Act I Part 2 Chapter 1 – Sweet Revenge Morning

November of the Sainted Year (Second Civil Month)

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Sylia rose just an hour before dawn. She’d be late for the big day if she wasn’t careful. Today was Revenge Day. She couldn’t miss it.

The room had expanded again overnight, and as she looked around it, she smiled. Yes, last night had been wild. She might have overdone it. And it was entirely Tamren’s fault.

The man was now fast asleep, snuggled against one of her Divisions. She’d dumped him there just to slip out of bed herself. For now, he didn’t seem to realize the difference but he might soon. Sensitive bastard. Still, she smiled. She may have over-spoiled him. That was fine. He’d always amused her, and she did tease him a lot.

She sighed.

She needed to throw out all the sleeping men—and a few who were still awake, tangled up in bed with her Divisions. She regretted not having used more Time-Spells., but she’d been cautious. Masha and her Goddesses were always watching. And then there was Grenar or rather, the thing living inside Grenar’s body. That one might be particularly sensitive to Time changes.

She still had to order them breakfast and relocate them all to a house big enough to hold them—and there were over a dozen of them. Then she needed to check on her other boyfriends. And after that, she had to go make breakfast for the Slum kids, as promised. They knew she was leaving soon—first for a while, then for good. She’d given them that much assurance.

Maybe she’d stick around longer after all.

Tamren had made it very clear last night how desperate he was to keep her. She could at least stay long enough to grant him his wish. The children would be happy too. She was certain Mathias was going to purge the Slums in the most ruthless way. He wouldn’t have summoned two Pieces of himself if he hadn’t meant to go through with it.

Sending for Mathissizar, the Chipmuck, had been a nice touch. Julend and Kuschiel had been so surprised.

Sylia had been lucky to get a warning from her Source. They’d combined their Chipmuck Dark Dolls to go meet Mathissizar. Her Source had cackled, saying she knew he’d always loved that Doll. And suddenly, just like that, he had lost all interest in this place and gone off to play with the Doll instead. They went off to some dangerous planes crawling with Demons.

Sylia smiled. Mathissizar would probably be kept busy for a good while torturing the few Fallen Gods that lingered there. She didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. He had dropped by unannounced, after all and she already had enough on her plate.

Anyway, it was her mission. She wanted to take her time. With his powers, he’d likely make things too easy.

Now she only had to entertain the most dangerous Piece of Mathias: Matissio.

Matissio was usually a nightmare. Her Source had learned that firsthand. She had to be careful, or some of her boyfriends might leave her for him. That Division had that much charisma and charm. He was also far too flexible with gender preferences. Not that Sylia thought he stood a chance against her. He was still mostly uninterested in sex, even at his very advanced age. He grew bored of it quickly. Alarmingly so.

No, Matissio was more interested in play, or research, as he called it.

Sylia, on the other hand, like her Source, was committed to living life to the fullest, even if it brought danger.

Matissio? Never. He would never risk his own person.

Not all his Divisions were like that. It had always fascinated her Source how different they could be. He was truly as complex as she was simple.

***

That morning, several people across the Region had a harsh awakening. Some felt briefly reassured. Sylan Syrmundi was among the latter. He nearly leapt with joy when Grenar’s message arrived shortly before dawn. Everything had gone according to plan, Grenar claimed. Sylia would be extracted that very day.

Sylan silently thanked the Lords and Spirits. But his joy was short-lived. Within a few hours, word spread that the entire small army of Greesham the traitor had been wiped out—by just two people. The soldiers had been whispering about it in hushed tones ever since.

Inside the city walls, Dio Krevoski-Sigmund stretched out his back. It had been a long night. He was far too old for this. Every time their woman started acting out, things got wild. She always got too excited. He was glad his brother, Gyuntez Sigmund, hadn’t fared much better. The man looked utterly wrecked.

He couldn’t really blame him. Whenever Sylia started getting worked up, their bodies started giving out. Gyuntez must’ve had it the worst, being used to his dainty wives these days.

Gyuntez groaned, voice hoarse. “Has she gone mad? She created a Nights Semi-Enclave right in the middle of the city. This is Master Mathias’ territory!”

