When muddy roads and the absence of a permeating chill finally came, Corinth rose with a dreadful weariness. The spring melt was here, and with it he had passed another threshold of no particular import save to remind him that he had accomplished nothing.

It was Elnet who should be feeling conflicted, he thought grudgingly, as he was the one whose hopes of divine blessing had ended. Despite this, he felt as if something was slipping his grasp, carried away with the snow and ice.

He walked downstairs, feeling alert for once in the early morning, and saw his mother kindling the stove. He was wordless in the morning light. Instead of a greeting, he walked up and hugged her, feeling her start in surprise before shifting to embrace him in return.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, cupping his cheek. She slowly tilted his head up, trying to get a view of his face, but he wanted nothing more than to bury it in her shoulder and wait for… something. He couldn’t say what. Something that would make his fears and bound up tension go away, and let him just breathe.

He shrugged instead. “I’m just tired. And worried. And I don’t know what to do.” He gripped her tighter, feeling his chest constrict at the admission.

“It’s the temple isn’t it? You’ve been getting more sombre every day since you started there.” At his nod, she hugged him tight, then slowly began to press him back. “Striver Paten mentioned to me that you haven’t been seeing any signs. He said that’s common, but usually people give up by now.”

Corinth sighed, still unable to meet her eye. “Is that what he thinks I should do? Just accept that Apothet won’t take notice and try to find a new goal?” There was an emptiness welling up, something fighting the tears in his eyes even as he thought about it. It whispered in his ears, a song of contempt. Anger flickered, anger at himself, at the Striver and Apothet and this whole damned town and everyone in it-

He looked up at his mother smiling sadly at him and stifled it. He couldn’t be angry at her, and with the thought broken the anger snuffed out. He felt tears returning and looked down again.

“No, that’s not what he said,” she replied. “He and I both know how long you’ve dreamed of the university, and he knows best of all how instrumental the temple is for that.” His mother lifted his chin, and made him look her in the eyes. “He said that if I felt you couldn’t take the waiting anymore, there was another option. He’ll only try it the once, so you’d best be sure you’re ready for a gamble.”

A shiver passed through him at the words. “Did he say why he’d only try it once?"

Her brow creased. “He said-” Her voice was light, tentative, but she pressed on. “His words, not mine. He said ‘You can only spit in a man’s face once, and the receiving end has a temper.’ If you really need to, tell him you want to try.”

Corinth huffed out a breath of laughter before he could help himself, realizing the wry look was from her distaste at the words as much as the message itself. “I don’t care if it’s the last thing I do. If this means I never have to look at a candle again, I’ll try it.”

-

“Apothet doesn’t need a choir to sing his praises,” Striver Paten proclaimed, “he needs those with the will to grab a flaming sword and carry out his commands.”

They stood alone in the temple, every candle extinguished, with brilliant daylight throwing dark shadows in the corners and through the nooks behind altars.

“Those who truly hear his voice are terrible things, for fire and metal are not tender, and the light they offer always has a cost. There’s a reason there’s only one Striver at any temple of his. He doesn’t often hold with those who sit and ponder, and it takes a firm will to hear your own god’s calling and tell him no.

“So if he won’t hear you, if he won’t acknowledge you despite your prayer, there’s only one answer: grab your god by the throat and declare you’ve been overlooked! Righteous fury and heretical anger are but different shades of the same flame, and both will draw his attention.

“Sharpen your will, Corinth. Announce your intent to be heard to the world, and perhaps if you believe strongly enough he will listen.” Striver Paten stepped back, and in the sudden quiet Corinth steeled himself.

He tried to calm his breathing, but the desperate stress of this moment’s importance set him to trembling. All around him stood monuments to the thrall Apothet laid upon the world, carved statues of his likeness and piles of material ready to burn at a moment’s notice. There was enough tallow and wood to make a pyre of the building with only an errant spark, yet none had ever feared it in the domain of the lord of flame.

He shook his head, and tried to refocus his thoughts. “How do I impress a god,” he murmured. “Something that has temples built in his name, something that demands subservience but also will.” He felt an unravelling, and a plan jumped unbidden into his mind.

“Pay attention, you rusted out disgrace! Can’t the god of Teph’s leftover torches even muster the energy to notice when it’s someone worthy calls its name!? Apothet!” Corinth shouted, glaring at the altar ahead of him. His pulse was rising, fear and anger racing each other for dominance over him, spreading goosebumps through him like entwining roots. “I didn’t spend this year lighting your flames to be snubbed, nor will I forgive it! You will answer for the fires burning in me, or I’ll burn your temple down with all your damn candles inside!”

Corinth tensed, expecting something to come from fighting a god with their own flames, but ringing silence was all he heard. Still, a voice inside called out. Heresy and defiance, it told him. Give Apothet a tale he’s never heard. In a desperate whisper, he obeyed.

“I will find my people one day, even if it means burning a path through this whole damned land. I will return to the home that was stolen from me, no matter how these people try to craft a replacement. And when I learn their magic, when I can kill with a touch and tear apart those who would stand in my way, I will return.”

One last time, madness called out to him. None feel such assurance as a god, and none are so vulnerable as shepherds of a flock.

Corinth growled out his threats, feeling certainty in his veins, as if he was carving the words on a slab of stone. “You will help me find this trail, or I will rend your name from existence, one Striver at a time.”

