Pippy had woken early the next morning, before anyone else. She stood at the western edge of town, staring off at the incongruence in the distance. Just looking at it made her heard hurt, but at least she could remain conscious now. What are you? She wondered.

“There you are,” a voice came from behind.

Pippy turned to see Ponima flying down to her almost lazily, the morning sun not quite above the horizon behind her yet. “Ponima,” she greeted with a grin. “We missed you at the bath halls last night.”

Ponima stifled a laugh, bringing the back of her hand up to her face. “As much as I’d have loved to startle all those adorable halflings with my mere presence, I don’t think the panicked lecture from Phyrn would’ve been worth it. ‘You can’t just go appearing in front of mortals like that!’ I imagine that’s what she’d say.”

Pippy didn’t stop herself from laughing. “Well, Livia and I were alone, so it would’ve been fine.”

“Oh yeah?” Ponima hummed suggestively. “Did you two get it on in there?”

“Nah,” Pippy waved a hand, “neither of us were in the mood for that after what we went through yesterday.”

“Really? That’s a surprise. Things were pretty tense when you did it the first time back in that filthy swamp.”

“Huh?!” Pippy recoiled. “How do you know about that?!”

“I’m a goddess, Pippy,” Ponima teased, “I don’t miss much that goes on in a world I helped make.”

“You were watching us?! Wow… that’s…”

“Exciting?” Ponima leaned in with half-lidded eyes.

Pippy silently nodded. “B-but! Don’t you dare tell Livia! She’d be so upset!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ponima winked, “I have plans for her too~”

Pippy bit her lower lip. “Dang…”

“Well, we’ll have to find something to do when Fyren is dealt with, right? And I’m afraid you’re not going to wriggle free of being our only witnesses that easily! So, I guess you’ll be stuck with us.”

Pippy put her hands on her cocked hips. “And on that topic, how are Phyrn and Brightbrand? I’m guessing Brightbrand is just dandy, but Phyrn got just as messed up as we did.”

“She’s doing well enough to give me backchat, so that’s a good sign. In fact, I believe she’s paying Emilie and Livia a visit as we speak.”

“Krey’s not with them?”

“I don’t know what Brightbrand sees in him, but apparently our golden friend has taken a quick liking to the knight. Honestly, he bores me.”

“Krey or Brightbrand?”

“Take your pick,” Ponima chuckled. “Who’s that new one you picked up, by the way? Bel, I think I heard his name was. Never did ask.”

“Ah, him…” Pippy took a deep breath. “I have no idea, really. He’s keeping his distance for now, but I get that. We only just met him, after all.”

“Well, I can tell you one thing about him,” Ponima leaned in and whispered, “he looks to be a solid fuck.”

Pippy’s knees nearly buckled as she spasmed with yet more laughter. “What, did you spy on him too? Wait, did he screw one of the bath attendants?!”

“Yep!” Ponima nodded. “Right in his fat, juicy peach. I must say though, he looked like he was really struggling to enjoy it at times; I don’t think he’s quite right again yet.”

“I don’t think any of us are,” Pippy sighed. “Krey’s finally loosened up a bit, it looks like; Faeden might’ve actually done him some good. Emilie’s still all giddy, even if she doesn’t realise it herself. And Livia… it took all night for her to stop fidgeting and stressing. She’s okay now, I think, but…”

“What do you even see in her, Pippy?” Ponima prodded.

Pippy regarded the goddess of madness with a gaze that flickered with sparks of red. “What I’ve seen in her from the moment I first laid eyes on her: a kindred spirit. She saw it in me too— I know it. We’re both survivors of the same tragedy, and against all odds, despite losing everything we’d ever known… we found each other. That kind of thing forges bonds very quickly, very strong bonds. We’re meant to be.”

“And you’re not afraid to scold me for doubting it,” Ponima beamed. “Hmm… Phyrn was right; I do like you~!” she vanished in a flash of pink.

Pippy smiled, turning to walk back into town. Well played, she thought.

Meanwhile, in the privacy of the accommodations they’d been offered by their masonfolk hosts, Livia, Emilie, and Phyrn were sharing a pot of tea that an ornately-dressed attendant had wheeled in for them on a little cake-and-sandwich trolley. He’d been wearing scant more than airy wisps of translucent fabric and a smattering of jewellery and piercings. The only opaque article of clothing on him were his smalls, and even they had been decorated with dangling chains of shiny beads.

“The hospitality of these masonfolk is truly astounding,” Emilie awed. “I feel as if we’re royalty! And they’re certainly not afraid to flaunt their bodies, are they?”

“Come on,” Livia said while leaning back into the softness of the sofa she was sat on, “aren’t you used to the… the wait-on-hand-and-foot treatment by now, Your Holiness?”

“Livia, please, a high-ranking woman of cloth I may be, but of cloth I remain. My lifestyle, by necessity, has not been lavish. Not that I lament that fact at all, of course.”

“You have more than earned it,” Phyrn added. “All of you have. Long have you fought, and far have you walked… I am so proud of you.”