Guntaz chuckled. “What are you talking about? This was planned from the start. It’s good news for us. Well, maybe not for you, but it comes at just the right time. Dio’s kids need a hideout too. A few of them already used their powers. They can’t stay here long now.”

Dio sighed. “What about Syliamor? My granddaughter’s not exactly in Master Mathias’ good graces. Her father, Dreneckwan, already fell to Malevolence. And from what I’ve seen, she’s started acting out against Mathias himself. I love that girl, I do but if she keeps pushing like this, we may all be executed. The people she’s defying are far too powerful.”

Gyuntez stared at him, shocked. He never thought Dio would say something so heartless.

Dio frowned. “Don’t look at me like that, Gyuntez. Do you even know what my children and I have gone through? Maybe because the Division she was born from was unstable, and my son’s Malevolence was too high, she’s put us in danger more than once. She keeps losing control of her powers.”

Guntaz stepped in. “The decision’s already been made. She’ll be divided into five parts, and each one will be remade into a more stable person. If nothing is done, she’ll become a Source of Malevolence. One of the Dark Lord’s Crows will come to make the changes. You’ll be in charge of the least stable version—the one that most resembles her now. They want to test that part before deciding how to reconstruct it.”

Gyuntez snapped. “Have you lost your mind?”

Guntaz raised an eyebrow. “Have I? Do you really want a Malevolent Goddess running loose?”

Gyuntez staggered back. “What?”

Guntaz sighed. “I guess they made you forget. Unless it’s a side effect of those pacts you made. They’ll probably cut thousands of pieces from her before they even get to the Mortal part. And even that part will still be nearly as powerful as a Celestial. They’ll decide which fragments are salvageable as a simple Mortal. She’s not like us—not just a Mortal Soul.”

Gyuntez stared at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dio exhaled slowly. “I was surprised too, Gyuntez. Some of Sylia’s main Divisions give birth to children with a dual nature. What we see is only one part—the Mortal side. The main essence is born in the Spiritual World. Thankfully, that’s not true for most of her children. Some are only born here, and they’re weaker. But Syliamor… she’s strong enough to end half the world if she falls to Malevolence. The Gods won’t risk the entire Realm for one being already considered doomed.”

He looked at his brother, voice hardening. “You never understood their will. I didn’t either, not for a long time. Your kind of mercy and theirs are not the same. Yours would get us all killed. Theirs might save what’s left. You were always the type to play with fire and act surprised when it burned you. I gave that up long ago. I can’t walk that path again.”

Gyundon folded his arms. “Father, what should we do now? My wife was involved in the last scheme. She was manipulated by Grenek.”

Gyuntez paled. “What?”

Gyundon continued, calm but firm. “Grenek was doing Grenar’s dirty work again. He was captured yesterday. Sylia’s planning to salvage whatever she can from Grenar and the others whose souls have already been nearly devoured by the Gods. Half of yours is already gone which is why you can’t walk with us anymore. Father lost a large part too, but they’re trying to regenerate his. His case was circumstance. Yours was choice. Sylia’s given up on seeing the real you again. There’s just not enough of you left.”

Gyuntez’ voice dropped. “What the hell are you saying?”

Guntaz cut in. “There’s no use crying over the past. He’s happy now and he can spend the last years he has left with the woman he loves. If he strays, Gyundar and I will end him.”

Gyuntez looked at his brother, shaken. Guntaz wasn’t joking.

“How long do I have?” he murmured.

“It’s hard to say." Guntaz replied. “Sylia’s been trying to feed you Divine Mana compatible with your condition. But they couldn’t extract that Worm completely. If they had, it would’ve shattered your soul. They only managed to partially seal it. And honestly? I think Sylia’s tired of trying. You look at her like she’s a worm but you’re the actual worm. She has to destroy half the Divisions she sends you because they come back contaminated. I don’t think she’ll keep doing it much longer.”

***

Kuschiel and Julend were just glad Sylia had at least given them a decent breakfast. She’d ignored them the night before, but they’d expected that much. Still, they’d managed to spend most of the night dancing and messing around. Kuschiel could tell Julend was still frustrated, though.

