Tristan ran into the wheat fields as the dark overtook the sky. This was the only place he could hide. He could not go back into town, not after what he did. It was unbelievable it happened. In his madness, he almost hurt Opal. He dared not think about what would have happened if Ur had not stepped in. The child was a better friend than he deserved. Shame washed over him. How could he let everything go so out of control? What had overtaken him?

Yelling in frustration, he threw himself to the ground, shutting his eyes. He dreaded the thought of opening them again. Tristan longed to sleep. Out in the distance, he heard the usual noises of Ariel sleeping. A dog barking at the wind. Children crying for their mothers. Men and women having their last conversations before bed. If he only went by what he heard now, Ariel had not changed. A tight grimace stretched across his mouth, knowing that everything was different. All he had to do was open his eyes to see that truth. Clenching his eyelids shut, he hoped he could retreat into his dreams and avoid reality. Life was not that kind.

"Are you done running?" a gentle voice called, showing the slight tensions of irritation. "Get up. I have humored you long enough." Tristan knew there was no escape. No matter what happened, he was waiting for him. This phantom would not leave him alone. He invaded Tristan's hearing and sight. No matter how much he wished to, the lad could not make himself go deaf and blind.

With a begrudged sigh, he sat up, opening his eyes. The wild-haired man awaited him, floating a foot off the ground with his legs crossed. His arms laid folded across his robed chest, fingers drumming on his biceps. "It would seem that my priest wishes to be the sluggard of the village. Shirking your duties," he observed with a hint of dissatisfaction, yet not unkind. "No matter. As your patron deity, it is my duty to ensure that you live up to your full potential. Do not fear. My lessons will be strict, but fair."

"Why are you still going on with that nonsense?" Tristan demanded, tired of his rambling on about priests and patron deities. "I'm not your priest."

"Well not right now," the ghost-being agreed. "But don't get it confused. When a god gives you a title, it's not something you can shrug off like a coat. Our words have a way of sticking."

Tristan disliked this strange creature. He hated how he spoke with this air of self-importance. No doubt, it came from his disillusion of being a god. Tristan refused to call him any such thing. It was true that the phantom had many abilities far beyond the people of Ariel, but that did not make him a god. Perhaps the lad's belief that there were no spirits in the world was wrong. However, being wrong about that did not mean that gods existed. For all he knew, this was some ghost or demon trying to torment him. If half of Herodotus's stories were true, there were plenty of beings in the spiritual world. Still, he could tolerate a façade. What ghost would not want the living to believe himself a god? What he could not forgive was this being's chosen name.

"We need to discuss one thing first, Prospero," Tristan interrupted, unable to keep the slight venom from his voice. This phantom expected him to believe he was Prospero, patron god of Ariel. That was impossible. If Prospero did exist, he was deep in endless sleep, as the legend proclaimed. To make matters worse, he looked nothing like the statue. This being had thick hair while the statue was clean shaven. He lacked the muscled form. There was no sign of armor. It was a terrible lie. Besides, did he believe that claiming that name would gain Tristan's obedience? If gods were real, Prospero was the last one he wanted to meet.

"Yes, young Tristan," he replied. "I will answer anything you should ask."

There were so many questions running through Tristan's mind. Too many for him to keep track of. However, there was one that could not be ignored. "Prospero," he asked, rising to his feet. He cursed himself for going along with the lie. "Why can I see you?"

The supposed god smiled, a warm, heartfelt grin, if fake gods had hearts. "You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear one call your name." Tristan said nothing in reply, waiting for his answer. As to his question, Prospero, the self-proclaimed patron god of Ariel, let his smile fall. Stroking his beard, his face changed into a stern gaze of emptiness. The silence weighed on Tristan, making him question if he wanted the answer or not. "I do not know," the false god admitted at last.

Those words punched Tristan's voice from his throat. His lips twitched, seeking anything to say. He found nothing. "Do not get so excited," the lying god said with a soothing tone to his voice. "Believe it or not, this is not an everyday thing, for me in particular. Forgive me if I am as clueless on this situation as you." He paused, eyebrows scrunched up. "Hmm, have you ever experienced this before?"

"No," he answered at last. His mouth cracked, all spittle seeming to vanish, leaving a desert inside his lips. "Do you think I would react this way if it happened before?" How could he see a phantom god and that very being not know how a mortal could see him? It was unbelievable.

"If you need to faint," the phantom suggested. "Take time for your mind to rest. Mortals have a level for how much they can withstand."

"No," Tristan blurted. Rest would not help him anymore. He needed an answer, but where could he find it? "Is it because I ate that offering?" he demanded.

"What offering?" the false god asked. He paused. "Oh yes, my offering. That was rude of you."

Tristan balked. "How did you do that?"

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Prospero raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"You didn't know a second ago," Tristan replied. "Now you know that I ate the real Prospero's food."

