King Maymun's Palace
The scent of myrrh and obsidian coals wafted through the great courtyard of Maymun's hold, nestled between dunes and shadowed sky. The sun had set hours ago, but the braziers still burned blue-green, whispering tongues of heat that curled along ancient runes etched into the stone.
Hamza stood across from King Maymun, the elder djinn gazing into the flames. His face, carved from wisdom and burden, reflected no emotion, but his silence had stretched too long.
"You're considering it, aren't you?" Hamza asked quietly. "The whispers. A new king."
Maymun didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was low gravel ground through time.
"Leadership is a fire. In calm, it warms. In war, it burns. The djinn haven't declared a new monarch in over six millennia. The courts are fractured. The houses divided. We've stood by tradition and watched the world descend."
"And now Kur returns," Hamza said.
Maymun turned his head slightly. "He is not Kur. Not yet. But that essence, his victories are drawing loyalty. Not just awe. Loyalty."
"Are you worried it will lead to open challenge?"
"I am worried it already has," Maymun admitted. "The moment someone calls Mike the Flame King… the Houses will hear it. And some will want him to rule. Others will want him extinguished."
Hamza folded his arms. "Would you step down? Let the legacy of Kur sit the throne of ash?"
The King's gold-banded eyes flared faintly in the dark.
"I would fight him myself before I watched the djinn fracture in civil war."
They stood in silence a moment longer before a scout approached, cloaked in wind, eyes glowing faintly orange beneath his hood.
"Sire," the scout bowed low. "Our winds carry ill omens. A surge of divine movement. Egyptian and Sumerian pantheons have begun scrying the Hollow. The Watchers are mobilizing relic hunters. The Hindu pantheon remains defensive, but if Olympus presses, they may act."
"Kur's shadow is long," Maymun said.
The scout hesitated. "And the name has been spoken aloud. Among some of our younger circles."
Hamza's expression darkened.
"Find which pantheons move first," Maymun ordered. "Track their Chosen. And should any speak of war upon the legacy of the dragon… we will not wait to be burned."
Council Construction site – Perimeter Planning Deck
Nicolas stood atop the half-constructed overlook, examining a spread of new schematics pinned to a glowing tabletop. The sanctuary was rising. Slower than he'd like, but rising all the same.
Below him, workers, human and Chosen alike moved stone, summoned barriers, and painted wards into the floor of the first bastion wall. Rings of divine containment. Runic sanctuaries. Even air filtration and shield plating stolen from fallen cities. A patchwork haven for the last of humanity.
Pete approached, two tablets in hand, sweat beading on his forehead.
"We've got new reports. Two of the recently constructed Chosen cities burned last night, Klamath Falls and Silverwood. Cyclopean forces. Some kind of war-born variant. Fought a group of demons near the Cascades before pushing east."
"Giants?" Nicolas asked, scanning the first tablet.
"Twenty feet tall. Divine essence. Same ones Olympus used during the siege of Persia. They're not friendly to anyone now."
Nicolas didn't look up. "How close are they to the Temple?"
"Less than two days."
Nicolas passed the tablet back. "Send the last of our mobile Chosen. Prioritize elemental types. If they can't kill it, they buy time. No civilians fall if we can help it."
Pete nodded grimly, then paused. "And Mike?"
"Still gone," Nicolas said. "Or changed. Or both."
Before Pete could answer, a vortexshimmered near the edge of the overlook. A portal of woven starlight and shadow opened and through it stepped a tall figure, armor black as ink, veined with moonlight.
The Chosen of Nyx.
Behind them, a caravan followed, half mortals, half different craftsman and Chosen to help build Sanctuary. Great carts of etched obsidian, bundles of star-thread, carved idols, mobile forges and summoning frames.
"You told me you're building a sanctuary," the Nyx Chosen said.
Pete blinked. "You brought a city."
"Nyx intends to see mortals survive," the Chosen replied. "You'll have walls by dawn. And a tower by dusk."
Nicolas let out a long breath.
"Then let's give the gods something worth fearing."
The Underworld – Dusk Palace Steps
Mike stirred.
His hand pressed against cold stone. A dull ache rolled across his ribs, and the static hum of power still clung to his skin.
The steps behind him were empty.
The Hollow was closed.
But before him, the gates of the DuskPalace loomed unchanged. Silent. Waiting.
He rose slowly, muscles stiff, black veins still faintly visible beneath his arms, though now dormant. His eyes flickered with molten red, dimmer than before, but steady.
As he passed through the threshold, he felt the pressure return.
Inside, Hades stood beside the throne, facing him with the same cold, expressionless stare as before.
"You're awake."
Mike's jaw tightened. "How long?"
Hades didn't blink.
"One week. You've been unconscious on those steps for seven days. Dead weight. Radiating enough pressure to keep the ghosts outside from approaching."
Mike's eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you move me?"
"Why would I?" Hades said. "I am not your nurse. I am a host. You were rude company."
Behind the throne, Persephone stood, quiet and stiff. She didn't speak. Her hand slowly traced the scar across her pale neck, where once her head had been removed. It hadn't fully healed, there was a seam, faintly glowing with divine thread.
She didn't meet Mike's eyes.
Hades stepped aside, gesturing toward the far wall. There, a stairway spiraled upward into black. Each step shimmered faintly, woven from dusk and obsidian.
"That way," Hades said flatly. "The path back to the surface. Go."
Mike didn't move.
"What's waiting for me up there?"
Hades' voice remained neutral. "A broken world. Gods in revolt. A sanctuary rising from dust. Olympus calls for your execution. The Watchers hunt your allies. And a thousand dying mortals now look to the last dragon to save them."
Mike exhaled with a low growl.
He stepped past the throne.
Hades didn't stop him.
But as Mike ascended, the god called once more behind him.
"Little Kur…"
Mike paused at the first step.
"Do not forget: you are not yet whole. And the gods will not give you time to become so."
Mike didn't answer.
He ascended in silence.