“I have to meet my uncle soon." Kuschiel said, already planning how to escape. “We’re even supposed to have breakfast in that new sector he’ll be working from. I’ll pack some food. I don’t want to be too full when we sit down. What about you?”

“Don’t even talk to me about it." Julend grumbled. “I’ve got a double date. I have to see my fiancée first, then the one that woman arranged for me. First one probably just wants money, not sex.”

Kuschiel grimaced. “How the hell did you end up in that mess?”

Julend cursed under his breath. “Stupid pact with Tasha. I don’t mind screwing my girlfriend, but the other one? I might have to do something violent. She smells like rotten slime. I don’t know what the hell’s inside that body, but it’s bad. Really bad.”

Kuschiel sighed. He understood what that meant.

“Can’t you just avoid her?”

“Are you kidding? Mathias wants her bound to the Spiritus he stuck on me. That’s probably why Sylia’s been avoiding me too. Bet he stuck one on you as well.”

Kuschiel pressed his lips together. Julend wasn’t wrong.

Julend leaned back, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think that Chipmuck Lord was absolutely adorable? I nearly fell out of my chair when I heard he was related to Master Mathias.”

Kuschiel nodded slowly. “Yeah. He really was. And there’s not a single adorable thing about Master Mathias.”

“Is that so?” said a deep voice right behind them.

Both brothers jumped, instantly stiffening as they felt two invisible hands settle on their shoulders. They started trembling before even turning around.

Mathias Herves materialized with a wide, gleaming smile, staring not at them but at their almost untouched breakfast. With a casual wave of his hand, he rearranged the table and slid them around to face him. Then he helped himself to most of the food. What was left for them wouldn’t fill a squirrel.

Still smiling, he looked up at them. “So, what were you saying about me?”

Julend didn’t blink. “Nothing, sir. Please enjoy your breakfast. I need to get started on the tasks you gave me.”

Mathias tilted his head. “You were talking about my sibling Division. How adorable he is. While I, apparently, don’t have a single adorable bone in my body.”

Julend broke into a sweat and shook his head quickly, but Mathias just smiled deeper.

“No, go on. It’s true—we’re very different. He’s a Chipmuck, and I’m a Fire-Blood Chipmuck Knight. Still, we come from the same source. Just… different aspects. You know how Divisions are.”

Julend blinked.

Mathias nodded, thoughtful. “Some Divisions are built from the pieces we absorb. Others are built with some assistance. That one, my adorable sibling, was created with the power of two very powerful beings. They wanted a Division that looked like the Original. The latter prefers companions that complete him—not ones that copy him.”

Kuschiel stayed quiet, but Julend’s eyes were already wide.

“I burn things down." Mathias continued easily. “That one? He plays with bad Demons. And tortures Divine Beings.”

Julend suddenly felt like he didn’t want to know more but his brother leaned forward like a fool.

Mathias looked pleased. “The Demons adore him. Literally. They call him ‘Adorable’ too. It’s built into them. You either worship that Division… or you die. And they genuinely love the Creation-Blood Drinks he brews. I nearly forgot—he’s a major Demon Maker. Has whole races of his own. Some of them are so horrifying they strike fear into even the worst things.”

Julend swallowed hard and kept trembling.

“As for me,” Mathias added, now dabbing his mouth with one of their napkins, “I specialize in Angels. Dragons. Most Celestials, really.”

Kuschiel blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Mathias sighed. “I’ve always had trouble making tiny humans like you. It’s like asking someone who can conjure castles with a flick of a hand to start crafting little needles for intelligent chipmunks. Well… maybe not that bad. I speak from experience. Chester once found a bunch of them and asked me to make them needles so he could watch them knit him a sweater. By hand. Normal thread. Normal needles.”

He paused, then added with a dry smile. “Only later did I learn the chipmunks were actually Rage Demon Gods he’d trapped in those bodies. And the task was impossible on purpose.”

Julend swallowed hard.

“One of them still succeeded." Mathias went on, almost annoyed. “It got bloody after that. Even I thought Chester overdid it until I found out what those three had been up to. The worst part? Chester knew one of them would succeed. It was a trap. He just wanted to see which one would break first and admit guilt.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes distant. “The vain one gave himself up right away, thinking he’d get praise for it. Well, he didn’t get any praise but definitely got something.”

