The fire is burning brightly by the time I enter the light of its blaze. People stand aside for me, heads bowed, faces grave. A soft murmur of voices rushes like the wind through the crowd. I am aware my mother is watching. She’s not sure exactly what I am attempting to do. She has forgotten the old ways.

Or dismissed their relevance.

But some have not. Some look to me with hope and heartache. Some nod their heads and clasp their hands, their eyes splashing gold across the landscape. In the distance, I see the Nero have moved closer. Their sea creatures writhe and swarm and float above them. The Areas watch from their side of the camp; wary, alert, expectation written on their faces.

I do this not for them, but they too will benefit from a reminder.

We are Athanatos. We are Aetheros’ children. We are responsible for the balance of the Elements, but first, we must have peace and harmony within ourselves; within our families.

I walk up to the fire, feel Fire reach out and greet me; an old friend. I lift a hand and curl the flames around my wrist, and then let the flickering light engulf my entire body. When I turn back to the crowd, I am wreathed in Pyrkagia. I am ablaze.

“We are Athanatos,” I say. My voice carries on the fingers of Fire to each and every one of them. “We are Aetheros’ children.” They all nod in solemn agreement. “We are in pain.”

Someone lets out a cry of anguish. Perhaps more than one is now aware of what has happened to Melita. They grieve, and they too will soon rage.

“Punishment will be sought,” I announce. The Fire flares brightly. “The guilty will pay.”

My mother begins to turn away. Mikkos and Leon offer me a dismissive glance and make a scene of pushing through the crowd, their backs to me.

“But first,” I say. “We will pray.”

I lift my arm out in front of my body, the flames licking across my skin. With my free hand, I slide a long dagger from its sheath at my side and then slice my wrist.

Blood pools on the surface and then sizzles and then gets fed to the flames.

The colour of the fire changes; from a bright yellow and an intense orange to a vibrant blue tipped red flame. Mikkos and Leon turn back; shock mars their faces. I cannot see my mother.

“Tonight,” I say as I feed the fire. “I honour Aetheros in the old ways. I spill my blood as a promise. I feed the flames so they may once again sustain. I pay, so you do not pay. I pay so Pyrkagia can come together. So our people can be one. I pay, so you do not pay.”

The fire blazes brightly. I am almost lost to the flames. Pyrkagia gasps. Holds its breath. Then blazes.

“I pay, so you do not pay,” I say again.

“You pay, so we do not pay,” the crowd says.

And then a well of power, of Aetheros’ power, spreads out around us. My father is an Ancient. A direct descendant of Aetheros himself. I am his only child. The grandson of a god. The blood that flows through my veins is not as potent as my father’s. But it is more potent than some.

And they feel it. Pyrkagia feels it. Aetheros feels it. The Nero and the Aeras and the Alchemists feel it. I spill my blood to honour our god and remind us all that we are one.

No one can escape his judgement. No one can ignore his presence. If Aetheros speaks, we shall all listen. If Aetheros condemns, we shall all pay.

His absence from our world has made us forget the old ways. The ways of our god. Crimes have gone unpunished. Sins have had too much leeway. A corrupt King was able to rule with terror and faced no judgement. We let him. We forgot the old ways.

But Aetheros has returned, and he is mighty. When called upon to share our rage, our god is frightful. I have called upon him now. I face our god, so my people do not have to.

Whoever harmed Melita will pay. That is a promise I have made. But ours is a brutal world, and brutal crimes warrant brutal responses. Aetheros judges us all on the single behaviour of one.

For we are responsible for all Athanatos, as we are responsible for all the Elements.

I wait for my god’s judgement. I wait for the agony to begin. We may have forgotten a lot, but I inherently know that this will hurt.

I am not afraid of pain. My only fear is failure.

But nothing happens. The Fire blazes. Everyone holds their breath.

And then Casey suddenly appears in the flickering flames, behind her I see Hippolytos and, damn it all to hell, Isadora.

If I wasn't waiting for my god to smite me, I might have smitten Dora for her pigheadedness.

People start to realise that Aether is here. Even though Casey is no longer Aether, in their eyes she still is.

The shaman’s cackling. Nero’s sea creatures wail. Pyrkagia as one step back from the flames.

I know my mother has returned and I am consumed by worry. Casey may still be in the Amazon, but she is close enough for my mother to strike at her. Isadora catches my eye from within the fire. She smirks. I notice Hip is chanting, his eyes white, his head tipped back. He’s moved them through the atmosphere.

She can’t be harmed.

I breathe at last.

Aetheros smiles. I’m not sure how I know that, but I feel our god with us. Around us. Smiling.

Well, this is not at all what I had expected would happen.

“Aetheros says to tell you all to behave,” Casey says from the fire, her voice distorted by the crackling of the flames.

“He does, does he?” I say.

“Yeah. Don't know why I got the message, but there you go.”

I know why. Because Aetheros is reminding us what we’ve already been through. What Casey has been through for us.

“Thank our god for his words of wisdom,” I offer, inclining my head.

“OK,” Casey says as if she’ll do just that and isn’t at all fazed by the request.

She glances at Hip and then at Dora; a small frown marring her features when she looks at my Second.

“Is it OK if they stay for dinner?” she asks.

This is surreal. I blink. I want in that instant to go to her. I want to forget about politics and evil deeds and my mother and father. I want to sit down to a meal with my Thisavros and savour every inch of her face as she sits across a table from me. I want to tell her I love her.

But Pyrkagia still needs me.

“Of course,” I say. “Tell them to take their time.”

She smiles. My heart aches.

I love you, I think to her.

No matter what, I imagine her saying.

The fire flickers then dies down and then fades back to harmless orange and yellow flames.

Everyone looks at me.

“I think that’s enough for this evening,” I say.

Several people nod their heads. I cannot see Mikkos or Leon or my mother. But there are more people here than there would be if they were still in Camp Crazy.

I’ve clawed back some ground. But I am still worried.

As I return to the tent housing Melita, I know my mother will strike again.

And I am not certain I can pull another trick out of my hat like that.

There is nothing left to remind our people. All I had going for me were the old ways.

And even the old ways have changed since Casey.