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The gods glance at each other, but only Zeru and Rivlan, both angry and indignant, seem affected by her words. The others simply stare with open curiosity, like they’re eager to see how this plays out.

The crowd’s whispers grow louder while an undercurrent of unease spreads through the stands. Faces stamped with rising confusion and concern shift toward each other, seeking answers.

“Is that true?” An elderly Meridian nobleman with salt-and-pepper hair curled into perfect rings stands on shaky legs to address Zeru. “Did your gods threaten to destroy their kingdom? Their people? That’s genocide!”

Before Zeru can respond, I press further. “We don’t know what the inter-deity conflict is or who’s fighting who. Yet we’re supposed to be your champions? How can I possibly choose a side when I don’t know what the sides are? You have set it up so I might be fighting against my own best interests, against those of all mortals.”

The murmurs in the crowd become louder.

Devotion, carefully cultivated over centuries, begins to waver in the face of uncomfortable questions. The invisible tributaries of faith that feed into the glittering formations beside the gods’ seats slow and thin.

Zeru’s perfect features contort with fury. “You speak of things you cannot understand. You stand on a precipice of knowledge not meant for your kind.”

“And yet here we are because you and your kind forced us.” Lark’s gesture encompasses us and the pile of discarded gifts. “Not as pawns, but as players. Not as champions, but as accusers.”

“We do so because we understand more than you wanted us to.” I lift my arm and my magic surges stronger than ever, as if my defiance of Rivlan somehow unlocked new channels of power.

Water rises from the ground in crystalline patterns, identical to the formations that started appearing in temples across the world. The same ones that began growing around the arena once the gods arrived. They stand on display, refracting sunlight into rainbow ribbons across the dirt.

Gasps rise from the crowd.

They’ve seen these formations before. In their places of worship, in sacred groves, beside altars where they’ve knelt in prayer.

“For too long, these crystals have been growing in your temples. They appear where prayer is strongest, where devotion flows most freely.” Lark’s eyes sweep across the amphitheater. “Perhaps you were told they were signs of divine favor.”

“They are harvesting equipment.” I scowl, my voice hard with certainty. “The gods have been fighting each other, and that conflict is what caused the strange occurrences you’ve all witnessed. Temples moving overnight, sacred waters transforming into crystal, divine animals attacking villages. In order to stop those happenings, we agreed to fight in this match. Until we learned that by doing so, we would be hosting a feast for the gods.”

Lark’s wings shift, the gold streaks gleaming. “They manufactured this battle to frighten you into praying harder, into devoting yourselves more completely. Because the gods gain power from your faith and fear. They feed on us. On our prayers. And by making things worse for us, they receive even more devotion, more food, more power.”

“Lies!” Zeru’s stars swirl in a violent path around him, mocking the human form he’s trying to maintain. “These misguided fools are trying to sway you from the proper path of devotion.”

Beside him, the other gods shift uncomfortably, some avoiding the direct gaze of the crowd, others staring defiantly back. Only Rivlan stares directly at me, his eyes unreadable.

“You are nothing without us.” I point at Zeru directly. “Divine parasites feeding on human devotion.”

“Preposterous!” Zeru’s voice booms across the arena. “We shaped this world. We granted you magic. We⁠—”

“Look for yourselves!” I gesture at the crystalline formations situated near the gods’ section. “Those crystals were growing and pulsing when you entered the arena, when the crowd gasped in awe at your divine presence. But they’ve been still since we began speaking. Since the truth pushed your faithful audience toward doubt instead of devotion. The harvest slowed, and so did the growth of the crystals.”

Lark steps forward, her eyes flashing gold as her fire magic responds to her emotions. “Let me demonstrate. Join me, people of Tirene and beyond, as I pray to Aletheia, Goddess of Light and Truth!” She points to the goddess in the stands whose porcelain skin contrasts with chestnut hair and bright green eyes.

A murmur runs through the crowd, and heads swivel to study the formations with anxious eyes.

Lark lifts her hands skyward. “Great Aletheia, reveal whether what we speak is truth. Show your faithful followers the reality of divine hunger!”

The people rise, lips moving as they pray.

The crystals beside Aletheia, a goddess who has remained silent throughout our confrontation, begin to pulse. Light trickles through them. Before the crowd’s astonished eyes, they grow, extending delicate, transparent branches that reach toward Lark and the spectators like hungry leeches.

The reaction is immediate.

Gasps of horror. Cries of betrayal.

Prayers die on trembling lips.

Aletheia herself says nothing, but her sad, serene expression speaks volumes. She does not deny our accusations. The Goddess of Light and Truth cannot lie, not through words or actions.

Instead, she sits still, her alabaster skin shining brighter as she’s fed.