WAKE UP!

I jolt upright in my bed. The mattress in my room is hard enough that I am able to sleep on it instead of on the floor.

I freeze in the darkness, ears straining to listen for an intruder over the pounding of my heart. But there is only silence. Seizing my Symbols, I sweep my animus forward, hunting for any sign of iron or ice, but there is none. According to my senses, I am alone.

But I know that I am not.

I feel her presence, like an oily smear across my mind.

Nemesis, the dead Goddess of Revenge, waits for me. I have sworn an oath to her, but it is incomplete, not yet set like a broken bone. It needs me to do as she has commanded, and the longer I delay, the more likely it is to get infected.

She waits for me in her temple.

I may not be fully bound to her yet, but I am under no illusions about what will happen if I spurn her. I have her attention—the promise has been made; the rest of these steps are but a formality, a test to prove my faithfulness. I have no choice but to obey.

Something tugs at my chest, like a hook around my breastbone, pulling me in the direction I am supposed to go. It is gentle but insistent. It warns me that the next hint will not be as kind.

Damn the dead gods and their games!

I throw off my sheets with a snarl, reaching for my fighting leathers before hesitating. As a gladiator, I am not permitted outside of the compound without escort. Wearing the broken trident of Domus Pelias will only draw attention.

Instead, I don a black linen shirt with my leather trousers, hoping that I will look like a palatine out for a late-night dalliance. Mentally, I check my reserves, pleased that I had been allowed to top them up from the ludus’s traveling loci before I retired for the evening. I am not allowed to carry weapons outside of the grounds of the arena, but if I need one, I have enough essence to use the Glacialis Falx with ease.

Tentatively, I slip out of my room, moving the door slowly to keep it from creaking on its rusty hinges. My heart pounds in my throat as I slide out of the hallway, trying to look casual while also staying hidden. There are no rules against me being outside of my dormitory, even in the depths of night. But I have no desire for my excursion to be remembered by anyone watching.

There are no guards in sight, and I move across the courtyard quickly, staying far away from puddles of light pouring off the watchfires that burn in braziers. A low layer of clouds must have come in from the ocean after the sun fell. I can see neither Luna nor Mons Olympus above, and I find some comfort in the fact that they are hidden.

If the gods cannot see me, then maybe I am free from all eyes.

I hunker in the darkness beneath the stairs that lead up to the top of the wall, letting their shadows shroud me as I wait to see if anyone has noticed my arrival. But there is no one. I am the only soul that appears to be awake at this hour.

Again, I cast out with my animus searching for a hint of iron or ice, but the only metal I can sense is in the braziers holding the fires off the ground. Wherever Varus’s Ironbound are keeping watch from, they are not here.

Feeling emboldened by their absence, I sweep out of the shadows and trot up the stairs, taking them two at a time at an eager pace. It feels like there is a window of peace that will soon close. Perhaps it is the changing of the guard.

I force myself to move confidently as I reach the walkway along the top of the wall. I cast one last furtive glance over my shoulder, but the courtyard is still empty. The time to act is now.

I vault over the lip of the stone fortification so I can slide across it. My heart leaps in my chest as I slip over the edge. For a moment, I’m in freefall, then my trailing hand grabs the stone crenellation, and I jerk to a halt, dangling two stories above the ground. The Silver Corda running through my body has reinforced my body, but being stronger does not simply banish the innate, primal fear that I carry.

No normal man could fall from this height and not break their bones. Every instinct in my mind screams at me not to let go, to claw desperately to the side of the wall and cry out for help. But I do not listen to my fear. It belongs to an older version of me. The Castor who has no Cor Heart, who works in a bakery.

Frigus Ventus lets go.

I land at the base of the wall in a crouch, my argentum body easily absorbing my momentum as I pause in the shadows, waiting to see if anyone noticed my brazen escape. But there are no cries of alarm, no movement on the street outside our ludus’s compound, only the heavy silence of a cloudy night.

