I find Aktor in a tent with the human. Somehow I have missed that the humans have been returned. I need to get my head back in the game.

My gaze flows over the quaint little setup she’s acquired; bedroll, backpack, food sachets, bottled water.

“We need to talk,” I say to Aktor.

Sonya visibly pales.

“I’ll, ah, I’ll go see if Nico needs any help with finding more food,” she mutters.

Aktor reaches out and touches her shoulder in passing, but does not remove his eyes from my face.

Cassandra’s friend exits the tent, and I realise the food supplies piled beside her sleeping platform were no doubt sourced by my cousin. He’s clearly distracted, but I can't seem to bring myself to complain.

At least Nico has Sonya to distract him.

I only seem to have my heartache.

“Theodoros,” Aktor says carefully.

I scrub a hand over my face.

“I’m not coping well,” I whisper.

Aktor’s shoulders relax marginally as if he was waiting for me to go into a rage.

“It’s only been a couple of hours,” my old friend says.

I nod my head and stare around the tent.

“When did she arrive?” I ask.

“Ten minutes ago. It seems Aetheros is still playing.”

I let out a slow breath of air.

“He will want to interfere for some time,” I offer.

“Yes,” Aktor says, reaching into a pack and pulling out a familiar bottle of ouzo. “I remember him as a playful god. Always teasing and provoking.”

“Unstable.”

“No,” Aktor corrects thoughtfully, retrieving two cups. “Not unstable, merely mischievous. As the wind is mischievous when it steals the leaves from the trees. As the rain is mischievous as it slips down between your shoulder blades. As the flower is mischievous as it releases its pollen and makes you sneeze.”

“As the fire is mischievous when it licks your body into a blaze.”

Aktor laughs. “Well, maybe Pyrkagia has always been a more demanding Element than the others. Who’s to say?”

He pours me a small portion of the liquor and hands me the cup, then repeats the action for himself.

Turning to me, he toasts, “To a new world.”

We drink in silence.

Finally, my old friend asks, “What troubles you, Theodoros?”

I stare at the empty cup for a moment, gathering my thoughts.

“I think there will be opposition,” I eventually say.

“From whom?”

“Leon and Mikkos.”

“Are they still causing problems?”

“I don’t believe they ever stopped.”

“And your plan?”

“We need to call a meeting of the Council. Only then can I get a feel for where we stand.”

“There’s more, though, isn't there?”

“The Aeras and Nero have not left,” I say, voicing my real concern. Pyrkagia politics I can handle. I have done so since birth. But influence from outside Pyrkagia is more troubling.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Aktor says, indignantly, immediately sensing why I am concerned. “After everything we have been through? Never. Cassandra has brought them together, Theodoros. Aetheros has returned.”

“When has life ever been so black and white, my friend?” I ask.

Aktor stares at me for a long moment and then shakes his head. “They won't do anything until we deal with our dead.”

“So, I have until sundown, is that it?”

“You are buying trouble where it does not yet exist.”

I nod my head. Perhaps I am. But the look Leon and Mikkos offered earlier is enough to make me cautious.

“I must speak with my mother,” I say and stand.

Aktor immediately looks worried.

I laugh; the sound bitter.

“Rest easy, Aktor,” I say. “Without my father manipulating her, how bad can she be?”

Aktor shoves the bottle of ouzo to the bottom of one of the packs and fusses with the cups for a moment, his back to me.

Then finally he turns and says, “I’ll take a walk amongst our people. Perhaps an overheard conversation or two will help to settle our nerves.”

“Our nerves, Aktor?”

He waves me off with a wrinkled hand. “Pish,” he says. “You always did have a way of making me nervous.”

I exit the tent laughing, which I think is Aktor’s goal. Several pairs of eyes, some Pyrkagia, others not, turn towards me. I don’t stop smiling. Let them think of that what they will.

Aktor emerges, his back bowed further than mere seconds ago. His frame appearing weaker.

“Are you sure you don't wish for a walking stick, old man?” I whisper.

He waves two gnarled hands at me and rasps, “Go play.”

If anyone can walk unobserved through a throng of paranoid Athanatos, it is he. People see only what they want to see and Aktor makes sure they see only the frail.

A falsehood I am more than happy to encourage.

Cassandra has high ideals. She believes balance can be maintained because inherently we are all honest creatures. I have lived a life of deceit and betrayal. Court politics in a mad King’s domain. The Nero are broken people. The Aeras beyond insular. The Alchemists consumed with stolen powers.

I do not doubt Cassandra’s words of wisdom. To save the world balance must be maintained.

I have never hidden a truth from Casey. I don't intend to now.

But she has her own battles to wage and if this is something I can do before my time is up to aid her; I will. I will ensure balance is maintained.

But Pyrkagia must heal. The Nero must swim above the waves. And the Aeras must climb down from their mountain.

In order to do that, I must play a game.

A dangerous game for a crown I am not sure I want and a performance that has to keep them all entertained.

My eyes scan the crowd of people pretending to set up their camps outside the broken Pyrkagia Pyrgos’ walls. Their eyes watch. Their bodies hang suspended. Their hearts beat a little too fast.

We are hungry beasts; Athanatos.

But we are not quite as hungry as some.

I spot Marcus, head bowed, lips barely moving, talking to Noah, the Alchemist doctor. I sense the Alchemists’ unease at his presence in their number.

This will not be an easy battle we wage. But I am not alone. I have allies. Cassandra’s allies.

My eyes flick across the various castes and land on Pisces and Hippolytos respectively.

I will need to seek them out and soon. But first my mother.

I walk through the rubble-strewn Pyrgos, aware of where she will be. It might be destroyed, but it is still a place of power. A fire burns in a brazier. Soft murmured words are whispered just out of reach.

I pause at the edge of the light cast by the flames. My mother’s eyes lift to greet me.

She does not smile.

And then out of the shadows walks a figure I have not seen for fifteen-hundred years.

My heart beats one solitary beat.

My lips form one name.

“Melita.”