Around the temple, across the multitude of candles unlit, wicks started to smoulder. Smoke rose in the half-light, and Corinth focused his mind on the magic he so desperately wanted to learn, on finding within himself something that could grant that boon. He felt a jackal’s grin spreading across his face, and a hunger not his own. Heat bloomed in the light of noon, and then-

Darkness fell. Before his eyes, smoke withered away and beams of light were devoured, leaving the clarity of absence in their place instead. Corinth could number the candlesticks, trace the woodgrain of the rough floor, and see the fear lining the Striver’s face.

“What is this?” Striver Paten called out. “Corinth, what have you done?”

“Is… is this not right?” He asked, uncertainty rising in his breast against the consuming rush.

“Apothet has no hold on light, only the fires that throw it. Or has he simply struck me blind for one blasphemy too many?” He barked out a laugh, but Corinth could see the man trembling. He walked over, and the Striver flinched as he took him by the arm.

“Outside then, where the light still shines,” Corinth mumbled, walking unerringly to the doorway. As they passed through the arch, the light struck them like a blow. The Striver staggered, and Corinth was forced to his knees, pale skin burning in the sunlight.

Even as the two recovered, a low rumbling started, rocking the buildings nearby on their foundations. Striver looked inside at the darkness evaporating like a morning fog.

“It would seem that something else already has a claim.”

-

“It was magic, then. Loreli?” the robed man asked.

Corinth thought he knew him by sight, as he did some of the university researchers, but had never heard more than a few words in passing from him before. Now he was one of the three interviewing him and the Striver, all university members of acclaim, each representing one of the three gods of potency.

The speaker was named Conten. He was fairly short, with thin white hair and wrinkles, and lethargic to the extreme. The others seemed to defer to him quickly, however, so his wits likely weren’t as slow to rousing. And he was a devout of Apothet.

Loreli was taller, with greying brown hair and clever eyes that seemed to take in the room all at once. She spoke the most, and had introduced herself as a devout of Teph.

The last was Ornell, who’d said nothing beyond their introduction, and who had smiled encouragingly at him without pause since their eyes had met. Somehow, it hadn’t reassured him in the slightest. They were a devout of Porial, as evidenced by the lenses on their glasses rotating as they moved. It was subtle, at first, but clear once you paid attention to the light markings on them.

“I’ve never heard of Teph’s gift creating shadow. It’s almost a dogmatic contradiction, being connected to both light and revelations as he is. Shadows symbolically hide the truth, they do not reveal it.” Her expression kept switching between concern and curiosity, and Corinth had trouble meeting her gaze. It was a general trouble at the moment, though, most likely due to being in the room with four people who could forge or shatter his dreams on a whim.

He cleared his throat, trying to speak through the tension. “I, uh, I know the Striver couldn’t see through it, but everything was clear as daylight to me. I’m not sure how that would apply.”

Loreli hummed. “Could you produce the shadow again? It’s possible that if it’s Teph’s blessing, then others similarly chosen would be granted sight.”

Striver Paten spoke before he could think of a proper answer. “You might say we stressed the situation to get that reaction, Loreli. It’d be troubling to have to try again. I wouldn’t like to make Corinth do it, not today at the very least.”

Corinth sighed, feeling shivers and sweat running down his back. His thoughts were still running in circles, echoing with the instructions that had flashed through his mind hours ago. To invite them back in? He felt nauseous at the thought.

“Well then, let’s try something simpler,” Conten spoke up. “When you called, and something answered, how did it feel? In a word, how would you describe it?”

That, at least, he could answer easily. “Hungry.”

All four faces went blank, and they leaned back in near unison. Glances were exchanged, and Corinth could tell that that was not what they were prepared to hear.

“Apothet’s been described not dissimilarly,” the Striver said, but Conten was shaking his head already.

“He might be demanding, but burning, devouring even as flames are wont to do, I’ve never heard it as hungry. Eager, more often.”

“Teph’s followers hunger only for wisdom and truth, and he doesn’t demand that they provide it. It feels wrong to me,” Loreli added.

“Porial provides direction, and those who follow him find themselves satisfied in the process.” Ornell looked at him, and Corinth saw again a reassuring smile that had never truly considered him a factor. “So we seek direction. Where do you think we should look?”

He scrambled for an answer. “I- I don’t- can’t you tell? How would I know?” he spluttered.

No flicker of disturbance passed across Ornell’s face. “We have our knowledge, and yet can’t find the path. Yet the Striver says you were whispering to the altar just before the shadow came. Was there something of importance he didn’t hear?”

“I spoke of home,” Corinth answered without thinking. “We don’t speak of it much, but my mother- well, she adopted me. I told Apothet that I would seek my home, with or without his help.”

Loreli shook her head, muttering. “Maybe that would rouse Porial, but I can’t imagine Apothet or Teph rising to such a plea.” He looked around, but Ornell hadn’t looked away from Corinth’s face. Once more, they spoke.

“And where is this home?”

Corinth quirked his head, struck by the line of questioning. This, he supposed, was the effect of having the god who seeks direction whispering in your ear. It was subtler than conjuring flame but he could almost feel it in the air regardless, as if a lodestone was drawing their questions to the nexus of this uncertainty.

“I was given to my mother by her sister, who was working as a guard here in the university. She never really explained what happened, but my mother pieced it together quickly enough. It’s pretty clear from looking at me that my parents couldn’t have been from around here.” He looked up at Ornell, at the masking smile on their face. “I’ve never known my home.”

He could watch it light in each of them as they remembered and pieced it together. Only two worshipped Apothet, but he saw flames light in every eye, curiosity burning as Loreli put truth to words.

“You’re the missing child of the foreign mage. The magic isn’t from one of ours: it’s from a foreign god.”

And in the back of his mind, as if echoing from lands beyond the mountains, a dim voice laughed.