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subjects, their own government. And their kingdoms, as you said, stretched to the edges of the known world.

“Back then,” the iylvahn continued, his voice almost lyrical in its storytelling, “the world was different. It was not endless

sand and blasted rock—it was lush. Green. Imagine valleys not of dust or stone, but of ferns. Deep forests instead of wasteland.

Hills of rolling grass, not empty dunes where nothing can survive. The Dust Sea was an ocean of water, filled with life, reaching

all the way to the horizon and beyond.”

Listening to him, I felt breathless, amazement and disbelief fighting a battle within me. A world that was green and lush,

covered in plants and filled with water? That sounded like a faery tale; I couldn’t even imagine it. But the iylvahn sounded dead serious. He didn’t think this was a children’s story.

“For many eons,” his voice continued, “the immortal Deathless Kings ruled their world without opposition.

They were more than rulers, more than kings; they were very nearly gods.

In some very old legends, the Deathless Kings were the ones who created all the races of man, bringing to life a people in their own image, whose only purpose was to serve them.

Whether or not this is true, none of the ancient people could stand against the Deathless Kings.

Their power came from life itself. They drew from the life forces around them to fuel their magic, and with this power, they could do anything.

But the more power they drew in, the more life around them withered and died.

A single Deathless could turn an entire forest to dust if he pulled enough energy into himself.

An angry queen could suck the life from her subjects in a heartbeat if she willed it, leaving nothing behind but bones and ash.

All life—anything that lived, and grew, and breathed—could be taken by the Deathless to fuel their power.

“Fortunately, it was difficult to be worshiped in an empire of dust and bones, and the Deathless Kings were careful to balance

their power with the need for life. But with that much power, and that many godlike immortal beings sharing a world, the kingdoms

were only a breath away from destruction at any time. And eventually, that is what came to pass.

“The Deathless Kings began to war with each other. No one remembers how this war started, but it soon escalated into a nightmare of death and chaos. The kings rained calamity down on the other kingdoms. Mountains crumbled, forests burst into flame, seas rose up to swallow whole towns, and horrific creatures that none had seen before clawed their way out of the earth, destroying everything in their path. The people, of course, perished by the thousands, only to reappear as undead soldiers in their king’s army, denied release even in death.

The land withered as the warring kings drew in more and more life energy to fight their endless war.

Deserts replaced forests. Wasteland supplanted once-vibrant fields.

The sea itself drained away through a massive fissure one king opened beneath a rival’s city.

And yet the Deathless continued to war with each other, until one day, they looked around, and there was nothing left.

No life. No subjects. Nothing but sand, and dust, and emptiness.

“And then the Deathless Kings discovered the truth about themselves: That without life, without the energy to fuel their power,

they were no longer immortal. And so, like the very lands they had scoured to nothing, the now mortal Deathless Kings withered

away until they, too, were nothing but dust and bones, and faded from existence.

“As the Hourglass of Time turned, and the suns set over the once flourishing world, the age of the Deathless Kings finally

came to a close. And very slowly—because even after the world ends, there are always a few survivors—life returned. The land

would never heal. The kings had drained it of everything, and it could not return to the green landscape it once was. But

humanity’s will to live is ever constant. The survivors built new settlements on the bones of the old kingdoms, and gradually,

some of those settlements became villages, then towns, then cities. Wars were fought, new monarchs struggled for power, kingdoms

rose and fell, and the Deathless Kings were eventually forgotten.”

My pulse was racing like I had just run through the district with a trio of guards on my tail. Sweat had gathered under my clothes, and a terrible fear had lodged itself somewhere below my stomach. I had never heard this story, and I suspected that the worst was yet to come.

“But that is not the end of the tale,” the iylvahn continued, before I could take a breath. “The age of the Deathless Kings

might be past, but that does not mean they are truly gone. In the final days of the war, one of the kings realized he could

not win against the others. So he decided to seal a portion of himself, of his soul, into a special container. As long as

the seal was not broken, his consciousness would remain, even if his body withered and died. With the last of his power, he

then buried his own city and its subjects deep beneath the earth, so that no trace of him would remain on the surface. And

so the king slept for generations, waiting for the day when he could return to the world. The knowledge of where the king

hid his soul container was lost for many years, but it was rumored to lie somewhere deep below his palace, protected by guardians

and ancient curses, so that his enemies could not come and destroy it.”

The assassin paused, looking down at me, and ice spread through my veins as I realized what he was saying. That the stone

I’d taken from the crypt held the soul of one of the Deathless Kings. An immensely powerful godlike being who had, long ago,

played a part in destroying the world.

“Do you understand now?” the iylvahn asked quietly. “Why I could not allow you to take the stone? Why it should never have

been returned to the surface?”

“I’m starting to,” I said, making him frown. “I think I’m missing something, though. Assuming this story is even true, what does it matter if the stone is taken from the city? The Deathless King hasn’t come back, so I’m guessing he can’t just pop out whenever he wants.”

The iylvahn sighed. Clearly, he found my ignorance trying. “I forget that the other races have virtually no memory of the

Deathless Kings,” he murmured. “Am I correct in assuming that you do not know who the ma’jhet are, either?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I mean, no. I don’t know who they are.”

He shook his head. “The ma’jhet were the closest confidants and advisors of the Deathless Kings,” he explained. “They served

the kings, but they were also allowed to rule over the commoners and make choices when the kings couldn’t be bothered to.

