Alright, I am sorry. I lied once again about my updates, but I have an excuse this time for both my lateness and my random chapter. I have been sick for a while so things have kind of taken a unique turn. I'm going to have to reread and see what I can do from here because even I am slightly confused, but that might have something to do with the medication.

Tortalls Resident Wildchild - it just wouldn't be me without the creepy and confusing!

Narm's Boreas - you did hit on some of the main points. I used heaven and hell for literary purposes as they are the most identifiable extremes for the modern times, but, correct me if I am wrong (it has been a while since I have read the books), being polytheistic does not mean they do not have a "good place" and a "bad place" to go to when they die. I know they have the Black God's Realm, and I am assuming that it translates into one of the aforementioned destinations.

Thanks so much for all my reviewers! I got 5 reviews for one chapter which is almost record-breaking! Keep it up!

"Great talents are the most lovely and often the most dangerous fruits on the tree of humanity. They hang upon the most slender twigs that are easily snapped off."

C. G. Jung, "Psychological Reflections"

The darkness caressed his wind-burned face turned grey and hollow with lack of sleep. This was the time of day when all his fears came back. This was the one time when he could not hide his face from the bitter reality. The longer Daine slept without waking, the less chance she had of ever waking again. Numair tangled his fingers in his snarled and knotted hair. Slowly, his body rocked back and forth against the smooth surface of the cave wall. In his sudden defiance, he pushed himself to his feet and stalked out into the night. Yes, the night air was chilling as it wrapped itself around his lungs. He could almost taste the cold on his tongue as though it was a mild elixir.

Finally, he found himself standing beside the clear water of the stream as it hissed and undulated like the flesh of a huge serpent. He towered above the water, but it stared up at him unerringly through black, glassy eyes. There was no escaping the penetrating stare. Slowly, he felt his defiance trickle away and bleed into the night dark water swirling at his feet. The stars danced across the smooth surface unbroken with the nightmares that plagued his ever despairing mind. He felt his eyes relaxing. The tears he had been withholding all day slipped innocuously between dark, heavy lashes. His mind was spinning; thoughts slipped hopelessly away. For the first time, he was calm. He was controlled, and in his despair, he was accepting. He would let her go if the time came. He knew it in his heart despite the fear of doing so, but he would not, could not, hold on without her. Somehow, he was accepting of that. He understood.

The muffled scream of the water as it meandered through cold stone wrapped around Numair's senses. Dark eyes aged with sorrow drifted to stare into the cold depths. Light played across the smooth surface like the delicate touches of the first snow spiraling to the earth. Entranced, he watched…

"I don't know how much longer I can continue this, love," sighed the dark haired king as he pressed his face into his hands. The fire crackled and the small, blue light hovered comfortingly before his strained and weary face.

"I know, sweet, I know. What are we to do when the world turns dark and those we love disappear? Hold on, love," crooned the soft voice of the Queen Thayet. "Hold on, if only for me."

"Angel, what am I to do? Who am I now? Love, there is nothing I can do that the others cannot. I feel…I feel that I am useless. I fear that when the time comes, there will be nothing I can do."

"Please, Jon, don't talk like that. Please, please, I-I don't –" her voice trailed away as it become more and more delicate. She sounded like a glass doll; she was nothing like herself. The blue light wavered gently before reestablishing itself. The darkness of the small room permeated the secluded meeting between a man and his wife.

"I love you."

"Yes, Jon. I know."

The silence stretched almost painfully into the small space. "Promise me, Thayet, you will not let anything happen to the kids. If something happens to me I want to know-"

"They will be fine. I've made arrangements, should something happen." The air was heavy as the king bowed his head once more. It was an unspoken acknowledgement that should death visit, neither would part. Love was a mysterious thing to the king and his beautiful queen, but it made them part of each other. Theirs was a love that could not be severed. Where one went, the other would follow. Death was not such a far place when one's love was resting there.

