The music in the room boomed, bass vibrating through the floorboards as a few reckless people in the corner edged closer to starting an argument. Voices rose. Chairs scraped. It nearly tipped into a fight over who was paying for the drinks before a larger man, just under one meter eighty, stepped between them and forced space where there was none. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. The tension broke, grumbling replacing shouts.
All the while, the owner of the establishment stood, or rather lay, sprawled across the counter. His head rested between his arms as he snored openly, oblivious to the noise, the music, and the brewing chaos around him. A bottle beside his elbow slowly rolled, tipped over the edge of the wood, and dropped onto the rug beneath his feet. It didn't shatter. It barely made a sound.
As the instrumental of one of the songs pushed toward its climax, the front door swung open.
The room shifted instantly.
James stepped inside.
The so-called "True Dictator" of Menystria walked straight through the pub, the title not entirely undeserved given how rigidly he enforced order. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the most intoxicated patrons straightened in their chairs, suddenly aware of gravity, rules, and the void waiting just outside the island. No one wanted to be noticed. No one wanted to be wrong.
James didn't slow. He didn't acknowledge anyone. Escorts leaned back instinctively, cutting off their magic and charm work as if the air itself had turned hostile. Eyes followed him as he crossed the room, boots striking the floor with deliberate weight.
He stopped at the counter.
Without a word, James reached out, grabbed a fistful of black curls, and yanked the owner's head up from the wood. Irritation burned behind the sunglasses on his face, sharp enough to be felt even without seeing his eyes.
The owner groaned, wincing as his hair was pulled. His brown eyes widened for half a second as recognition hit, then softened. He relaxed almost immediately. He lifted one arm in a lazy wave, yawning wide as he shifted upright, leaning against the counter instead of lying on it.
"Damn," he muttered, smirk creeping onto his face. "You always show up when I'm asleep. Or on break."
He ran his free hand through his hair and looked up at James, unfazed.
James scoffed. He glanced around the bar, taking in the mess, the people, the atmosphere, then sat down on the stool opposite the counter. He didn't touch the wood, hovering just enough to make the point clear.
"This place opened today," James said coldly. "And you're already slacking."
He tilted his head slightly toward Jasper.
"You're supposed to be my son," he continued. "Not a lazy pub owner."
Jasper let out a long sigh, rubbing his face as he leaned back against the counter.
"Cut me some slack," he said. "There's no war breaking out like you planned. You're sitting up there acting like some high and mighty weasel, but you're not doing much either." He glanced around the pub. "For all we know, we're the only 'nation' left after the curse hit. Especially after that whole mess in Switzerland."
James huffed at the sudden jab, unmoved.
"Calm down," he replied. "I still have civilians to take care of. Shade or not, they're alive, and they pay their dues." His voice stayed even. "War or no war, I rule over order and law here. That doesn't disappear just because things are quiet. I have responsibilities beyond babysitting you and the other two."
Jasper straightened with another sigh. He reached behind him toward a wide shelf lit by white neon strips and cluttered with colorful stickers, fingers closing around a bottle of whiskey. He popped it open and dropped back onto the stool, taking a slow sip.
James glanced at the bottle. "You may own the place," he said, "but you're still underage. It's illegal to drink something that strong. Apocalypse or not."
Jasper groaned. "Shut it."
He took another sip, then slid the bottle across the polished wood toward James. James eyed it for a moment before picking it up. He wiped the mouth with his sleeve, gently swirled the liquid inside, and held it up to the light. His orange, sunset-colored eyes tracked the movement before he took the smallest sip imaginable.
Jasper watched, unimpressed.
"What," he asked, "not good enough for the god of prestige and five-star hotels?"
"It's adequate," James replied. "Could use more sweetness."
Jasper clicked his tongue. He pulled a toothpick from somewhere unseen and worked it between his teeth for a moment. Then, without warning, he flicked it forward. It struck James squarely on the forehead.
"If this place is 'adequate,'" Jasper said flatly, "go find something better in your citadel."
James groaned as the toothpick slid down and landed in his lap. His hand moved to the side, fingers spreading as the air around him heated instantly. The temperature spiked enough that even Jasper felt it across the counter, a dry, suffocating warmth pressing against his skin. James's palm stayed open, poised to summon the volcanic hammer, his posture tight and coiled.
