It was some three nights later when Garrett finally put to use the fabrics gifted to him by the Queen of Beggars.
The shrine was nothing to marvel at, hidden away within the already emptied spare, spare, spare storage room of the clocktower, a shoddy cramped space made as an afterthought between the poorly plotted walls of winding stairs.
A prime location for a spiteful thief.
The fabric was strung up around a small crate, a messy array put together with little effort and no forethought. A monument befitting a god who so childishly demanded the thief's attention.
Despite his reservations, and admitted reluctance to take part in the Leviathan's communion, as the Queen of Beggars put it. In its hasty construction, Garrett did what he could to emulate what he recalled from the Haven's various texts regarding the worship of the Leviathan.
Of course, the majority of said texts were written with the same clinical emptiness which deprived history of colour and life. But what the texts had lacked in vibrancy, they had at least made up in sheer detail.
If possible, the curtains should all hang from a single given point, the outer-most corner of the fabric strung up and away from the center, in descending order depending on the number of sheets used during construction.
Below the center hanging point of the curtains should be the offering table where one places their gifts to the Child. Gifts should always be accompanied by bargains of equal value to the offerings.
The space before the offering table should be delegated as the mantle of worship. To pray to the Leviathan is to directly address the Child's involvement and thank the Child for intervening on your behalf.
Garrett would not see himself utilizing the mantle of worship he had made from a haphazardly placed bare-thread rug, but all other aspects of the shrine he constructed as best he could from his memories.
The fabrics were all strung from a single rafter, the ends nailed into the walls, creating the illusion of billowing winds caught in the moment. The small crate turned offering table was decorated with a single pillowcase, draped over the edges, and finally, on the offering table, Garrett intended to lay the two Runes. One he had found, the other he had been gifted.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting, from all the legends he had read the Leviathan was not known to be the most attentive god, even among those who bore the Child's Mark, accounts of the dead god appearing at alters were few and far between, though Garrett supposed that such events were more personal to the truly devout, and not likely to be shouted from the rooftops.
Still, Garrett was still expecting for his shoddy little shrine to go unnoticed and his summons unanswered. And perhaps had the fates of the lone thief and child god not been forced together, the Leviathan would have gladly ignored the thief's shoddy little shrine, and would have ignored the thief who refused to kneel at it's altar.
Alas, such was not the case. And upon placing the Runes upon the offering table did the Leviathan truly turn its gaze to Garrett.
The world shifted, skewed and twisted. Weightlessness settled in Garrett's stomach as his clocktower fell apart. Floors, walls, ceiling and stone all racing outward into the vast pale emptiness that had replaced the storm outside.
Garrett stood before his shoddily constructed shrine, the fabric no longer tethered to surrounding walls, but floating freely in the absent wind.
"You kept me waiting." The infant god nearly pouted just behind Garrett's shoulder, the thief very nearly flinching at the unannounced arrival of the god.
"I must say, you, thief mine, are a wonderful surprise." Garrett finally turned to face the Leviathan, finding the child as innocuously imposing as always. Eyes endless, face pulled taught into a crude imitation of a smile.
"Many men. Greater and lesser than yourself would have gladly killed or died to make my acquaintance." The Leviathan began to slowly circle the thief before it, inspecting, appraising him even. Garrett made a point to remain still and not follow the predator in its dance.
"Yet you… Even after accepting my boon. You refuse me." The Leviathan finally came to a stop just before Garrett, and when Garrett refused to meet its gaze, the dead child laughed.
Cold hands, clammy and wet like a drowned corpse guided Garrett's head to tilt, to look up at the god before him, a god who smiled with too many teeth and an unfathomable darkness behind his eyes.
A god who looked down at him, not with malice or disdain… But with pity and penance.
"You spoke with The City." The young god said knowingly. It took Garrett a moment to figure out what, or who, the child was talking about.
"She is rarely wrong… Though she is also rarely forthcoming with her wisdom." The Leviathan mused as it released its gentle hold on Garrett's head, opting to stand… Or hover more accurately, beside him. "In fact, I believe I have never seen her speak quite so plainly."
The two remained silent for a while, each quiet in their compilation, respective gazes affixed to the humble shrine before them.
"Truthfully." The Leviathan finally began, words echoing softly, spanning outward across the calm sea of nothing surrounding them. "I never would have chosen you to bear my mark." The dead god said bluntly.
"You are frightfully dull, thief mine." The child hummed, out of the corner of his eye Garrett could see the blackened eyes of the god beside him, staring, unblinking as teeth flashed between words spoken through an almost cheeky grin; "All you thieves are. While none of you are quite as bestial as the dear general proclaims you as, you are all creatures of habit."
The Leviathan turned away then, face hidden from Garrett's view, the words to follow were solemn; "Let it be known. I chose you not because of your character, nor due to any profound action you have or will take…"
This time, it was Garrett who turned to face the god, the god who looked every bit the child he should have been… Younger than Garrett, younger than Erin, just a lad. A lad who had never been given the opportunity, the choice to be anything but a god.
And then those damn endless eyes met Garrett's again, and the thief was bitterly reminded that there was nothing human about the creature before him.
"You are one of the few tethers I have to your world Garrett." The dead child said quietly; "You and your sister…" Hovering closer, within arms reach of Garrett, head tilted to the side ever so slightly in contemplation.
"I cannot aid you from my domain, not as I am, not as things are, not unless the Primordial Sea is returned to me." The dead child murmured softly as a cold, cold hand settled against Garrett's cheek, a thumb brushing over the mangled scars rooted across his face.
"I have given you my mark Garrett…The tools and instruments at your disposal are designed to aid you, my Master Thief…"
That cold, cold hand trailed down Garrett's cheek, to his shoulder and down to his hand where the Leviathan then intertwined their fingers in the palest facsimile to tenderness Garrett had ever experienced.
"As the City said. I chose you, Garrett the thief." The dead child whispered. "Not out of malice or spite… But because you are the only one who I could choose."