farrir tilted his head sideways toward her. “Like Phasoné did. It is entirely possible that the authority died and no one has been able to remake it, yet.”

“So Nathariel is your only option.”

“Unless you can spew fire out the palms of your hands, then yes.”

Vayra nodded. “Then I’ll get planning. I’ll steal the weapon, whatever it is, as soon as I can, and I’ll break Nathariel out.”

“Now, hold on a second, miss.” Farrir raised a finger. “You’re still only a Commodore. Emissary-grade God-killing weapon or not, you won’t be strong enough to channel your abilities through it.”

“Sure. But I can still plan.”

“Which is why you should plan to steal the weapon later. Give it a few weeks. Let Karmion invest more resources and time into it. Does he know you know about it?”

Vayra pursed her lips and recalled their excursion a few nights ago. Karmion had seen them investigating his warehouse, but as far as he knew, she and Glade were only aware of the Ko-Ganall, not the weapon.

‘He doesn’t like taking risks, but if he doesn’t even consider the possibility,” Phasoné said, ‘then we still have the upper hand.’

“He doesn’t know,” Vayra said. “So I wait until I’m ready to make my move, then I steal the weapon and break Nathariel out?” Her stomach dropped at the thought of Nathariel as Karmion’s prisoner, forced to provide flame for a weapon to kill his disciples with. She wanted to go now, but she restrained herself. She reached up and rubbed her mechanical arm.

She knew better than that, now.

“Sounds like a plan,” she said. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be off. I have a fight to prepare for.”

“Oh, and Vayra?” Farrir asked. “I have one more ask. That book you have, the Godscourge book? Can I have it?”

“Uh…why do you need it?” She patted her haversack, where she still kept it.

“I will need to study the words of past scholars, if I am to make you a god-slaying weapon.”