Erra Gahiji had never left Buyan before, and doing so felt like the cutting of a limb.
To others, Buyan was a place full of dark. Shadows wreathed in every corner, decorating desolate trees like rotten leaves. It was a place hued in the shades of night. But to Erra, it was a place of simmering, bright red.
He might have refused to leave, were it not for the god who had chosen him. Were it not for Ixtilaf, the god soldiers prayed to, the god those who had anger simmering in their veins bent their knees to. He remembered doing the same, whispering the shadowed god's name in the dark. Asking for his blessing, for his wrath to burn those who had hurt him and his mother.
When Ixtilaf's vengeful hand stayed in the shadows, Erra took it upon himself to wield his fury. Helper of the wrathful god, vessel of his thirst for retribution; Erra had always fancied himself as such. He wondered if Ixtilaf knew of the admiration growing crooked in his chest, how he had forsaken all need for prayer and sacrifice, and yet Ixtilaf —
Perhaps he simply felt connected to him, a thread of silver iron tethering them to each other.
The god had waited for him, stepping out of the shadows when Erra was scrubbing the blood off his hands. There were bruises on his jaw, the black he smeared around his eyes to stay unrecognizable running down his cheeks. It looked like blackened blood, smearing his face in ruination. Ixtilaf's face had been unmoving as he had spoken his offer.
And there Erra stood, on the stone pathway that led to the gods' palace in Limuria. He wasn't alone, and it made the loss of Buyan's humid air a little more bearable. Though he had left the crimson toxicity of Buyan behind, Erra was sure he would paint the walls of their palace red soon enough.
Behind him, Ilari crouched down, tapping his fingers against the stone. He had done so ever since they had left the familiarity of their surroundings behind. Once, years ago, he had explained it to Erra. How he saw through sounds, having been robbed of his vision long, long ago.
Again, Ixtilaf looked unmoved, though Erra had noticed how the god's shadows would curl onto the ground when the three of them spoke. They seemed to want to burrow into their familiarity with each other, feel their connection as they slithered around Naenia's ankle or Ilari's wrist.
Even now, his shadows swirled around them like rotten mist. Naenia swatted at one of them, and that, at least, earned her a reaction out of Ixtilaf.
He turned to look at her, lifting a brow.
''Do you have a problem, Miss Kitezh?''
''Not yet,'' she murmured in a low voice, eyeing his shadows warily. ''My mother will be here?''
Ixtilaf ignored her looks, and walked forward, pressing his hands to the large, brass doors. ''Yes, and the cat.''
At this, Ilari smiled.
''Seems impressive enough,'' Ilari remarked as he pulled himself to his feet. He came to stand at Erra's shoulder, Naenia on the other side, and together, they watched as the doors creaked open.
Erra had never seen anything like it. In Buyan, people had whispered about the palace of the gods; how it was held up by deities long since slumbered, turned into stone by the hands of time. He had ignored the stories, knowing that they were just that. Stories.
Every child in Buyan knew not to believe in them.
But this was shattering the dark quiet that had been his home. It tore itself apart as the stone giants moved, seeming to ache underneath the weight of the palace on their shoulders.
Erra's eyes flickered to Naenia beside him. He wondered if her fingers were itching to draw the scenery, to pour it into paints and slashes of her brush.
Her brief expression of wonder shuttered close when she saw him looking.
He couldn't help the smirk tugging at his lips. She hadn't changed. He thought he might reach out and cut himself on the sharpness of her mouth.
''Come,'' Ixtilaf said, and they followed him and his shadows, into the divine light of the palace courtyard.
If Buyan were darkness incarnate, then the palace was sunlight fractured from the sky. Marble columns circled the courtyard, golden mosaic smattered on the walls which were visible through the empty spaces. The palace was a columned statue of marble and stone, extending into the sky, parts of wayward towers hidden by the clouds.
So this was where the gods holed up when those who needed them drowned in unheard prayers.