Raucous shouts rang suddenly from the quiet night. The sound of steel and arrows ripped through the air. The king's face became hard and unmoving. He was a warrior now. He was the protector of the people, and he would not let them down. "It seems I have been called. Stay safe, love." And he was gone.

The lonely sigh was barely audible as the blue glow faded and disappeared. It was the sound of one half of a heart staring death in the face. It was an empty, pointless sound.

Numair rocked back into awareness as the fragile image of the king in battle confessing to his queen merged once more into the night. It was comforting to know that he was not the only one willing to bend to the iron hand of love and loss. The night fell in thin sheets about him as he thought back to the tender sigh of the queen's as she departed to face her nightly terrors once more. Unwittingly, a sigh of his own slid through weary lips.

"The wheels are turning again," murmured an introspective emperor. His fingers steepled beneath his jaw, he stared into gold eyes of Shakith. "The times are shifting and changing beneath me, and I am powerless to stop it." His breath came in a slow, cold rhythm almost matching the speed of the marble encasing him. "Damn it, I need those scrolls! I need the power! I need, oh gods, I need control! Why can I not hold onto my people and those about them?" His poisonous eyes burned in the silver grey light. "Is it wrong of me to wish to hold onto my people? Why do they call me a monster because I wish to keep them? Was it not I who brought them into their safety after the turmoil of my father's death? I am their hero, their savior. I am like a god to them." It was then an unnatural thought came to his mind. It had come to his attention before, but never as forcefully as this. If he was so important and powerful to his people, what was stopping him from becoming a god to them? Had he not said that he was worshipped by them in their gratitude? He was almost a god on earth as it was; he was an emperor.

Mortals were not meant to challenge the gods. They were weak and rash in the eyes of the gods. Mortals were fools clutching selfishly at dreams scattered fickly by the hands of the gods themselves. This idea of Ozorne's was neither new nor creative. He knew it was so, but he also knew it had never been accomplished. There is always a first for everything. Slowly, maliciously, he turned his thoughts to Arram, the boy mage who never thought he could. There he could see power. There he could see death.

Clouds drifted slowly on a dark horizon. Blood red gashes yawned horrifically in the purple black of early dark. A body twisted beneath the scarlet sheen of the stormy sky. Long arms stretched grotesquely to the sky twisted in black agony. Arram's flesh stretched and shone with the sweat of fear. Every nerve seemed to flame; every bone seemed to snap with unbearable strain. The sudden cold wind made his skin sting as each bead of sweat froze into tiny pearls.

A voice like thunder and crumbling earth ripped through his agonized body. "You know why you are here." The winds howled and the earth beneath him trembled, "You are nothing to me," the voice deliberated slowly, "but you mean something to someone. Therefore, I have come to you for this purpose alone." The sky split with a tormented scream as the gold figure stepped idly from his throne of black. His feet touched the ground with a breath taking crash of thunder. His eyes were hidden behind his helmet of gold, and his black hands stretched ominously toward Arram's prone and defenseless body.

Arram did not cower. His mind could not register the gold specter moving inexorably nearer to him. There was no fear in his heart. The pain in his limbs flared in the presence of the shining monolith. The raging pain shifted into roaring crescendo as the burning light slowly neared and consumed him. Every muscle, sinew, and tendon moaned with the touch of this shadow, but Arram was not afraid. The pain dulled slowly from the sharp, white hot knives into iron bars pressing unfalteringly down, down, down. His mind shut down; his heart exploded into thousands of tiny pieces.

Some people could say that the eminent destruction of one's heart is the end of living. Perhaps it is. A person has a choice they never before could understand or accept. Now, they must face the decision, the idea of a new life as another, with open eyes. As their blood grows cold, they must decide. Do they choose to become something they have never considered in the face of their destruction? One's life is a difficult thing to forsake. It is something even more difficult to construct.

"You say nothing for yourself?" boomed the giant voice from the clouds. "I would have thought differently. Perhaps you have been misjudged." Slowly the wind abated. The tingling bite at his fingers ceased and he could feel the air brush across his cheek in perfect rhythm with the breath of the golden god. After all, the golden warrior must be a god to bring the heavens so low as to bend to the control of another.

