Chapter Text
The city had long since learned not to question the sound of distant collapse.
Stone gave way often beneath the rule of the gods. Temples rose where homes once stood, statues replaced gardens, and entire districts disappeared beneath marble and sacred decree. Destruction, when sanctioned by higher hands, became indistinguishable from holiness. The people understood this well enough. They lowered their heads when walls trembled. They thanked the heavens when smoke climbed into the sky.
Yet there remained a particular kind of ruin that unsettled them still.
Not war.
Not storms.
Not divine punishment.
Something quieter.
Intentional.
The old watchtower near the southern cliffs had stood abandoned for decades, though abandoned things rarely remained truly empty for long. Vines had devoured its lower stones. Salt winds carved pale fractures into the pillars. Fishermen tied scraps of cloth near its entrance for luck during harsh tides, and children whispered that winged spirits nested somewhere within its upper chambers. No priest had claimed the structure. No god had marked it sacred. It simply lingered there above the sea, rotting with age and irrelevance.
By dawn, half of it was gone.
The tower’s upper spine had collapsed inward with surgical precision, broken not by weather nor erosion, but by deliberate force. Great slabs of stone lay scattered across the cliffside like the remains of some titanic skeleton. Dust still drifted through the morning air in slow, ghostly curtains.
And standing amidst the ruin was a lone figure clothed in dark linen robes.
Still silent.
Their hood concealed most of their face beneath heavy shadow, though now and then the fabric shifted with the wind, revealing brief impressions rather than features. Too many eyes glimmered faintly beneath the dark. Not enough to be seen clearly. Just enough for the mind to question itself afterward.
Taph stood among the wreckage with soot staining their hands.
The destruction had not been reckless. That much was obvious.
Certain columns remained untouched to prevent the entire structure from sliding into the sea. Supporting walls had been weakened in careful sequence. Even the fallen debris had settled inward rather than outward, preserving the narrow pathways below the cliffs.
It was demolition performed with reverence.
Their gloved fingers brushed along a cracked stone surface blackened by fire. Slowly, almost thoughtfully, Taph crouched beside the remains of a fractured support beam and examined the damage with visible concentration. Loose embers glowed within the split wood like dying stars.
A small motion followed.
The slightest tilt of their head.
Satisfaction.
No smile accompanied it. Taph rarely smiled. Yet something in their posture eased, some hidden tension unwinding beneath layers of cloth and silence. The flames reflected faintly across the hidden shapes beneath their hood.
Beautiful.
The thought passed through them soundlessly, as all thoughts did.
Beautiful how stone surrendered under pressure, how fire consumed without hesitation, how one precise fracture could bring something ancient to its knees.
Far below the cliffs, the sea hurled itself endlessly against the rocks. Taph listened to it while rising once more to their feet. Their robes shifted softly against the ash-covered ground, exposing for only a fleeting moment the smaller pair of wings resting near the lower part of their back. Thin. Dark. Folded tightly inward like hidden scars.
They adjusted the cloak immediately.
Not from shame. Habit.
The morning air smelled of seawater, smoke, and pulverized stone. Taph inhaled deeply through it all. The scent lingered warmly in their lungs. Somewhere within the rubble, weakened supports finally surrendered with a heavy crack, sending another section of the tower collapsing inward upon itself.
This time, unmistakably, Taph smiled.
It remained small. Brief, almost solemn. Yet there was unmistakable affection within it.
Others found comfort in hymns, offerings, soft candlelight, or the polished serenity of temple walls. Taph had searched for such feelings once and found nothing waiting there for them. No divine warmth ever answered their kneeling form. No revelation descended from the heavens. Even surrounded by sacred marble and golden statues, silence always lingered at the edge of every prayer.
But here—
Here, within heat and collapse and roaring fractures of stone—
Something inside them felt understood.
Their hands moved carefully beneath the folds of their robe until they retrieved a small wax tablet hanging from a cord at their waist. The stylus scratched quietly across its surface.
FOR THE GODS OF LIFE AND ORDER. THE LAND MUST BE CLEANSED OF DECAY.
The words remained there only briefly before Taph stared at them for a long while. Then, slowly, their thumb dragged across the wax until the message disappeared completely.
The wind sharpened.
Clouds drifted over the morning sun, casting the ruined tower into deeper shadow. Taph looked upward instinctively, toward the distant silhouette of the upper city resting far beyond the cliffs. White temples crowned its hillsides like watching eyes. Somewhere beyond those marble walls stood the sanctuaries devoted to Builderman and Telamon, radiant beneath gold and incense.
Untouched. Untouchable.
Taph lowered their gaze again.
