Ylia loved her House—it was possibly the finest in Southern Yarruk and she had built it from nothing—but tonight was one of those nights that the crazies had come in full force. She did not know why they always seemed to come at once, as though they had pre-agreed that tonight was the night they would roam the countryside and villages, causing chaos wherever they went. Perhaps the full moon summoned them. Perhaps it was the Godshome, which shone particularly brightly tonight.

  The planet Nilldoran, supposedly the true home of the gods, hung low in the sky, a glowering, ochre eye with visible storm-clouds roving across its surface like hungry ghosts. Though the Gods had long been absent from the world, departing five hundred years ago at the end of the Divine Age, their presence was still felt due to the proximity of that strange, golden world.

  Ylia liked looking at the planet on clear nights. It brought her a sense of comfort, a feeling that a better world was possible, if only one kept one’s eyes fixed on Heaven.

  She needed comfort on nights like tonight, when the House was full to the brim with drunkards and loons, bellowing at each other from across the tables, spilling ale with every greedy mouthful. The air was thicker than the humidity of Memory’s jungles due to the roaring fire in the hearth. The stench of unwashed bodies and vomit was thick on the air, and not even the scented candles and redolence of hops could mask it. Still, one positive thing was that the coins were flowing. She had made nearly two-hundred Demons on this single night, a small fortune.

  The merriment was also thankfully drawing to its close. Ylia was glad because her feet ached and the muscles in her forearms protested every time she had to polish a pewter cup. She had only two people to help her run the place: the chef Darryl, who slaved more like a machine than a man in the hot furnace of the kitchens and would not speak with anyone except Ylia; and Ellen, who was only good for carrying drinks and food to tables and pleasing the eye. Ellen was a good person, really, she just had air between her ears. She did not understand the demands of running a business.

  Ylia rang the bell, signalling final orders. A few patrons were already drunkenly staggering to the door, either seeking their beds or seeking further revelry. The town of Midnere was only a mile’s walk south, but Ylia doubted they would find many other Houses open at this time. She’d learned early on that working longer and harder than everyone else paid dividends.

  Ylia’s House, The House of the Verdant Sun, dwelt within the Forest of Yestermere; it was a quiet place to live, largely shielded from the woes of wider Yarruk and the rest of the world. That’s why Ylia had moved here ten years ago. She wanted nothing more to do with Aurelia, and she had no desire to brave the madnesses of Qi’shath, Sumyr, or Memory. Those were strange places—each in their own unique way—the haunt of adventurers, poets, and the doomed. Ylia had no love for such things. She loved money and the security it provided.

  “One more, missus,” a man slurred. He was using the polished countertop of the bar to support his drooping frame. He did not so much look drunk but as if the ale had turned him partially to liquid. Ylia forced a smile.

  “Coming right up.” She pulled the pump of a keg and golden-brown liquid sloshed into a tankard. She placed it before the man, whose eyes sought the cup but could not seem to find it. Feeble hands grasped for it. The tankard nearly slipped from his fingers. Finally, he clasped it.

  “What’s your secret?” he whispered.

  Ylia smiled genuinely at that. Her ale was the sweetest south of Gorgosa, or that is what she advertised, and she genuinely believed it was true. There was a secret ingredient, though anyone of middling intelligence could work it out.

  She tapped her nose. “I can’t reveal that, I’m afraid. It would ruin me.”

  The man regarded her with eyes that never quite aligned in focus.

  “I’d like to ruin you.”

  Ylia inwardly sighed. She was used to such comments, but that did not take away the revulsion they raised. Still, she had to remind herself that she had partly built her business trading on her looks. It was a calculated decision. She knew she was a skillful brewer and baker, had many other qualities that made her a fine tavernkeep, but the competition was fierce in this part of the world. And so had been born the legend of the beautiful maiden from Aurelia, the blonde beauty whose honey-sweet ale was like drinking endless summer.

  “The ale is seven Relics please.”

  The man blinked.

  “Seven. Seven?”

  He had bought probably nine pints over the course of the evening, and every single time he had projected the same outrage. What frustrated Ylia even more was the fact he wore a turquoise tunic of Qi’shathian workmanship—though now stained by drool and beer—which indicated he was not of poor means.

  Ylia was weary. The soles of her feet felt like they were being stabbed with nails.

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  “That’s the price, I’m afraid. You’d be surprised how expensive it is to—”

  He cut across her.

  “How about I give you a rough shag, instead? That’s worth more than the cost of this pisswater.”