My tension eases once I leave the district surrounding the Bellona Arena. Now there is nothing to mark me as an escaped gladiator, and it should be a simple matter for me to blend in among the other residents of the city.

I make my way down mostly empty streets, walking past taverns that are full of drunks still celebrating the violence of the Games from the day. “Here’s to the bloody sands!” they roar as they clink their flagons together.

“The krakenus of Valerus will crush you all!” one man shouts in support of his favorite team.

“Ludus Apicius will see about that!” another contests, drawing groans from others around him. More plebians shout the names of the domuum they support, but I do not hear Pelias among them. Varus was right; the mood of the people turns against him.

I slink deeper into Antioch, trying to retrace the path that the carriages traced when we passed the ruins of Nemesis’s temple. I have never been alone in a city like this; I am overwhelmed by the number of streets. It feels like I am in Daedalus’s maze—I dread the coming of the minotaur.

Occasionally, I feel the eyes of pickpockets and thugs who watch me from the shadows, looking to see if I am easy pickings. Whatever they see in me, whether it is the Cor veins in my arms or the way I carry myself, they decide it is not worth it. There will be better targets on these dark streets later in the night.

This is hopeless, despair whispers to me when I am fully lost. I have only been this way once, during the day. On foot at night, it might as well be another world. How ironic that my defeat is not from an enemy or monster. I am defeated by a poor sense of direction.

I do not even really know the way back to the arena, although that will be easier to find. The massive structure hulks on the edge of the city behind me. A blind man could see it. But the ruins of a dead god’s temple are much more hidden.

I am just about to give up and return to the ludus’s quarters with my tail between my legs when the prickling sensation on the back of my neck returns. She is here. Somehow, I know that Nemesis moves with me.

Above me in the night sky, Mons Olympus suddenly blooms into view as the cloud cover that hid it dissipates. The floating mountain shines brightly in the otherwise empty sky, ahead and to my right. A chill runs down my spine as I stare at it, glowing like a beacon. Night itself twists to show me the way.

I am still full of despair as I adjust my course to use the dead home of the gods as a North Star. Seeing the daughter of Nox wielding her mother’s power to guide me does not make me feel like I am on the right path. The world is not supposed to work this way.

Our ancestors changed everything. They killed the gods to save us from this. In exchange, we gave up our power. The Iron Empire exists to prevent men from becoming gods. The Censors and the inhibiti are all safeguards against this world coming back.

Yet here it was. It appears to have never left. The promises of safety from the gods were not kept. But the restrictions and control still exist. I raise my left hand to rub the front of my neck where my own collar used to sit.

Abruptly, Nemesis’s temple rears out of the dark in the distance.

I make my way through empty streets. There are no revelers or pickpockets about as I draw close to where she resides. A stillness descends upon Antioch. Every stone home has its doors and windows closed. No lights shine from within. It is as if the people who live here have battened down the hatches, preparing for a storm—a cold wind—to sweep through. Alone, I walk down the middle of the street, confident that we will not be disturbed until our business is complete.

The ruins of the dead god’s home take up an entire city block. Its spire has fallen into ruin, pieces of it litter the courtyard before it. Holes have been smashed into its walls, left open like gaping wounds. Her giant, headless statue still keeps watch over the empty street. No lights shine within its crumbling interior. Only a piece of the everflame burns in the brazier at the entrance, one small sign of respect for the vanquished. I eye the darkness with distaste, trying to decide if I am willing to enter that murk unable to see.

This is a test. I have faced so many over the last year that they have become obvious to me. One more being who wishes to know the strength of my mettle. A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I stare at the basin. It is a fraction of the size of the one that I fell into in Delilah’s garden, but its Unrelenting Fire is welcome all the same.