A strange weariness settled over them then, though it did not last long. It never lasted long. Motion always cured it. Purpose always cured it. There were countless structures across the kingdom that remained forgotten, corrupted, wasteful, improperly placed. Entire districts swallowed by neglect while priests spoke endlessly of harmony and divine balance.
Taph could fix them, not through prayer, but through ruin. Another gust swept through the remains of the tower, carrying ash into the open sky - And somewhere far beyond the sea, too distant to be heard by mortal ears, thunder rolled beneath a clear and cloudless horizon.
The Temple of Life stood above the rest of the city like something untouched by time.
Its marble steps stretched endlessly upward beneath the pale glow of morning, washed clean each dawn by attendants carrying silver basins of perfumed water. No soot lingered there. No cracks survived long enough to deepen. Even the wind seemed gentler around the sanctuary, softened by gardens blooming along the outer walls in impossible abundance. Ivy climbed the pillars without choking them. White flowers opened toward the sun as though worship itself had rooted within the soil.
Taph ascended the stairs in silence.
They always did.
The guards recognized the dark robes immediately and stepped aside without question, though neither offered greeting. Taph lowered their hood slightly as they passed between the great bronze doors, revealing only the lower half of their face before slipping once more into shadow.
Inside, incense drifted heavily through the temple halls.
Soft music echoed somewhere deeper within the sanctuary. Strings. Harps perhaps. The sound blended with distant prayers until individual voices disappeared into one continuous murmur beneath the vaulted ceilings. Gold-threaded banners hung from marble beams overhead, embroidered with scenes of flourishing cities, harvests, children lifted toward divine light.
Builderman watched over all of it from countless statues.
Some depicted him seated upon a throne of vines and stone. Others portrayed him with open hands extended toward mortals below. In every carving, every mural, every polished likeness, there remained the same expression: patient warmth. Eternal understanding. The face of a god beloved without effort.
Taph paused before the largest statue near the center of the temple.
Builderman’s stone eyes gazed eternally downward.
Then, after a moment’s hesitation, they added another line beneath it.
Awaiting further instruction.
Taph stared at the sentence for several quiet seconds before approaching the inner chambers.
Servants moved around them without interruption. Priests crossed the halls carrying scrolls and bowls of oil. None seemed particularly surprised by Taph’s presence anymore. They had become part of the temple’s rhythm over the years, like candle smoke or distant bells. Strange perhaps, but familiar enough to ignore.
That familiarity unsettled Taph more with each passing day.
At the far end of the sanctuary, sunlight poured through high arching windows and illuminated the elevated garden where Builderman often received petitions. Vines curled around white pillars. Water flowed through narrow channels carved directly into the marble floor, filling the chamber with soft, continuous sound.
And there he stood.
Builderman.
Not as stone.
Not painted in gold.
Divine presence filled the space around him so naturally it scarcely seemed deliberate. Light gathered along the edges of his robes. Tiny flowering vines curled near his feet wherever he stepped. Several mortals knelt nearby awaiting blessings or guidance, though none dared approach too closely.
Taph remained still near the entrance.
Waiting.
Builderman noticed them almost immediately.
He always did.
A small smile crossed the god’s face as he dismissed the last petitioner with a gentle touch against their shoulder. The mortal left trembling with gratitude.
Then Builderman turned toward Taph.
“There you are again.”
The words carried no annoyance. Only mild familiarity.
Taph stepped forward quickly and lowered themselves into a kneel, head bowed beneath the hood. Their wings remained hidden beneath layers of dark cloth, folded tightly against their body. One gloved hand extended the wax tablet upward in offering.
Builderman accepted it carefully.
His eyes scanned the report in silence.
For a moment, hope flickered painfully alive inside Taph’s chest.
Perhaps this time—
“You’ve been busy.”
Warm approval. Taph lifted their gaze slightly.
Builderman continued reading.
“The southern cliffs have needed clearing for years now.” A soft exhale left him, almost amused. “Though I imagine the council would prefer less… dramatic methods.”
Taph remained motionless.
Builderman looked toward them again, his expression unchanged.
“You work very hard.”
Something inside Taph tightened desperately at the words. Their fingers curled slightly against the marble floor.
The god noticed.
And smiled again. Kindly. Always kindly.
“But there is no need for further action right now.”
The sentence landed with quiet finality.
Taph stared upward.
Builderman returned the wax tablet.
“The cities are stable. The harvest routes have been restored. You should rest for a while.”
Rest.
The word echoed strangely within Taph’s mind.
Builderman stepped closer then, placing a hand briefly atop their hooded head in a gesture almost paternal. Warmth spread faintly through the fabric.
“You’ve done enough.”
Enough?...
Taph lowered their eyes immediately.
Their hands moved instinctively toward the tablet. The stylus pressed hard enough to nearly crack the wax beneath it.