The phantom almost answered, but he froze. His voice turned hollow. "What do you mean the real Prospero?"

"Don't change the subject. I asked the first question."

"And I'm a god. I decide what order the questions are asked." Tristan opened his mouth to retort, but a stern look from the self-proclaimed Prospero made him fall silent.

"I ask you again. What do you mean by the real Prospero?"

"You're not him," Tristan stammered.

"Of course I am. Why would I say so if I wasn't?"

"I can see phantoms now," Tristan answered. "Nothing has to make sense anymore."

"To masquerade as a god is a severe offense. Few would risk such a crime." Prospero wore a frustrated grin. "Why would I go through the trouble?"

"I don't know. Maybe you think it's the only god I would follow. Let me tell you a little secret. I have no interest in following Prospero. Patron god of Ariel...what has he done for Ariel? Have you looked around? This village is dying. Did you think that I'd want to follow a god who chose to forsake us?"

Prospero met this with silence. "Tristan, you asked me a question earlier. You wanted to know how I knew about the offering. There's an easy answer. We gods know you mortals far better than you think. Being a patron god, I know almost everything about you and everyone else in Ariel. It takes me a second to remember, but believe it or not, I know everything about you. No other god can do that."

"That's impossible," Tristan spat.

"You hate Herodotus's stories. They seem like a pointless distraction that only fools believe in."

Tristan smirked. "Anyone could know that."

"Leaving this village is your chief desire. You want to live on the caravan."

He balked at this. Perhaps this phantom knew more than it appeared. "Anyone who talks to me long enough can figure that out," he insisted. "Good try, but not convincing."

"At the age of five, you hurt your left leg playing on the roof. It was not bad, but you liked the attention. You were found out when you were caught limping on the wrong leg." Tristan blinked in surprise. No one talked about that. Only one person knew. "Yes, I know about it, and no, Opal did not tell anyone."

Before he could reply, Prospero continued with a smile. "Speaking of Opal, you love her. Fear of rejection keeps you from admitting how you feel." Tristan flushed. He was at a loss for words. This being's claim seemed more valid by the second. It terrified him of what he might say next.

"Everyone believes your parents died trying to get food for the village," Prospero said with a stern voice. Tristan froze. "But we both know better."

"Stop," he spat. Sweat ran down his armpits. His panicked heart pounded in his chest. He could not believe what was in front of him, yet here he was. The god looked at him with a pained look in his eyes, as if he dreaded this part of the conversation. That would make two of them. "You have made your point," he admitted, turning away.

"I'm sorry," Prospero apologized. "You forced my hand." He looked to the night sky. The stars glistened, unaware how Tristan's world was changing. "Under normal circumstances, I might have been a little gentler, but I fear that there are too many things that need my attention."

Tristan looked at the god, the moment sinking in. "You're supposed to be the sleeping god," he breathed. To stand in the presence of a real god, and Prospero of all beings, it was more than he could comprehend.

"So did I," Prospero answered, scratching his head. "But it looks like I'm awake."

"Did you wake up to curse me?" Tristan asked, feeling his legs wobble.

Prospero's eyebrow raised. "For stealing food? I admit that even if you are my priest, I must punish you for that. But you think seeing the gods is a curse? That blessing would never be passed to thieves."

"Then why?"

"I told you I don't know," the god admitted. "There's a lot of things I don't know right now."

The pair grew quiet. What was a mortal supposed to say to a god? Tristan had so many questions, but one was more important than anything else. "Did you forsake us?" Tristan asked in a whisper.

"Is that what you believe?" Prospero asked in return.

"I believed it from the day my parents left."

The god nodded with a forced grin. "Good to see mortals still expect so much from the gods. Some things never change." He paused. "No good god chooses to forsake his people. However, the world is full of conflicting spirits, each forcing their will on others. Often, a decision is made against one's own will."

Tristan nodded, though he was not sure he understood. The god cocked his head to one side, eyebrows raising. "Where did you get that?" he asked, pointing at the amulet.

Tristan looked down, noticing the bronze necklace for the first time today. He balked. How could he forget about it? "I took it off your statue," he admitted with sheepish embarrassment. "Figured I could sell it if I ever left."

"Odd," Prospero mused, eyeing it with growing interest. "I was there the day my statue was made. This was not there."

The pair stared at the amulet for a long time. Was the answer right in front of them the entire time? "Do you know where it came from?" Tristan asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

"Perhaps."

"Do you think it's linked with my eyes?"

"Perhaps." Tristan opened his mouth, but Prospero cut him off. "We could continue with this line of questions forever. Let me help you cut to the chase." He leaned forward, a god inches away from a mortal. "If it's answers you want, you won't find them in Ariel." He did not know it at the time, but this would be Tristan's last night in his hometown.