Wordlessly, I stick my left hand into the brazier, reaching for my newest Symbol to protect me from the everflame’s hunger. The inferno leaps to devour my hand, and I welcome it, gently curbing its bite with a small flick of my will. Instead of my flesh, I feed it essence, keeping it bright and strong. Fire surrounds my fist like a dense swarm of fireflies as I step into the temple. I’ve become my own torch.

I hold my burning arm high as I enter the darkness, letting it banish the shadows. But something resists my light. It’s as if the night that clings to the ruins of Nemesis’s temple is alive and angry. I feel it pushing back against me, powered by a will that dwarfs my own.

The nails in the soles of my boots echo on broken stones as I walk through what once was a courtyard for worshippers seeking something from the Goddess of Vengeance. It still serves this same purpose—I am just the only one here.

The darkness grows thicker ahead of me, layering on top of itself in the open doorway to Nemesis’s inner sanctuary the same way I condense New Snow into Ancient Frost. I draw short of that murk, holding my burning hand high, feeding Unrelenting Fire into the flame I carry, trying to push it back. But no matter how bright I shine, the darkness does not retreat. This is the domain of one of the daughters of Night, and my light is not welcome here.

I stand just outside of its shadowy embrace for a moment, staring into it as it does the same to me.

Come, it seems to whisper, even as it exudes a challenge that would drive away anyone wise enough to listen. This is not a safe darkness. To enter it is to take my life into my own hands—to walk where monsters tread.

I should leave. Every instinct inside my body shudders in fear at the thought of continuing further into the ruin. I have no desire to face another dead god. But the votum in my pocket will not let me flee. The blood of my father sings out from the cobblestones it stained when Atticus cut him down. The shades of my fallen brothers watch me from the afterlife, lost and unable to go to rest.

Vengeance has been promised—but first she must be awakened.

I take a deep breath like a man standing at the edge of a cliff. I hold it for a moment, reveling in the silence. Then I release it, and the stream of essence that feeds the everflame curling around my fist. It goes out in an instant, and I am plunged into darkness.

The resistance to my passing vanishes with the light. Somehow, I am able to see, even though it remains shrouded in night. My heart hammers in my chest as I step over the threshold and into the sanctum of the goddess.

The interior is even more ruined than the outside would suggest. A half-dozen stone pews lay scattered and shattered across the floor. But there is a path through the middle of them toward the dais that towers in the back.

A low rectangular altar runs the length of it, sitting under a second broken marble statue of Nemesis herself. The goddess is depicted standing watch over the room, arms extended. In her left hand, she carries a set of scales; in her right coils a long whip. A pair of feathered wings sprouting from her back once stretched the width of the room; now the right one is broken at the joint. The shattered remnants of it lie at Nemesis’s feet.

The pull that has guided me thus far tugs at me again, demanding that I approach. The sanctum is quiet and empty, as if it too holds its breath waiting to be released. I feel thrice a fool as I obey the command of the dead goddess. My animus sweeps the room as I approach the altar, but I sense nothing. According to my Symbols, I am the only one here.

But I am not alone.

My footsteps falter as I ascend the first step toward the altar. The skin on my forearms prickles with gooseflesh as I feel a familiar pressure exert itself through the room. It wakes like a slumbering lion, shifting in its cage, eager to be free.

It reminds me of standing before the frozen grave of Aquilo in the depths of his icy home. I am not bound to the same Symbol as Nemesis; I do not feel her interference like I did his. But there is a heaviness that is unforgettable.

Did the Iron Lords kill any of the gods?

The silence grows, filling the room like it is being poured in from another place. I am not in the white void where I have faced other of the pantheon before. I am wholly grounded here. The Goddess of Vengeance does not demand that I come to her; instead, she meets me where I am.

I am not sure how to take that.

At last, I cannot stand the tension. “Why have you called me?” I ask the darkness, feeling like a fool. Thousands have stood in this room since the fall of the gods and spoken to Nemesis. If she did not answer them, why would she answer me?

My arrogance grows with my Corda. I expect too much.

