I am a god.

The words turned these large chasms that much larger, it seems. And everything seemed to slow to a crawl at what had just occurred. The guards seemed nailed to their positions as Garath raised the goblet up. Realization became slow. The golden liquid oil fell into his mouth too quickly. A spear was lifted but was never used. And Garath's face, an expression of triumph, conquer. A wish and a promise being fulfilled in an instant, as the last of it disappeared in his mouth, some only dribbling off the side of his cheek next to his scar. And as that last drop seemed to hang in the air, things began to move once more.

The braziers, casting a dull blue light upon them, suddenly burst to life as if fed with an extraordinary fuel, turning as bright orange as forge flames and licking the ceiling vigorously. It was haunting. Gareth's face, for a moment, embraced in a maddened smile, looked perplexed, as if not expecting the outcome that had occurred. The scar on his cheek slowly faded away as if the skin surrounding it suddenly swallowed it. Garath lifted his hand to feel where it had been and smiled, marveling at the smooth new skin that had replaced it. But this momentary joy was swiftly disrupted by a sharp cracking sound, like the crackle of the fire, but deeper and more hollow, like coming from an extensive tunnel.

And then, Garath screamed.

Screamed like the deepest pain was committed against him, screamed with every fiber of his calloused soul. The walls, the mountain reverberated with his echo as everyone took a cautious step away, the guards no longer even concerned to pin the band to the ground. Some stared in awe, ome even ran.

But out of all those who hesitated, Lyse was not one to falter for long. He snatched the blade out of the nearest guard's hand and charged at Garath. He didn't know what this was, but he knew enough that he should stop it here and now. With a swift cut, he slashed at Garath's throat, blood spilling out immediately upon impact. But Garath somehow had the mind between his excruciating wells to step back so that Lyse couldn't take his head. His blood gushed out like a pump, however, and he fell to the ground clutching his throat as his screams became gargled. Lyse pressed afoot to the man's chest, not sparing a single thought, and turned his blade down to finish this, finish it all. He could see the guards, those who had not yet run away, raising spears to engage him. But before he could stab him in the eye, an explosion seemed to emanate from the Garath's body that threw everyone backward. Lyse was thrown into a nearby column, cracking it and knocking all the wind from his lungs, leaving him wheezing and coughing. Guards who were prepared to fight as well were suddenly thrown into the hall along with Lyse's band. He looked up, weakly, to see Garath on his knees now, holding his head. Blood no longer gushed from his wound. It was closed. But now, his eyes and mouth seemed to light ablaze. Like embers, they glowed even against the light of the raging infernos across the room. Lyse watched as slowly, Garath's body became rigid, and his copper skin slowly losing color and turning an ashy grey instead.

"Make it stop," he wailed, though his voice sounded distorted and twisted, echoing on itself beyond the capabilities of the room and growing more resonant. "Make the voice stop. It burns. I hear it. I hear it."

Lyse pushed himself to his feet. He witnessed as Garath's body grow slower and slower, the wails growing more and more distorted and deeper, penetrating his mind. And his skin actually turned rock-like, a grey dusty material forming on top of it. He was slowly frozen into the stature of a screaming man, only his eyes and mouth glowing with light. The screams had stopped, echoing in the distance. Everyone was stood shocked even to move. Did they dare? But then, another crack. A long sinuous one down his chest that leaked flowing orange light. Then another, down his face mimicking his scar. More and more formed out of nowhere, forming a web of cracks and revealing magma flowing between them somehow. Gareth's beard, somehow still intact, was now singed and covered in ash. The heat in the room shot up by several dozen degrees as the air rippled around him. He grew taller, more imposing, his face now straight and composed. Yet his eyes, still they were bright empty sockets willed with coals. They stared with a strangely inhuman quality.

Lyse took a deep breath, summoning zoi to his sword, and leaped at Garath one last time. One last blow. But this time, a hand zipped over faster than he could react and caught the blade. It was Garath's hand. He now stood over ten feet in height, a towering man that left Lyse momentarily dangling in the air. And he had not even glanced at Lyse for his attack.

