Absence makes the heart forgive and forget what should be remembered with regret.

- BELLAMY THE BELIEVER, KATO ANALYST, FORSAKEN

THE LOGICAL THING FOR THEM TO DO IS TO GANG UP ON US.

The logical thing for us to do is to wait.

So, we do.

“The stars are bright,” I say. They are, pinpricks of light in the curtain that is the night sky, twinkling in amusement as they watch us. I’m leaning close to Cas, and he lets me.

Cas hums in agreement. “I’m still not sure that our plan will work,” he replies. “Even if you threw Iason about how they should act predictably, they might see it as bait and not follow it, and act unpredictably in order to throw us off.” He frowns, the expression marring his chiseled face just a bit. “It hurts my head, thinking about it. You know, I’ve never had to think this much before, in terms of planning.”

I make a face. “Then don’t think that much,” I advise, patting his arm. “If the plan goes wrong, we can just adjust it. As long as we don’t die — I’ll make sure, we don’t die.” I say the last statement firmly, an accumulation of truth and strategy. My Ability will keep us alive — it has too.

“You know what they say, in the streets?” he asks a rhetorical question. “Death is a release from Life’s noose. But who’s the hangman? The Gods? Greed? If death is what comes after, and life is what causes it, who executes us? Ourselves?” He shakes his head. “We didn’t have time to philosophize, in the slums — it’s funny, that I have more chance of dying here than there, but I doubt myself more.”

I let him talk.

“And Poseidon?” The mischievous grin was now fully off his face, his bitter tirade evident. “I nearly drowned when I was young, along with my parents.” He leaned back. “My dad, my stupid, stupid dad said no to paying these Guards’ taxes — they weren’t really Guards, of course, just pretending to be, maybe some goons from the Dame Effie — and we all got tied into sacks and tossed into one of the streams that branched off of Lake Ichor. I was, what? Three? Xan was one, and she barely survived.”

Cas shakes his head again, more anger than regret. “My parents were stupidly naive in thinking that just saying no would make them leave us alone. And they drowned — they’re dead — we both fought for a position in a crappy orphanage, and now I’m sponsored by the God of Earthquakes and the Sea. I’m a fucking Chosen of the Gods, so who the fuck cares if I’m dead in a ditch somewhere? Who the fuck cares, if I die? I certainly don’t give a Minotaur’s ass.”

A long silence.

“I’m tired of fighting to live,” he says, softly. “Sometimes it’s better, to just go along with the tide and drown, ya know?” He turns to me, electric blue eyes glinting with a spark threatening to dim. “But it shouldn’t be this way. This whole fucking Empire shouldn’t be an ocean, it should go drown and shake itself to death.”

The fire in his words crawls on me, but it isn’t fire, this is oppressive and enveloping, like— water.

“Sera,” he looks at me, more seeing something in me that I didn’t, “don’t you want to change the Empire?”

The ferality in him, in all of us, has bared its fangs now, and I watch the starving animal flicker in his eyes and think, Do I look like that? I don’t back away slowly, even though I should — my Ability tells me to calm him before he does anything unpredictable and breaks free of the chains binding us together — I prop my head on his shoulder. He smells more like blood and sweat than anything else, but I breathe in the iron and salt.

“I want to be remembered,” I reply, “and saying yes is the only way to do that.” I feel not sympathy, but something similar, a hungry creature deprived of love and memory, in my partner. The words I love you, something that should’ve come out my mouth as a reassurance to a fellow human being, don’t escape my lips.

I instead peck his cheek, and smile. “I’ll change the Empire for you, then,” I say, playfully. You wouldn’t, for one person you barely know — what if I did? I ask back. For fun? “You won’t have to lift a finger,” I promise half-teasingly, still studying his face. Twitch of the mouth, crease of the nose — my Ability provides me a conclusion he contradicts by smiling.

“Then never change, Sera,” Caspian Nameless tells me.

I’m about to reply, Gods, I’m not sure that’s possible when my Ability feels the air change. There’s Analysts who say that the Earth listens, and hears — it edges belief in Gaia, which toes the line of Kato, but the jungle’s still now. The disconcerting lack of birds is glaring, and everything pricks at me like tiny needles, threads — my Ability warns me.

