Beion and Vera sat at the front of the wagon, guiding the horses down the rocky paths with only the demon’s sense of smell as a map.

  They covered the front with a thick sheet to shield them from the torrential rain.

  “You can smell her even with this storm?” Vera asked. “I got a whiff of that tear of the angel too. I don’t smell a thing.”

  “Demon senses are just superior,” he said smugly. “It’s fine to admit I’m better than you.”

  “You are not better than me!”

  “Yes I am.”

  “You’re not!”

  Death chose to walk alongside the wagon rather than be in it. Bianca joined his side, unsure how to initiate a conversation after just recently fighting.

  She heard Snow and Billid laughing inside the wagon, sharing tales of their adventures together. It made her smile.

  “Quite the party you’ve got,” Bianca said. “I don’t have hatred for cambions. You don’t need to worry about me trying to kill your friend. Beion, was his name?”

  “You don’t have to speak to me,” Death grunted. “We are not friends; we are not allies. Following the demon’s nose is the only way to get you to stop stalking me.” He looked at the cut on his palm from when she threw the knife. “I’ll need a lot more strength than what I have if I’m to return to Vatanil.” Although I see a path where my alliance with Stroke Valan may provide me with an easy route, he thought. Sneaking in those tunnels that Gunther let me escape to would be an easy way to get into the city without being spotted by the Sentinels.

  “Was your whole story true?” she asked. “Sealed by a succubus and a man with a scar on his eye… you drain the strength of who you kill, and can gift strength to others?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve read on a lot of our history. There’s no mention of you or any man like that.”

  Death then explained the mural of what he saw in the ruins.

  “There’s no mention of Heaven’s ruin either,” Bianca said. “It’s one of the only events of history that there’s no record of… but you say it’s depicted in a ruin with depictions of yourself with this man? You have no memories of it?”

  “You’re interrogating me.”

  “I want to maybe help you. A hero helps others. Maybe I know something that could give you answers.”

  “You don’t know anything that can give me answers.” Death remembered the crystal that Valans supposedly kept. “But you could give back what belongs to me. The crystal with a soul trapped in it, that’s my trophy.”

  “I’ve never seen it,” she admitted. “But it exists. It’s been in the Valan family for thousands of years… I’ve read the history on this nation. There’s no mention of how they got it.”

  “You’ve only given me more confusion,” said Death. “If you have nothing to say to me, you should get in the wagon.”

  “You’re not in the wagon.”

  “I dislike too many people in one place.”

  “Gods, tell me about it,” she chuckled. “The council meetings I have in Vatanil always make me feel suffocated.”

  “I also dislike pointless chatter.”

  “That’s where we differ. I find the talk made in awkwardness can show true intentions.”

  “My intention is for you to leave me alone.”

  “And mine is to pester you with apologies.”

  “I’ll spare you the time. I accept them all. I already deal with Snow’s devotion and the annoying fox. I don’t need you too.”

  “I’m not annoying!” Vera yelled. “You take that back!”

  “Do not listen to my conversation, fox, or I’ll drag you to out into the sea and feed you to a shark.”

  Death slowed his walking, trailing behind the wagon rather than beside it.

  “Now you see what I mean,” Death said drily.

  “Billid is the same.”

  “Your squire?”

  “He’s a good lad. He doesn’t have his wits about him. He means well, but he’ll need to work harder than most to become someone who people can rely on.” She pointed at Death’s godsteel knife. “I was worried you’d actually get me with that little thing. Hearing that you’re ancient… I’d wager I’m not the strongest opponent you’ve ever been put up against.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I hardly remember my opponents, unfortunately. I get glimpses of a few, but not enough to put names to faces.”

  “You are unbruised,” she noticed. “My hits didn’t put any brown or purple on you, but a simple knife cut open your palm?”

  “My body is strange. Sometimes it bruises, sometimes it refuses. You look terrible.”

  She laughed at his comment. “Rude thing to say to a woman,” she joked. “You have a good arm. Explain the unsealing again, if you would?”

  Death explained his link to Snow’s soul.

  “Ah. That explains why you were always looking over your shoulder while fighting me. I’m glad Ser Shimmer was among you. He made me see how I was favouring rage over diplomacy.”

  Death said nothing. A while passed by with no words spoke. The day was turning to night, and the storm showed no signs of slowing.

  “Do you think you’re a hero?” she asked Death. “Or, I should ask, do you think you could be one?”

  “No,” Death said sharply. “I’ve done terrible things. I am a conqueror, not a hopeful figure.”

  “Don’t you want to inspire people?”

  “Inspire fear of my rule. I don’t want people to look to me to solve all their problems.” Death wasn’t sure if he was being honest with himself. “Terrible things. Yes, terrible.”

  Bianca remembered Stroke’s cambion protector, thinking about how they were slaughtered without intervention from neither Godwin, Harren, or even herself.

  “Do terrible acts mean you can’t be a hero?” she asked.

  Death had no answer for her.

