A white shroud veiled the ground like perpetual mist. Underneath lay the wicker, his body having dispelled its last breath just a few moments ago. Icharen had held his hand, and he had felt the life drain out of him, slow trickles of rain against foliage. His robes fluttered behind him like wings that were an extension of him as he stood, and turned to the death god who stepped out of the shadows.
''Your timing couldn't be worse,'' he said, having been accosted by the god as he had left his home. Time seemed to stop when Caidil spoke, and even now, the leaves shuddered a little slower, the wind stopped its caressing.
''I'll wait,'' the god said simply, his gaze fixated on the body at the base of the tree.
''Ah,'' Icharen said, turning back to the wicker, the mourners of Suddene starting their approach. They were a garden of white blossoms, gathering to honour another soul lost. Another return to earth. Icharen's lips quirked, the slightest flutter of a smile feathering across his mouth. ''How insignificant time must be to a god.''
If Caidil was offended, he did not say so.
Parallel they stood, stark-white against billowing-black, and Icharen wondered if he knew that which he commanded at the tips of his fingers. He wondered if he looked at his hands and saw Evîn's offering, or if he simply saw a boy once withered, a man now at his dominion.
Did he see the string pulled taut between them? The scythe that hung on both their shoulders, always looming over those mortal souls, an eternal reminder of that which lay imprinted onto Icharen's palms?
Perhaps they were both fools for this.
And was he a fool indeed, for considering that which the god had offered him?
Him, and the two others who flanked Caidil's sides, sudden participants in the funeral rites of the wicker. Despite their Anunnaki blood, Icharen had never met them before. And it didn't matter now — not when he had a task to complete, not when mournful eyes gazed towards him for guidance. Icharen turned his back to the god and the Anunnaki, dispelling thoughts of godhood and gold blood from his mind.
It fled from his head like mist.
Flowers were laid on the body, as a hole was dug into the ground. A little girl bent to place a branch of lavender on the wicker's forehead. The smell wrapped around Icharen, a noose tightening around his neck, and the memory surfaced as swiftly as he tried to press it down again.
Lavender in her hair. The smell on his skin as lips traced a constellation through her freckles. Gunmetal silver and starry lilac. Cruelty cutting her lips into a snarl, like the tip of a knife edging its way through the path of her face.
Icharen blinked. Above him, the branches hung low, sweeping over the forest floor, caught in a silent dance with the illuminated mushrooms that glowed in the colours of sunset and sunrise.
At once, a boot crushed them into the soil, the procession starting, and he was reminded of how fragile all things were.
How close Caidil's dominion was, a whispering shadow tracing their footsteps.
How the memories folded into his mind needed to stay there, tightly shut, wrapped in a ribbon that felt like a noose around his neck.
His hands, veiled by the fabric of his dove-white gloves, spread as he looked towards the mourners. The Suddeni who had taken him in as one of their own when nothing had quite felt like home any more.
''Of soil we become, of soil we will return. May your soul find peace, and may your body find purpose.''
Everyone repeated his words, everyone but Caidil and the Anunnaki. It was a hum on thick air, a birdsong that always filled Icharen with a swell of purpose as he watched the wicker's family cover his body with earth. At the base of the tree, he now lay in eternal rest, one with Evîn's dominion, while his soul would be reaped by the god who stood behind him.
How utterly unnerving.
And when the body was buried, the feast began — a celebration of life, of those who passed. Usually, Icharen would join in on the festivities, but there had been a divine interruption, and as the people around them slowly started to trickle out, he turned towards the god and two girls.
''There's a tavern nearby. Loud enough for no one to overhear us speak.''
When they were seated in the far corner of the tavern, shrouded by the flickering flames of the lanterns, Icharen finally had a good look at the two Anunnaki who had been waiting with Caidil. The one who introduced herself as Dhyana was covered in swirling tattoos that peaked out from underneath her robes. A priestess, he knew, and though he thought that was supposed to be a comforting thought, though he always felt a certain sense of ease around other Anunnaki, there was something different about her. Something that made him alert, that had a weariness glowering inside his chest, a silent beast that remained on guard.
