Chaths had made an effort, despite all his complaining, to grow accustomed to Bermudan air. He’d tried to overlook the constant chill it held, the almost sharp touch to it- as though a million ice crystals were rubbing against his skin. Despite that, he had finally reached his breaking point.

He was going to wear a shirt.

Sacrifices had to be made for fashion were words he had, for the last five years, lived by. But as strong as his conviction still was, Chaths was not quite willing to die by it. Not when he had to go outside at night.

He had chosen a thin linen top, one which covered his arms in their entirety and- most importantly- his torso. Even so, the chill didn’t leave him. How the people of Bermuda lived in such a frigid climate was beyond his understanding. It would have to remain as such too, for he had more pressing concerns. Namely the practically inevitable tardiness of one stuffy old Demigod.

Chaths waited for a carriage to pass, taking a moment out of his time to blow a kiss at the rather rude driver before crossing the road- checking to ensure he wouldn’t be run down by another as he did so. He wouldn’t have needed to bother, were this still the high-end streets of central Bermuda. The outskirts, however, were far from the reach of the knights, or the eye of the Sieve. Why his mentor had such a preference for its remote, derelict buildings would have to join the growing list of things that were entirely lost on Chaths.

It was with great reluctance that Chaths gripped the wooden handle of the door, pushing for a moment before it seemed to suddenly jerk inwards and allow him entry. As he stepped inside, he was immediately assailed by the occupied, mouldy smell of the air. Dust particles fought one another over shafts of moonlight which reached through the gaps in the entrance, and the thin carpet at his feet seemed practically caked with grime.

To an inept, this may have made the place seem insignificant- even common. Chaths saw it for what it really was, however. As any mystic would have. His tutor’s magic had a most distinct odor, greater even than whatever had congealed into the wall just a metre from Chaths’ nose. This building was most certainly the right one, and this close it became apparent that the second of its two floors was where his instructor resided.

Were the building one of the countless that had been put to use by the Unixian Alliance for the Sieve, it would have been attended by a secretary or clerk- likely at a rather clean desk near the entrance. Chaths didn’t bother checking for such an official before heading for the staircase.

The wood didn’t creak as much as he’d expected, his footfalls seeming to put the aged planks under little more duress than its own weight already did. By the time he reached the top, Chaths' opinion of the structure’s architect, if not its caretaker, had markedly improved. As he crossed the hallway and neared the door on the end, however, all thoughts not directly related to the man he had come for vanished from his mind.

The presence of a Demigod was such that practically anyone would find themselves disinclined to so much as consider entering their abode without knocking. The presence of the particular Demigod whose abode Chaths was on the threshold of, however, was one he’d gotten quite used to- enough so that it was far outweighed by the irritation caused by the Demigod in question’s unreliability. It was for this reason that Chaths felt quite within his right to barge in soundlessly, and that he was not at all surprised by the sight which greeted him when he did.

It would have been clear to any observers that Chaths and his tutor had been extracted from the same regional background. Their skin was tanned alike, perhaps with two shades’ difference, and the dull white of their hair was practically identical. Similarly, however, only a particularly dull individual would have concluded that they were related- such was the difference between Chaths’ sharp features and his mentor’s far more blunt face. The Demigod Ra was millennia old and undoubtedly had countless generations of lost knowledge stored within his mind, yet the only thing Chaths ever saw him use out of that treasure trove of information was whatever trick it was that let the man fall asleep so damned easily.

Ra’s back was to the wall, his posture relaxed and his breathing heavily- all telltale signs of what he called meditation. The room’s only bed had been pushed far from him, which may have caused some to mistakenly conclude that he truly had simply reached a higher level of concentration. Chaths had thought the same thing, once. That had been before he’d noticed the man snoring during one of his sessions.

Feeling a sudden rush of annoyance at the ever-persistent dismissal his teacher had for all of the things he insisted were important, Chaths strode across the room, stepped up next to the Demigod and not-so-gently pushed him over with his foot. Ra’s eyes opened as his shoulder met the ground, his small frame sending a disproportionate groan through the fragile floor- which was followed by yet another groan from his own mouth.

“Are you ever actually going to be on time for something?”

The Immortal stared up at him, blinking confusedly several times before seeming to register his words. Chaths had spent his childhood hearing stories about the most ancient of mystics, swapping tales with the other urchins and whispering recounts of the cunning plans Immortals enacted, and the disasters which befell those who interfered. Looking down at his mentor now, he felt just a little bit ridiculous.

“Oh this takes me back”, the Demigod grumbled. Voice thin and weary as though he were two decades older than he looked- yet still many hundreds younger than he was. “You never did knock before barging into my home, did you?”