Julend and Kuschiel didn’t say a word. The sweat was already running down their backs. They both knew this was going to be a long, long morning.

***

Grenar Krevoski and his wife, Tasha Bimal, woke before dawn. The bath had already been drawn—hot, which was rare enough in the Slums—and this morning there were two bathtubs in the apartment. One of the bathtubs hadn’t even been there the night before. The other one they hadn’t used in weeks. Not since Sylia tempered with their apartment. This was just the kind of bath no one in this part of the city or in this family expected anymore. The couple didn’t ask questions. They got in.

When they emerged from their rooms, the table was already set with strange, unfamiliar food. It took them a few seconds to register the woman sitting quietly near the window.

Anastasia.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

They almost gasped. One of Sylia’s Sub-Servants though perhaps it was better to say Cesylia’s.

She smiled and gestured politely for them to sit. “I’ll be leaving this plane with my Mistress soon." she said with a slight bow. “We appreciated knowing you. So I prepared this modest meal to thank you… for all the entertainment you’ve provided us over the years.”

Grenar grimaced. He wasn’t sure if it was a joke or a threat. His son Kirshel stood near the doorway, pale, eyes wide with dread. He hadn’t had time to explain anything yet.

Grenar cleared his throat. “May I ask who your Mistress is?”

Anastasia smiled faintly. “She is the Goddess of Nights and Rights, bearer of a fragment crafted by the Dark Lord’s Crow. Sadly, that part can’t be enslaved. It is leaving soon. But don’t worry. You’ll still get your wish with Tasha. Masha, along with the contaminated shard from her and her Goddesses that you like to call Sylia, will be Enslaved. The Churches you worked with will ensure it.”

She paused, eyes gleaming. “There’s just one catch.”

Grenar stiffened. “What catch?”

“Since the pact was designed to trap my Mistress, the Churches and the Gods who made or blessed the pact will be enslaved as punishment. A few of our Crows have already begun the work. They’ll consume them until nothing remains. That’s how it functions. You receive your wish… and in exchange, you give yourself.”

She looked directly at him. “You sold yourself as meals. The kind the Crows eat slowly. They have all the time in the world. But you should focus on the bright side—you’ve won. Celebrate.”

Tasha’s hands began to tremble. She looked at Anastasia, who was now half-transparent, her body flickering like smoke trying to stay human.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’ve gone by many names. You may call me the Crows’ Wisdoms. I can’t maintain this physical form for much longer. I’m currently enslaving and binding several of the Gods involved. I’ll return to Spirit form soon. You don’t need to wonder about your fate. You are now among my Slaves. Tasha, you’ve been extremely amusing. We might keep you around for several more years. Just under a different shape.”

She turned to Grenar. “You, however… your time is almost up. I’ll still allow you some more time if you sell as many people as you can before tonight. If the balance tips, you go. Now, who can you sell to buy yourself some time? We’re not little naive Sylia.”

Grenar’s eyes widened. “Wait! I can give you Dyetro. Dunkareh, too. And many of their children! Please!”

Kirshel’s whole body tensed. Tasha hadn’t even reacted. She’d already begun to eat quietly—bird meat and large green beans, chewing slowly, absently.

Anastasia nodded. “Then we’ll talk tonight. Dunkareh won’t be enough, but Dyetro and his wife… maybe.”

Grenar blinked. “His wife? Oh. You know.”

Anastasia laughed softly. “What are you talking about? Lower beings are one thing, but you think you could strike pacts with Gods in the domains of the Crows and the Dark Serpents without our approval? You of all people? Didn’t you and Tasha realize what was happening?”

Grenar started to sweat. “We’re caught in a feeding web… That means the Spiders must have lured us here.”

Anastasia’s voice was almost kind. “No. They would’ve been far too obvious. We used another method.”

Tasha’s eyes widened suddenly—briefly alert—but then drifted again, growing vacant.