“To see if you are worthy.” Her words slither like the dry scales of a serpent, and a shiver runs down my spine at the sound. It is the parched throat of a skeleton that has not spoken in a hundred years. But now it stirs.

“Worthy of what?” I prompt when she does not speak again.

“Of waking me from the dark.” The bloody stone in my pocket begins to burn. I let out a bark of surprise, reaching to dig it out before my trousers light on fire. Its heat is so strong that even my connection to Unrelenting Fire is not enough to mitigate all its wrath.

“But it is already made,” I protest, feeling a little stunned by her words. “My brothers and I⁠—”

“I have been considering your pledge,” the dark whisper cuts me off smoothly. “I am a prisoner, not a slave. I do not have to obey your call just because you bring me a bloody rock.”

I frown as I consider her words. Aquilo did not accept my votum until I bled before him. We never made an oath stone. He got what he needed from that encounter. But when Valentina, Marcus, and I swore our first to the gods before the Sententia, it was still there when we dug it up to add Felix to our number.

I knew then that if I returned to place where we buried it, that I would not be able to find that bloody stone anymore. Something had come to collect it to seal our oath. I still held the votum that my Segestan brothers and I made in the weapon’s shed of Agogia, which meant that our oath was in limbo with Nemesis.

My mouth twists in distaste as I lose yet another connection to the boys who had sworn to help me avenge the wrong done to my family and theirs. For months, I have carried the torch of that vow, keeping their flame alive. But now I learn that it was only a fancy—empty words spoken to the wind.

So be it. My disappointment settles into a layer of bitter resolve. They may only have been words. But it was an oath to me. I am no god, but I will not let my brothers lie in the dark without vengeance. Without Thanatos or Pluto to guide them, my mother and father may never find each other in the afterlife. My sister wanders alone in the darkness that waits on the other side of the veil. Vengeance is the last thing I can give to them, and I need no goddess to see it done.

I will make my own.

With a flick of my wrist, I toss the votum at my feet. It clicks as it bounces off the flagstone floor. I turn on my heel, preparing to leave this dead god where she lies. But I am stopped by a dry, cold chuckle that echoes around the dark temple.

“Delicious.” Nemesis’s pleasure is apparent.

“What is?” I ask, not turning back toward her altar. I do not even know if she is here or how she watches me, but I am in no mood to be polite, not even to a god.

“You burn with the same thing that burns within me, abominatio,” she tells me. Her voice grows warmer. It seems more human the more she uses it. “For we are both unrelenting.” I hesitate before turning back to face her.

“What do you want from me?” I repeat, trying to calm down my racing heart.

“What do I want?” Nemesis asks, laughing in disbelief. “I wish to remain asleep, spared from my misery. I wish to be free of the burden of being a shepherd. But none of this has ever been about what I want.” I tilt my head in surprise at the goddess’s petulant tone. It seems so very… normal of her.

“My onus requires that I act, and so I shall.” Her voice grows stronger. “The compact has been broken. The time of peace is coming to an end. The hour of the reckoning is at hand.” Goosebumps burst out of every inch of my flesh at her words.

“I accept your votum, abominatio. You shall be my cold, right hand as we set the world to rights. Together we shall tear down that which is broken and corrupt and rebuild it in our just image.” My eyes narrow at her fervor. I am no builder. I do not seek to right the wrongs of the Iron Empire—just avenge them.

But it is too late now, and if Nemesis’s help will stain my blade with Atticus’s blood, who am I to say no?

“What must I do?”

“Release me from this prison.” Her voice burns with urgency. “It is time that I walk again.”

The pressure in the dark room pushes at my back, guiding me. Instinctively, I know what she means. My foot brushes the top of the stairs as I begin to ascend to her, where her altar lurks. I do not kick the bloody rock that I dropped. It is gone, taken by the goddess who slumbers here in the ruins.

