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But maybe that’s what we always needed. Not calculation, but the reckless courage to stand against gods with nothing but truth as our weapon.

The last night of the world as we know it stretches before us, filled with music and laughter and the quiet knowledge that by this time tomorrow, everything will have changed.

For better or worse, the age of gods feeding on mortal devotion is coming to an end.

Chapter Fifty-One

The oval arena looms before me like the maw of some ancient beast, terrible in its grandeur in the morning sunlight. I peek through the flap in the military-style tent I’ve been using to prepare. The stands are already filling with people.

Nobles in their finery claim the better seats, and commoners pack into the higher tiers, all of them buzzing with anticipation for the promised spectacle.

Who the hells dresses up like that for a death match among royals? And these are the people we’re fighting to save.

The air itself is different today, charged with something beyond mere excitement. My wings press painfully against my back, and I have to keep shaking them out. I flex my fingers, watching as small flames dance between them. My magic is stronger than it’s ever been, probably fueled by fear and determination in equal measure.

This is it. The moment everything changes.

Yesterday may as well have been a fever dream. Sharing vows with Sterling without an altar or any prayers to the gods. The swirling dancers. The starlit intrusion of the Guardian, who left his cold threat hanging in the air between us.

Afterward, I barely slept. I spent all but a few of the remaining hours in frantic consultation with Sterling and the others, revising our already compromised plans and seeking a way forward through the ruins of our thorough preparations.

Grabbing a pitcher of water, I pour a steady stream of the liquid into a basin, watching as the surface ripples and settles. Sterling’s element, not mine. He’s in his own tent on the opposite side of the arena, prepping for what’s to come. We’d have used the same tent, but we wanted to keep up our pretense for the gods.

I wonder if he’s as scared as I am.

I splash water on my face, letting it drip down my neck and onto my battle leathers.

Outside, the crowd’s murmurs swell into gasps and cries of wonder. I lift the flap of the tent again, peering out at what has caused such a reaction.

They’ve arrived.

Gods. Actual deities manifesting in physical form and visible to every mortal eye. Even knowing what I do about their true nature, the sight stops my breath.

They materialize in the special section reserved for them. An ostentatious display of cushioned seats beneath silk awnings to block the direct sun. Their forms shimmer and shift, as if reality itself cannot quite contain them.

Even I, who’s met a few of them, find myself momentarily awed. What must the crowd feel, seeing their gods in the flesh? The wave of devotion rising from them is almost tangible.

Exactly what the gods wanted. Exactly what they came for.

And there, settling into the central seat with the casual arrogance of one who believes himself entitled to worship, is Zeru himself. He appears mostly human, though inhumanly perfect with his gold skin and eyes that hold the light of distant stars. His powerful divine essence occasionally breaks through. A flash of something too vast to comprehend, too intense to gaze upon directly.

Lesser deities sit on either side of him, each beautiful and frightening in their own way.

Among them is Ziva, my patron goddess, the deity who chose me as her faction’s champion. Formed of living flame, her hair is a waving crown of red and gold embers, and her charcoal eyes burn with an internal fire that matches my own. But where the other gods’ faces are alight with anticipation, hers is carefully blank, a mask that reveals nothing of her thoughts.

I find myself intensely curious about what she’s thinking. Does she regret choosing me? Does she suspect what we’re planning? Or is she simply playing her part in this divine charade, another predator waiting for the feast of devotion our battle will provide?

The crowd’s reaction to the gods’ manifestation is a study in human nature. Some fall to their knees, prayers spilling from their lips. Others stand transfixed, tears streaming down their faces at the beauty and terror before them. Many simply stare, open-mouthed, unable to process the reality of what they’re seeing.

Some faces even look doubtful and wary…just not nearly as many as we’d hoped. Either Barnaby didn’t play for enough people or his lyrics failed to elicit the desired response.

And through it all runs an undercurrent of excitement that borders on hysteria. The manic energy of people witnessing what they once thought impossible.

Perfect conditions for the gods to feed.

All that emotion, all that devotion, flows toward them like rivers to the sea.

There’s also the constant hum of anticipation. They’re waiting for us. Sterling and me, the champions, the entertainers in this divine spectacle.