Dion stared at Slade flatly across the table. This wasn't my best idea.

"I don't know what you've been smoking since you left my temple, I don't what they've given you—"

"Because...I have to be on drugs to disagree with you?"

"Yes," Slade says resolutely. "A hundred percent. I don't know what this...tower—these people? I've never heard of them?"

"You haven't left this temple in 400 years. What have you heard, old man?"

He scoffs, looking at me before looking at Dion. "I heard that I am a god. And I raised you, so you should listen to me!"

"This is...really good," I murmur to no one, pushing the vegetables on my plate around as Slade chastises Dion as if he were a rebellious teenager.

"I'm sure you did hear that. 400 years ago. The last time you talked to someone who wasn't either a golem or a...whatever she is," Dion nodded to me.

"She is my wife and you will speak to her respectfully."

"I'm just saying isn't it weird she's marrying some dude one day and now she's here bumping uglies with you."

"Bumping—" Slade raises his brows swallowing roughly. "So they have you have mushrooms. I'll get it out of your system if I have to beat it out of you."

"And once again, we circle back to you not being able to comprehend that I just think you're wrong. And old. And out of touch—"

"Oh I'm gonna touch something," Slade sneered. "And it's gonna be your neck. And I'm gonna wring it." He smiled, slamming his fork into the wood. "You disrespectful little shit."

Dion just shrugs, throwing a chunk of potato at Slade's face. "Make my day. I've been trying to die for the last 50 years."

Slade growls, his tattoo slipping a little further down. His shoulders start turning red. Not like a blush though. Like deep red.

That doesn't feel great.

"Well I put you in this realm and I can take you out of it, so you sit down, and you shut up, and you eat your dinner and you apologize to Monika!"

"I'm really fine, I don't need an..."

"Or so help me, I will—"

"Will you two shut up?" I shout.

They both look at me. Slade clears his throat, sitting down.

"I'm sorry Monika. Dion is just ill-behaved because he's gotten caught up in the wrong crowd. He's a good kid I promise."

"I am centuries older than her," Dion intones, popping a carrot into his mouth.

Slade growls. "Not. Another. Word."

And he says he's not a father. Dion sits up.

"Thanks for dinner, old man but I gotta run."

Slade frowns. "Where to?"

Dion slings his coat over his shoulder. "To mind my own business. By the way, there's a festive tomorrow in town for Orion."

I freeze. He who should not be named. Slade looks down.

"I see. Then you know not to go in town," Slade said pointedly. "You're marked."

Dion shrugged. "I dunno. Those Orion priestesses are hot and all very horny. I'll stop by."

Slade stands, his chair falling.

"You are not to go to that festival, Dion and you are certainly not to enter his temple. Do I make myself clear?"

Dion pauses. "Later old man. Hey, later kid. Don't let him boss you around. Most of his power's gone anyway."

I look up at Slade who stares at Dion's back with a scowl. But he's worried. I can tell.

"Do not harm yourself in defiance of me, Dion. If you want to die there are far more merciful ways than that." Slade says shakily.

Dion looks back over his shoulder. "I can't help it. Either...I do everything for your praise or your ire. And despite what you say, I've never been good at making you proud."

Slade closes his eyes, looking away as the door shuts. He sits down, eating his dinner silently. I look up at him.

"Will he be alright?"

Slade's fork stops for a moment before continuing. "I thought I had more time," he said softly. "But...I don't think I do."

"More time?"

Slade looks up. "It's been peaceful for almost 400 years hasn't it?"

My eyes widen. I nod gently. "It has."

He smiles. "Finish eating. We'll practice your sword work after dinner."