The first death that week was stupid.
I slipped on wet stone outside the west archive wing, cracked the back of my head on the stair edge, and everything went dark before I could even curse. I woke up a few minutes earlier, heart racing, palms sweating, the taste of iron still phantom on my tongue.
Deaths: 216
I stared at the number longer than I should have.
The second was worse in a quieter way. A loose support beam in an old record hall gave out while I was cataloguing a collapsed lineage register. No warning. No buildup. Just weight, darkness, and a sharp pressure that ended everything.
Deaths: 217
By the third, I was angry.
A cart wheel snapped on a narrow street and the whole thing tipped. Wrong place, wrong time. I was crushed between stone and wood, breath punched out of me, vision tunneling as the world folded in.
Deaths: 218
The fourth was almost impressive in how mundane it was. Food poisoning from a vendor I had eaten from twice already without issue. Luck decided today was different. I spent my last moments curled on a floor, muscles locking, heart misfiring, wondering briefly if this was how it would feel every time.
Deaths: 219
The fifth didn't even give me pain.
A misaligned ward flared while I was passing through a restricted corridor, the kind meant to repel pests and vermin. My body spasmed once and shut down like a switch had been flipped.
Deaths: 220
Five deaths in seven days.
None of them triggered Failure Converter. None of them were abnormal enough to matter. Just the world reminding me that negative infinity was not symbolic.
By the time Astrae knocked on my door, I had already stopped thinking about the number.
She didn't wait for an answer. She rarely did anymore, we're getting comfortable with each other like that. She leaned against the frame, arms crossed, expression tight in a way that told me she'd been holding something in for a while.
"How did it go today?" she asked.
I closed the ledger I'd been working on and set it aside. "Nothing significant. Cross-referencing pre-Collapse trade routes again. Same gaps. Same missing years. The capital's archives are deep, but whatever really matters was either sealed, erased, or never written down in the first place."
She clicked her tongue softly. "Figures."
I watched her from my chair. She looked the same as always. Hair pulled up high, posture straight, presence controlled. But there was an edge to her tonight. A restlessness she hadn't bothered hiding. For a short time I've been with Astrae I learned how to read her quirks, I also considered her as almost a friend.
"I've been moving around the palace again," she said, casual like she was talking about the market. "Not inside, not fully. Just… close enough."
I frowned. "Astrae."
"I know," she said immediately. "And before you start nagging, I was careful."
"That's not what worries me."
She pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room, pacing once before stopping near the window. "I can feel them, Theo. My wings. They're here. Somewhere in the capital. The closer I get, the louder it feels. Like something tugging at me from under my skin."
"That doesn't mean you should go after them," I said.
She turned to look at me. "I'm incomplete."
The word hit harder than I expected.
"I get that," I said carefully. "But it's still too early. The palace isn't just dangerous because of guards or wards. There's something else there. Something watching. I can't explain it, but every time I read anything tied to the inner court, it feels… wrong."
"I can handle wrong," she said confidently.
"That's what worries me."
She folded her arms again. "What do you expect me to do? Sit here while half of me is locked away? How am I supposed to prepare for anything if I'm not whole?"
"For him," I said.
She stilled.
"For your liege," I continued. "If something happens to you now, what happens to that quest? What happens to everything you're trying to do?"
Her jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought she might snap back. Instead, she looked away.
"I'm doing this for him," she said quietly. "You think I don't know the risks?"
"I think you're underestimating them," I replied. "And overestimating how much control you actually have here."
She scoffed softly. "This isn't some backwater city, Theo. It's a capital. I've seen worse."
"Have you seen this worse?" I asked. "Because I haven't. And I'm the one digging through its bones."
Silence stretched between us.
I exhaled slowly and leaned back in my chair. "Just… wait. A little longer. Let me finish mapping the internal factions. Let me see who's moving against who. If you rush this and trip something big, I can't help you. Not with my stats. Not with my luck."
She studied me for a long second, eyes sharp, calculating.
"You're afraid," she said.
"Yes," I answered without hesitation. "Not of you. Of what's around us."
Her expression softened, just barely.
"I won't do anything reckless," she said. "But I won't stop looking and finding ways."
I ran a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up before I forced it down. "Fine. Just… don't push it."
She nodded once, already half turned toward the door. "I'll be back later."
When she left, the room felt quieter than it should have.
I reopened the ledger and tried to focus on my work. The capital's archivist guild paid well enough, and the steady flow of assignments kept questions away. For now, it was enough. Regular income. Official standing. A reason to exist here without drawing too much attention.
Still, my eyes kept drifting to the door.
Five deaths. A restless goddess. A palace that felt like a loaded trap.
I had the sinking feeling that "for now" wasn't going to last much longer.
~~~
[Third POV: Caedryn]
Caedryn preferred to work late.
The palace sounded different after midnight. Footsteps softened. Voices thinned. Even the wards seemed to breathe slower, their constant hum dropping into something closer to a whisper. It was easier to think when the building stopped pretending it was alive.
He stood alone in a narrow vault two levels beneath the eastern wing, sleeves rolled to his forearms, fingers gloved in thin black silk. Before him lay a long stone table, its surface carved with suppression lines so old no one remembered who first designed them. On it rested three objects, each sealed separately, each dangerous in a different way.
The shard of black metal.
The bone fragment.
And the feather.
Caedryn's eyes lingered on the feather longer than the others.