His lips pulled into a thin line. He scratched the scar on the side of his face, relishing in the hissing pain, the way it felt like skin touching hot iron. It was a distraction from his need, the scratching underneath his skin.
''Stay here,'' Ixtilaf said, before disappearing in the shadows. When the darkness melted into the light, Erra realized they weren't alone.
More Anunnaki, some sitting on fallen columns, others standing in groups or alone. None from Buyan, from what he could tell. In a province wrought of pain inflicted upon Anunnaki, like pulled to like. Pain attracted pain, and sorrow followed into each other's footsteps. They all knew each other, or at least of each other. It was how it had been with Naenia. With Ilari.
He hadn't know what to expect when Ixtilaf had brought them the edges of Naenia's village, but it wasn't just the two of them. He had expected more, and yet there were none. No elderly Anunnaki, none of the others he had come across on his travels through the province. Not even the little boy who lived a few houses next to Naenia's, the shy little Anunnaki who had the luck of bladed Naenia protecting him.
Perhaps the gods were truly fools, to think he was more worthy of godhood.
Two dark-haired girls stood on opposite ends of the courtyard. The only reason Erra noted them particularly, was because one of them kept glancing towards the other, while the girl with the braid in her hair didn't seem to notice, far too engrossed in listening to a girl with mushrooms in her hair talk.
In the corner, two tall men stood. The broader of the two looked like someone had taken a knife to carve jagged black lines into a face made of stone. He didn't seem to speak, only stare with his arms crossed as his companion did all the talking. He was swathed in white fabric, and it billowed when he turned, exposing his face to the three of them.
Red-hot anger exploded inside of him. It seemed to beg something of him, pulling, pricking at his bones, urging him to finish what he had started. But Naenia's voice came from beside him.
''That motherfucker — ''
And she was on the move.
All at once, violence erupted from her. Something glinted in her eyes, the menacing curve of a blade, the silver of a newly forged sword. Before anyone could move, she had him by the throat; before anyone could speak, she had made him bleed.
Erra was on her heels in an instant. Searing hot anger seemed to fall from her in waves, each thread of shadows reaching for him like a long-legged spider.
His fingers itched by his side, eager to aid, eager to be coated in the red crimson of blood.
But this was her battle, not his.
Icharen, at the very least, had the courtesy not to look surprised.
Mushroom girl sighed as she stood from her seat. ''Already?'' she asked, assessing the fury-wrought spectacle in front of them. A girl with swirling tattoos on her arms pursed her lips in disapproval, but stayed quiet, as did the others.
Behind them, Ilari chuckled. ''As expected of our dearest Nae.''
Naenia ignored them, blade glinting in her hand as she pressed it to Icharen's throat. It had always fascinated Erra how she managed to dwarf anyone who stood in her way, no matter how much height they had on her.
''You have some nerve,'' Naenia snarled, teeth close to his throat, so close he thought she might find his heartbeat and rip it out.
''Naenia — '' Icharen started, gloved hands slowly reaching up, as if he might pry the dagger out of her hand, as if she might let him.
''No,'' she bit out, pulling back with a violence that might as well have been another knife-fall. A trickle of blood slid down Icharen's collar. ''I don't want to fucking hear it. You stay out of my way, understood?''
Erra smiled at the sight. He didn't understand the joy he saw in the curl of a smile. He didn't understand the way people could pour themselves out, heart and soul, in the awaiting hands of another. But this anger on Naenia's face, the way it contorted her features into a snarl, he understood more intimately than anyone.
Icharen opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a young man with long, dark hair. Like Erra, one of his eyes gleamed red.
''How about we all take a deep breath and settle down, yeah?'' he suggested, a smile stretching his lips. He seemed unassuming enough, though Erra had long since learned everyone hid something.
Naenia glared at him. ''How about you stay out of it.''
The man's face blanched, and he blinked at her animosity.
The tattooed man had only spectated, eyes assessing the situation. He looked like he'd rather they all be squished by the boulder giants overhead than have to hear another eruption of noise. When he looked over at girl who had spoken up, her eyes flit over him appreciatively.
