och jag växte upp snabbt, från min barndom var det allt—jag föddes redan slagen

då tänker du tyst och skriker högt, memorerar hela jävla monologen som skrevs för din inre röst,

Hunger, hunger is the purest sin
It is an empty church in a crowded bin
I've wept and I've stumbled
I fought and I craved

Curiosity held him tight, almost as tight as Kahlua herself did. There, trapped in her embrace and in thrall to whatever secrets lurked just behind her teeth, he was not aware of these half-formed truths as he was later to become—did not know how the sudden insight would ravage him like a fire, leaving little but brittle bones and a hollow feeling in his lungs.. like no breath could fill up the spaces, and no sleep replenish his energy.

Until things began to turn again, steady as a wheel.

“Walk with me,” she said—asked—commanded, because no matter how soft her voice, where she pointed, he would go. Such was the loyalty of blades, after all.

He clung to her side like her shadow, her shield, something of the winter come to haunt summer, but she did not melt him, and he thought he did not freeze her, either. He simply existed in the space beside her, tears drying upon pale cheeks. The times he could remember such seamless interaction were few—and most hurt, now.

Those he had not seen for long—those he had abandoned.
Those he would never see again—because they were dead.

But he listened, heart protesting weakly that she had always had herself, that Kahlua was worth infinitely more than mere faith—that simply by existing, by virtue of being herself, she had value. That she should not give the gods credit for her deeds—for her belief—her strength—her spirit. The gods had nothing to do with her success; with her keeping peace; with anything. They had set her on the throne and left her to rot, just like they had with him. Their words were as hollow as their souls.

How strange, that he so faithless, walked beside her, when her soul was full to the brim of her strange worship. The words turned to ash in his mouth, on his tongue, scalded his throat as he tried to breathe them—he wanted to rob her of her faith, to tell her that they had nothing to do with anything, that she had done everything by herself, and by her own strength.

That all the gods had ever given him was pain—
But even that is a lie.

Earth and Moon had healed his wounded Edge after the Sun had burnt it.
And the Sun... the Sun had healed his shoulder, after Torasin's dragon had scorched it.

So they had given to him twice, but taken so much more.

"But maybe Kaj was right when he said I was just being selfish, and a child…"

The trees opened up to the sunset and the cliffs he had so recently abandoned, and her words spiraled into silence. Mauja walked beside her, neck ramrod stiff and straight up, his gait that of an angry cat—and if he had been feline, his tail would've whisked angrily from side to side. "Kaj," he spat out, a rough growl, "can bend over and see if he can't pull that stick out of his arse."

But then he breathed in, drew the salty, cool air deep into his lungs. Why did Kaj anger him so much? Simply by virtue of existing? Because, from the tentative hum to her words, it was clear that he had hurt her?

Righteous anger? You-belong-to-me?

Am I creating a devil, where there is none?

Maybe it had been like Mauja—just concern. Just a desire for her to be bold, and strong, secure in herself, without leaning on the crutch of gods.

He breathed out.

"Your life is your own," he said—too tangled up in her misery to be floored by the realization that a, it was a god's child she carried and b, it meant that she hadn't gone and slept with.. some mortal. "And ultimately, it's what you want that matters. And anyone who says differently can take a long walk off a short cliff." He snorted, still agitated from the mention of this Kaj, drawing up next to her and pressing himself against her in silence, trying to meld into her.. trying to soothe her and ask for her forgiveness all at once, something hot and harsh in the rims of his eyes and he felt that the look buried deep in them was that dangerous look of adoration.

"What anyone else would've done in that situation doesn't matter," he went on after a moment, voice quieter; calmer. "They can be high and mighty and condescending all they want, but unless they have stood face to face with a God and denied them it's just words and lies. Besides," and there was something in his voice, in his eyes as they slid sideways to peer at her, in the way his lips curled into a mischievous little smile, "if it was Earth coming to me and asking me to have his child, I don't think I would've said no, either."

And then we'd better shut off Mauja's brain because he decided to have wayyy too much fun thinking about that.