“Something’s up,” I observe.

I grip my dagger tight. The decorative hilt’s clean, but familiar — I never let myself get too attached to inanimate objects; they were too easily destroyed in displays of dominance that the people of the Stronghold of Inevita could use against me, corner me — and it was a gift, from the mercenary who trained me. I can shoot birds mid-flight, aim blades in killing blows that I secretly studied.

Cas doesn’t doubt me, and we both stand up from our positions seated by a nearby tree. I close my eyes, letting my Ability weave through every scratch and rustle of the trees — it’s straining, putting a physical burden on my supposed sixth sense, but I find the vague direction. “Go get Arden,” he whispers, and I comply, jogging over to the fire.

Russet-haired Arden and shrew-faced Rayan are huddled close, but while Aphrodhite’s Chosen is smiling lightly, Zeus’ Chosen is close to pure fury. The light from the flames dapple on their clothes and faces, illuminating their conversation and laying their surface emotions bare. The duo looks up at me, and immediately unfolds their masks.

“They’ve made a move,” I say, simply. “Cas is checking it out.” I turn towards Kage, who’s still tied up at the tree — it’s deliberate, letting Iason escape but not Kage. They’re bait and they know it, but that human fear has bled away after the torture — their humanity has bled away, as easily as it was never there in the first place, and it unnerves me. “Your friends are here,” I inform them.

They laugh. “You mean the people you manipulated me into selling you out to? Nah, they’re not my friends.” Hades’ Chosen shakes their head, their wounds barely bandaged. I’ve made sure they can’t bleed out, but I haven’t properly tended to them — on purpose, so they can’t run away even if they escape. “Iason will come for me, and everything’ll go according to your plan. You’ll win.” Their eyes were singularly focused on me. “You’ll be Victorious, and they’ll all be dead.”

I ignore them. “So — how about it?” I ask the other two brightly.

“They’ll all die!” Still, Kage calls, almost frantically like someone switched a switch in their brain: “Death is inevitable! The reaper’s kiss? Pah! Darkness is ugly and everything that comes after only echoes of the life-light. You’ll kill all of them, their blood is on your hands—”

“They’re trying to pressure you into killing them since they saw you were vulnerable,” Rayan says, not unkindly. “Caspian can depend on himself, but it would probably be best if I go back him up.” He yawns for a bit, before raising an eyebrow in expectation

I gesture towards the vague direction. “He went somewhere over there,” I say. His enhanced senses should take care of the rest— ow that I think about it, he probably heard my conversation with Cas. I sigh, internally. What does that matter, in the scheme of things? Trivial, my Ability accuses. No, I’m getting off track.

The plan.

Was my Ability deliberately sidetracking me? Was it planted by the Gods—

No. Off track.

“Dennie,” I begin, frowning, “there’s something wrong.”

“They shouldn’t have spent barely two hours discussing such a big move,” she agrees. The burn bandages cling to her burnished skin, but she gets up from the fire. “It makes sense, realistically, but it doesn’t.” Arden frowns, just a bit, the expression fits strangely on her features. “Something’s off,” she says, finally.

I incline my head in agreement.

“That means that either a unit is working separately, likely Halkyone and Maia, instigated by Iason; or they have a card up their sleeve that we don’t know about,” I summarize. My Ability is alight, flames tangling against the bits of string that thread through the Hints, a grotesque tapestry of things that could kill me if attached incorrectly.

Did I attach something incorrectly? Form a conclusion that wasn’t Wise? Misplace a cog, a strategy? “No,” I whisper to myself, eyes flinging closed and hands to my ears. Think. Why would they be that early? What card could they have up their sleeves? Read. Offensive-type Abilities, an ambush? Learn. What did they do before? Adapt. I open my eyes to Arden staring at me curiously. My Ability whispers. “We should go back up Cas,” I say. “You’re probably aware that we lied to you. No hard feelings.”

The red-haired Aphrodite’s Chosen shakes her head. “No hard feelings,” she says lightly. I’m not aware to what extent the Act gave it away, but the jig’s up — she knows I’m Athena’s Chosen.

“So, are we good? You want to come with me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

We dart into the bushes, and I hear a scream.

