One moment Kas̆dael was holding a throbbing, pulsing hunk of meat in her hands, and the next it was gone.

She sighed as her new Hand disappeared from the void, the avatar he possessed dissolving into a cloud of dust. She wasn’t quite sure what she thought of him. He had the potential for great power but just didn’t seem to have the drive to reach the heights he was capable of.

The fact that he had survived holding the eyes of a Spectral Spider relatively unharmed? Clearly, she had underestimated him. Kas̆dael only hoped the little favor she had called in with Lady Hurbas̆u would end up lighting a fire within him.

But she couldn’t deny that Jasper was proving useful enough, even if the news he had brought had been deeply troubling. She ran through the list of ancient enemies in her mind. One after another, she discarded them. Most of the so-called dark gods were males, sires of trolls, Atrometos, and the far worse things that lurked in the darkness, but none, as far as she recalled, claimed the maddening darkness as their domain.

She could understand why the members of her cult had been tricked into thinking they were worshiping a manifestation of their goddess - after all, the darkness of the void was kind of her thing, and most mortals tended to find it distressing. But she reached the end of her list without finding any likely suspects.

Kas̆dael paced up and down the silent halls of S̆uhruru, the city below still dark and dead. She paused at a balcony overlooking the city, searching in vain for any pinpricks of light amongst the empty houses that would signal her people had begun to reawaken. But no light greeted her eyes, only darkness.

With a sigh, she returned to her pacing, running over the list of potential suspects once again. It was pointless. And then, from the farthest corners of her mind, a faint memory surfaced, the crazed ramblings of a mad cultist that she had dismissed as nothing more than lunacy.

Kas̆dael raced down the halls with renewed purpose, heading towards the shuttered archives. She flung the colossal doors open, their unimaginable weight no obstacle for her, but descended into a fit of sneezes as a cloud of dust flew up her nose. The cold, abandoned room was caked in dust, as the priests that once tended it were long dead and yet to be reborn. It’s dreadfully inconvenient for all your servants to be dead half of your existence. Not used to having to find things for herself, it took the goddess some time to search through the scrolls and books that lined the walls, but her search was not in vain. Hands trembling with excitement, Kas̆dael laid a small book on the carved ivory table.

Her lip curled in distaste as she opened it, sensing immediately that its binding was made from human skin. But ignoring her disgust, Kas̆dael eagerly flipped through the pages, searching for the half-forgotten musings of her fallen follower.

The true dark gods were those who, like her, were born from the Progenitor and his heirs - born and not created. Not content to abide by the rules the Progenitor established, the dark gods were a mix of harmless, if obstinate, rebels and dangerous, twisted perverts. None of them, though, claimed the maddening darkness as their domain.

But there was another group some worshipped as dark gods - the fallen of Gemliria.

Gemlir had forged his own road to demi-godhood, carving a bloody path to ascension that laid the groundwork for the cultists that had followed in his footsteps. But two more in that first generation had risen with him - his most faithful lieutenant, Malkoḇ, and his scorned mistress.

Matqa had once been the brightest mage of her generation, the wife of the Emperor himself, and a faithful devotee of Kas̆dael - until Gemlir seduced her, promising her an immortal reign of power.

Abandoning everything, including Kas̆dael and the Emperor, Matqa had helped Gemlir ascend, joining his side and his bed. Then he cast her aside for a Sidhe, who bore him his sons of terror.

Something in her mind broke. Splitting off from Gemlir, Matqa and her followers founded their own kingdom further to the south. There she took the name Mēs̆ūta, the scorned, as her crown of glory, a perpetual thorn in the side of both Gemlir and the Empire. But, when the Desolyton had scourged Gemlir and Malkoḇ from their lands, she had been forced to flee deeper into the West, and, thanks to a particularly industrious Hand, Kas̆dael had managed to secure her former follower’s notes.

The goddess’ heart froze as she reread the scrawled scribbles from her lab. Mortals were only supposed to be able to ascend to demi-god status - whether granted from the favor of the gods or stolen by bloodshed as the cultists did.

But Mēs̆ūta had set her sights higher. Not content to consume the souls of mere mortals, she dreamed of gods instead, believing that if she could successfully trap and kill a true god, she could ascend in its place.

After a moment of reading, Kas̆dael found the passage she was looking for.

“The Progenitor has erred, granting the power of true creation to the unworthy, ignoble gods born to their power, rather than allowing the illustrious to rise. But surely that was not his original intention. As Gemlir showed, the path to power is available to all with the will to wield it. Are we, those who have stormed the heavens by force, not more worthy than those born in purple?”

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“No, I cannot believe that the path does not exist. Where the Progenitor has erred, I shall correct his mistake; with slaughter and bloodshed I shall restore the balance he intended.”

Kas̆dael read the lines again. The language in the diary was archaic - archaic even when the diary was written. S̆agāhu and s̆agā’u are ‘to err’ and ‘to slaughter.’ Is Yas̆gah derived from them, an allusion to both the Progenitor's error and the "remedy" of slaughter?

She slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the silence of the temple. Could it be that simple? Millennia had passed since Matqa had fallen, but she had always enjoyed word games - the thrill of hiding her meaning in plain sight. Reluctantly, Kas̆dael admitted to herself what she had to do.

She had to go see her sister.

Damn.

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While she could have simply opened a portal by herself, Kas̆dael opted to find the long-silent gateway in her temple instead. Her sister’s guards could be a pain to deal with when people dropped in unofficially. The gateway responded quickly to her command, the golden liquid filling the triangular frame from top to bottom, a luxurious warmth washing over her as she stepped through. And then, with a slight pop, she was on the other side, immediately taking off down the path at a brisk pace. The sooner this is done, the better.

Selene’s court, as usual, was bustling. Gods and demigods, Mwyrani and Spectral Spiders, and even a few Fey and Elves with powerful patrons wandered the lush gardens of the moon. The courtiers scattered out of her path as Kas̆dael pushed her way through the crowd, her black veil fluttering behind her like a wisp of smoke. She could hear the whispers around her, but there was none foolishness enough to bother the goddess of the end when she was on a mission.

Her sister sat on her throne, the crescent moon beneath her feet, flanked on both sides by two Spectral Spiders. The massive beasts surveyed the crowd silently, a thousand eyes ferreting out every secret, revealing every hidden flaw, as they spun the webs of fate across the starry heavens.

Their gaze swept over her, cold and furious, and Kas̆dael allowed herself a little smile, lifting her hand up to give them a good view as she rolled the dice through her fingers. If hatred could be felt, her skin would be smoldering, but she gave them a cheeky little wink.

As she drew near the base of the throne, Selene stood up. A gauzy robe of silk and wind fluttered around, a mantle of stars hanging from her shoulders as the horned goddess walked down the stairs, her arms held wide.

A second later, Kas̆dael was drawn into a warm hug. Her arms stood awkwardly at her side but, after a moment, she returned the hug.

Selene released her, taking a step back. “It’s been far too long, sister. You always ignore your duties at court.”

Kasdael rolled her eyes, waving at the crowd of courtiers. “You know why.”

Selene frowned. “Gods don’t get to ignore their responsibilities, Kas̆dael.”

Kas̆dael let out an exasperated sigh. “You and I both know my only real duty is to die. But enough of this; how many times shall we have the same conversation.”

With a pained look, the goddess of the moon let the subject drop. “Why, then, are you here, Kas̆dael? Sadly, I’m pretty sure you did not come just to see me.”

With a wave of her hand, the diary of Mēs̆ūta manifested in her palm. “Actually, I’m here about those very responsibilities you mentioned.”

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“That’s impossible.” Selene slammed the diary down on the table. They had retired into the Celestial Queen’s private chambers, away from curious eyes and prying ears. Her room was open to the elements, the dark night sky lit by the light of the goddess herself, the pale light streaming over the carefully manicured garden paths that winded through the rocky spires.

“It’s simply impossible. Gods cannot be killed - we return to the Progenitor, yes, but to be murdered? And by a mortal at that?”

Silently, Kas̆dael laid her die on the table. The black, faceted orb sparkled in the moonlight as the Spectral Spiders hissed with impotent fury.

“Gods die, Selene. Your husband makes a habit of it. And she’s not a mortal, she’s a demigod.”

“But he comes back! Like you, he plays the part the Progenitor assigned to him; he isn’t just killed by some jumped-up mortal.”

“Yes, he comes back, but others don’t.” Kas̆dael tapped the die, punctuating her point.

Selene stared at the object crafted from the bones of one of her Spiders, her response dying mutely on her lips.

Kas̆dael leaned forward, pushing her advantage. “I know it’s a long shot, I know it’s the musings of a half-crazed murder - but it’s the only lead I have. I’m not asking you to believe Mēs̆ūta’s theory.”

“Just,” she sighed, her hands falling back into her lap, “just look into it for me, please? Have a few of your courtiers put out some feelers. There’s only a few thousand of us left. If everyone’s accounted for, and no one's gone missing, then fine: I’ll have to figure out which one of the dark gods is masquerading as Yas̆gah. But if something’s wrong…” She trailed off, looking at her sister pleadingly, “don’t you want to know? What if it was Shamsha?”

With an exasperated sigh, Selene gave in. “Fine. I’ll make sure everyone in the Celestial Court is checked up on, just in case. You know, though, that she could have killed one of the Forgotten - I cannot check on that.”

Kas̆dael nodded. “I know, but it’s something.”

“It shall be done,” the moon goddess promised. Her hand hesitated on the ancient diary, her voice turning cold. “And if your fears come to fruition? We shall teach this Mēs̆ūta the meaning of divine wrath.”

As Kas̆dael left her sister’s court, returning to the silent halls of S̆uhruru, she couldn’t help but pat herself on the back for having had the foresight to arrange Lady Hurbas̆u’s little favor. If her fears proved correct, her new Hand was going to need every drop of power he could get.

A savage smile crossed her lips, her teeth growing sharp and sinister. And if Mēs̆ūta really is Yas̆gah? Well, my long-lost follower is going to learn a very painful lesson about why it is a bad idea to impersonate the Goddess of the End.