Sleep was a stranger. Kai lay on the lumpy mattress of the squat, staring at the cracked ceiling that tried—and failed—to keep out the city's cold breath. The god's laughter echoed again in his mind, relentless and maddening, like a twisted lullaby.
He pushed himself up, muscles stiff. Tonight was not for rest. Tonight was for finding answers in the alleys where truth still bled through the cracks.
The Flicker was waiting—the run-down tavern that smelled of stale ale, old wounds, and whispered secrets. It was a refuge for the desperate and the dangerous. Perfect.
Inside, the murmur of low voices blended with the clink of glasses and the occasional curse. Smoke hung thick, twisting around the dim light of flickering lanterns.
In the far corner sat Nira Voss. She was a sharp contrast to the tavern's decay — a former Sanctar trainee turned rogue, her gaze was cold and unyielding. A blade at her side and a storm behind her eyes. Kai hadn't trusted her at first. How could he? But when the world was bleeding lies, sometimes the broken knew how to cut through.
"You look like you've got a date with disaster," she said without preamble, voice low and edged with steel.
"Only if disaster comes with a cloak and tries not to get caught," Kai replied, sliding into the chair opposite her.
Before she could reply, a smooth, sardonic voice broke through the smoky haze.
"Chasing ghosts keeps life spicy," Thorn said from the bar, swirling a glass with theatrical flair. "Or maybe I just like hanging out with the desperate."
Nira's glare could have sliced through steel. "Don't mistake my presence for approval."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Thorn replied, voice dripping sarcasm thicker than the tavern's smoke.
Kai smirked. Thorn was chaos in human form—wild charm wrapped in sharp edges and sharper secrets. And Nira was the blade waiting for the perfect moment.
The door creaked, and from the shadows stepped Magister Eloun, his cracked Concord insignia barely visible beneath his worn cloak. Scholar or spy? Kai couldn't tell. But people like Eloun always had a price.
"Eloun," Kai muttered, "the walking contradiction—knowledge for sale, morality optional."
Eloun smiled thinly. "The past isn't dead, Kai. And the gods? They're the kind of stubborn that refuse to stay buried."
Kai's jaw clenched. The Divine War might have ended a millennium ago, but its echoes whispered still.
The Dead God stirring inside him was a storm no one could contain. The fragile order was cracking, and the show was just getting interesting.
"Great," Kai muttered under his breath, "because what I really needed was to be the punchline."