"Speak, boy, or I shall do so for you. You have life in your veins yet. Destiny clutches at you but only ever grasps your shadow. This is my offer to you; you will be one of ours. We will watch you, grace you, but never will we leave you. You will honor us. You will accept us, and we will open gateways to you that you could never have seen without us. What say you?"

Arram shook as the pain slid away from his body. That sharp fire just beneath his skin seemed to be a lifeline to reality; without it, he felt exposed and lost. He trembled once, but whether it was in fear or cold, neither form knew. Arram was a unique person the god had never before attempted to, nor wished to, unravel. However, Shakith had foreseen a greatness to him that was as of yet undiscovered. It would be best to bring him to the rest of his siblings now when he was still young and naïve.

"Who are you?" Arram's voice ground out the few words. They caught at his teeth like gravel and clutched at his throat with tiny claws. Anger pulsated through his veins, but it kept the thought of fear away.

Annoyance and respect flashed simultaneously through the black eyes of the god as he drew himself to a towering height. His head brushed against the clouds and his voice rained down like thunder. "You dare question me? I am Master of the Sun, Hurler of Spears. War calls my name and all life bows to me. I am Mithros, Lord of the Gods."

Arram trembled for a moment, but regained control. He may be standing before Mithros, but he this was not his judgment day. Slowly, he rose to his full stature, which was severely smaller than the golden god's bulk. "I am not afraid."

"Then perhaps you are disrespectful." The sharp words were not a question. The god did not wish an answer to them. "Well, what say you to my proposition? Do you choose fealty to us in exchange for protection, or weakness before those feebler than you?"

Arram could feel his eyes begin to sting. The weight of the choice dug into his flesh and he swayed softly to every harsh breeze. His mind was in agony, but there really was no alternative, was there? He had to throw his lot of life in with the gods, did he not? After all, a person could not shun their lords and protectors. He made his choice. But, did he make it simply because he was offered it by the king god? If he looked deep inside himself and analyzed his feelings and thoughts as he was sure to do soon, he would see that he was wrong. Finally, his pride and power were seeping through his skin. He was finally becoming the person he was meant to be; a more powerful man than the world could ever expect of him. Arram was assuming his identity. "I accept, my Lord Mithros."

"Good."

The heavens split with an ear-shattering crash and rain spilled from the sky as if the universe was weeping. Arram tilted his head to see the clouds twisted with an unnatural anguish. Light caught and shone within the palm of the war-god as he came level to Arram. "You will be marked as one of ours; unique in every way," intoned the god as he pressed his burning fingers into Arram's chest. Arram felt his ribs collapse with that touch. His blood froze and boiled in the same moment, and his eyes saw only darkness lanced with feverish light.

Arram awoke cold and shivering. As terrified as he was, he did not fear. Something new had begun. The cold, silver light of early morning filtered over his eyes and lay against his chest. He remembered the dark sky laced with blood and the god that looked him in the eyes. He remembered the searing pain and the consuming darkness. He remembered the burning. Arram sat up in bed and slammed his back against the headboard. His chest was heaving and his eyes were wide. He remembered the choice. With a shrug of his shoulders, he heaved his bed-shirt off his shoulders and looked at his flesh. There, staring at him, were pink, agitated lines twining over his flesh at the exact spot where he was touched. A sun crossed with a spear and shield was burned permanently into his flesh. The air suddenly felt so cold, as if the memory was sent to haunt him. Suddenly, the mark flared with a white-gold light. Before his eyes, the lines seeped into his skin and melted into thin, white traces unrecognizable unless one knew where to look. Arram let his head ease into the curve of his palms as he took a deep breath. Everything had changed.

Sorry, I know this one is more confusing than usual, and I am not at all happy with it. I will update as soon as I can, I promise. School is killing me, and writer's block is a common and cursed pestilence in my house. Don't you just hate it when you suddenly contract writer's block in the middle of a sentence?