He looked like he had barely seen her.
''I suppose we're off to an incredible start,'' Ilari mused as Naenia turned, tugging her dagger back into her belt.
Icharen, ignoring the blood on his throat, took a step forward. Always a pest, that one.
''If you'll just let me — ''
Again, he was interrupted. This time, it was by Erra, who had stepped into the space Naenia had vacated, blocking Icharen from reaching her.
It hit him, then, a tidal wave of pure pain. Erra's breath shuttered in his chest, and for a moment, his eyes fluttered closed as he took a deep and steadying breath.
How he relished in it, how it burned through his veins, how it settled in deeper and deeper until he and it were one and the same.
When he looked at Icharen again, Erra set his jaw. He jutted his chin, nodding towards Icharen's leg.
''How's the limp?''
Icharen shifted his weight onto the other leg, ignoring Erra's pointed look, glancing at her over his shoulder. But Erra wouldn't budge, and Icharen had always known when a battle was lost, or when there was merit in pushing forward.
He sighed, and then, he had the audacity to smile at him.
''Nice to see you again, Erra.''
He might have been the cause of another cut on Icharen's skin were it not for the animalistic screech that came from the skies. Everyone looked up, watching as the clouds parted for the arrival of a creature that shimmered in gold and bronze.
Taniyn, the dragon-goddess.
Erra's favourite tales had been about her. How she had melted armies in their armour with the swoop of one fiery breath. How her arrows always aimed true, causing kings to cease their wars, or princes to overthrow their fathers.
She swooped down, talons grazing the stones of an all-encircling balcony. A figure slid down her back, clad in shades of purple and pink that could cause injury to one's eyesight. His white hair was spiked up at all sides from the wind, and as Taniyn flapped her wings and flew up again, he waved down towards them in excitement.
''You haven't started without me, have you? Looks like great fun, hold on.'' And then he disappeared from the balcony, only to reappear in the middle of the courtyard.
''Whew, that was a ride to remember,'' the white-haired man sighed, straightening his clothes. When he noticed the tense atmosphere, he frowned, glancing around. ''What happened?''
Erra ignored him, moving away from Icharen and back to Naenia's side, needing to feel that rush again, needing to see if she was okay. Her visage betrayed nothing within her usual expression, a storm cloud in a face so lovely, her anger only enhanced it.
'''s fine,'' Naenia mumbled, fidgeting with her dark, fingers that were dusted with dried paint curling around the hilt as if she might pull it out again.
The doors behind them mumbled, and Erra almost rolled his eyes in annoyance. How many more?
Two girls entered, hand-in-hand, laughter accompanying their cheerful expressions. One of them had a pair of goggles pushed back into her hair, smears of oil streaking her cheeks. Beside her, a girl with wine-red curls and a scar nearly carving a line over her sapphire eye. They stilled in the entrance, looking at the crowd that had gathered. The crowd that stared right back at them.
The red-headed girl looked at him, mismatched eyes wide with recognition. Only she wasn't looking at him. She was looking behind him, at the man with the face touched by cruelty. His face didn't betray any emotion, a mask of calm carved with a cruel and jagged knife. But Erra thought he gleaned something, burrowed deep within his stare. ''It's you,'' she breathed, and then, a smile slowly rose to her lips.
It stood in stark contrast to Naenia and Icharen. No dagger pressed against throat, instead, there was a warmth unfamiliar to Erra. To him. She seemed to present it on outstretched hands, invisible yet palpable. He didn't seem to know what to do with it.
But Erra wasn't basking in its warmth, nor was he looking at her sweet smile.
He was looking at her pain, falling from her in a melody akin to a siren's song. It lured him in, beckoned him close, tore through his skin until it dazed his mind.
He needed more.
But he couldn't take it. Not yet, because behind the two girls, a voice spoke up, and the inventor god smirked as he entered the courtyard.
''I see everyone has arrived in one piece. Welcome to the Selection.''