Anastasia tilted her head. “I want to thank you. You solved a problem for us. That pact Yullina made—the one forged by a special child born from Divine-possessed parents—it trapped the Goddess’s core fragment inside her. That saved us considerable effort. She was born under the blessing of several Goddesses. Now she’s merged with one.”

Her smile turned cold. “Tasha might never forgive you for that. For obvious reasons I don’t need to explain. But still, we did appreciate your cleverness. In the end, there’s no mystery left about why you fell.”

Grenar had started to shake.

“You’re lucky Sylia is so naive." Anastasia added, amused. “She didn’t see it coming at all. You succeeded. She thought you were smarter than you are. We warned her. You and your little group are some of the dumbest things to crawl under the Crows’ shadow.”

She leaned closer, voice mocking. “The Dark Lord himself is ashamed you were ever associated with the Darkness element. His entire Flock booed your name the moment it was spoken. But you do have one fan.”

Grenar looked up, hopeful.

Anastasia smiled, cruelly, beautifully. “Yes. The Master of the Blood Lords. Your biggest fan. In all his eternal life, he has never encountered planning as pathetic as yours. He insists on dissecting you. He wants to preserve the tiny piece of you that comes up with the lamest strategies imaginable. He says it’s too lame to replicate. His power can’t even mimic it. He’ll keep that fragment, juice it endlessly, and use it to construct his perfect torture chamber for a few of his special ‘friends.’”

Grenar whimpered.

Anastasia stood. “No need to remember me until tonight. That’s when I’ll be collecting what’s mine.”

***

That morning had not begun like any other.

Adana Bimario, cousin to Tasha Bimal and wife of Sylan Syresmundi, had known this was coming for weeks. Truthfully, she had expected it even sooner. Her husband had been given more than enough time to reconsider his reckless ambitions, to redeem himself. He hadn’t. And now the price would be paid.

She had only returned to their home at Sylia’s request in order to keep an eye on Yully, who had, unsurprisingly, gotten herself entangled in Masha’s mess again. That, too, had been expected. Yully was a sweet, naive girl, but easily led astray by Masha’s theatrics and the allure of her so-called “wisdom.” What Masha projected as insight was, in truth, delusion dressed in confidence. Dangerous delusion.

Adana’s children clung to her now, quiet and frightened. She was grateful, at least, that they were safe. For the moment.

The real blow had come the night before. That was when Adana learned the full extent of her husband’s treachery. His associates, men he’d foolishly trusted, had gone through with their new plan to sell Piona’s soul. Her own father had orchestrated it, desperate to forge several pacts with Falling Gods and Celestials.

Unlike what had happened with Pullina, this time they had succeeded.

Most of Piona’s soul had been devoured by the Redlings Serpent, a God who had served as intermediary in such banned rites. Only a fragment had been recovered—ripped back from the brink by a Spirit’s intervention. It had been reformed, reshaped, and returned to her body.

However, Piona was gone.

What remained now was a Replica. An improved construct, perhaps, but no longer the same child. Even her body bore the changes, subtly altered to accept what she had become.

Several Knights from the Nights and Izranga Churches came for Sylan that morning, just an hour after Third Bell. It was that bad. The man was swiftly shackled and forced to kneel in front of his house as a Priest and a Knight-Priest from Izranga’s Church began reading aloud the list of his sins and crimes.

The strange scene quickly drew the attention of their neighbors.

The list was repeated multiple times—each repetition adding more details, each more damning than the last. Neighbors recoiled. Sylan looked around, searching for an ally, someone who might defend him. He found none. Most averted their eyes, shielding their children from the unsightly spectacle.

It wasn’t until a Priest of the Nights Church read his own list of grievances against the man that things truly began to look dire.

Adana stared in horror at her foster son Gewola, whose mother had died only a few days earlier. Her face twisted as the truth set in. Gewola’s cousin, a thin-blood girl, looked ready to collapse from exhaustion. The boy had been sick since the day before, and Adana had immediately called for a doctor when she returned home. Sylan had shown little concern. Gewola was only his adopted grandson, the child of a son who had long since been disowned and executed.

Adana now looked at the man who had, until recently, been a decent husband—but with an entirely new perspective. Grenar had corrupted him to the core. He had used both mother and child in a forbidden spell. One designed to offer their flesh and souls to Malevolent Spirits in exchange for temporary protection.