  Ylia gritted her teeth. She could take the lecherous comments all day, but casting aspersions on her ale? That was intolerable. She snatched the pewter tankard from him and poured it onto the ground. A few beleaguered patrons cheered. She slammed the empty tankard on the table. Once upon a time, she would have downed the drink. No more. She licked her lips with the memory of ales past.

  “There,” she said. “Now you don’t have to pay. You aren’t civilised enough to drink this anyway.”

  The man showed teeth. He launched himself across the bar, grabbing her by the throat.

  “You Aurelians are all the same,” he slurred. “You think you can piss on Yarruk just because your country’s bigger!”

  Ylia would have loved to have made some witty riposte, but instead she choked: “Urgal!”

  From the shadows of the kitchen door darted a tremendous form. Twenty-six stone of pure muscle. Its fur was carnelian orange striped with turquoise; a small mane of pale blue hair framed its face and ran down the upper part of its back. It leapt up onto the countertop with feline agility and growled so deeply that Ellen, on the far side of the House, dropped the wine-bottle she was carrying, shattering it.

  The man stared into a mouth full of fangs the size of daggerblades.

  The cat’s eyes glittered, winking emeralds.

  “By Talon…” the man hissed. He let go of Ylia, backed away slowly. “You… you shouldn’t be keeping that thing here…”

  Ylia heard another man on the other side of the House: “Look at the size of it! It must be Daimonborn!”

  Ylia reached out and stroked Urgal’s neck and flanks. The immense beast let out another growl—lower, warmer—letting her know that it would protect her. She felt warmth glowing in the pit of her stomach. Urgal was her truest friend, the only person who had never let her down.

  “He is Daimonborn,” she said. “One of the giants of his species. And he obeys my every command. So I suggest now that you all leave. It has been a merry night. But it is closing time. Tomorrow is another day.”

  No one wasted any time. Soon, the House was empty. Without the patrons and all their bluster, the space seemed absurdly desolate and quiet, like an abandoned castle, all creaking gables and warped floorboards. The fire withered to an ember. Ellen and Darryl left soon after, their shift done.

  Ylia’s shift never ended.

  Urgal paced about the room, smelling in certain places where Ylia could remember patrons had thrown up, or pissed themselves, or become frisky—forgetting they were in a public space (or perhaps aroused by the fact). She knew the cat’s nose would create a tapestry of the night more vivid than Ylia’s memory could ever be. She made a clicking noise and tossed Urgal the remains of an unfinished joint of beef. The cat devoured it in one bite and licked its lips.

  “Sorry, no more left.”

  When the last washing up and cleaning was done, she was about to head for the stairs to her room when a noise shook the entire building. At first, she thought it was Urgal growling, but not even her monstrous pet could make such a sound. Windows and shutters rattled. A loose floorboard sprung up. Tankards shimmied along the countertop where they had been neatly arranged. Ylia clutched her ears. A ringing sound persisted in the aftermath of the roar like the slow penetration of a needle into her eardrum. Everything sounded tinny and far off.

  The roar came again, and this time Ylia also heard something like wind rushing through a tunnel, or maybe the sound of flames fed by Daimonsblood.

  In Aurelia, they possessed great Engines, like snakes formed of many compartments, that ran on metal wheels along tracks. These Engines were powered by Daimonsblood. The noise the Engines made as the thick, ichorous liquid was poured into the machines, the roar of flame fed by something more potent than itself, that was what the noise overhead sounded like.

  She rushed to the door. Urgal bounded behind her. She threw the door open and stepped out into the night. The House stood in a clearing. Trees crowded around. A path ran north-south, wide and lightly cobbled, but in places reduced to a dirt trail. There, in the sky, was the silver moon, small and diminutive next to the colossal sphere of Nilldoran. The Godshome glowed, its roiling surface like shimmering yellow quartz that had been turned into liquid and was being stirred in some cosmic cauldron.

  But there was a third celestial body in the sky, a streaking comet. No, not a comet, she thought. It was too low, too near. Wind blasted her, lifting her hair and bending the trees. Heat flashed across her face as though a second sun had awoken in the depths of night, scorching her. The thing’s flanks shone with the same glimmer as steel. Flames coruscated from its rear, propelling it at a terrifying speed across the sky. Lights shone from it, strobing and alternating hue. It soared just over the high peaks of the pines, a radiance that gyred and thundered—some discus hurled by the hand of a titan.

  A sky-ship!

  She could not believe her eyes, but what else could it be? No other craft moved like that. Her mouth uttered a senseless cry of jubilation. The legends are true! The Gods are returning! The Gods have come!

  In seconds, the craft was gone, its roar still lingering in the air, as though the sound had wounded reality.