“Thank you, goddess,” Emilie bowed her head, her voice marked with that breathy awe that she spoke with often in the presence of divinity— especially Phyrn, the others had noticed.

“Yeah, Phyrn,” Livia said in a far more casual, yet still gracious and grateful, tone. “Thanks.”

“And yes,” Phyrn smirked, “I must agree, their confidence and embracing of their own bodies is a quality to be admired, I think. I’m sure it won’t surprise either of you to know that it was Rajata who primarily had that influence on them; they were always her favourite, and so too did she become theirs.”

Livia snickered at that. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me one bit?”

“Then why was her namesake in Calsa?” Emilie asked. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually unfamiliar with this subject.”

“You’re a history expert, Emilie?” Livia couldn’t help but ask.

“Not exactly, but knowing the history of the Decakon’s influence on the world is part of my role. It… would appear I have forgotten one or two things during the course of our journey.”

“Not to worry,” Phyrn reassured her, “I can recite the story from memory; after all, I was there.” She made a gesture of clearing her throat, not actually needing to.

“The masonfolk once dwelled in Calsa. However, they took on the challenge of settling Chitiqa - this region - when the draken were driven back behind The Wall that now protects their land of Tambur from the core land of Faeden. Eventually, drawn in by the allure of conquering the desert, the masonfolk all made exodus from Calsa and rebuilt themselves here. Rajata City is a monument to their primeval architectural talents, an ancient marvel that continues to serve as a modern landmark, even all this time later without maintenance from the people who built it. Now the sun-kissed tanned tones of their skin are in their blood, the desert sand in their bones, the spirit of fire at home in them, which they share with their human neighbours in Pivuseon.”

“That’s right,” Emilie hummed, nodding slowly, eyes closed. “I remember now. I’ve been so preoccupied with all that has transpired since meeting you and Krey at the edge of the world, Livia, that it seems some of my studies have started to fade into the periphery of my mind.”

“Well,” Livia replied, “when this is all over, you can curl up with as many dusty old books as you want.”

Krey was at the other side of town, looking east toward the rising sun. Chitiqa, like Pivuseon before, was a nation of sand, though a tad smaller; the Sunset Dunes would be easier to cross than the Cinnabar Expanse had been, and not just because of its size. Waiting for them, at its far edge, was the easternmost human country of Jiel, a land far more temperate than the scorched deserts. A land of autumnal hues and twilit skies, Krey mused silently.

“Scouting ahead, are we?”

Krey turned to see the golden god of fellowship approaching. He took to a knee, and lowered his head.

“Please, Sir Knight,” Brightbrand said, “rise and be at ease.”

Krey did so gladly. “It is an honour to meet you.”

Brightbrand sighed. “I only wish it was under better circumstances.” He stepped to Krey’s side, also looking eastward now into the vast, empty landscape. To the southeast, they could both see the capital of Chitiqa, Masongrand, and more directly east, though only a blip on the horizon for now, they could just about spy Karka-Tō, the first city of Jiel they’d enter from here. “Phyrn told Ponima and me with the tale of your journey up to now. In impressive detail as well, considering she’s been playing cat-and-mouse with the rest of us for most of it… poor girl.”

Krey furrowed his brow, trying to recall events from the past with as much clarity as he could. “The closest we got to seeing said cat-and-mouse chase was when we first met Ponima. She appeared to us after we - rather, after Livia - defeated her chosen shrineblade. Phyrn emerged from the ether to try talking to her, and then she fled, and Phyrn pursued. Apart from that, the battle of the gods has raged beyond our ken.” He sighed. “Such a monumental event in Berodyl’s history, and none of her people have borne witness to any of it.”

Brightbrand turned his head to look at Krey. “You have. In passing, perhaps… but you have seen it. And soon, when the hierophants take to their altars, when they reach out for us, they will discover the absences. Those realisations will ripple across the world, and will shake its very foundations. It will be up to the people to carry on without us.”

“Pardon me if I speak out of turn,” Krey started, “but you speak as if we have already lost.”

Brightbrand made a sound that was almost laughter. “Whether Fyren brings it to an end or not, Berodyl’s era of gods is coming to an end. The people will have to learn to endure despite this.”

“Please don’t think me a critic when I say this,” Krey said, “but I have long been an advocate of reducing our… dependency on you and yours.”

“And that is wise,” Brightbrand nodded. “Some of us would have the mortal people of this world believe that they need us utterly, and plenty of the people - like your hierophant friend, Emilie - believe it too. They don’t fully understand the paradigm of creator and creation. We made Berodyl, have resided here for millennia… but this world is its own. From the holy ghosts above to the demons below and the elementals and arietes throughout, this world is well on its way to outgrowing us.”

“I’m curious, Brightbrand,” Krey said. “Did you pick any hierophants? Have you made chosen, as Phyrn has with us?”