  ————————————————————————

  Godwin stood idle at a large window in his personal chambers, sipping a glass of wine as he scanned the city with the Sentinels as his eyes, keeping them all blue, finding nothing that made him unsatisfied.

  “Are you spying on me, Stroke?” Godwin whispered. “I never know when you’re listening to my conversations. Are you here?”

  He waited a while. Stroke wasn’t listening. He sat at his table and bashed a fist against it anger. “O’ mother, what do I do?” he said to himself. “I’ve lost control of this city; I’ve lost control of my own brothers. I know nothing anymore… I don’t know who to trust.”

  King Godwin had never felt more alone. Bianca was missing. Harren was insubordinate. His little brother, who was the only one who truly seemed to have some respect for his rule, offered him a path he would’ve happily taken had Runaya been alive.

  “If your spirit lives on and watches your children, o’mother, give me a sign to guide me. I must kill Stroke before he finds out the truth of Runaya… this has gone too far.”

  A faint tap on the window caught his attention. He was scared that Stroke had heard his admittance of Runaya’s Death but was relieved to see an owl resting on the ledge.

  He opened the window wide and tossed the rest of the wine out into the storm. “Fuck you want?” he asked the owl. “Piss off, bird, I don’t follow the will of the Voiceless One.”

  The owl hooted in sadness, then annoyance. When Godwin turned away with a scoff, it flew into the room, shitting on his bedsheets and knocking over candlesticks.

  He seized the owl by the wing and threw it out of the window with a growl, then saw what he was intended to see—Stroke balanced himself at the top of a sloped roof, jumping from floor to ledge, climbing Keep Blacksteel’s highest bell tower.

  Godwin removed his boots for better grip and stepped out into the rain. The ledge was slippery, no statues to hold onto. He kept his eyes straight and forward, refusing to look down at the drop. He followed Stroke’s path as best as he could, climbing the belltower to find his little brother sat on the edge, back turned.

  I could push him off… I don’t know if he would die, but that owl had yellow eyes. I’m not a follower of that pointless god, but I know that black means death and yellow means life.

  Godwin stood by the enormous bell of the tower and watched his brother for a while. The Sentinels turned from blue to red across the city as Stroke watched the streets through each one.

  This is what he does during the night? Sits up here and guards the city? Godwin thought. Does he sleep up here? I never see him in his chambers anymore.

  Godwin rang the bell and startled Stroke into a girly scream. The king felt an urge to laugh, so he did, and he laughed until tears came from his eyes. Stroke stood, his legs wobbling from also laughing. He held onto Godwin as their intense giggles kept making each other chuckle in a cycle that Stroke broke by composing himself with deep breaths.

  “How rare,” Godwin coughed, wiping his tears. “Not often that one finds you, is it? You should’ve seen your face.”

  “Hah, that tickled me. Reminds me of when were children.” He invited his brother to sit with him on the ledge. “Sit with me, the wind is coming from behind us, we’ll be fairly dry.” He dangled his legs over the drop and laughed again with Godwin at his side. “It was you who always screamed the loudest. Runaya and I would take turns getting your attention to sneak up on you and give you a scare.”

  Godwin remembered it fondly. “Do you remember when you did the same to Harren and he whacked you in the nose?”

  “Gods, haha, I do,” Stroke said softly. “I was sneezing every few minutes for weeks after that. That was back when he didn’t hate every part of me. The strike was an accident.”

  “Harren doesn’t hate you,” Godwin said with uncertainty. “He’s always been a spiteful thing.”

  “He did lose his arm,” Stroke sighed. “He always blames me for it. He’s the one who stabbed me in my thigh. Father was a bit rash with his punishment… maybe I should’ve spoken up in Harren’s favour. We were all boys.”

  Godwin shuffled uncomfortably, no longer laughing. “Father wasn’t a kind a man. Harren took his worst traits.”

  “We all have a little bit of his anger in us. It’s mother that I miss. Walking through the courtyards with her, Bianca, Runaya, and you. I miss those. That was when we felt like a family.” Stroke pointed to a white glow in the storm clouds. “Look. Even through darkness, light finds a way. The owls showed me Bianca.”

  “Bianca? Is she okay?”

  “She travels back to Vatanil with Death,” Stroke smirked. “She brings his companions too.”

  “She captured the prisoner?”

  Stroke nodded. “I heard a brief mention of their conversation. They have a cambion who knows where Runaya is. She’s alive. I’ll spend one day with her, just one, then I will do what I told you I’d do. Command Harren to give me the God Arm and I’ll travel north to meet with the Vaelirian Bloods. I will crush the Kans into submission.”

  This isn’t good, Godwin thought. Runaya isn’t alive. Whatever that cambion is leading Bianca too… it won’t be good. His hand went to Stroke’s back. Temptations flooded him. I could push him now and take the risk. I can’t. How would I explain to Bianca what happened when she returns? Stroke has never fell... I am the one who fell.

  He patted Stroke on the back. “I will come north with you and fight with you,” he lied, trying to throw Stroke away from the truth that he knew. “The Kans shall fall to both of us.”