"Such an imperfect weapon." a voice came. Far deeper and resonating in Lyse's mind just as it shook his body. It was power, nothing else. Those hollow eye sockets filled with fire looked upon Lyse. "You dare strike a god with such a miserable weapon."

Lyse let go of the sword as he felt it suddenly grow hot. The blade melted in Garath's grasp, turning into a smoldering puddle at his feet. Then, a fist collided with Lyse's gut, and once again, he felt his inside rearrange itself under the blow and his skin singe by his proximity. He flew into a wall, causing it to the crater and shake. No, the room was shaking now. A low rumble had begun to quake the entire structure like an earthquake or volcano. But he felt something more. This was connected to Garath, somehow, or whatever inhabited his body now. Garath held out his large hands, thick fingers grasping something in the air. The shimmering of heat waves grew heavier till reality itself became distorted, and he pulled forth a weapon. A hammer. A smithing hammer, in fact, like the old blacksmith who worked at the town's merchant district, but different. Its long shaft stood nearly as tall as he did standing, and the large metal head didn't seem the least bit unwieldy in Garath's grasp; he held it akin to how master swordsmen handled a wooden imitation.

"Hephaestus the Makar has been reborn!" he heaved the hammer greatly and then slammed it into the ground before him. The ground split open like a fragile egg, throwing rocks hither and spraying fresh magma up as a result. Lyse knew he had to run. This was far above anything he was capable of. A true god in physical form, power incarnate that looked past him, through him and could disassemble his soul with little effort. He turned to see the hall nearly empty, Edlund standing and yelling his name before being dragged away by Gray, Elena carrying both Massua and Makyra on her back. The rumbling of the mountain had grown even more severe. He looked back for a moment to where Garath had stood, his figure obscured by a fountain of red hot lava scorching the ground where it laid. He picked himself up and ran with everything he had. The ground seemed to ripple under each step, zoi increasing his speed to the fullest extent. Everywhere the mountain seemed to be tearing itself apart, geysers of magma sprouting from walls and ceilings. Entire chambers are swallowed by shifting stone and earth. An entire hall was shredded and ripped away. His friends were far before him, thankfully, and he used them to find his way out. He was chased by a rolling tide of destruction, brimstone being thrown about. And he saw the light ahead, the staircase. He yelled as he raced himself up and jumped out into the open.

He didn't have long for recovery. The ground here was rumbling too. Edlund was there, picking him up and running as fast as he could to the shore. Rocks fell from the sky. Lyse watched as the very top of Mount Kryn exploded. It was no longer a mountain, but a volcano, birthed by its own god. Its fiery essence raining down and singing the forest, sending animals scurrying in a panic, birds feathering the sky as it began to fill with a cloud of thick heavy smoke. A storm seemed to be brewing as well, the clouds gathering and darkening the skies and blotting out the sun. The massive ship, the Queen's Revenge, bobbed in the harrowing waved, the gangplank shifting as the sails, still loose, caught the turbulent winds. Lyse groaned as he was settled against the mass, men swirling around like flies as the anchor was raised and the plank was drawn up. Blij and Moxie shouted orders as the ship lurched to life. Lyse was barely conscious. The hit from Garath earlier was grasping him now that adrenaline began to fail him. The power of the pendant dulled, and pain shot up from his stomach and chest. His vision blurred with the sharp pain, trying to stay conscious but failing. From a distance, unmeasured, he heard someone calling his name but could not see them. He felt somehow tired. He needed to rest. His eyes drooped as he slouched against the pole as someone grasped his shoulders. He couldn't see them, but for a moment, it looked like Massua was there before him.

"I saved you," he said hoarsely. "By Fate's own chances . . . I saved you."

He drifted into unconsciousness.

(X)

Lyse slowly opened his eyes, not to darkness but instead an extremely flat ocean. The sun was low to the horizon, reflecting red and orange off of the clouds and turning the sky a peach color. Everything seems to shift strangely, however. The clouds, instead of traveling east to west instead revolved around the sun in a clockwork circle. It was mesmerizing to look at. The surface was undisturbed by his movements. Strangely solid under his feet as he walked across. He saw fish zip around inside, fleeing in schools under him and darting about. He placed his hand against it, seeing that the surface was somewhat wet, water dripping off his finger but not breaking the tension of the water itself.