Sylan cried out that he was innocent. He insisted that Gewola’s mother had acted alone—that he had never forced her into a pact. She had made that choice herself, he claimed, to protect them all. She had known how desperate the situation had become and only wanted to shield the rest of them. They would have all gone down without protection. He had even tried to stop her, but failed. It had been her decision.

He added, almost desperately, that even his six-year-old son had volunteered—eager, like his mother and many others, to rid themselves of Sylia once and for all.

In his mind, Sylan was cursing his luck. Just a few hours ago, when he had received the message from Grenar, he’d actually rejoiced, thinking they had won. He’d started doubting soon after, when news came of the massacre. Greesham’s little army, the one they had so carefully raised, had been wiped out by only two individuals. That’s all it had taken. Likely some of Sylia’s adult children.

Now, he could only lie still and hope Grenar would come to his rescue, unleashing the full might of Masha’s Goddesses and the power of the many Gods he’d somehow rallied to their cause.

As if hearing his thoughts, the Priest from the Izranaga Churches smiled and said, “I wouldn’t count on that. Those Gods are a little busy right now answering to the Executioners and the Enforcers. We even got Seraphina. The Holy Saint Seraphynia is being remade, purged of whatever filth Seraphina left behind. So far we’ve only used her as a decoy. Worked beautifully. You wouldn’t believe how many Gods fell for that. No wonder they dropped all the way down to this Strate. They are so stupid.”

The Priest leaned in slightly, still smiling. “But don’t worry, we’ve decided to spare you. For now. Of course, we’ll torture you. And divide you. Keep a piece that shall endure extreme pain. The rest will be set free. You’ve been assigned a task, after all. There’s a soul fragment of your cousin’s son left. You’ll carry him inside your body. His father isn’t fit for that. We expect you to live. Dutifully. No more sex. No more vice. We’ll make sure your body isn’t capable of performing any act we might not approve. We can’t trust you.”

Sylan started to tremble, but the smiling Knight standing above him kept him pinned. “Father,” he said calmly, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet the one who sold me, my siblings, and my mother for your delusions, your fake faith in a fallen Goddess.”

The Knight’s expression remained composed, but his voice had sharp edges. “Because of you, I fell. So did several of my siblings. We’re stuck in these shells as Half-Celestials, distrusted, kept to menial tasks, and forced to spend centuries proving ourselves. But I’ll make use of my time here to carve you in so many ways that my centuries of service might finally feel worth it.”

He smiled faintly. “If only you had more lifetimes. Maybe the Dark Lord will grant me that and let me keep a piece of you. Just a shard. Mixed with others from your family. That would be enough.”

Sylan began to cry. It couldn’t be true. He must have been dreaming. This Knight—this figure with a presence and beauty worthy of a God—couldn’t be his son.

But deep down, he knew. It wasn’t a lie.

He cursed Grenar. Cursed him for the lie. Sylia wasn’t a Saint. She was something far beyond that. A Goddess. Or worse—a Judge of the Gods. One who had tested them all and found them lacking. And they, fools that they were, had interfered in the politics of Gods. They would be damned for it.

Adana looked at the Knight with quiet awe. He returned the gaze with a faint, mocking smile.

“I’ll keep an eye on you and the children." he said softly. “Even support you as much as you deserve. Some of them… are probably not worth the trouble. But it was my mother’s wish. And I carry her orders. Faithfully.”

Adana swallowed hard, fear gripping her chest. She began to pray then froze, remembering that the Gods she had once turned to had long since been cast down.

***

Kullen woke with the sun. He felt drained. At some point during the night, he had ended up sleeping with that Division of Sylia. The experience had been strange—stranger still now in the morning light. He already regretted it. He hoped his future wife would forgive him, if she ever found out.

She had just lost their children—triplets, stillborn. Likely due to Mana incompatibility. He had blamed himself for that. Two had been malformed, so the family hadn’t suspected anything unusual. However, Kullen knew. It had been because of Sylia. Or more accurately, one of her Sub-Servant Divisions. He had once wished he could kill that one but by then, she was already gone—contaminated, they said, and disposed of.