I suppose they were the closest thing to nobles within the Deathless courts.

“When the kings fell, the ma’jhet vanished,” the iylvahn continued. “Perhaps they knew they would be hated in this new world without the kings. No one knew

what happened to them, but there were always rumors that they lurked on the fringes and underground of society, waiting for

the day the Deathless Kings would return. And, in many stories, working tirelessly to bring them back.”

A terrible, yawning pit opened in my stomach as finally, all the pieces clicked into place. “The Circle,” I whispered. “The

Circle are the ma’jhet. And they sent me to retrieve the soulstone...”

“Because they are planning to resurrect the Deathless King,” the iylvahn finished. “ Now do you understand?”

Numbly, I slumped in the chair, trying to process everything I’d learned. My mind was spinning, my thoughts fractured, but I did manage to piece one question together. “What will happen,” I whispered, “if the Deathless King comes back?”

“I don’t know,” the iylvahn replied. “But life has returned to the world. There is a whole city of souls to draw power from,

and no rival Deathless to pose a challenge. Whatever you think might happen, the reality is likely a hundred times worse.”

The assassin knelt in front of the chair, his gaze intense. “I need you to tell me where the soulstone is,” he said. “This

isn’t about riches, or wealth, or power. This is about preventing a Deathless King from returning to this world. You won’t

just be saving your friend—you’ll be saving the entire city, and possibly the kingdoms beyond.”

I bit my lip, using the pain to clear my mind. I felt like I was drowning, in way over my head. I was just a thief trying

to complete a mission for her leaders. Leaders who, according to the kahjai , were attempting to summon a legend straight out of the history scrolls. Because of me. And if they succeeded, it would be

on my head.

“The thief that took the stone,” I said shakily, “he doesn’t know anything about the Deathless Kings or the soulstone or the

ma’jhet . He just... needed a way to impress the Guildmaster. He took the stone to the guild.”

“To the Guildmaster.”

I nodded, hoping he wouldn’t ask me who the Guildmaster was. I was already betraying Jeran and the entire guild. I couldn’t

betray Vahn, not for anything.

“The Guildmaster won’t keep the stone there,” the assassin continued thoughtfully.

“He’ll be taking it to the Circle. I suspect they’re in a panic because one of their members has already died.

They know I’m close. They’ll want to perform the ritual straightaway.

” His piercing gaze rose to mine again. “Do you know where they are?”

I hesitated. The iylvahn waited patiently as I fought a battle within myself. I had already betrayed the guild. But now I

faced leading a stranger—an assassin—directly into Circle affairs. They would kill me if they found out what I was doing.

But... if what the iylvahn said was true, if the Circle really was trying to resurrect an ancient, godlike Deathless King...

“I can take you there,” I told the assassin slowly, “on one condition.” I took a deep breath and met those impassive blue

eyes. “The thief and the Guildmaster... they’re not part of the Circle,” I said. At least, I desperately hoped Vahn was

not. “They’re being used, same as me,” I continued. “If I take you to the Circle, I want you to promise that you won’t kill

either of them.”

“My mission is to stop the Circle,” the iylvahn replied. “And to prevent the rising of the Deathless King at all costs. If

you say these two are not part of it, I have no reason to kill them.”

That wasn’t exactly the ironclad promise I was looking for, but I had a feeling the iylvahn wasn’t going to change his answer.

“All right,” I said, feeling an invisible hand grab my stomach and twist. “I’ll take you to where the Circle meets. We’ll

have to go through the guild, though. I don’t know any other way.”

“Through the guild.” The assassin’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t think you’ll be this foolish,” he said, his tone cold and dangerous, “but just in case you are planning to betray me once we are inside, I would very much advise against it. I promised I would not kill your friend or the Guildmaster. Others will have no such protection.”

I clenched my jaw and nodded. “I know how this works.”

He crouched in front of the chair, the dagger in his hand again, and sliced through the ropes around my ankles. Then he stepped

behind me, and a moment later, my hands were free as well.

Rubbing my wrists, I stood and quickly pulled up my hood, feeling a swell of relief as it settled over me, hiding my face

from the world again. I was in a room with the deadliest of assassins, and I had just agreed to take him inside the guild.

I did not want to be seen by anyone.

“Are you ready?” the iylvahn asked. “Is there anything you need before we attempt this?”

“Just one thing,” I said, turning to look up at him. “What do I call you? I mean, you don’t have to give me your name, but

I don’t want to have to yell ‘Hey, assassin!’ the whole time we’re together.”

He blinked. I got the strange feeling that he almost smiled. “You can call me Raithe,” he answered. “Not my real name, of

course, but it’s better than ‘iylvahn’ or ‘assassin.’?”

“Raithe,” I repeated. It fit the dark, silent figure at my side. “All right. Let’s go.”

His arm came up, stopping me. “And what about you?” he asked.

“What?”

“Your name,” he went on. “What do I call you?”

“Oh.” For some reason, that surprised me. I didn’t think the cold, deadly iylvahn assassin would be interested in knowing my name. “It’s Sparrow,” I told him. “And yes, that is my real name.”

Again, that hint of a smile went through his eyes. But he simply nodded and turned toward the door. “Lead on, then. The Circle

might be well into the ritual by now. I pray that we are not too late to stop them.”