IS THERE NOTHING ELSE?
Builderman read the question.
Something softer entered his expression then. Pity perhaps. Or concern.
“There will always be work someday,” he replied. “But devotion is not measured through exhaustion.”
Taph’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Builderman did not seem to notice.
“You should spend time among the city for now. Eat properly. Sleep.” A faint chuckle escaped him. “You appear as though you spend more nights beside ruins than beneath a roof.”
Another gentle remark.
Another effortless kindness.
Yet every word only deepened the hollow sensation spreading beneath Taph’s ribs.
Builderman handed back the tablet.
Then, almost absentmindedly, his attention drifted elsewhere. Another attendant approached with questions regarding upcoming ceremonies. The god turned naturally toward them, sunlight catching along gold woven into his sleeves.
The conversation was over.
Taph remained kneeling a moment longer.
Waiting.
Surely there would be one final instruction.
One request.
One task.
Builderman did not look back again.
At last, slowly, Taph rose to their feet.
The movement felt strangely heavy.
Around them, the temple continued breathing with effortless life. Worshippers whispered prayers. Water flowed through marble channels. Incense smoke curled lazily toward painted ceilings overhead.
Everything remained beautiful, untouched.
And suddenly, unbearably distant. Taph exited the sanctuary without sound.
Outside, the city blazed beneath afternoon sunlight. Crowds moved through the streets below the temple steps in endless motion, merchants calling from painted stalls while distant bells rang somewhere near the western districts.
Taph barely saw any of it.
Their mind lingered only upon those final words.
You’ve done enough.
The phrase repeated itself relentlessly as they descended the marble stairway.
Enough.
Enough meant stop, meant unnecessary, meant there was no place waiting for them today within those sacred halls.
Their gloved hand tightened around the wax tablet.
By the time they reached the lower streets, hairline fractures had formed across its surface from the pressure alone.
The city suddenly felt too narrow around them.
Too orderly. Too still.
For several long moments Taph wandered aimlessly through crowded roads without direction. The sounds of daily life blurred together into meaningless noise. Their hood remained lowered deeply over their face despite the heat, shadows concealing the faint gleam of hidden eyes beneath the fabric.
Taph slowed. The travelers continued on without noticing the hooded figure standing motionless nearby.
Far beyond the city.Abandoned.Rotting. A temple left to decay.
Slowly, Taph’s fingers loosened around the fractured wax tablet - And somewhere deep beneath the ache inside their chest, something stirred again. Not comfort. Not peace, but purpose.
Taph departed before dawn fully touched the city.
The temple bells still echoed faintly behind them as they crossed through the outer gates with little more than a weather-worn satchel hanging at their side and layers of dark cloth wrapped tightly against the cold morning air. The guards barely acknowledged their passing anymore. One merely glanced toward the familiar hood and stepped aside without question.
Beyond the walls, the roads stretched into barren hills and cedar forests where fewer travelers dared wander willingly. Ancient stone markers rested half-swallowed by moss along the path, their inscriptions eroded beyond meaning. Taph preferred places like these. Forgotten places rarely demanded anything from them.
They traveled for hours without pause.
Dust gathered along the hems of their robes while the wind pulled endlessly against the fabric concealing their face. Beneath those layers, faint magenta glimmers flickered now and then in the darkness of the hood, hidden as quickly as they appeared.
By evening, the land had changed entirely.
The fertile valleys surrounding the city gave way to steep cliffs overlooking the sea, and there, far beyond the winding path ahead, stood the abandoned temple of Telamon. Even from a distance, the structure looked wounded. Several pillars had collapsed long ago. Parts of the roof had caved inward beneath decades of neglect, and vines strangled the marble walls so completely they resembled veins creeping across old flesh.
Taph stopped walking.
The sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon, staining the sea below in shades of crimson and molten gold. After a moment, they climbed a nearby ridge overlooking the western cliffs and lowered themselves carefully against the cold stone.
Silence settled around them.
Not the silence of temples, filled with hushed prayers and reverence. This silence felt older. Vast. Endless.
The wind moved gently through their robes as Taph watched the dying sunlight spill across the ocean. Clouds stretched thinly overhead, their edges glowing briefly before sinking into bruised shades of violet.
Beautiful.
The thought came instinctively.
Sunsets always reminded Taph of destruction. Not the violence itself, but the moment afterward. The strange quiet that followed collapse. The final breath before something vanished forever.
The gods of life adored beginnings. Growth. Creation. Marble halls flooded with warmth and song.
But endings felt honest.
Nothing lied while dying.
Stone either stood or shattered. Fire either spread or faded. There was purity in that simplicity, a truth that temples and prayers never seemed able to offer.
Slowly, Taph lowered their gaze toward their gloved hands.