Like all logical human beings would do, we run faster.

“You immoral psychopath!” Halkyone is shooting arrows with startlingly precise accuracy. Cas dodges with supposed ease, but I can calculate the trajectories of the arrows even without my Ability — they’re narrow dodges, and sooner or later he’s going to mess up and one of those shafts’ll be embedded in his stomach. Are they poisoned? If they’re poisoned, then we’re fucked — no amount of healing can delay the good ones.

Arden and I emerge from the underbrush dramatically, but I immediately dive into the fray while Arden steps back. Tackling Halkyone, she immediately falls to the ground with a cut-off squeak, her bow shoved against my abdomen. She tries to fight back, grabbing one of the arrows from her quiver and trying stabbing against my back, but I hold firm, countering her weight with my own while holding her two wrists in restraint in one fell swoop.

Her green eyes dilated almost unnoticeably — her limbs aren’t free, she’s taken by surprise and captured in a matter of seconds — and, with a dagger in my other hand, I stab it through her pale chest— or at least, try to.

My Ability blares before I duck and roll, and immediately I’m rewarded with a spear swiping above my head. I cackle, brandishing my knife, and call out: “Fuck, Ray, aren’t you supposed to take the heavy hitters?” Ares’ Chosen, Maia Kareen, narrows her eyes at the chastisement, but she swipes, anyway.

The clunky spear in her hands is supposed to be heavy and awkward, but the merchant family’s daughter wields it with surprising grace, quick and swooping blows that arcs in a way that covers up her blind spots. She tries to back into me, but I don’t lose sight of my target — before Halkyone clambers and gets ahold of her bow, I try to tackle her again.

Perhaps turning your back on your enemy could get you killed, on another battlefield, on another day; but my decision’s greeted with a splashing noise from behind that means that Maia is now facing a far greater threat than me — Caspian Nameless, in all his water-controlling glory.

I almost cheer, except an arrow sails past my hair and I grin.

“Hally!” I call, using the information from back in the introduction, “nice to see a fellow duchy-hater! You a non-Imp?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Halkyone’s launching arrows still, but her steady cadence is shakier, green eyes unsteady. I can’t shake the feeling that they have some backup, that Vivianna and that Godsbroken Jonas is planning something because no sane person would— Ah. Right.

Where was Iason?

I tilt my head as I brandish my dagger. “Did a little girl run away?” I taunt, mildly. “Did she have to achieve some kind of justice in her own hands, after her companions turned on her?” While I talk, I spread my Ability like a veil around both my surroundings and the arrows, dodging, my actions driven by nothing but reflex and speed. The adrenaline that flares through my veins almost exhilarates me, and my vision snaps to a patch in the air as my hand snatches an arrow out of the air.

Of course, the accelerating object burns against my fingers, the speed fading, as I dance around Halkyone, motioning towards her emptying quiver. “Is that little girl in trouble?” I ask, lowering my voice into a childishly mocking voice.

“Don’t pay attention to her, Hal!” I hear Maia’s voice call from behind me. “She—”

“Aww, Maia,” I purr. Got you. “Are you trying to control what our Hally listens to or not? It’s her decision.” With that last statement, I launch from my position and dart closer, my muscles burning and sweat beading as my knuckles drag against the sand, my hands gathering dirt in my palm.

Halkyone’s pale face stares back at me, and she’s shaking. “It’s always a hero’s decision, to stand up against the villain, is it not?” I whisper at the archer, before scattering the sand into her pale green eyes.

She hisses in pain, roaring and clambering desperately for her bow and arrows, as I jump onto her, my knees diving into her stomach as I embed the knife in her heart, piercing the artery with precision. “A minute, or five, or thirty seconds,” I calculate, lightly. Now the blood gnaws at the edges of my vision. “You may say your last words,” I say, and Artemis’ Chosen spits blood in my face.

I wipe it, and smile, waiting.

“You nobles are so fucking sick,” she snarls, wheezing with pain. “What, we’re naive for wanting to change a world where we’re stepped on, again and again? An Empire that—” she coughs “-pillages, and loots, and backstabs? You murder us, and you murder our people, and none of you have ever experienced anything close to true fucking misery.” Her eyes are still sealed from the sand, but they flutter. “You love your father, don’t you? What if I tell you that he whips his Servants like they’re dogs, kills and dismembers commoners in front of their families?”