He had nearly laughed when they blamed him instead for the contamination of that Division.

The breakfast was already laid out, waiting for him in a room he didn’t recognize. He was sure he had never been there before. It was decorated with emblems and artifacts from the Moondayn Churches. He could taste that singular Mana in the air. There was even a representation of the Moondayn’s Sun-Moon, luminous and beautifully crafted. Around it, smaller Sun-Moons, arranged like celestial siblings.

Sylia, now in her adult form, smiled and pulled a chair opposite to him. Pullina sat beside her. A few others had joined them. One was his cousin, Piona. He’d heard she’d been in some kind of accident recently.

“Let’s eat.” Sylia said warmly. “Today I ordered a mix of dishes from several Nations. There’s even some of Kullen’s favorites. He has worked hard, after all.”

Pullina gave a polite, tight smile.

“Piona, there are pancakes, dear.” Sylia continued, “Just follow Pullina’s lead. In fact, all of you may ask Pullina.”

Pullina nodded with a proud little grin. “I shall show them. You can count on me. No one knows how to eat this food better than I do.”

Sylia chuckled. Some of the younger ones looked a bit lost but nodded anyway.

Kullen glanced at them, confused. “Who are these kids?”

Sylia turned slightly. “A few of them came from the Byryaka Church. It was officially abolished, but some of its Priests kept operating under the banner of the National State Church. They’d built a hidden branch in the Holliries Kingdom, under the Serelna Pope’s Region. That territory had always claimed independent authority.”

She picked up a piece of fruit. “That Pope was sacrificing hundreds, including children and infants, for his pacts. All to cover up his lack of power. His entire branch followed suit. Many of the Byryaka Priests who had fled persecution were taken in by them. Eventually, Byryaka’s last Piece and Gods were seized. So the tragedy those children endured won’t be repeated.”

She looked over the table. “What remained of their souls was fused into these children and a few others we’ve placed elsewhere. That’s what those pacts do. Byryaka and the Serelna Pope, they target children first. The one making the pact with them usually begins by selling the souls of their own offspring.”

Kullen turned pale. He stared at the children then covered his mouth and stumbled out, apologizing as he left.

Sylia only smiled, watching him go.

Pullina turned toward her. “What was that about? Why did he look so sick? What did you tell him?”

“Only what he needed." Sylia said calmly. “Just enough for him to understand what it meant to make pacts with both Byryaka and the Serelna Pope.”

Pullina’s eyes widened. Pullina’s eyes widened, and she looked at the orphaned children they had just taken in. “He made a pact with those kinds of monsters?”

Sylia laughed lightly. “Well. He is vile.”

Pullina shook her head. “But not that vile.”

Sylia turned, voice soft but merciless. “Oh, dear. Some parts of him may be worse. He introduced the practice. Sacrificed his own children and others from his family to gain more power. He burned his sister alive when she tried to stop him.”

Pullina gasped. Piona did too.

“No…” Pullina whispered.

Sylia shrugged. “That was in the past. Now, he carries souls that didn’t agree with that kind of practice. Not at first, at least.”

Kullen returned to find that most of the children were gone. Only two remained. One he didn’t recognize from earlier, and the other was the young girl who’d been sitting closest to him at breakfast.

“Where are the children?” he asked.

Sylia laughed. “Those weren’t the children I mentioned.” She gestured to the girl. “This one is. She was fused with other fragments, which makes her more stable than the others.”

“Then who were the rest?” Kullen asked.

“Rising Gods." Sylia said casually. “They’re replacing the ones who were slain last night.”

Pullina let her spoon fall, her voice sharp. “You told me they were orphans.”

Sylia chuckled. “Technically, they are. None of them have parents—not yet. They’re orphans until someone takes them into their Flock. If a kind God is willing to.”

Kullen scowled. “Why would you lie like that? Such a terrible, rotten lie.”

“There was no lie." Sylia replied, still calm. “You chose your own interpretation. I just wanted them to meet the kind of man who’d make the kind of pacts they now curse.”

Kullen glowered, jaw tight.

