"Uhhh... ehhh... khkhkh..."

  Even in his last moments, the boy's eyes held questions. Questions only god answered.

  "Taru, son of Endu. Sleep soundly, for I know your name.” He touched the boy's shoulder. “Your house will sing of your deeds. The judges of the underworld will praise your virtue."

  Taru exhaled a deep, shuddering breath. His ragged gasps slowed… then ceased. How he envied him. The boy clung to his beliefs, even as death knocked at his door, even when truth was nothing but ash in his god’s hands.

  To be the perfect servant, to offer his mortality to the immortals…

  How sweet could a lie be?

  Sigh...

  Taru earned his lot. And as his light faded, the shrine returned to its familiar form. Dead silence. A place of holiness, with no one left to worship it.

  Such a waste.

  No one witnessed him. Was it worth it? Those eyes... They said yes.

  The sacred pool smelled like death. The scent of incense had faded, and the candles were out. Servants neglected it again.

  It didn't matter.

  The reflection on the black pool mattered. The portrait of a hollow, empty face who spat back at himself.

  "Tsk!"

  His fist clenched tight, trembling with anger. But rage at what? The boy? Why would his pathetic dream matter?

  He died a lamb to the slaughter, a food to a hungry lie. What could be worse than that? Perhaps nothing—except living on to see the labor of his choices.

  Choices that were built on lies and fear. Choices, Taru chose freely—

  "Bam!"

  The clashing door crashed through his thoughts. The familiar face that stretched long across the stone floor caught his attention. The igigi came forward, his brother's vassal who served as his Sukkal. They called him Dival, his bald head gleaming under the dim light and his added weight straining the illusion of his self-importance. As always, he reinforced that illusion with every arrogant, loud step.

  "Pardon the outburst, my Dingir. I'll make sure the door gets fixed— can’t have it disturbing your peace again." Dival said, his tone hissing like a snake.

  He called him a divine one. His smile mocked him, and his actions taunted his existence.

  “Tell me, my Sukkal, he who is my hand—why must my pool reek when it should smell of heaven, and my shrine gather dust when it should gleam?”

  Dival’s gaze never left as he bowed low. “Pardon the tardiness of the servants, my Dingir. The peacefulness of this holy place must have shrouded their minds. I’ll make sure their sins are reparated nicely.”

  Sigh…

  Dival laced his words with honey, and he smelled the poison in them. Let him believe he held the upper hand—such arrogance was its own leash.

  He stepped closer.

  “Oh, and what would those reparations be, Dival?”

  Dival craned his head upwards.

  “A hundred lashes. It would teach them humility and strip them of the beauty that earned their position. I could start right over if you desire.”

  “Do better.”

  “Perhaps I could humble them further—turn them into cattle, my

  Dingir, to be feasted on at your leisure.”

  “I'm questioning my brother on the competence of his vassals.”

  A sudden twitch—hesitation, perhaps fear. Dival's mask fell off, betraying the cracks beneath his polished fa?ade.

  “I apologize, my Dingir. I will turn myself to the underworld and end the shame I have brought to your glorious house!”

  Dival fell to his knees, the jagged dagger shaking in his hand.

  He expected more.

  Dival had conviction, yes—but what good was it when his hand wavered? He was terrified. Hesitant. A man unsure of what his own blade would do.

  Pathetic.

  He sought Dival's eyes. They fled. The show was over—he should have held onto his mask.

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  The shadows on the wall hissed and twitched. Their lord’s patience wore thin. Their lord's patience worn thin. They stretched, coiling like the tightening of a noose, Sorrounding the trapped snake.

  Dival's eyes widened in terror. Good. He started to understand.

  "O-O'Ereshkigal, mother of the great place, forgive this sinner for I come to your judgment. May... may this be the end of the shame I’ve cast!"

  The dagger hovered, shaking at its peak—stalled, begging for a will stronger than his own.

  Shadows screamed. They lashed and tore through the space around them, clawing at the edges of his fate. Dusk would fall, one way or another.

  Dival started crying. Streams of blood teared down from his eyes. He prayed for a miracle. Only god could grant it. And he wouldn’t.

  "I-I—"

  "DO IT!" The command, distorted and alien, crushed through his resistance.

  "Slash!"

  The dagger sank deep before Dival even knew it. Cold steel met dead flesh. For the first time in his wretched existence, he felt something real.

  His hands clamped over the wound, nails clawing into dead skin, as if sheer will could undo the act. He gasped—ragged, desperate—his chest rising like a drowning man’s, though no breath came to save him. He didn't need it.

  Breath by breath, he drifted closer to the first gate of the underworld. Everything slowed. The struggle, the fear—the lie of hope. The blackness beyond his vision stretched, yawning wide. It knew him better than his name. He let go. Closed his eyes.

