A group of men were sitting in a room, the only illumination coming from the sunlight pouring in through a window. The majority of the men had pale skin, but there were a few natives with brown skin around them. The natives wore different styles of clothing, and some of them were glaring daggers at each other. One of the white men cleared his throat. “Now, now. I’ve gathered you all today not to fight amongst one another. We have a common enemy.”

A moment later, one of the natives repeated what the man said but in the natives’ mother tongue. The white man continued. “Those monsters in the capital are taking advantage of you; can’t you realize it? Their rules seem fair: The prisoners of the mock wars are to be sacrificed. Especially valiant soldiers may join the capital’s army.” The man waited for the translator to finish speaking. The natives in the room nodded their heads. “However, it’s a trick. They take your valiant warriors, incorporate them into the capital. They kill your strongest men. What does that leave your cities? The weak, the young, the elderly. And they want you to continue fighting these wars. Meanwhile, they grow stronger. As they take in your men, they lose less fights, sacrifice less warriors. Compared to the capital, how many men have your cities sacrificed?”

One of the natives pointed at the speaker and said something. The translator cleared his throat. “What do you get? Why are you helping us?”

“The capital is very rich in gold,” the white man said and smiled. “There’s a saying amongst my people. For gold, God, and glory. If we conquer the capital and remove its barbaric rituals of sacrificing people, won’t we accomplish all three?”

The translator snorted and spat on the ground before translating the man’s words. Rage filled the eyes of the natives, and one of them shouted at the white man while pointing fingers. The white man raised his eyebrows and looked at the translator.

“Don’t disrespect our gods, foreigner,” the translator said. “Becoming a sacrifice is a great honor. We can help our gods maintain the prosperity of the world. We will help you, but that’s only because you are the enemy of our enemy. You are not our friend.”

***

Vur rubbed his chin. He was sitting on top of an altar inside of a temple. There was a block of stone attached to the back, and leather stuffed with soft materials had been placed over it. There was also leather underneath Vur’s butt, and the whole structure looked like a very sturdy sofa. There were two women standing next to him, large leaves in their hands that they were waving up and down to blow a cool breeze onto Vur. In front of him, in the center of the temple, two men were dueling each other, blood leaking all over the ground.

“When you told me they were going to provide entertainment, this isn’t what I had in mind,” Vur said to Zilphy, who was sitting on his shoulder.

“It’s because she can’t actually understand what those people are saying.” Mistle’s voice came out of Vur’s back, spooking the two women with the leaves. “She’s bluffing and trying to make herself seem more useful than she actually is.”

“Nonsense!” Zilphy said. “Shut your trap, adulteress. Look, their performance is so real; it’s like they’re really trying to kill each other.”

Mistle climbed out of Vur’s back in the shape of a blue rock. She sat on the shoulder opposite of Zilphy, and the three watched the two warriors grunt as they swung at each other with wooden sticks that had stones embedded inside of them like axes. One of the warriors slipped on a puddle of blood and fell forward. The other warrior took that chance to swing his club down, striking his opponent to the ground while opening a large gash in his back. The standing warrior used his foot to flip the fallen warrior over before grabbing a knife that was hanging from his waist. With a few deft movements, the victor carved out the loser’s heart and dropped to both knees, extending the bloody organ towards Vur.

“This looks like another sacrifice to me,” Mistle said. A smug expression appeared on her face. “What performance were you talking about earlier, hmm?”

“That’s, err….” Zilphy scratched her head. She nearly fell off as Vur sighed and stood up. He grabbed the heart, shoved it back into the fallen warrior’s body, and revived the man before healing both of the warriors’ wounds. Mistle conjured a ball of water in the air for Vur to rinse his hands off. He placed his hands on his hips and glared at the two men. No wonder why his grandma gave up on preventing people from offering sacrifices to her. People just didn’t listen, not that they could understand him in the first place.

Vur shook his head and snorted before exiting the temple. Tafel’s plan was for everyone to stay put and make a ruckus so she could find them. But why wasn’t it the other way around? Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to find everyone since he could fly? The last time he told Tafel that, what did she say…? “I’m not good at making ruckuses, so you won’t find me that easily. That’s why you have to make the ruckus.” Right, she said something like that. Vur scratched his head as he stared up at the sky. People noticed he had exited the temple, and they knelt on the ground, stopping everything they were doing. Vur furrowed his brow. It didn’t feel right to make a ruckus amongst people who worshipped him. So, why didn’t he just construct a giant statue of himself instead?

“Hey, Diamant.”

“Are you going to ask me about Mistle and Zilphy again?”

“No, I wasn’t going to. I want you to make a giant statue of me.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Human or dragon?”

“Uh….” Vur scratched his head. His brow furrowed as he fell into thought. A moment later, he opened his mouth. “Hey, Diamant.”

“…Yes?”

“I want you to make two giant statues of me.”