He simply met her gaze with a nod, and smiled when the other girl introduced herself. Where Dhyana was covered in tattoos, Rhodys had mushrooms growing on her mud-coloured clothes, accompanying her as if they were her live children. It was oddly fitting, and when she stretched her arms above her head, the hood on her head falling off to reveal her Anunnaki eyes, her lips stretched into a smile.
''Well, when are we leaving? I don't suppose godhood waits for the slow and uncertain.'' Icharen detected eagerness in her voice, saw it in the glint of her eyes, and he narrowed his on her implication of his indecisiveness.
It wasn't like he was indecisive.
But as soon as Caidil had explained to him why he had sought him out, when he had seen the others standing behind him, flanking him like devout soldiers, spikes had grown on his skin in warning. They were whispering to him, telling him not to fall in with his eyes and ears closed.
This was strange, wasn't it?
For the gods to seek out the Anunnaki after all these years.
For them to offer divinity, to gather them in Limuria, but, as Caidil had explained, not all of them. Only a select group.
Would she be among them?
Icharen leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest. The gold embroidery on his white robes glimmered in the faint light. ''How long will it take?''
Caidil, who was sitting slightly turned away from them, sighed, curls falling into his vision. He looked as if the simple task of answering a question fatigued him. ''As long as it will take.''
That was an answer Icharen should have expected from a god.
In response, he hummed. He couldn't deny that part of him that was intrigued, as much as he tried to silence it. His curiosity was louder than his paranoia, practically rattling its chains as he tried to keep it contained.
What could go wrong, if he truly thought about it?
He didn't become a god; he'd return to Suddene. He would continue onto the path he had already mapped out through the illuminated woods.
That was all.
Wasn't it?
Dhyana spoke up, her voice solemn, her gaze set with determination. ''It is the greatest of honours to be considered for divinity. To be given the chance to walk among the gods, and become their equal.''
Rhodys extended her arm and pulled up her sleeve, watching her skin, turning her arm as if she could already see something changing. As if she could see her blood shift its prism colour.
''I wonder...'' she murmured as she stared at her veins, as if gauging its colour. Icharen wondered if the mushrooms had taken root in her mind, polluting her brain.
Caidil stood, and as he did, everyone around them moved a little slower. Languid in their movements.
''Only fools wish for gold,'' he said gruffly, and before Rhodys could inquire what he meant, before Icharen could even open his mouth, he continued. ''It's a one and done offer. But know that the gods will not look upon you kindly should you refuse.''
''Never,'' whispered Dhyana, and she stood as well, robes billowing with her movements. They looked like angel wings, draped over her shoulders and her back, giving her the silhouette he imagined Nieba might have against a cloudy skin.
Rhodys, too, pulled herself to her feet, clearly refusing to let this opportunity slip through her fingers.
Icharen was the only one left still sitting.
He looked them over, mismatched eyes carefully roving over them, as if he might find the truth and pull it out of the threads that held them together, watch them unravel, so he might see all that wished to know spelled out in the falling fabric.
If he wanted answers, he had to seek them himself.
And what could go wrong?
Slowly, Icharen stood, and looked at the god. Death against death.
''Call me a fool, then. When do we leave?''
Many towns dotted the map of Illéa in resplendence. Untouched by war and famine, unmarked by in-fighting and corruption; they were some of Taniyn's favourite places. Some might call her vapid for preferring the ease of laughter and enjoyment, but Taniyn thought it only reasonable for her to be lured in by the fire of joy. There, she shielded her bow and arrow in an invisible shroud, and felt its weight rest comfortable against her back, finding comfort in it.
Perhaps she was a little lax with how often she fired it. Perhaps she looked at a pair of people, and thought with a little too much ease, how they needed the touch of her arrow to heighten all that they kept locked in their heart.
But Taniyn never crafted something artificial. That was for Zillar, who could create structures out of a grain of sand; that had been for Evîn, who had grown entire forests with the sinking of his hands into soil.
Taniyn simply gave people that for which they lacked the courage. She pointed her arrow to their hearts, and watched as a girl finally found the courage to profess her love for her neighbour. A man, finally giving into his anger long enough to voice the venom that broiled deep in his gut. A woman, finally sinking into the sorrow drowning her heart, long enough for her to find release.