  The moment should have ended.

  It didn’t.

  Something colder than death gripped his wrist, locking it in place. The darkness was there—waiting—but it would not take him. Not yet.

  Dival’s eyes snapped open.

  They found him instantly—the face of god. The one thing he should never have dared to evade.

  Terror ignited anew. It bled into his movements, a useless cry for attention. His wrist twitched, his back arched, but the grip on his fate remained firm. He had no strength. No control. No say in what happened next.

  And there he went. Ragged breathing. Blood spilling faster. Crying.

  How pitiful.

  The shadows curled tighter. The dagger trembled in his grip, caught between his own will and the force that had already decided for him.

  But hesitation had no place here.

  The blade sank deeper.

  Dival convulsed, his mouth parting in a soundless cry. True pain. His unbeating heart did not spasm, but everything else did—his limbs, his throat, his fingers clawing at nothing.

  Blood flooded his mouth, his face. His own vitae, wasted on pleas he refused to make.

  "P-PLEASSSEEE!"

  Oh. But he did.

  How easily Dival’s leash broke.

  He commanded the wound to freeze. Stopped the pain. Stopped the bleeding. Stopped Dival.

  He wanted him to see—to know how feeble his life was.

  But it was disappointing.

  This was all it took?

  How weak.

  The weight of realization crashed down on Dival. He could honor him no more.

  So god let go.

  The grip on his wrist released. The dagger wrenched free.

  Dival collapsed, his suffering gifted back to him.

  He had survived.

  Now, what would he do with it?

  "Huff… Huff…"

  Dival lay on all fours, trembling. Broken.

  "What did you learn from this, my sukkal?"

  Nothing. Not yet. His face remained buried in the floor, lips parted in some pathetic attempt at speech.

  "Mm—mmmm—"

  Sigh…

  So he couldn’t find an answer this soon.

  His hand twitched. He already knew why.

  Taru’s face flickered in his mind. The taste of his blood. How sweet it was—sweeter than death. He couldn’t let go.

  And Taru paid for it…

  His cold gaze softened—just enough for Dival to flinch. A pathetic, broken thing, shaking like a toy no longer fit for play.

  Had he pushed too hard?

  Perhaps.

  He was always too much.

  "Do you remember your birth, Dival?" His voice was steady—too steady. "I do. Maybe that's why I'm the god of wisdom."

  Darkness stirred. He hadn't forgotten. Not a single breath.

  "I came to this world on a stone, facing the sea. The moon was at its brightest. I was small then—too small to shatter anything yet."

  Shadows swelled.

  "My father pulled me out. His face was pure with joy. And my brother followed after him, just as happy." His voice faltered. Just for a moment.

  "They were happy, Dival. Because I lived. Because I survived."

  His fingers curled, nails biting into his palm.

  "But when my father lifted me to show me the world—when I saw her—I didn’t find heaven, Dival."

  His voice sharpened. It cracked.

  "I saw my mother’s flesh pulled thin. The color of her life turned gray."

  A breath. A pause. His hands trembled.

  "It was the moment I realized… I sucked my mother clean. Her life for mine. And they smiled for it."

  The shadows roared.

  His fist clenched. His throat burned. He hadn't planned to say this. Not like this.

  "In that moment… I-I—"

  Rage tore through him.

  His fist lashed out, the walls trembled. Stone shattered.

  The shadows surged—uncontrolled, violent. The entire shrine quaked under the force of his fury.

  The shadows still roiled, pulsing with the remnants of his rage. The shrine trembled, a quiet aftermath.

  His reflection hovered in the black pool—distorted, fractured. Twisted.

  He lost himself.

  His fingers flexed, knuckles white, and the abyss in the water wavered to its presence.

  He needed an anchor to calm his nerve. Something to still the storm beneath his ribs.

  He needed warmth.

  His gaze flicked downward. His fingers curled as if expecting something familiar. But there was nothing. Only him.

  But something lingered.

  Dival still hadn’t moved. Not out of shock. Not out of fear.

  Something else held him there.

  A weight hung in the air. Heavy. Unseen, but undeniable.

  His gaze lifted.

  And there it was.

  A shadow larger than his own. A thing that did not belong to Dival.

  His brother.

  He understood now. Dival was never here of his own will. This was a summons.

  As always.

  His teeth pressed together. He wasn't in a state to play the game.

  He turned from Dival. He’d seen enough.

  “Spare the boy from further servitude.” The command left no room for question. “Feed him to the black waters.”

  The abyss rippled, waiting.

  Dival flinched, but he knew he would obey.

  Without waiting any longer he moved.

  He knew his brother was waiting. And he would come.

  But not yet.

  “Tell him, I will come.” A pause. His fingers flexed, the phantom ache still there. “But not before I see our sister.”