A faint magenta glow pulsed beneath the fabric wrapped around their wrists.
Subspace tripmines.
Small crystalline devices rested hidden within their satchel and sleeves, dormant for now. Unstable magical constructs orbiting concentrated nuclei at their centers, each core glowing the same deep magenta as Taph’s concealed eyes. Tiny artificial stars waiting to collapse.
Builderman had never asked where they came from.
Perhaps he had never wished to know.
The thought lingered unpleasantly.
You’ve done enough.
Taph’s fingers tightened slightly.
The sentence had followed them the entire journey like an unwanted spirit. Enough. Such a simple word, and yet it hollowed something inside them every time it resurfaced.
If there was no more work to be done, then what remained for them?
Without purpose, the silence inside their chest became unbearable.
At last, the sun disappeared fully beyond the horizon.
Darkness swallowed the cliffs. Taph rose immediately.
The abandoned temple stood waiting ahead.
Night had settled completely by the time they reached the ruins. Up close, the sanctuary resembled a corpse left exposed too long to the elements. Cracks split the marble pathways, and fallen statues rested half-buried beneath ivy and rubble. Telamon’s likeness remained carved above the entrance archway, though erosion had nearly erased the god’s face entirely.
Taph stared at it for only a moment before beginning their work.
Their movements sharpened with sudden focus. Every trace of exhaustion vanished beneath careful precision as they crossed through the ruined halls placing subspace tripmines beneath weakened foundations and fractured support columns- One beneath the central staircase. Another hidden deep within the western corridor. A third positioned carefully near the remains of the sanctuary’s inner chamber.
Magenta lights flickered softly throughout the darkness.
Tiny waiting stars.
When the final device had been set, Taph stepped back into the outer courtyard and raised one gloved hand.
A sharp motion forward.
The first tripmine struck its nucleus.
The explosion shattered the night.
Violent magenta light erupted outward in a deafening wave, swallowing entire sections of the temple instantly. Marble pillars burst apart midair while fire roared through fractured halls in cascading bursts of violet flame. The second detonation followed almost immediately, then another, each collapse awakening the next until the entire sanctuary seemed to fold inward beneath storms of burning debris.
The mountains answered with thunderous echoes.
Taph stood motionless before the destruction.
Their robes whipped violently in the heated winds pouring from the ruins while reflections of magenta fire danced beneath the shadows of their hood. Stone collapsed beautifully. Not recklessly. Perfectly. Entire walls crumbled in glowing avalanches while ancient statues disappeared beneath smoke and ash.
And there, within the roar of collapsing marble and flame, the hollow ache inside Taph quieted once more.
For several long moments, they simply watched the temple burn.
Then something moved beyond the firelight.
Taph stilled immediately.
At the edge of the ruins stood a figure half-veiled by smoke and darkness, motionless against the distant cliffs. The flames illuminated only fragments of them at a time before shadows swallowed the shape again.
But they were unmistakably watching.
Not fearful and not horrified.
Watching with quiet fascination.
Slowly, the figure lifted one hand toward the collapsing sanctuary, almost thoughtful in the gesture.
Then came laughter And carried strangely through the wind.
Taph stood frozen before the burning remains of the temple, every muscle tightening beneath their robes as the realization settled heavily into their chest.
Someone had seen.
Not merely passing smoke in the distance. Not the aftermath discovered hours later by wandering travelers.
Seen.
Seen the tripmines.
Seen the collapse.
Seen them standing before the fire like some dark officiant conducting the ruin itself.
Panic rose sharp and immediate.
Their gaze snapped toward the silhouette at the edge of the cliffs, but thick smoke rolled between them for only a brief moment, and when the wind shifted again—
Nothing.
The figure was gone.
Taph’s breathing quickened instinctively.
No.
No, no—
Their mind raced violently through possibilities. A traveler. A priest. A messenger from Telamon’s sanctuaries. Anyone who carried word of this destruction back to the cities would raise questions Taph could not answer. Questions about the other ruins. The missing structures. The disappearances hidden beneath official reports and careful silence.
The thought of exposure hollowed something deep inside them.
Worse still came another thought, one so ugly it made their stomach twist beneath the panic.
The witness could not return alive.
Taph recoiled from the idea immediately.
Even imagining it felt monstrous.
Destruction had always been different. Controlled. Purposeful. Buildings, foundations, empty places abandoned by time. Never people. Never blood spilled by their own hands.
Yet the fear remained...If the witness spoke—
A branch cracked somewhere beyond the trees.
Taph spun instantly toward the sound.
The forest bordering the cliffs stretched dark and uneven beneath the firelit sky, shadows twisting between cedar trunks while embers drifted upward through the night air like dying stars. Without hesitation, Taph turned and disappeared into the woods.