I wait.

“Hea—” I hear Iason’s voice, cut off.

I still wait, not turning.

Halkyone leers. “It wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t care, would it? I hope their faces haunt you in their sleep, you dirty, fucking Imperial — your father and mother that you love so much are animals, and you’re just like them.”

Blood trails from her nostrils, and she coughs once or twice, before she stiffens and her eyes turn empty.

“You’re wrong,” I say with a light smile, quietly. “I don’t have a father and mother.” This is courtesy enough, my Ability hisses, you gave her uninterrupted last words. Still, I reach over and close her eyes. “I wanted to be a hero, once, too,” I whisper, the words dancing on the wind, before I turn, quickly, and survey the scene behind me.

Maia is fending off both Caspian and Rayan — quite admirably, I might add. Iason, dressed in shockingly effective camouflage paint, is now on his knees in front of Arden, who’s— flirting with him? I don’t question it, but instead flick my wrist and let my dagger arc through the air, singing a calculated area as it lands—right where it’s expected. Maia moves to raise her spear, and immediately the blade embeds itself in her eye.

She screams.

Cas slugs her in the face with a knife hilt, straight into the other eye.

She screams again, letting go of the spear that Rayan immediately confiscates.

An elaborate game of darts.

Almost brutally, Poseidon’s Chosen swoops in and sinks his knives into the Chosen’s chest. At this point, the merchant family’s daughter is ready to fall, her dark skin crusted over with seeping crimson liquid — skin flattens and gives way to bone, raw layers overlaps and bleeds as Ares’ Chosen scrambles to get my knife out.

But then Cas almost daintily steps near her — silently, swiftly, like a Thief — and grips the handles of the knives in her chest, and pulls. Crimson trickles as Maia arches in pain, a guttural sound ripping out of her throat as the wound causes her to fall to her knees.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

My conscience flares up again — had she ever done anything wrong, really? What’s making me different, from the tyrants and the nobles that’s stepped on other people — and I let it echo in my ears. “There’s something up,” I say, my voice quiet and nearing hoarseness. I know Rayan can hear me. “There’s no way we can just kill two Chosen of Viv’s camp and get away with it.”

Rayan gives a nod, but jabs a finger towards the kneeling Iason in response. We all gather around Arden.

Iason’s eyes glint in what seem to be fanatical devotion, but Arden just looks indifferent. “Iason,” she says, mildly, “tell me what just happened.”

Apollo’s Chosen creaks upon his mouth, and speaks: “You killed a bunch of people, Your Goddessness. You’re so beautiful, your grandeur eludes the Anothen sky itself — please, please praise me—”

Arden rolls her eyes before sighing.

“Wait,” I point out the obvious, “didn’t I, like, stab his throat just a Dayhept ago? Knife out his vocal cords? Permanently disfigure his voice?”

Rayan shoots me an irritated look. “Well, obviously, he fixed it.” He turns. “Ar, ask him.”

In response, Aphrodite’s Chosen kicks Iason in the stomach. I can’t say he didn’t deserve it. “Tell me why you came here,” she corrects herself, “and why you brought Halkyone and Maia along with you.”

Iason replies, almost immediately: “I wanted to rescue Kage from the crazy lady. You’re much prettier than the crazy lady, my love—”

“Does Vivanna Bloodthorn know about this?” she continues. She’s probably using her Ability, my mind whispers. Some sort of subjugation Ability? Seduction? Aphrodite’s realm is of Love, Fertility— it makes sense. She used it on me, a miniscule amount— good control. The Hints click together, just a minute conclusion, but still Iason answers.

“Yes,” he says simply. “She advised against it. We did it anyway. You look gloriously magnificent, by the way, my heart—”

“Bloodthorn isn’t the type to just ‘advise’ people and walk away,” Arden interrupts, another frown making its way onto her face. “I mean, that Jonas guy would, sure, but not Bloodthorn. She’s playing at being a mastermind, but sheltered nobles don’t have that kind of indifference. That means that one, she’s either up to something that she thinks is more important; or two, she’s up to something to make us suffer something worth the deaths on her conscience.”