"What is this place," he wiped his hand on his gambeson, which was clean and free of soot and grime.

"This is heaven," said a voice. He jumped and nearly gasped, startled as a person appeared just outside his vision. It was a woman, dressed in fine white layers of fabric wrapped around her and held together by a single golden pin. She carried no jewelry, but her stature made her look queenly, even more, queenly than even his aunt. Her eyes were a pale auburn color, and her hair as black as oil spilling across her shoulder. He remembers the tall, godly image of the goddess back in his knight trials. And he remembered her name.

"You're Ergane, aren't you."

She smiled, pleased. "Indeed I am."

Lyse looked around him. "And this is. . . heaven? The realm of the gods?"

"A small part of it, yes," she said. "It goes by many names-the realm of light and The Taraminii. I brought you here so that we may talk. It seems that Fate is feeling far more lenient these days."

"What is it you want to talk about?" Lyse asked her.

She smiled again, more earnestly than before. "You humans. I see you still like to be blunt. Very well, I came here because something terrible has been stirred. You know that the god Hephaestus has been rewoven. Garath was the vessel that was brought to life. He is not at his fullest power, but he is a grave danger to the wellness of men even in this state."

"And you want me to take care of him?" Lyse said carefully. "Why? I can't do this, Ergane. I just rescued my sister; I fought all I can; I have nothing left."

She drew her smile to a line. "I know this is a difficult thing to ask of you. Every mortal I have approached with similar stating have either expressed rejection or anguish. To throw your life at the trouble of gods is a foolish thing."

"So why ask me?" Lyse asked her. "Do you honestly think that I can be this hero you and my mother see me be?"

"It's not a matter of deliberation," she told him. "You will save your home, not because we tell you, but because survival is above all else your priority. You have saved your sister. That is a great step in the right direction, but you must make the decision. The fate of your home, of this entire world, rest in your shoulder."

Lyse sighed heavily, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He looks older. He always looked too young, in his opinion, with so little facial hair and a fresh face. But after a while without shaving, he's grown out a bit of his beard, stubble really, but the look he gave himself reminded him of his father. If he had inherited his gray eyes and slightly darker hair, he would be the spitting image of the older man. He thought about him, his father's last words he gave him as his life was squeezed out of him. A promise that Lyse had sworn to uphold for as long as he is able.

"Save them," he had told them. "Save them, Lyse."

Well, he had, hadn't he. No. Even he can't be as foolish as to believe that they are not safe. Will they ever be? The threat of Talin has grown more and more present in his mind over this entire quest. He was so focused, driven by the man known as Garath that he failed to realize that he is a small cog in the clock, a mere general, in an army that seemed inexhaustible. He is no longer fighting for revenge. He can't fight for revenge anymore. The role of Lyse Opal, the knight, the farmer, and the citizen of the empire, has finished what he set out to do. Another person must take his place. Someone whose purpose outweighs his family, his life. The godslayer is needed, now.

"Fine," he said slowly, then looked up at her. "How do I stop him?"

She gestured to the lake below, its mirror-like surface reflecting the sky. It rippled under her direction, the extensive sea below shifting into the image of Garath as Lyse saw him, his copper skin ashy and grey, cracked to reveal flows of lava beneath, eyes sunken holes filled with burning hot embers. A long hammer with an iron head radiating his energy. He stood on the top of the mountain, observing the fires that consumed the forest and cleared the land, sending the animals scattering before his wrath. Then it shifted, moving away from him and up, above the clouds, and extended to the entire land that surrounded him. He could see the entire continent of Rovia. She gestured again, and the image shifted upwards to the white plains and empty tundra far north of the clans. Into the Frostlands kingdoms. They then stopped before a mountain near the western shore of the Frostlands. The immediate area around it was strangely barren, with no natural formations, just a plain with trees rimming it, like a bowl almost with a mountain in the middle of it. Then, Lyse looked closer and saw what appeared to ruin jutting out here and there, covered in snow and ice.

"A city?" he asked.