The terrain descended sharply beneath tangled roots and loose stone. Branches scraped against their robes as they pushed deeper into the forest, the burning temple still visible through gaps between the trees behind them. Their heart hammered painfully fast now.
The silence of the woods should have concealed them, instead, footsteps echoed calmly somewhere nearby.
Taph stopped abruptly.
Nothing moved ahead of them except swaying branches.
Then a voice drifted through the darkness.
“You run strangely for someone who enjoys explosions that much.”
Taph whirled around.
The figure stood several paces behind them between the trees.
Closer now.
“You mortals panic so quickly.”
Firelight filtered weakly through the forest, illuminating fragments of dark layered clothing and sharp pale features partially obscured beneath shifting shadows. There was something profoundly wrong about the stranger’s presence, though Taph could not explain why. The woods themselves seemed uneasy around them. The wind shifted strangely. Branches creaked without reason.
And their eyes—
Taph could not fully see them, yet something about them unsettled every instinct buried within their chest.
The stranger tilted their head slightly.
“Well?” they asked. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
Silence.
Taph remained perfectly still beneath the hood.
For a moment, irritation flickered across the stranger’s expression.
Then amusement replaced it almost immediately.
“…Right,” they murmured. “You don’t speak.”
The realization did not soften their tone in the slightest.
Instead they stepped forward with lazy arrogance, boots crunching against dead leaves while distant explosions still echoed faintly from the mountains behind them.
“I asked why you destroyed the temple.”
Taph instinctively took half a step backward.
The stranger noticed.
A grin tugged faintly at their mouth. “Oh, please.” Their voice dripped with irritation. “If I intended to expose you, you would already be kneeling before a tribunal explaining why Telamon’s precious ruin is currently decorating the mountainside. Though I admit,” they muttered, “I expected something more... larger...”
Taph’s eyes narrowed beneath the hood, but the stranger laughed softly at the reaction.
“There it is.” Their voice sharpened with interest. “You care when someone insults your work.”
Taph’s gloved hand tightened instinctively near the hidden tripmines beneath their sleeve.
“You were actually considering it.” They stepped closer, voice lowering into something sharp and dangerous. “How adorable.”
Taph froze.
The stranger tilted their head slightly, studying them now with open contempt.
“You know,” they continued, “most mortals at least attempt to hide the moment they realize murder has crossed their minds.”
Another step forward.
Taph could finally see their face more clearly now, though the shifting shadows still distorted parts of it strangely. Their expression carried the kind of arrogance only divinity or madness could wear naturally.
Perhaps both.
“And you would’ve failed,” the stranger added casually. “Spectacularly.”
Magenta light pulsed faintly beneath Taph’s sleeve.
The stranger’s eyes flicked toward it.
Then narrowed.
“Do not point those pathetic little stars at me!”
The forest fell still around them.
Taph slowly lowered their hand.
Another smile crossed the stranger’s face, pleased now.
“There. Better.”
They turned slightly then, glancing once more toward the distant flames devouring what remained of Telamon’s sanctuary.
“Though honestly,” they continued casually, “you did the world a favor.”
...what?
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Irritation sharpened visibly across their expression now. “That sanctuary was rotting long before you touched it. He abandoned the place centuries ago.”
Their lip curled faintly.
“As he abandons everything once it stops worshipping him beautifully enough.”
A pulse of discomfort moved sharply through Taph’s chest... Not whispered bitterness from desperate mortals hidden in alleyways.
Open hatred.
Spoken freely beneath the night sky without fear of divine punishment.
The stranger continued before Taph could even process it fully.
“Telamon builds gardens over corpses and calls himself merciful.” Their voice had grown colder now. Older somehow. “Mortals adore him because he smiles while ignoring them.”
Something bitter flickered briefly across their face.
“He deserves far less than ruined temples.”
A pulse of discomfort shot through Taph immediately.
Blasphemy!!
Not bitterness whispered in hidden corners by desperate mortals, but direct hatred spoken aloud without hesitation or fear.
The stranger continued before Taph could even process it.
“He never deserved sanctuaries like that in the first place.” Their lip curled faintly. “Truthfully, he deserves very little at all.”
Shock rooted Taph in place.
Their hand moved instinctively toward the wax tablet hanging from their robes before stopping midway, fingers trembling slightly.
The stranger noticed that too. “You actually revere them.” Genuine disbelief entered their voice now, mingling strangely with mockery. “After all this?”
Taph said nothing.
Could say nothing.
Yet something in their silence seemed answer enough.
The stranger stared at them for a long moment beneath the dark canopy of trees while firelight flickered faintly across both their figures from the distant ruins beyond the forest.
The forest grew quieter the farther they traveled from the burning temple.
