After days of deadly progress, days where they could have and should have failed dozens of times, they had seen the pinnacle and there, running free and gleaming of gold and gemstones, had sat a fountain where water should be frozen solid, but was not. They were in the thinnest air the world had to offer, that was how far up near the field of heaven they were. They could barely breathe it was so thin.

But laying eyes on that fountain had been like a bolt of pure oxygen and exhilarating, revitalizing energy. Just from the sight of it.

And still Garreth had tried to stay them. Upon seeing it he had hesitated and asked them to rethink this, had claimed a sense of foreboding. But they had ignored him and had pressed on and in the end all four of them, even Garreth, had drunk deeply of the fountain’s waters.

It had truly been the most miraculous thing he had ever known. His battle scarred and weather frozen body had healed before his very eyes. Frostbite that had claimed at least three of his fingers had reversed itself, revealing warm pink flesh once more. Old battle wounds, like the one that had nearly severed his left leg from the rest of his body had rehealed, the tightness and pain he had dealt with every day since evaporating with alacrity. The scar itself had disappeared from beneath his many layers of clothing. He had not needed to see it because he had felt it. And in the reflective surface of the fountain’s waters he had seen the years melt away from his face until he looked as he had looked fifteen summers past, a younger man in the prime of his life, no more then thirty no less that twenty five from what he could see. Garreth, previously near death, had sprung up to his feet laughing and full of life once more.

And then … then the gods had come. With a mighty storm of fury and clouds full of lightning and thunder, snow driving them down to the ground, the ground itself hauling and shuddering with rage. Oh yes, they had come.

You dare steal this reward when you have not deserved it in Our eyes? You dare to do so without permission, without honor? You will pay for your folly, foolish, arrogant worms. You will pay for your immortality with blood and bone and flesh. We cannot take this gift back, but We can see to it that you wish you had never dared to think you could push the hand of the gods to your will and your liking.

Then he had been thrown down from that mountain and into the deepest chamber in the eight hells and had been left there to burn. He did not know what had become of his brothers, Garreth, Jaykun, and Maxum. He could only assume they had been thrown into similar caverns and were suffering similar fates. He had been alone ever since, day after day, with nothing to keep his interest and nothing but the fire for company.

So Dethan was not prepared when, just as the fires were about to roar to life once more, the softest waterfall of sparkling light appeared before his eyes. It started small, with just a falling dot of light, then two, then twenty, then hundreds. The sparkling bits of light began to fall into the shape of a woman. Then, in a flash, a woman of dark hair and blinding beauty was standing before him.

He blinked hard several times, trying to rid himself of the vision. It would not be the first time he had hallucinated under the stress of his torment. But there she stayed and there she stood, wearing a dress so glittering and beautiful it refracted the firelight like diamonds might do. Or perhaps kitomite, which was harder and more brilliant than diamonds. Yes, that was it. The dress, he realized, was a suit of chain-mail armor, fitting her form with perfection and looking as stunning and impervious as it must be if made from kitomite.

That was when he knew it was Weysa, the goddess of conflict. The shield goddess. He had erected statues of her above her altars where spoils of war were frequently laid upon it in homage to her when an army or fighter was victorious. He had prayed to her before every battle and he had seen her fury when he had drunk from the forbidden waters, so it was no wonder that he knew her at first sight. He shuffled about on his hands and knees, rolling himself into obeisance, his forehead touching the scalding hot rock, his palms doing the same, his flesh searing against the stone like a cut of fresh junjun beast is seared in a pan.

She seemed to regard him in silence and as she did so the fires remained completely abated for the first time since he had come there. He was grateful for the reprieve, no matter what the reason, no matter what further curses she might rain down upon his head.

“Low beast,” she said after long moments.

“The lowest,” he agreed with her, fearful as he spoke that she might grow angry with him for speaking aloud to her.

“What have you learned here, in your time spent?”

He did not know how to answer her. He did not know what she wanted to hear. So he fumbled for the most honest of answers he could come to.

“Never to cross the mighty gods, for their will is the only will.”

“Do you beg for mercy?”

“No, Mistress,” he said, “For your will will be done and there is nothing I can do to change it.”

“Good, because We have been merciful thus far. Your fate could have been much worse, but We took into account all that you have done in Our name.”

Merciful? This torment had been the gods’ idea of mercy? Dethan felt a wash of rage overcoming him, and he struggled to fight it back. What if she could divine his thoughts? He would anger her and then she would show him what it meant for a god to be unmerciful.

“So,” Weysa said, “your time here has not cowed you completely.”

Dread filled him. Surely she would become angry with him now. What would she do with him?

“Good,” she said then, surprising him. “I need a true warrior. A man loyal to me who will fight in my name.”

She wanted him to fight for her? Yes. He would fight for her. Anything. Anything to be free of this hell.

“Fortune has told me that you are my one true hope in this matter. And so you will be. Rise.”

He did so, leaving strips of his flesh behind, burned to the floor, all the while keeping his eyes cast downward. Partly to honor her, partly because her armor was too brilliant for his eyes to bear.

“I have grown weak,” she said, surprising him. “Things have changed greatly since the times you have fought for me. My strength lies in those who worship me and so many have fallen by the wayside, worshipping false gods instead or … following my enemies and giving them the strength I need. You see, the gods have split into two factions, low beast. We war. We war violently. But We cannot win or find advantage unless We have devotion to Us. I need you to find me that devotion, to win over those who do not believe and those who would worship my enemies over me.”