“Hierophants? Yes. Chosen? No. I anointed hierophants specifically with the intention of imparting unto them… another way. A different way. One more… fundamental. One more stable than pure faith. As for chosen… all of Berodyl’s people are my chosen. I am a god that was born of fellowship, made by the united power of multiple beings; my very essence is that of country and kin. I was brought into being by the other nine of those who would be ten - the Decakon - at a time of strife and struggle. The singular quality that defines me is interdependency… but as someone who has lived a very long time shackled to such a virtue, I simply wish for my people to be strong enough to no longer need me. I had hoped I’d succeeded with the Decakon themselves, but…” he took a deep breath.

“But power alone is insufficient,” Krey added. “Wisdom is just as necessary.”

“That is how the Decakon fell,” Brightbrand nodded. “We are… were… a group driven by whimsy and emotion. One mistake after another, not stopping to think when we should’ve. That was how Fyren was able to gain the upper hand so suddenly… how he was able to betray us so easily.”

Brightbrand went on to recount the severance from his perspective - from the gods’ perspective - thus far. “Zur, goddess of power, was the first. Fyren Vosch knew he had to take her first, unawares and asleep, for if he had not, there would’ve been uncontainable calamity. This was the murder that ripped me from my own sleep… and since then, I’ve been hunting him down. Zur was my greatest source of power, being a perfect paragon of it, and with her death, I lost the majority of my outer power.

Mirim Vosch, goddess of invention, was supposed to be next, but I felt her presence fade before Fyren could find her… I suspect she fled just before the petrification of the firmament took hold fully.

Nativus, deity of the elementals, was third. Their death riled the primordial spirits of the realm, awoke the arietes and hirquus both, and sent some of the elementals into madness. I believe you encountered such an unfortunate soul in the jungle.

D’Gora Nevenar, god of blood, was fourth. He and Fyren fought gloriously atop the mountains that divide Cordylia and Arata, the Yarrominas. D’Gora seldom left his abode atop the peaks there even during the formation of Berodyl… but by the time I got there, his divine blood had been spilled in the halls of his watch.

Narva Nevenar, goddess of stars, was fifth. By the time she’d realised what was going on and had begun her descent from high above back down to the beneath the sky, Fyren was already ready and waiting to welcome her back with the edge of his sword. She didn’t stand a chance.

Rajata Gonost, goddess of passion, was sixth. The bloody fool had been helping Fyren seek out the others, a traitor blinded by her own selfish desire to earn the favour of a man who was out for her head. I believe you already know how that story ends.

Ponima Tearcry, goddess of madness, was to be seventh, but she tricked Fyren into believing she was dead, which gave me time to attempt reasoning with her. I failed spectacularly.

Phyrn Yijiz, goddess of low foliage, was to be eighth, but… well, as you know, cat-and-mouse.

Leaving me, Brightbrand, god of fellowship, the ninth and final target.

“Leaving you for ninth,” Krey finished, “to leave you as weakened as possible.”

“Indeed,” Brightbrand agreed. “Every time he slew one of our comrades, I would lapse into temporary shock… further hindering my ability to catch up to him. Eventually, I changed strategies, which nearly allowed Ponima and me to take Fyren down together. Gripped in her own madness, though, Ponima made one foolish, whimsical decision after another. The entire legacy of the Decakon in a nutshell, I suppose.”

“But now Fyren will have to come for seven, eight, and nine all at once. Plus us, though I’m not sure how helpful us mortal chosen will be.”

“As I’ve been trying to explain to you, Krey… you are far stronger than for which you give yourself credit. All of you mortals are.”

Krey’s words came not as confidently as he’d have liked, stammering in the beginning. “I’m learning over and over again that it is one thing to speak rhetoric, and another to truly believe the words. The Knights Berodyl all have ever been proponents of independent strength, the arietes the perfect symbol worn as our crest, but our entire existence revolves around the notion of the necessity of interdependence.”

“That is the strength of the people, Krey,” Brightbrand smiled. “You have all that you need in each other. Berodyl is a rare world in that its kingdoms have seldom gone to war with each other; everyone has been united under a single faith. Now that faith structure is imploding… but it wasn’t the gods who built the castles, tilled the fields, survived the worst of times. That was all of you.”

“This… has been an enlightening conversation,” Krey reflected. “The Knights Berodyl generally adhere to Fyren… which, these days, is a worrying thing. My faith was never particularly strong, but… maybe if I’d been able to stay in my homeland for just a bit longer, I’d have found my faith in you. Your namesake is in Pivuseon, after all; my people follow you more than any other divinity.”

“Then hear me now, Krey Zoubor, Son of Pivuseon,” Brightbrand near-bellowed. “Soon we march east, to meet our ultimate foe in battle, and we will be victorious. When we emerge from the fight, you must tell the people of what has happened, what you have been a part of— all of you. My teachings must not fall upon deaf ears if this world is to survive; the people must look to each other for strength in the face of adversity, not us the gods. Fyren’s and Rajata’s betrayal, Ponima’s frenzy, my own failures, the fact that a being like Zur could even be killed… it is all proof of our fickleness and fallibility. Low gods indeed…”

Krey didn’t quite catch those last few words, but didn’t press for more. He returned his attention to the eastern view. Berodyl without its gods… what will such a future hold? Part of him wished to perish the very notion… but another part of him was looking forward to potentially finding out.