Eventually even the sound of collapsing stone disappeared behind the mountains, leaving only the low whisper of wind moving through cedar branches overhead. Smoke still lingered faintly in the air, clinging to Taph’s robes as they continued deeper into the wilderness without once looking back.
The stranger followed.
Not closely enough to touch, but also not distantly enough to ignore.
Always there.
Taph could hear their footsteps sometimes, though never consistently. One moment branches shifted somewhere behind them, the next there was only silence again before the figure reappeared several paces away as though distance meant very little to them.
It unsettled Taph more than the threats had.
Several times they considered turning toward another path entirely.
Each time the stranger followed anyway.
At some point during the journey, irritation replaced part of the fear.
The stranger seemed to notice that too.
“You glare loudly,” they remarked at one point from somewhere behind the trees.
Taph ignored them and continued walking. A soft scoff echoed through the darkness.
“Mortals are exhausting.”
Hours passed.
Night deepened around the forest until moonlight became the only thing guiding the narrow path ahead. Cold air drifted between the trees in slow waves, sharp enough now to creep through the layers of Taph’s robes. Their pace had slowed slightly, exhaustion finally beginning to settle into their movements after the long journey and the destruction at the temple.
The stranger, meanwhile, appeared entirely unaffected.
No uneven breathing. No visible exhaustion. Not even discomfort from the cold!
Eventually Taph stopped near a cluster of ruined stone half-swallowed by moss and roots. Perhaps the remains of some forgotten roadside shrine long abandoned by travelers and gods alike. Without acknowledging the stranger, they crouched beside the broken stones and began gathering fallen branches from the forest floor.
The figure watched silently.
Taph struck flint carefully against stone.
A small fire bloomed to life.
Orange light flickered softly across the ruins and surrounding trees, pushing back the darkness just enough to carve shadows across both their figures. Taph settled near the flames almost immediately, extending gloved hands toward the warmth without fully realizing it.
Across from them, the stranger remained standing.
Their eyes lingered on the fire with vague disinterest.
“You’re cold,” they observed flatly.
Taph glanced upward briefly.
The stranger tilted their head slightly, almost curious now.
“How inconvenient.”
Slowly, they lowered themselves onto a fallen piece of stone near the edge of the firelight, though notably farther from the flames than any normal person would sit. The warmth seemed meaningless to them.
Silence settled again.
The fire crackled softly between them while wind stirred the trees overhead. Taph kept their attention lowered toward the flames, though they remained painfully aware of the stranger watching them from across the firelight.
Studying them.
Eventually the stranger spoke again.
“What are you called?”
The question caught Taph slightly off guard.
For a moment they simply stared into the fire.
Then, slowly, they reached beneath their robes for the wax tablet hanging at their side. The stylus scratched quietly against its surface before they turned it outward.
TAPH.
The stranger leaned forward slightly to read it.
“Taph,” they repeated.
The name sounded strange in their voice. Not mocking this time. Merely thoughtful.
Silence followed.
Taph waited instinctively for the stranger to offer their own name in return.
Instead—
Nothing.
The figure simply leaned back again against the ruined stone, gaze drifting lazily toward the dark forest surrounding them as though the conversation had concluded naturally.
Taph blinked once beneath the hood. The silence stretched awkwardly.
Then the stranger frowned faintly, seeming to realize something several moments too late.
“…Right,” they muttered.
Their eyes flicked briefly toward Taph again.
“You may call me The Poisoned.”
The title rolled from their tongue casually, though something ancient lingered beneath it. Not a chosen name. Something inherited. Something spat by other mouths often enough to become permanent.
Taph lowered their gaze toward the fire once more.
The Poisoned watched them quietly for a while after that.
Then their attention shifted upward toward the heavy hood concealing nearly all of Taph’s face.
“You hide yourself constantly,” they said.
Taph stiffened slightly.
The Poisoned continued staring.
“That much fabric would irritate me to death.”
One gloved hand lifted faintly toward their own hood before stopping.
“Is there something beneath it you think I’ll find disappointing?”
Taph immediately shook their head once.
Fast and firm.
The Poisoned stared at them for another long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, they scoffed and looked away.
“Fine.”
No pushing.
As though they had asked purely because curiosity surfaced and vanished just as quickly.
The fire crackled softly between them.
Somewhere deeper within the forest, unseen creatures stirred among the trees while smoke from the ruined temple continued drifting faintly through the night air far behind them.
For the first time in years, Taph sat beside another presence without silence feeling entirely... empty.
At some point during the night, exhaustion finally claimed Taph.
Not suddenly.
The warmth of the fire dulled the sharp edges of their thoughts little by little until the crackling embers blurred softly together beneath heavy eyes. The Poisoned continued speaking occasionally from somewhere beyond the flames, though eventually even their voice became distant against the slow rhythm of wind through the trees.