And of course, the occasional arrow fuelled lust, though she had no need for that particular entertainment as she entered the largest tavern of the town of Xynnar. It bordered Limuria, neatly tucked into a little alcove in Nibiru.
Sadly, the goddess wasn't here for that. She had been given a task, though arguably the easiest task compared to the others.
She heard him before she saw him.
The voice reached her in its melodious thrum, laughter interlaced in every pause, as if the patrons couldn't get enough of the bard's singsong tale of an old adventure. His hair gleamed in the candlelight, strands spun of stardust. If Itri was here, she would surely want to touch it, marvelling about how it seemed threaded from the moon itself.
Sadly, his clothes were utterly obnoxious, all of it screaming 'look at me' while punishing her for looking by burning her sight at the same time.
Taniyn didn't approach him. Not yet, at least, lingering behind a pair of giggling young women who were barely able to contain themselves when the Anunnaki opened his eyes and winked at them. She swore one of them nearly fainted, but Taniyn wasn't so easily impressed — eons of walking the earth and finding lovers in emperors and kings, princesses and lady-knights, had that effect.
So this was the pale traveller. He himself seemed to be a source of light, a droplet of bright-white flame in a cave of shadows. Taniyn couldn't fault the girls for wanting to flock to it. But ah, she wasn't here to indulge in pleasure, was she?
Or maybe she could allow herself some, to offset the drabness of her task, of course.
Even when his performance ended, Taniyn didn't start her approach. She sat in her seat, in a spot that had the light from outside falling on her in aurelian splendour. She had chosen the spot carefully, and had made sure he saw her when the barkeep gave him a pint of ale, lifting hers in response.
It only took a few seconds for him to approach her. Up close, she saw the vivid colours of his eyes, a shade of cornflower blue and violet finding a motif back in his attire. Maybe she couldn't fault him for his bad fashion choices, then.
''Alas, I meet the famous pale traveller,'' Taniyn said with a smirk, putting her drink down. She leaned forward, hands loosely resting on her thighs. Her dress didn't quite fit in with how everyone else in the establishment was dressed; the colour a bleeding sunrise, cut to show rich brown skin underneath.
The Anunnaki didn't seem fazed.
On the contrary, he seemed drawn in by it, a light smile playing on his lips, rising as easily as the tunes that fell from his instrument. ''I don't believe we've met. Cain is the name.'' He took her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles.
''So I've heard. Tell me, Cain, have you ever dreamed of being a god?''
He seemed to think she wasn't serious. That she was playing with him as he played with the crowd. And like she thought he would, he gave in, releasing her hand and leaning back in his chair. He schooled his features in playful thoughtfulness.
''Some say the Anunnaki are gods. And I'm quite content with being who I am. Being a god has always seemed a lonely venture. I am aware of the songs and the tales, and to be frank, I don't think the world would want me to be a god.''
''You'd be surprised. I've found godhood can grow in any place. Even in someone as strangely charming as you.''
Cain, pleased with her words of flattery, tilted his head, regarding her with a new sense of curiosity. ''And who are you to ask me of godhood?''
''Oh, just someone who is intimately familiar with it. I can show you, if you were interested.''
She was sure he didn't know of the ichor in her veins. Sure, that he looked at her, and merely saw a young man interested in finding out which songs he could sing with his mouth on hers.
It wasn't too far from the truth. So what if she indulged, before she carried out the entirety of her task?
She couldn't be blamed. Not when he met her gaze and seemed to wonder the same; wonder about the secrets she hid, written on her tongue.
When Taniyn held out her hand, Cain took it. And when they fell away from prying eyes, when dusk fell through the windows and set their skin ablaze, for a moment, it felt like god meeting god.
It was easier to tell him how he had touched divinity once it was done. Perhaps it was the delirium, the high of it all, but this time, Cain did not think she was playing coy, or playing around.
He hadn't been as eager to follow her to Limuria as he had to kiss her. The coax of her dragon wings, the promise to allow him to take flight on her bronze scales, had been what was needed to tip him over.
And Taniyn smirked as she set off with her little bard.