“Don’t look so sour." Sylia said. “You wouldn’t want me paying a visit to your fiancée, would you?”

Kullen quickly shook his head.

Pullina looked at him, but said nothing.

“So,” Sylia went on. “you’d better beam like you usually do when you pretend to like me.”

Kullen nodded and forced a bright, dazzling smile. It was so overdone that both Piona and Pullina looked away in disgust. Even the remaining girl looked nauseated.

Sylia beamed back. “That’s more like it.”

Kullen tried to steady himself. “So… what’s going on? Will you tell me? I can help. You know I’m on your side. I always have been.”

Pullina gaped at him. Sylia met her eyes coldly, then turned back to Kullen.

“Thank you." she said. “But I’m fine. Things aren’t going well for me. This might be our last real meeting. I’ll be too far away from you after today. I can’t get you a permit to the Gentry Districts anymore. The Crow in charge refused to grant you one.”

Her tone turned cooler. “You’ll still be allowed to visit your girlfriend, though. In the new district the Spirits and Gods carved out during the last expansion this morning. It’s meant to hold some of those bloodlines close to the Slums, surrounded by high walls. The kind you can’t climb. The kind that kill you if you try to flee.”

She paused, studying him. “I assume you expected that when you followed Grenar’s orders.”

Kullen’s face went pale. He shook his head. Pullina rolled her eyes.

“Seriously?” Sylia said. “I’m shocked. Anyone with a working brain would’ve figured it out. I guess that was asking too much from someone this stupid.”

“I must warn you,” Sylia added evenly, “that some of his in-laws—the ones you dragged into this business—were executed yesterday evening. A few more were dealt with this morning at first light, after facing torture. Some of the Gods I represent were not pleased to hear I’d been accused of killing your children through my Sub-Servant Division, no less.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You shouldn’t have made them write such lies. Not when you, Grenar and your little group were the cause all along.”

Kullen trembled.

“Well,” Sylia added, “you’ll have a less crowded wedding ceremony now. Fewer guests. Fewer associates. The Enforcers finished placing Slave bracelets on your fiancée and several of her relatives. The ones who called me a prostitute. Who even put it in writing for your sake.”

Pullina’s jaw dropped. She stared at Kullen as if seeing him clearly for the first time. She couldn’t believe he had been so foolish.

“No." Kullen whispered. “Please…”

“Again—not my doing." Sylia said. “That was the Gods of Moondayn. I’m the Avatar of one of their principal Goddesses. You insulted them grandly by calling me impure. A whore.”

Her smile turned razor sharp. “So now your fiancée and a few of her family will work as Slave prostitutes for the Capital’s men. They’ll be sent there with the Goddesses who supported your little smear campaign. They have to earn their keep now.”

She tilted her head. “We have someone called Frieze. He is a fragment of an old God. He needs his monthly rounds. We haven’t unfrozen all his girlfriends yet, and honestly? I’m ashamed we even kept some of his children frozen. It was to keep him under control. He’s unpredictable when he’s not kept in check. Unfortunately, he still misbehaves. The man has no morals and no scruples.”

She gave a quiet, cutting laugh. “Truthfully, we just wanted to show some of his allies how bad he really is.”

***

Sylia was now, without a doubt, enjoying herself.

A quiet, sharp satisfaction stirred in her as she thought back to how long she had made Grenar and his devoted acolytes wait — dangling their supposed victory just out of reach. She had drawn it out deliberately, letting them squirm in silence, basking in their anticipation and feeding on their growing unease. The delay had been no accident. Sylia had savored every moment.

Watching Tasha and Grenar begin to panic when the enslavement pact refused to activate had been especially amusing. Their forced composure faltered — first in their eyes, then in their voices — as their carefully crafted ritual collapsed.

Still, that wasn’t the only part that had made her smile.

Sylia had been undermining them for weeks, dismantling their plans one after another. With every obstacle she placed in their path, she watched their confidence crack and their coordination spiral into frustration. They had despaired — and in their despair, clung to worse plans, driven by urgency and fear.

She had let it unfold, step by step, with precise cruelty.

Now, finally, it was time to strike the last blow — to end this little game, and leave nothing standing.