Taph fell asleep sitting upright against the ruined stone.
When they awoke, dawn had already begun creeping through the forest.
The fire was dead.
Cold ash rested where the embers once glowed, thin trails of smoke still curling faintly into the pale morning air. Frost clung lightly to the surrounding grass and broken stones.
The Poisoned was gone.
Taph straightened immediately.
Their gaze searched the clearing in silence. No footprints lingered around the ruins. No movement stirred between the trees. It was as though the stranger had dissolved into the darkness itself the moment night ended.
Only one thing remained.
Near the edge of the firepit rested a small fragment of blackened marble from Telamon’s destroyed temple.
Split cleanly through the center.
Taph stared at it for several long moments before quietly looking away.
The journey back toward the city felt strangely longer.
Morning fog drifted through the mountain paths while distant gulls circled somewhere beyond the cliffs below. Taph traveled mostly in silence, though their thoughts refused to settle fully. Again and again, fragments of the previous night resurfaced.
The memory unsettled them more than the insults had.
By midday, they stopped beside a narrow river cutting through the hills. Clear water rushed over pale stones smoothed by centuries of movement, cold enough to sting against skin. Taph crouched carefully near the bank and removed one glove, dipping soot-stained fingers into the current.
Magenta reflections shimmered faintly beneath the water.
For a brief moment, they thought of the stranger’s eyes watching the fire.
Quickly, Taph submerged their entire hand instead.
The cold grounded them.
The river carried away ash, soot, and lingering warmth from the explosions until only pale scars and worn skin remained beneath the flowing water. Taph watched the current move around their fingers in silence before finally rising once more to continue the journey home.
By the time the city appeared again beyond the hills, dusk had begun settling across the marble towers.
The Temple of Life glowed warmly against the darkening sky.
Taph climbed the familiar steps quietly, exhaustion lingering heavily within their limbs now. Servants crossed the temple halls carrying lanterns while distant hymns echoed softly somewhere deeper within the sanctuary. Everything remained orderly. Beautiful. Untouched.
As though the world itself had not burned only a night before.
Taph lowered their hood slightly while moving through the corridors.
Then stopped.
Voices echoed from the inner garden.
One calm and reserved.
The other smooth enough to make something instinctively tighten inside Taph’s chest.
Builderman stood near the flowing marble channels of the sanctuary garden, hands folded neatly behind his back while golden light from hanging lanterns reflected softly across his robes. Across from him stood another figure entirely draped in pale layered fabric, their massive silhouette dominating the space around them effortlessly.
Six enormous wings rested folded behind their back.
Even lowered, they cast long shadows across the marble floor.
Telamon.
Unlike Builderman’s quiet warmth, Telamon carried beauty like a blade. Every movement appeared deliberate. Controlled. Their smile remained calm and elegant, yet something sharp lingered constantly beneath it, especially beneath the shadow cast by the hood partially concealing their face.
Builderman looked almost relieved when he noticed Taph entering the sanctuary.
Telamon noticed immediately afterward.
Sharp golden eyes slid toward the hooded mortal near the entrance.
“Well,” Telamon murmured smoothly, “there you are.”
Taph instinctively stiffened, they had not intended to interrupt.
Slowly, they lowered themselves into a respectful kneel. Telamon’s smile widened slightly.
“You always appear as though you’re preparing to flee.”
Builderman sighed softly beneath his breath at the remark but said nothing.
Taph lowered their gaze further.
The marble channels continued flowing quietly between the three of them while lanternlight flickered gently against the garden walls.
Then Telamon stepped closer.
“I have a task for you.”
Taph immediately looked upward.
The reaction drew visible amusement from Telamon.
“There’s unrest near the western territories,” the god continued casually. “Minor disturbances. Small structures. Supply routes. Nothing particularly important.”
Builderman’s expression shifted faintly at the wording.
Telamon ignored it.
“I would like several controlled explosions along the outer regions bordering the domain of the god of destruction.”
Taph blinked beneath the hood.
The god of destruction?
They could not recall ever hearing of such a deity spoken openly within the city temples.
Still—
A task.
Purpose flooded instantly back into Taph’s chest with almost painful intensity. Their hands tightened briefly around the wax tablet at their side before they nodded quickly without hesitation.
Telamon smiled.
“There’s the enthusiasm!”
Builderman looked toward Taph carefully then, something unreadable flickering briefly across his face, though he ultimately remained silent.
Taph rose almost immediately afterward, already preparing mentally for the journey ahead. Their exhaustion seemed to vanish beneath the simple relief of usefulness returning once more.
As they disappeared down the sanctuary halls, Telamon watched them leave with narrowed eyes.
Then softly laughed.