"It once was, before the devastation that broke the world," the goddess told him. "Now it is as you see it. It was once a city that honored the old gods, and Hephaestus had a forge here. He had many other forges, but many of them were destroyed during that calamity. This is the closest one, and he may make his way here first."

"Why?" Lyse asked though he gathered the answer on his own.

"He is the god of forging, craftsmanship. He made weapons for the gods and mortals that could shatter mountains. With it, he may be able to create more, maybe even a more powerful vessel than the one he currently resides within."

"So we know where to find him," Lyse said. "But how do I stop him?"

"That, I can not say," she said sadly. "We gods know little for the function of these Plithos. We do not see the world as you mortals, so we can only catch glimpses. In the past, Plithos must be overcome with sheer force."

"Do you think I am capable of such a thing?" Lyse looked down at his chest where the pendant laid. "I can barely grasp this amazing power. Now I'm supposed to defeat this god."

"I do not think anything," The goddess sat her hand on his shoulder gently, though it felt like the weight of an ocean was falling upon them. "I believe in you, Lyse Opal. You are destined to do great things. Now go, our agent of Order, bring peace to your lands."

(X)

Lyse shot up from his cot, taking in a deep breath of air as if he had been drowning a moment before. He immediately reached for his pendant, which, thankfully, was there clinging against his bare chest. He was down to his trousers, his body covered in patched wounds and burns. He remembers everything from the goddess Ergane, the resolve he had procured. The trial he was to overcome in the very near future. He looked around and found a rather shocked Gray sitting there with his blade across his lap.

"Well, you aren't dead, so that's something," he yawned, standing. "How're the bones feeling?"

Lyse nodded and gave himself a quick inspection. "Some burns feel tender, but I feel fine otherwise."

"Not for long," Gray whispered to himself thoughtfully. "Anyway, we're still off the coast of Arkouda, though the gracious captain took us a bit further north. We're coasting for the time being until we can find a new plan of action."

"Plan of action?" Lyse repeated in a thoughtful expression. "Where is everyone?"

"Around but, Lyse," Gray grabbed his arm before he could turn to leave. "Look, things got pretty hectic in there. I mean . . . really hectic. We came in there to rescue you and Massua, and we just got in the way."

"That sounds an awful lot like an apology, Gray," Lyse said. "I didn't peg you as the type. I thought out of everyone; you'd be the one to chew me out."

"The line is too long, so I just left it, I guess," he sighed. "You are a psychopath, but you're the psychopathy this world needs, apparently. But as much as I like being chased across the southern oceans and the empire, I think I rather take on ice giants."

Lyse smiled. "Don't worry, that's why I want to talk to everyone. Can you get them ready?"

Gray raised a curious eyebrow. "And what exactly do you have planning?"

"you'll have to see," he told him.

Gray sighed but left. "Absolutely insane."

The door closed behind him, and Lyse let out a slow sigh of relief. He hasn't known really what to think of Gray. He seems like an honest guy, upfront with him about what he's thinking, but apprehensive in all of this. That's what he had expected, and Lyse appreciated that about him. He and Elena, in fact. He thought more of them all as he got dressed, putting on his thicker clothes, sensing the weather. Winter seemed to be in full effect and a long one. As he walked out of his room, throwing on a cloak, he saw relatively low energy about as men casually walked about, conversation and such. It was a strangely calming tone compared to the cacophony he was bombarded with not too long ago, it seemed. He didn't mind it; in fact, he smiled as he heard the lulling waves rocking the boat and the fresh cries of seagulls. For a moment, he could understand why people would like life on the sea. Besides the danger, it was actually quite soothing.

He asked around for where his sister or mother had been staying, and a few crewmen pointed him in the direction towards the rear of the ship. Apparently, they kept most of them away from that area while she was being healed. Lyse made his way to that side, though his limbs felt like they were chained down by boulders. He passed a few friendly faces that he was glad to see. Standing in front of the door were two deckhands chatting as well, though perked up as Lyse arrived as though it was Moxie herself. It was Ralia and Tug. Lyse didn't understand their hesitance; he must look pitiful in this state.

"Is she in there?" he asked them.

They both looked at one another.

"Yes," said Tug. "That Thirian came in a whole back to give her medicine or such. She should be fine for a visit."