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His mind whirred like an unsilenced engine, his noids cataloging each detail of their prison, escape route, and watchers lurking in the shadows.

Ever perceptive, Issa read the tension in his shoulders and how his fingers curled into his palms, softening him with a brush of her lips against his jaw.

He got the hint, and he let himself breathe for now.

He savored the temporary peace, knowing all too well that war and reckoning lay waiting.

As celestial dusk settled over Sivania, the chamber doors whispered open.

A procession entered, figures that did not walk but glided, their movements effortless, their presence commanding.

They were the Sazarhi, attendants of the Divine Immortal.

Their forms flickered between flesh and light, shifting as they moved.

Their golden robes flowed like woven sunfire, their limbs were impossibly long, and their eyes were faceted like the purest diamonds.

Each bore a name spoken in reverence:

Asarei, Keeper of Cloth and Form, had skin like burnished copper, and eyes glowed with a supernova’s intensity. He announced the intent of the Zavei.

‘You are both summoned to attend the Lustrum of the First Tear, a sacred and secret feast of the Ascended Sedevan Deities.’

Selatiel, Weaver of Deific Thread, a creature of high cheekbones and dark, silken hair cascading down his back, his fingers shimmering with spun stardust.

Ishtari, Handmaiden of the Sky-Walkers, smiled with lips painted the deep blue of twilight, her voice a melody threaded through space.

They carried garments, unlike anything Ki’Remi had ever seen.

The robes shimmered with power, their textile constantly shifting. One moment, dark, like an abyss. The next, radiant like a nascent star.

The Sazarhi bowed, presenting the clothing with precise, measured grace.

The Rider frowned, glancing at Issa.

‘This is not a choice,’ she murmured, her fingers brushing the fabric of her gown. ‘It’s a test we’ve no option but to participate in.’

Of course, it was.

The Rider sucked his teeth, rolled his shoulders, taking the tunic and fitted trousers meant for him.

The material shifted under his grip, adjusting as he pulled it over his skin, molding to his form like a second layer of flesh.

A subtle energy wrapped around him as the garment fanned out into a celestial robe swirling with the colors and light whirls of distant nebulae.

Issa’s attire was just as exquisite. Her flowing gown was of dusk and fire, the hues varying as she moved as if woven from the fabric of the cosmos.

‘You look beautiful,’ he rasped, desire mounting him.

She caught his gaze, her expression caged and wary.

‘My love, while we are dressed like honored guests, don’t be lulled into thinking we are being lionized and esteemed.Nada, we’re the freakin’ entertainment, the ceremonial pigs readied for sacrifice.’

‘Fokk.’

Their guards escorted them through the winding corridors of the celestial palace, their footfalls silent on the luminescent floors.

As they walked, Issa explained the intent of the night. ‘Every nine hundred and ninety-nine years, the gods partake in the Lustrum of the First Tear, which honors the mythic moment when the first god fell in, then lost their first love. Only the oldest gods attend, and only those who have known both ecstasy and loss may taste the final offering: the Starfruit of Longing, whose sweetness fades the moment it touches the tongue. Tis a chance for them to sight the demi-god who blasphemed Sulfiqar by stealing from the repository. Also, an excuse to party and make fun of those less deific than the guests. So buckle up, Rider.’