It was not in an Immortal’s nature to change. Perhaps that was why Ra had not stopped reminding Chaths at every opportunity of the fact that their relationship had started with him breaking into the Demigod’s house in search of something he could sell for food. Chaths didn’t bother responding, his mentor had already seemingly moved on- opening his mouth to speak once more as he climbed to his feet.

“Why are you even here, Ra?”

Chaths furrowed his brow, not bothering to hide his emotion before answering.

“Oh, so I’m Ra now?”

Ra, the real Ra, grinned for a moment.

“No, you aren’t. You’re still Chaths, but Ra was the name you gave Chronos’ blood while being watched by Bermuda, and you’ve taken the first steps towards earning it in reaching the third stage. Therefore I decided to upgrade you and occasionally address you by it."

Chaths wanted to hit the Immortal while pointing out that it had been him who suggested he go by Ra for the public- but his anger was interrupted as his mentor continued.

“Now answer me boy, why are you here?”

“I am here because of the third stage’s orientation, something I was almost completely sure you’d either forget or ignore."

The Demigod finished standing, answering with a scowl.

“That’s now? How tedious. You know for all their talk about respecting power and wisdom, the Unixian Alliance doesn’t make their schedule very flexible for those of us who happen to be some of their most powerful allies."

Ra turned to the door, slumped over as he groggily made his way out. Chaths followed a few paces after.

“You always say that, as if something about being millennia old makes it impossible for you to regulate when you take your naps."

“It’s called meditation”, Ra snapped back. “An ancient practice for centering one's magical focus, not something I’d expect a brat with a knack for the arcane and no experience backing it up to understand."

Chaths grinned at the back of the Demigod’s head. His mentor made a show of being grumpy, but it was no more than that- if it lay within Chaths’ power to seriously anger the Immortal, he’d possibly never say another word to him for fear of accidentally doing so.

By the time they had exited the building, Ra’s posture had shaken free the petulant arch of his back. Once they had reached the main road leading to the city centre, the Demigod had successfully squeezed his face free of its exhaustion entirely. This refreshed appearance lasted no more than five minutes as they waited for a carriage, and the strained impatience which replaced it grew more intense by the moment.

The breaking point came as Chaths helpfully pointed out, in response to a muttered complaint from the Demigod, that they would not need to wait at all had he not chosen to both neglect anything resembling a timetable and place himself firmly in the most inconvenient location possible. Ra’s response had been to take hold of Chaths and teleport the both of them instead.

Chaths had once believed that teleportation naturally caused physical sickness in people the first few times they used it as a means of transportation, it hadn’t been until his teenage years that he’d realised his mentor was simply bad at it.

Fighting back the bile, Chaths began the familiar motions of deep, heavy breaths he’d learned would help settle his stomach and fight back the urge to vomit. It occurred to him after around twenty seconds of doing so that Ra was staring directly at him, and with no small amount of reluctance he turned to meet his mentor’s eye.

“What is it?”

Chaths voice came out more annoyed than he’d intended, though it wasn’t entirely inappropriate given that he was talking to the one responsible for his state. Ra, for his part, seemed entirely unaffected by his tone- merely tilting his head slightly and looking with narrowed eyes, as if trying to piece together a mystery. After a few moments of silence, he spoke.

“You’re wearing a shirt… has the Eclipse returned to cast down the world’s Deities and smite them upon Mirandis’ crust?”

“It’s cold, okay?”

The Demigod’s weather-beaten skin crinkled as he smiled.

“Oh? What happened to fashion being worth a little suffering?”

Chaths felt his body stop attempting to evacuate its stomach contents, turning and walking towards the stadium- which he could see more clearly now that his eyes weren’t blurred by tears. A chuckle followed him, and moments later Ra came up by his side.

Bermuda stadium was just as loud as it had been the first time he had entered it. As if each of the tens of thousands of souls packed tightly into its stands were somehow competing with one another to make it as convincing an approximation of thunder as was possible. Even the rather exclusive path through the structure which Chaths and Ra took was not safe from the roaring, and by the time they had made it even halfway to their seats Chaths’ head was throbbing in response.

Not for the first time in his life, Chaths felt extremely grateful that Immortals and their wards were given such luxury as to have had their own personal viewing boxes almost entirely sound-proofed. He wasn’t sure how it worked, more likely than not it was magic, but he also didn’t particularly care. All that mattered was that, when he plopped himself down on the prodigiously comfortable sofa and looked through the vision-magnifying glass sheen to see the impossibly clear picture of the stage hundreds of metres below, it was without feeling like a needle was being driven through each of his ears.

There was a hissing noise to his side, and Chaths knew before he even looked that Ra had opened another one of those damned fizzy drinks. The Demigod paid him no heed as he took a long swig of the glass bottle, so Chaths decided not to mention anything. It wasn’t as though a sweet tooth was the least Immortal-like facet of his master, after all.