Jasper's instincts kicked in. His hand dropped below the bar, fingers brushing the hilt of the katana hidden there, already preparing to bolt if needed.
Then James exhaled.
The heat bled away. He rubbed his temple with the same hand that had been ready to call destruction down on the bar, shoulders slumping as he leaned forward against the counter instead.
Jasper relaxed visibly, tension draining from him. Seeing James loosen up, even slightly, was a relief. Stress or not, it beat watching his dream building get turned into rubble over a toothpick and a bad mood. He reached for a beer bottle sitting nearby, popped it open against the edge of the wood, and took several quick gulps, draining nearly half of it. His eyes flicked briefly to the whiskey still in James's hand before he looked away, deciding it wasn't worth pushing his luck.
James sighed again. He lowered his hand, adjusted his shades so they wouldn't slip, covering his orange eyes once more. He looked across the counter at Jasper, beer bottle in hand.
"I failed as a father," James said flatly.
Jasper laughed. "Yeah. You did."
James didn't bristle.
"You were more of a general than a father," Jasper continued. "But at least it was interesting. Beats what I dealt with in the camp before I ended up in those mountains."
James actually smiled. It was brief, restrained, but real. He lifted the glass again and took a larger sip this time. The whiskey was sharp, smoky, a little bitter on the tongue. Not refined. Not clean. But it warmed his throat and settled heavy in his chest. Nothing like what was kept in the citadel, but acceptable.
More than that, the company mattered.
He rarely left the citadel unless it was official business or someone had crossed a line. Sitting here, sharing a drink with someone he trusted, felt strangely grounding.
Jasper clinked his bottle lightly against James's glass before he could drink again.
"Glory to no work," Jasper said, "and having no interests other than drinking."
James tilted his glass in acknowledgment, then they both drank.
After a moment, Jasper set his bottle down and looked at him more seriously.
"So," he said, "why did you actually come here today?"
James answered after swallowing the liquid, setting the glass down with a quiet tap.
"I came to see what task Evodil gave you," he said. "I don't really see what someone like you could contribute to this." His tone stayed even. "You're human. Trained by gods, raised around them, but still human. Owning a pub isn't the same as owning a factory. You don't exactly produce anything."
Jasper raised an eyebrow. "You calling me useless?"
He scoffed, leaning back slightly. "I wasn't given anything special to do. Just keeping civilians away from the citadel. And away from Evodil's manor." He gestured vaguely around the room. "Turns out it's not hard. After the grand opening, people just come here to drink and talk. Keeps them busy. Keeps them away."
He took another sip of his beer.
"Especially now," Jasper continued, "after Noah found more survivors outside Menystria. We've got more people than we ever thought we would. Some of them are even living up on the floating islands with the shades."
James nodded once, unsurprised. It was simple. Effective. One of the few things Jasper could do for Evodil right now.
"I heard noise coming from the manor when I passed by," James said. "Whatever he's building, it sounds close to finished." He glanced at the whiskey. "I thought about checking. Didn't bother. If he has a plan, it'll be done soon enough."
Jasper watched him for a moment, then asked quietly, "Do you actually think this Azraem guy is real?"
James didn't answer immediately.
"Or," Jasper continued, "do you think Evodil finally lost whatever sanity he had left and we're all just playing along with it?"
James went still. Only for a moment.
"He wouldn't change like this for nothing," James said. "Not that drastically. I haven't seen what he has. I haven't felt it. But whatever he did see, whatever he went through, it was real."
His voice stayed firm.
"And I trust that."
Jasper stared at James for a long moment, not even breathing. The words seemed to settle wrong in his head, cracking something loose. He looked at him like he wasn't his father anymore, not the same man who nearly reduced his pub to rubble over a toothpick, but a cheaper copy wearing the same face.
Then he inhaled slowly.
The smirk returned.
He clapped once. Then again. Slow. Deliberate. Mocking.
"Never thought I'd live to see the day," Jasper said, "that James actually trusted Evodil with anything other than not trusting him."