My hands find a large chunk of stone in the dark. I pick it up, wielding it like a hammer. The altar stands before me at the base of her statue’s feet. I cannot see it in the total darkness, but still, I know it is there, thanks to the divine guidance that Nemesis grants me.

My heart beats so fast that I fear it might burst. I am a traitor to my Empire and people; an infidelis—unfaithful. But there is a difference between the crimes I have committed and the one I consider now. This is not just a betrayal, but a blasphemy.

The gods are dead.

Yet I am about to set one free. Unrelenting Fire curls eagerly in my chest, excited by my panic. It delights in the taste of vengeance that it can feel in the air. It wants only to consume, and this is the most direct path toward its goal.

My hand shakes as I raise the rock clutched in my fist. There was already no going back, but after this, there will be no peace. Even if I die, this cannot be undone. There are no Iron Lords left to stand against her. I am about to set a lupus free and must pray that it does not choose to eat me.

But Unrelenting Fire would set the whole world ablaze to get its hands on Atticus and Brennus. So I light the match and strike, smashing the goddess’s statue with all my Silver strength. Pieces of the marble figure explode under the force of my blow. I raise my left hand to shield my face as I continue to hammer away, turning the ancient relief into dust.

Deep in her stony chest, I find it. A black lump of metal is nestled where her heart should be. My fingers run over the smooth relic, trying to discern what it does. Whatever Symbol the electus who carried it was attuned to is a mystery to me. But it has been forged by the Heartsmiths to serve, and with a flick of my will, it thrums to life.

The ground beneath my feet rumbles as the stone flows like liquid, pulling aside to reveal a stairway hidden behind the goddess’s statue. I still cannot see, but Nemesis shows me the way.

A long passageway waits for me like an open throat ready to swallow me whole. Steeling myself with my Iron Symbol, I make my way down it, empty hands itching to hold a sword. There is a malevolence to this place that threatens to unnerve me.

“Warning, intruder detected,” a flat voice announces in a strange accent as I descend below the temple. It is empty of emotion, and its strange tones send a thrill down my spine.

“Containment breach detected, guardians deployed,” the voice warns. “Activating defensive measures.” I slide to a halt, casting my animus around for any sign of danger. My stomach drops as something flickers at the edge of my domain—a burst of iron moving toward me.

With a thought, I trigger the Glacialis Falx, summoning an icy blade in my right hand. My Ancient Frost reserve strains as it manifests the ice, but I do not consume all my supply. As my assailant comes into range, my jaw drops as I realize it is not a guard carrying iron, but a thing made entirely of it.

It moves like a man, with two arms and two legs, but instead of flesh, there is only metal. In its hands, it carries a pair of naked blades. Fear trickles down my spine as I sense two more following behind it. The trio race toward me, like released hunting dogs.

They do not slow down or speak as they come in range. The first metal man simply raises its sword and attacks. My Cor warns of the strike even in the dark. Relying on my training, I step forward to get inside its guard, letting my icy blade meet its blow head-on.

Shatter, my will whispers to the sword, powered by the Iron Symbol.

But its weapon does not break. It rebuffs my command easily. My heart skips a beat as my will bounces off an impenetrable wall of authority, much like the custos relic that Percy trained us against in Agogia.

No, it seems to say. They are Ironbound! Naked fear blooms inside of me, overwhelming even the cold logic of my Symbols. I have no way of knowing what sort of relics power these infernal automatons. What if they are Silver like me? I am relieved that I choose to use a weapon made of Ancient Frost instead of my own iron. Even though it is a weaker material, it is the only thing that keeps them from being able to work against me.

I disengage my gladius from its blade, dropping under its other strike and stepping closer to the trio of guardians. Gritting my teeth, I shove my left hand forward, triggering the Falx for a second time, nearly emptying my Ancient Frost reserves. It is worth the risk of running out of essence to be able to fight these enemies with an advantage.