I shake my head. “We’re assuming that she doesn’t have the spine to sacrifice,” I say, “but we might be wrong. We’re not considering Jonas, here — it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to pressure Vivianna into doing something that betrays her supposed ‘hero’s conscience.’”

“So, in short, we know nothing about what they’re planning,” Rayan sums up. I can see the frustration on his face, scrapes of Maia’s spear on his skin. “Fuck.”

“We should retreat,” Cas inputs. “Gather information. I’m injured. Nothing life-threatening, but if none of us get treated we’ll face a lot of shit.”

Arden shrugs, and kicks Iason in the side almost callously. There’s something off about her, as disgust flickers in her eyes, Iason’s adoring look not flinching. “Go Heal Caspian, Ray, and Seraphina.”

Iason complies, and we’re bathed in a golden light, injuries I hadn’t even noticed knitting together. It feels itchy, like you’ve spent too much time in the sun and the heat’s spread to under your skin — the sensation feels completely unlike what the comforting radiance should feel. I cast a glance behind us. “Cas,” I throw the name to my partner. “Help me.” I mime digging.

Rayan frowns. Arden just blinks.

Cas hesitates for a moment. “Sera—”

“Okay,” I reply. “I’ll do it myself.”

Digging graves is surprisingly tiring.

Cas doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t need to.

“So we can all agree that something’s happening,” I say. When I come back, my hands are caked with dirt and my fingers grimy, but no one says anything. Not a flicker of guilt is etched onto their expressions, but I suppose it’s to be expected.

“Yeah,” Rayan agrees. “But we don’t know what. So the logical thing to do is to make contact.”

“The question is how,” I guess. I point a finger at myself jokingly. “Well, in terms of diplomacy, we’ve got the best people in the world right here. Chosen of the Gods, right? The most skilled diplomats in the entire Empire, trying to negotiate with each other on how not to kill each other.”

Cas allows the grin to appear again. “Of course,” he replies. “But the question is also, where? We know the vague location of Bloodthorn’s camp, but they could be wandering around anywhere on the Isle for all we know.” He gestures for someone to hand him our map, and Arden does, and I look over his shoulder. “The logical thing to do if they had a big plan and most of their members were killed would be to relocate, but…”

Arden speaks up. “We could commandeer it,” said Aphrodite’s Chosen. “And ask it to lead us to it.” The second it was said with disgust, glancing at Iason. “Stupid puppets.” My Ability very obviously suggests that there’s a backstory behind it, but another side of my mind whispers that he might as well be an it, if Arden’s Ability makes people into mindless puppets—

Unrelated.

I shove the train of thought aside. My clothes are still stained with blood, my hands even worse, but Iason’s Heal has made all the scratches and bruises disappear. Now, he’s a weapon, and we have the advantage. Think tactically. We just confiscated the other side’s valuable pieces — Maia, and Halkyone. Two archers and a spearbearer, and now what’s left is a dual-wielding Queensfavored and a golem-summoning Forgetouched. No. I was forgetting something. A Crownpiece.

A Chosen.

“Kage’s escaped,” I say, suddenly. “If we have some way of following them, maybe they know where Vivianna is. We could split up, one of us go the original camp?” I flinch as the atmosphere grows silent again, the jungle quiet. My skin prickles. “Something’s off,” I say, quicker this time, weaving my Ability almost on reflex.

I earn strange looks from Arden and Rayan, but immediately Cas’ hand goes to his dagger. Where — how — monster? — no — why? — Chosen?

“Splendid reflexes,” a familiar voice drawls. Hephaestus’ Chosen, the pale-skinned boy we tried to kill, delicately strolls into the clearing, seemingly unarmed but with a maniacal glint in his eyes. This time, everyone’s about to spark into action, but Jonas just grins. “I come in peace,” he says, “and with an offer.” He meets my eyes knowingly, and I melt my features into an amused expression.

“What do you have to offer?” Rayan asks. “You’re at a disadvantage, and outnumbered. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out.”

The Forgetouched just raises an eyebrow. “How,” he says, casually, “would you like to escape the Gods?”