James sighed, long and tired, and chose not to respond. He took another swig of the whiskey and let his gaze drift across the pub. The place buzzed with life again, music pulsing through the air as conversations overlapped. Men leaned too close to women who were already measuring their wallets. Arguments sparked over the state of the world, loud and pointless. Tables were littered with empty bottles that would end up in a bin no one bothered to empty later.
Jasper followed his stare, then snapped his fingers sharply in front of James's face.
"So what now?" he asked. "We haven't even checked on the others. Or Evodil. Maybe we should actually go out there and see if they died of boredom."
James reacted instantly. He grabbed Jasper's wrist mid-snap and shoved it aside with a groan. He finished the last sip of whiskey, then flicked the glass cleanly into a nearby trashcan without looking.
Perfect shot.
Jasper whistled. "Style points. But that was still half full."
"Spoiled brats don't get whiskey," James replied.
James stood up from the stool first, brushing imaginary dust from his navy suit as he scoffed. The smell of smoke, whiskey, and something faintly chemical clung to the air, and he was visibly relieved to leave it behind. He slid his shades up briefly, straightened his tie, adjusted his sleeves, then looked back at Jasper.
Jasper was taking his time. He swung himself over the bar lazily, buckling his belt as he moved, then reached for his katana. He strapped it onto his left hip, the sheath secured through the belt. The polished black marble of it was chipped in places, worn from use, though the blade itself had never relied on sharpness to be dangerous.
Jasper caught James staring.
"You're looking at me now instead of the bar," he said. "Careful. You might like this place more than you think."
James rolled his eyes. "I'm looking at you because you're too slow," he replied. "You own this building. You should be ready to leave it at a moment's notice, not dragging your feet like you're on vacation."
Jasper stretched exaggeratedly and followed him toward the door, briefly wondering who was supposed to watch the bar. The thought passed just as quickly. No one was stupid enough to cause trouble here. Not with his name attached to it.
James didn't look back. He had no interest in staying a second longer than necessary.
They stepped out into the street, the wooden door swinging shut behind them, its orange-tinted window dimming the light from inside. Jasper yawned deeply, taking in the outside air.
"Smells worse without a drink," he muttered.
James scoffed as they turned into a narrow alley connecting the pub to the shade city, the floating island leading toward the citadel looming nearby.
"Not everything needs to be enjoyed with beer," James said, "and lung cancer."
Jasper let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
"You know," he said, "you really should enjoy yourself once in a while. What are you now? fifteen billion years old? Oldest of the three gods and you still rot alone in a tower like some fairy-tale princess. All you're missing is a prince charming to slay the dragon called depression and workaholism."
James' eyebrow twitched.
The air around him heated sharply, a dry pressure rolling outward. Jasper immediately slowed his steps, lifting both hands in surrender.
"Whoa, hey, joke," Jasper said quickly. "Just joking. Calm down."
James stopped, turning his head just enough to fix him with a murderous glare.
"Keep talking," James said, "and you'll find out whether I beat you unconscious or throw you off the island."
Jasper swallowed, then gave an awkward grin.
"Noted."
James turned away and resumed walking, clearly choosing restraint over violence.
They moved through the shade city, passing rows of buildings lit by soft lamps and floating signage. A music store hummed faintly inside. A bakery still smelled warm despite the late hour. Grocery stores and corner shops lined the street—some abandoned, others occupied by shades drifting quietly between aisles, and only a few with living people inside.
Menystria felt like a city now.
Not a sanctuary. Not a boundary. Just a place where beings existed together. Squishier ones, sturdier ones, none of them immune to dying tomorrow.
They passed a lamppost with a worn bench beneath it. Jasper slowed, glancing at it.
"That's where I met Ethan," Jasper said. "First time. Thought he was one of Evodil's new spies or something insane like that. Pulled a gun on him."
James glanced at the bench, then back at Jasper.
"I've heard the story," James said. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Did you flirt with him then too?"
Jasper stopped dead.
His jaw hung open for a second, words failing him entirely.
James huffed.
"Figures," he said. "I won't cover for you this time. If Ethan ever tells Evodil, that's your problem."
Jasper shivered.
"Yeah," he muttered. "That's… fair."
They continued walking, the city gates coming into view ahead of them. Beyond it stretched the bridge leading upward, toward the Citadel, suspended over the void like a quiet promise—or a threat waiting to be fulfilled.