Eliphaz slowly turned from the window and headed towards the temple exit. He needed to escape the city, and fast, before every soul in Qadesh was looking for him. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, letting the people in his vicinity recede until they were nothing but blurry figures. The sound of his every step felt painfully loud, echoing in the cavernous space. His arms swung awkwardly at his sides, and in his heightened state Eliphaz couldn’t tell if the motion looked natural or completely performative.

Passing over the threshold, his eyes hardly needed to adjust: the darkness within the temple matched the dim light outside, the sun having very nearly finished its course. Moving away from the structure, Eliphaz gradually increased his speed with every step. The temple of the Kotharat was located on a wide street which circled the second terrace, and Eliphaz slipped past people and stalls, riders and carts, stopping only when necessary. He couldn’t quite remember from which way he’d come, but he knew he needed to head down, back to the lowest circle of the city.

From there, Eliphaz didn’t know how he would sneak past the guarded gates. He realized now how lucky he’d been to enter the city before the messenger. Had he arrived after nightfall, the guards would have grabbed him at the gates and he’d have spent the night getting a confession tortured from his lips. But there was also the question of how they had obtained his description. Likely someone within Qadesh had reported him for suspicious behavior. His thoughts drifted to the stable-man, who assumed he rode a stolen horse. Most already distrusted the nomad tribes (of which Eliphaz’s family belonged), not distinguishing between the outlaws who hid from the empire’s laws and those who simply wished to live in peace. No doubt someone assumed his mere presence in Qadesh indicated trouble.

Eliphaz quelled his overactive imagination. He needed to focus on his escape. The guards at the wall would prove an issue, but he figured he could kill them if necessary. He had already crossed that line with the empire’s authorities. Cutting through a group of chattering housewives, he plucked a small branch from a nearby tree and headed towards a side street. A surprise staff had proven useful before—Eliphaz figured he might need it if forced to fight.

Rounding the corner, Eliphaz’s worst fears came to fruition. A pair of soldiers walked along the street towards him. Their demeanor was casual, heads leaned together and engaged in private conversation. Had Eliphaz remained calm, they might have simply walked past, oblivious to the wanted man who crossed their path.

But he didn’t.

Eliphaz froze, so startled he nearly dropped the branch from his hand. For an eternal moment his body screamed at him to move, but he couldn’t decide what to do. Should he kill them? He could do it, but no, it would make noise, it would take time—time Eliphaz knew he didn’t have.

He needed to run. He needed to run now. Why wasn’t he running? Eliphaz, why aren’t you running you need to run now—now before it’s too late now NOW—

The moment passed. The confusion on the soldier’s face transformed into a look of realization. He raised his arm, pointing at the boy with wide eyes like glazed saucers and hair the color of dried blood that fell across his forehead. The murderer. The spy. The habiru.

He raised his voice. “You—”

Eliphaz turned and bolted back into the thoroughfare. He ran as fast as he could, veering past pedestrians who yelped with surprise as he flew by. He collided into a man, felt the deep thud of his temple hitting a bony shoulder. The man fell down, invoking every god he could name in his cursing, as Eliphaz recovered from the vertigo of the impact. He rested his hands on his thighs, tasted blood in his mouth. Then he was off.

Indistinct shouting surrounded him on all sides. Eliphaz could barely make out the blur of dark bronze figures emerging from streets and alleyways. He tried to avoid the pursuers, careening wildly as he changed direction, but more and more he found his route blocked as soldiers poured into the street. He needed to get off the main street—but they wouldn’t let him, Eliphaz realized. They would lead him in circles, blocking every escape path he could find.

Someone screamed behind him, and Eliphaz turned just in time to see a beam of light flash by his face. It impacted the ground several feet away, burning the cobblestones black. Chaos erupted among the civilians, terrified by the display of magic. They ran from the smoking stones, tripping and stumbling in their panic.

An idea formed in Eliphaz’s mind. It wasn’t especially ingenious—insane was likely the proper term—but he was quickly running out of other options. Stopping abruptly, he turned around and headed towards the small army of soldiers behind him.

The soldiers froze, unsure why their quarry would readily walk into their weapons. They began to slowly circle Eliphaz, surrounding him.

Eliphaz moved towards the nearest soldier, who carried a spear and stood guarding one of the side streets. He brandished his sword, waving it over his head.

Shouting into the night, Eliphaz taunted the man. “Kill me if you can, you devil—before I kill you first!”

He broke into a run, sword raised behind his head. The soldier responded in turn, lowering his blessed weapon and letting light fester along its edge. It pointed straight at Eliphaz’s chest.

If Eliphaz was wrong about this gambit, he would die. He’d already tested fate far too many times—in fact, he probably deserved to die by this point. Not that Eliphaz was particularly concerned. He had already done what he set out to accomplish: he had given Narina a second chance at life. Now he was simply facing the consequences of his actions, facing the fate he’d built for himself.

No, dying wasn’t so bad (at least he’d show Ishtar that manipulating fate was more complicated than she’d assumed), but that didn’t mean he was prepared to accept it.

Wind pulled Eliphaz’s hood from his face. He shouted at the top of his lungs, voice guttural and ragged, daring the soldier to blast him to burnt, bloody bits.

The spear activated, light instantly shot across the distance between them.

