Kas̆dael paced up and down the empty halls of S̆uhruru. A knot of tension sat heavy in her belly, one that just wouldn’t go away.

The battle with Mēs̆ūta had been a blow to her pride. True, Kas̆dael was only beginning to come into her power, a power that would only increase as the rest of the world slid into ruin, and, true, her former apprentice had been souped on the powers of a half-dozen minor deities and a godslaying knife, but still…the battle had been closer than expected. The knowledge that she might have lost without the interference of the veiled goddess from Jasper’s world galled her.

But she had time to lick her wounds since then - a bit too much time, really, as Jasper had yet to return to her realm. He’d promised to come more frequently, and she certainly thought he’d want the rewards he’d earned, but he had yet to show his face. He can’t put it off much longer, she consoled herself.

But the knot that filled her stomach didn’t come from any of those issues. She’d gotten used to them, but a new problem demanded her time. Over the last few months, Kas̆dael had noticed a sizable uptick in the amount of prayers and sacrifices offered to her. For most of her siblings, that would be a source of pride, a strong indicator that one of their priests or priestesses had been particularly devoted to their service. But she wasn’t like them.

For Kas̆dael, nine times out of ten, a rapid increase in the number of her followers simply meant that some new nutcase had founded a Doomsday cult and adopted her as their patron. Part of her almost didn’t mind. She was the Goddess of the End, after all. The doomsday cultists weren’t wrong to worship her for that, but, unfortunately, doomsday cultists were rarely content to simply wait for the end - an end that wouldn’t come in their own lifetimes. Sooner or later, they got it in their head that it would be honoring her to hasten the end’s approach - even over her protests.

The goddess sighed as memories of the last cult meltdown flooded her mind. Their leader had seemed so reasonable in the beginning. Unlike so many others, he had taught that she didn’t desire the end - true! - and that the Lady of Last Light was tired of the endless cycle of death and rebirth - true again. He’d seemed so reasonable she’d very nearly officially endorsed him as her priest.

But then his mania had revealed itself. He’d started to teach that she would overthrow the cycle - that she would slay the Progenitor and put an end to his madness, establishing a utopian world that would never end. Unknown to him, the priest’s words had begun to echo Mēs̆ūta’s first steps into madness, and Kas̆dael had promptly intervened, revealing herself directly to him.

It was true, of course, that in the deepest, darkest corners of her mind, she had considered doing exactly that. She was tired of watching the world end, tired of being expected to sacrifice herself, tired of always missing out on the first eras of the universe’s rebirth, the golden age of its existence.

But she wasn’t quite ready to rebel. Hell, she wasn’t even certain if she actually could. No matter how much the others believed the Progenitor dead, Kas̆dael believed that faint vestiges of him still lingered - that there remained a certain amount of awareness and power within him even if he chose not to use it. She was far from convinced that she could simply choose not to revive him.

Unfortunately, her would-be prophet had been undeterred by her message. Instead, he brought a new revelation to her followers: the goddess was imprisoned by the commands of the tyrant Progenitor and it was their duty to free her so that she could establish her world without end.

Sigh. Yet another group of her followers became a crazy, doomsday cult - one more for the chalkboard. So while her brothers and sisters might be pleased by the uptick in prayers they received, for Kas̆dael it was just another worry to add to her plate.

I need something to distract me.

Time flowed strangely in the halls of S̆uḫruru, and she could not say how long she continued her lonely vigil until she decided to act, but her thoughts eventually turned to her other recent visitor, Meḫḫawû. The casual manner with which he’d let himself into her domain annoyed her, and Kas̆dael decided it was time to return the favor. Plus, it would give her someone to talk to.

It wasn’t easy to find his realm, but it was simply a matter of time - and time was one resource Kas̆dael had in spades - and once she’d located his world, it was a simple enough matter to open the door, which had already been weakened by his own visit to her.

She expected to be met at the gate, but the mercurial Sidhe was nowhere to be found. Thus, Kas̆dael wandered through the empty halls of his realm alone. His complex was vast - endless halls of steel and carbon whose dark corridors, blood-red theme, and the many sealed-off rooms gave her the sensation that she had stumbled into one of the horror flicks she’d seen in other worlds - not that she was in any position to criticize.

Time and again, the halls looped back to open forums, whose glassed-in courtyards offered stunning views of the world outside. The shattered remains of her sister floated in the sky, while far below a vast city stretched from one horizon to the other, an unending jungle of steel and glass as far as the eye could see. But much like her own realm, the city lay dark, with naught but a few lights scattered here and there to indicate that any sign of life remained.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Enjoying the view? Or just here to admire the handiwork of your siblings?”

Somehow the Sidhe had snuck up behind her, and Kas̆dael jumped. “Would I be amiss to say that I am?” She asked softly as the tall, blonde giant came to stand beside her. He stared into the darkness below with his hands clasped behind his back and slowly shook his head.

“There is a certain beauty in ruin,” he admitted slowly. “It's a shame so few can see it, but I suppose you’d know that frustration more than most.”