“What a strange little thing...”
Builderman rolled his eyes immediately.
“Must you speak about mortals that way?”
Telamon’s smile barely shifted.
“Oh, I’m fond of them.” Their gaze lingered toward the corridor where Taph had vanished moments earlier. “That one especially.”
Builderman remained unconvinced.
Telamon continued lightly, “Though they truly don’t belong anywhere, do they? Not among mortals. Not among priests. Not even among the gods they worship so desperately.”
Builderman crossed his arms.
“Taph cannot help the biology they were born with.”
A pause followed.
Then Telamon glanced sideways toward him beneath the shadow of those enormous wings.
“Biology,” they repeated softly.
The smile that followed sharpened slightly.
“You say that as though they belong to my specie, uh?”
Builderman said nothing, but Telamon’s eyes narrowed faintly with amusement.
“They resemble us in fragments only. Wings alone mean very little.” Their gaze drifted toward the distant temple halls again. “Whatever created Taph… it certainly was not one of mine.”
For a while, neither god spoke after Taph’s departure.
The inner garden remained quiet except for the gentle sound of water flowing through the marble channels beneath their feet. Lanternlight flickered softly across the vines climbing the pillars, casting long shifting shadows beneath Telamon’s enormous folded wings.
Builderman eventually sighed.
“You encourage them too much.”
Telamon smiled faintly at that.
“And you encourage them too little.”
Builderman opened his mouth to respond, but Telamon had already turned away, pacing slowly toward the edge of the sanctuary garden. The flowing fabric around their figure moved almost like drifting smoke behind them.
For a moment, their expression remained calm.
Then something shifted.
Subtle at first.
Their eyes narrowed slightly toward the distant horizon beyond the temple walls.
“When was the last report from the northern sanctuaries?” they asked suddenly.
Builderman frowned faintly at the abrupt change in subject.
“Several days ago, I believe.”
Telamon said nothing immediately.
One of their massive wings twitched once behind them, slow and tense.
“The old temples are disappearing.”
Builderman looked toward them carefully now.
Telamon’s voice remained smooth, but the warmth inside it had vanished completely.
“Not collapsing naturally. Not abandoned by worshippers.” Their gaze darkened faintly beneath the shadow of the hood. “Destroyed.”
The word lingered heavily within the quiet garden.
Builderman crossed his arms.
“I assumed the landslides were responsible.”
Telamon laughed softly.
Coldly.
“No.” Their eyes sharpened. “Landslides do not leave magenta fire burning across stone.”
The atmosphere shifted almost instantly.
Even the garden itself seemed quieter now.
Telamon slowly turned back toward Builderman, and for the first time since arriving at the sanctuary, their smile looked genuinely unpleasant.
“She’s been seen near my territories.”
Builderman’s expression tightened immediately.
Telamon continued before he could respond.
“Villages whisper about a shadow walking beside ruined sanctuaries. Priests speak of strange laughter in the mountains.” One hand flexed slowly at their side. “And now another temple falls.”
Builderman’s voice lowered carefully.
“You believe it’s 1x1x1x1.”
At the name, something dangerous flickered visibly across Telamon’s face.
Not fear exactly.
Something older.
Sharper.
Hatred worn smooth with time.
“That creature poisons everything they touch,” Telamon said quietly.
Gone was the effortless elegance from before. The amusement. The casual arrogance. Now every word carried restrained venom beneath it.
“Their very existence is corruption.” Their wings shifted slightly behind them, shadows stretching long across the marble floor. “Rot. Violence. Chaos crawling endlessly toward things it was never meant to reach.”
Builderman watched silently.
Telamon rarely spoke about 1x openly.
When they did, the entire mood of a room changed.
“They destroy forgotten sanctuaries first,” Telamon continued. “The weak ones. The abandoned ones. Places easier for mortals to dismiss.” Their eyes narrowed. “But every temple carries devotion. Memory. Power.”
A bitter scoff escaped them.
“And despite what lesser beings love imagining, gods are not untouched when worship disappears.”
Builderman studied them quietly.
Telamon noticed immediately.
“Oh, don’t look so concerned.” Their smile returned faintly, though it remained edged with irritation now. “I am hardly weakened.”
Yet even saying it seemed to irritate them further.
The god’s gaze drifted briefly toward the distant temple halls where Taph had disappeared moments earlier.
“Still…” Telamon murmured. “I would rather not allow that poisonous thing to continue wandering freely through my territories.”
Builderman’s expression darkened slightly.
“You speak as though they’re some mindless plague.”
Telamon looked back toward him slowly.
“Aren’t they?”
Silence settled heavily between the two gods.
Beyond the sanctuary walls, distant thunder rolled somewhere far across the mountains despite the cloudless sky overhead.