Eliphaz raised his empty palm. Blinded by the light, he was forced to rely on his other senses. As he’d hoped, his hand wasn’t instantly incinerated. Instead, a familiar energy coursed beneath his skin, traveling the length of his arm and into his core.

Attention: Your Level 1 Godshard is threatened!

Godshard self-preservation settings activated:

When under risk of eradication, your Godshard will absorb hostile mana.

Without warning, the light disappeared, fully absorbed into Eliphaz’s shard. His eyes adjusted, and he found himself looking at the dumbstruck face of the soldier. Why aren’t you dead? his eyes seemed to say.

The hostile [light] mana still thrummed within his core, threatening to break through the confines of his mortal body. Eliphaz knew that if he waited any longer he’d be reduced to a gory mess, a wet puddle seeping through the cracks of the street. It was time.

Expel [light] mana? Yes / No >YES / No

As the effect activated, Eliphaz spun on his feet, trying to sow as much chaos as possible. The soldier in front of him flew backwards, thrown into the air by the shockwave of heat and light that poured out from his fingertips. A nearby stand caught fire, people shouting in alarm as the flames cut through the night. A horse reared up in fear, throwing its rider from its back before running into the crowd of soldiers. Everyone within a certain radius of the mana explosion keeled over, unprepared as the energy swept through them.

Eliphaz—too—felt his feet leave the ground, flying briefly through the air before his back slammed against a brick wall. He landed on all fours, the sword in his right hand clattering against the ground.

Then he was off, past the unconscious guard and into the alleyway. He’d bought himself time, but not much: Eliphaz could already hear the cries of soldiers regrouping, the sound of metal against metal like a swirling orchestra of wind chimes.

The side street was dark, abandoned, civilians already having fled from the violent commotion. Eliphaz crept along the walls, moving as quickly as possible while scanning the darkness. He ran between the cold, empty residences, jumping from shadow to shadow. The sounds of the thoroughfare receded until Eliphaz was surrounded by silence. Only the faint whisper of wind through stone remained.

He needed to find his way to the city’s lower reaches. Before the Pharaoh’s men had him completely surrounded—

“Here he is!” A voice cried out, just as a hulking figure emerged from the darkness, tackling Eliphaz to the ground.

Shielding his head from impact, he rolled to the side out of instinct, only to see a sword flash by his eyes, lodging itself in between the stones where his head had been moments before. Eliphaz wasted no time in retaliating, swinging his own sword about his side, towards his assailant’s outstretched arm.

The sound of a blade cutting through limb was surprisingly silent—but then again, Eliphaz didn’t know what to expect. There was the low thud of metal upon bone, then a quiet crack that wasn’t so much heard than felt as the vibration traveled down the length of his sword. And then—without a sound—the blade broke free and the hand was cleanly shorn off, just below the wrist.

The man screamed as his hand fell like a limp spider. His stump plumed with blood for an instant, before reducing to a limp dribble. Eliphaz left the man there, doubled over and staring in disbelief at his lost appendage.

He kept running. Seeing the vague outline of a figure approaching—he turned, heading down a different street.

Another figure. He turned again. Another and another—

He lost all sense of direction, constantly changing course as his path was blocked. Eliphaz feared he’d lost all control, that soldiers had him trapped, caught in a game of psychological torture as the hunter toyed with its prey. At the nearest corner, a soldier waited, ready to lunge at him. This time, Eliphaz didn’t run.

The corner residence was a finely built structure, likely commissioned by a wealthy merchant. It had high walls which afforded one luxurious privacy, though the upperstories with their palm date-shaped windows still peered down from above, overlooking what one could assume was a lush garden—based on the tree tops that broached the decorative parapet. Along the mosaic-studded wall, the greenery continued as a thriving tapestry of ivy, its leaves quietly shimmering.

The ivy came alive, its branches unfurling like leviathan limbs, seizing the soldier by his neck, his arms, pinning him against the wall. He tried to protest but found his chest constricted, his face and fingers turning blue as the ivy circled and circled—

Eliphaz ran past, not bothering to inspect his work. He could see open air in front of him, a clear night sky free of towering stone buildings. Finally, an escape—

But Eliphaz stopped, as his path was abruptly cut short. The street had ended, and he stood before a steep ledge. Fathoms below, he heard the rush of water, though it was too dark to make anything of the shadowed chasm. Still, recognition flashed in his mind.

The canal. The deep aqueduct which carried waste and water out of the city. He followed its dark course, cutting straight through the city, past the fortressed walls and out into the river beyond.

Behind him, soldiers gathered, their shields and spears and swords crammed along the narrow street. Their angry cries reached his ears.

“Surrender—filth!”

“As good as dead, you are!”

“Lower your weapons, bandit!”

The mob was brave, but no lone man dared step forward. They inched their way forward, a crowd of cowards.

Eliphaz considered his situation. He looked down the precipitous canal, its bricks dark and slick. He’d asked for an escape, hadn’t he?

Grandfather Ishak often said that praying to the gods was a double-edged sword. When you received what you asked for, it wasn’t always in the way you’d imagine. Most lesser gods were wily like that, and better left alone than dealt with.

But oh well—a little grime and shit was a small price to pay for a second chance at freedom. And Eliphaz wouldn’t let it go to waste. He sealed his lips and pinched his nose shut.

And then he jumped.