She inclined her head in wordless agreement and returned her gaze to the darkened city. “How many died here that day?”

His expression darkened. “Is that really a thread you should be pulling at?”

But Kas̆dael refused to back down. “I want to understand why. Why make peace now? Why agree to help us?”

For a moment, rage seemed to ignite in his eyes, only to be snuffed out just as quickly as it had arisen. “Because I am tired,” he admitted softly. “Tired of the fighting. Of the endless politics. Of litigating a war that has long since ended.” He gestured wildly at the dark city below. “Who I am fighting for? Shall the dead rise to stand beside me again?”

Kas̆dael’s face softened in understanding. “I am tired too.”

“You’re trapped in rebirth bullshit, aren’t you,” the Sidhe snorted. “At least I, when I finally go, shall know rest. These days, I can’t help but think that sounds nice.”

She peered up at him with a touch of concern. “Rest? You don’t mean-“

Imḫullu shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand, goddess. Unlike you, I was born a simple man. I was never meant to be unending, never meant to live past the collapse of all I knew. My brethren may find meaning in the past, in their petty plans for revenge, or the various minor races they’ve adopted as their own, but I can’t bring myself to care any longer. Unless I can find a new purpose…”

“A new purpose?” Kas̆dael replied slowly, mulling over his words. “Is that what you’re doing with the elf?”

The Sidhe laughed, a full-throated chuckle that did nothing to deceive her. “Can’t a guy just wanna have fun?”

She raised her brow knowingly. “What are your plans for her? She may not be one of my own, but I would not see her harmed.”

“And I chose to,” he asked, with a touch of sudden menace.

“Then I suppose we would finally settle the debate of which one of us is stronger,” Kas̆dael replied placidly.

There was real cheer in Imḫullu’s laugh this time. “It’s good to see you’re as delusional as ever. Your brother is the only one in your pantheon I’d fear, and we both know he cosplays a corpse half the year, but I admire your spirit.”

He raised his hand mockingly, but his tone was surprisingly serious as he spoke. “I swear by the Holy Mother, I mean no harm to Aphora or her people. Hell, if anything, I mean to give her plenty of pleasure.”

Kas̆dael’s lips twitched. “I don’t care about your plans to bed her,” she said frostily. “What other intentions do you have for her?”

Imḫulllu fell silent as he turned back to gaze at the city. “You asked how many died that day?”

“Trillions, Kas̆dael. More than have ever filled your precious world. You destroyed a people who had conquered death itself, who had settled worlds beyond their own and chained the laws of the universe to their very whims. Your people survived, diminished but unbroken, while ours were left in ruins.”

His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “What I seek with that elf is to rebuild, to leave the past behind and create something new that is worth postponing my rest.”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “How can she help with that? Aphora is powerful enough for an elf, but I fail to see how she has the power to help you with such a grandiose goal.”

“But she isn’t just an elf, is she?” He countered softly. “No, Aphora is a rare breed indeed. Half-elf, half-djinn and not particularly bound to any of your gods.”

“Your world knows little of biology,” he continued, “at least, non-magical biology, but ours advanced far beyond that. When the idea first occurred to me, I ran many tests and, as it happens, a half-Djinn, half-elf is surprisingly compatible with my people.”

Kas̆dael’s mouth dropped. “Then your plans for the elf-“

“Are to be the mother of my people. Our people,” he corrected himself. “My people are dead, and unlike your elder siblings, I cannot simply magic new ones into being, but life…finds a way,” he said the words with a small smile, as if it were some private joke.

“Does she know of your plans,” she asked, still struggling to process the depths of his plans. Is it actually within the bounds of his abilities, or has he simply gone mad? Her ignorance as to the limits and origins of the Sidhe’s power left her uncertain of the answer.

“Not yet,” he replied with a shrug. “But she shall soon find herself making a choice. We shall see what choice she makes.”

“And if she doesn’t choose as you hoped?” She asked cautiously.

“I will not force her,” the Sidhe replied testily. “I’m not that hard up. But I have no doubt of her choice,” he continued more calmly. “I’ve seen her mind.”

“She’s full of regret. Of failing to save her people. Of abandoning her children. Of being too weak to make a difference when it rarely mattered. She’s more like me than you realize, Kassie.”

The goddess wrinkled her nose in distaste at the nickname but held her tongue. She wasn’t as confident of the elf’s choice as the Sidhe, but she wouldn’t have wanted to bet against him either. She’d seen how the elf had launched onto the little troll child, and the extent to which she’d gone to find a new home for her people, even daring to cross the River. Perhaps he’s right.

“I suppose I can’t dissuade you,” she questioned.

“Why would you even care?”

She thought for a moment before shrugging. “I guess I don’t. At least one of us can break their chains.”

“If you ever want help with that-” the Sidhe let the insinuation linger.

Kas̆dael was tired of it all, she really was. But she wasn’t ready to rebel. Not yet. “Enjoy your elf,” she said with a growl and stepped back into her realm.