Gold, but not truly gold. Light caught in it wrong, bending instead of reflecting. Even wrapped in containment glass, it radiated a quiet pressure that made his teeth ache if he stared too long.
A divine remnant, the reports had said.
Caedryn did not believe in convenient conclusions.
He circled the table slowly, hands clasped behind his back, boots making no sound on the stone. His mind worked the way it always did, not jumping ahead, not assuming answers that had not been earned.
Something had been unsealed.
That much was certain.
What remained unclear was what.
Not a high god. He would have felt that immediately. The capital would have felt it. The sky itself would have reacted. But this was not nothing either. Lesser gods did not leave artifacts like this behind unless something had gone very wrong.
Or very right.
He reached for a thin rod etched with null-sigils and gently lowered it toward the feather's case. The air warped. The sigils dimmed. The rod cracked down the middle with a sharp snap.
Caedryn withdrew his hand, unbothered.
"Interesting."
Whatever the sealed entity was, it did not respond like the gods he knew. No flaring rage. No instinctive retaliation. Just quiet resistance. Passive and patient.
Dangerous.
He straightened and turned away from the table, moving toward the shelves lining the vault walls. These were not archives meant for public scholars or even royal eyes. These were Caedryn's collection. Confiscated relics. Suppression tools. Failed experiments from centuries of god-hunting efforts that never made it into official records.
He scanned the spines and cases with practiced ease.
Chains forged from star-iron.
Prayer anchors soaked in blood.
Binding seals that had killed more priests than gods.
None of them felt right.
"I don't know what you are yet," he said quietly, fingers brushing the edge of a stone box etched with ward-breaker runes. "But you won't stay undefined forever."
Caedryn did not rush traps.
He built environments.
If the sealed god walked the capital, as his instincts insisted, then brute force would be useless. Gods did not fall because someone hit them harder. They fell because someone convinced them to step exactly where they should not.
He returned to the table and studied the feather again.
Incomplete.
That was the word that kept returning to him.
An unsealed god would not leave half of itself behind unless forced to. Unless doing so served a purpose. Either as misdirection… or as sacrifice.
Caedryn smiled thinly.
"Which means you want something."
He did not yet know the god's tier. Low, most likely. But even low gods could tear continents apart if cornered. And Caedryn had no intention of cornering it himself.
Not yet.
Instead, he turned his thoughts to the archivist.
Theo Finley.
The name surfaced easily now. Too easily.
He stepped away from the relics and moved toward a side chamber, where a small writing desk waited beneath a single dim lamp. He took a seat, unrolled a blank sheet, and began making notes.
Not accusations or conclusions.
Connections.
Theo Finley was the archivist who had requested the reinspection of the sealed site.
Captain Edrin Ward had approved it, facilitated it, and provided protection, but the initiative had not been his. Edrin was cautious. Loyal. Not the sort to involve outsiders unless there was a reason.
Which meant Theo had not been pulled in.
He had stepped forward, because he had found something on the three relics upon his first inspection.
That alone made him interesting.
Because people like Edrin did not follow suggestions lightly. If he agreed to reopen a sealed location, then the archivist had either provided something compelling…
Or possessed insight Edrin himself lacked.
Caedryn tapped the quill against the page, thoughtful.
If the sealed god had chosen someone to anchor itself to, to observe through, to move around unnoticed, an archivist would be an excellent choice. Archivists went everywhere. Asked questions without raising alarms. Dug into old things under the guise of recordkeeping.
And Theo had intelligence. High intelligence, according to the guild's preliminary assessment.
Too high, for someone with no real standing history.
Caedryn leaned back.
"I don't need to touch you," he said softly, imagining the young man's face. "I just need you to come to me."
Which meant an invitation.
He stood and left the vault, sealing it behind him with a gesture. The corridors led him upward, toward the administrative wing where night staff still worked under quiet orders.
Captain Edrin Ward was housed nearby.
Caedryn found him in a strategy room, reviewing reports by lamplight. The man looked up immediately, posture straightening.
"Prefect," Edrin said, rising.
"At ease," Caedryn replied, waving him back down. "I won't take much of your time."
Edrin nodded, wary but respectful.
"I heard something today," Caedryn continued casually. "Apparently the archivist who assisted your expedition has registered with the capital guild."
Edrin blinked. "Theo? Yes. I wasn't aware you knew."
"I make it my business to know who passes through my jurisdiction," Caedryn said smoothly. "Especially those involved with… sensitive recoveries."
Edrin frowned slightly. "Is there a problem?"
"Not at all," Caedryn replied. "In fact, I'd like to speak with him. Professionally. Clarify some archival details. Ensure nothing was overlooked."
Edrin considered that. "He's competent, quiet. Doesn't overstep on anything unless required."
"All qualities I appreciate," Caedryn said. "Would you mind extending an invitation? Something informal. Just say an archivist consultation."
Edrin hesitated only a moment before nodding. "I can do that."
"Excellent."
Caedryn turned to leave, then paused.
"Oh, Captain," he added lightly. "If he asks why, tell him it's routine. The capital values thoroughness."
Edrin inclined his head. "Understood."
As Caedryn walked away, his smile returned.
He did not know what kind of god that walk out was.
But gods made mistakes.
And mortals, especially clever ones with the wrong kind of luck, made excellent doors.
Sooner or later, one of them would open.