Using my momentum, I stab my left-hand blade forward at the first automaton’s abdomen, an old legion favorite. My weapon’s icy tip scratches along its metal, unable to push through its defensive power.

I stagger past it, cursing as I become pinned between a triangle of enemies. Come on, Castor, think! I curse myself as we exchange a flurry of blows in the dark. Their weapons burn brightly against my mind as my Symbol paints their trajectories cleanly.

Whatever these guardians are powered by, they are a far more advanced creation than the custos relic that I trained against in Agogia. But as my blades shudder from the power of their blows, I wonder if they share a similar weakness.

When I tested to become a Fidelis, I beat their game by stealing essence from the automaton, relying on the lack of instruction that the Heartsmiths gave it when they forged it. These guardians are more complex, but are they prepared to defend against an Ironbound electus?

I duck under the guardian to my left’s overhead swing, twisting to slam my frozen gladius into the right side of its ribs. As before, my weapon bounces off its armor harmlessly, unable to penetrate its rigid defenses. But this time, I do not try to break in; instead, I take.

Come to me, I command, ripping at its essence stores with my Cor, relying on the touch between us to serve as a conductor. These guardians were designed to tear through warriors intruding on this crypt, but they were not prepared for someone like me. Its iron essence pours into me in a torrent, and I let out a laugh of victory as the automaton collapses, its armor rattling as it bounces against the stone floor.

Thank you, Percy, I think with a twinge of sadness for the fallen centurion. His teachings continue to save me, even after he is gone. It is only a matter of a few more exchanges before the other two guardians tumble to the floor next to the first. They twitch in irritation, lacking the power to chase me. I do not know the intricacies of how relics are powered, but even if they can self-cultivate, it will be some time before they are back on their feet.

I do not release my grip on my icy gladii as I step over the twitching guardians. My reserves are too diminished to summon another pair, and I am using them desperately to try to reclaim some of my missing essence.

I cast around for the source of the voice that spoke, but there is no sign of any living being other than me. Slowly, I make my way down the long hallway, to the doorway that waits. As I draw near, I can just make out words carved by hand into the stone above it.

Hic sunt Fidelia.

Here are the Faithful.

Dread builds between my shoulders as I walk beneath that inscription to descend into what must be the crypt of Nemesis. For hundreds of years, the goddess has slept here, a dozen feet from where the curious have come to inspect the ruins of her temple.

My skin tingles as I step inside the large room, and suddenly, my animus senses Iron everywhere. It’s as if something was shielding this area from my view, but now that I have gained access, its secrets are laid bare.

A dozen lumos relics burst into action, bathing the crypt in light. I raise my left hand to shield my eyes as my pupils adjust to the sudden absence of the dark. When I can see comfortably, I lower it to take in Nemesis’s resting place.

The goddess lies in a large iron coffin that takes up most of the room. It is covered in strange markings that I do not understand, but from its sheer size alone, I know that it is what I am searching for. I hesitate for another moment, but it is too late to go back now. With a grunt, I slide its cover off, letting it fall to the floor with a faint ringing thud.

I pay it no mind. All my attention is fixated on the goddess who waits within. Like all her kin I have encountered, she is emaciated. Much of her flesh is missing or rotten. Bones stick out of all her limbs, and the bottom half of her jaw is laid bare. Her eyes are covered by a black blindfold that looks like the moths have been at it.

Despite her inhuman size, she does not seem like a god. She seems dead.

Then her head begins to tilt, and the corpse turns to look at me with an expectant stare. My heart skips a beat as I stare at the god, proof of the lie of the Iron Empire. Aquilo was like a ghost. I never saw his physical body move.

But Nemesis lives.

“Release me,” she hisses, drawing my attention to the chains that bind her. Much of the iron that my Symbol sensed when I entered this strange room curls around her like a serpent. A thick chain of metal is wrapped around each of her limbs, then anchored into the walls of her coffin.

I have seen other gods similarly restrained but never to this degree. Aquilo and Mercury only wore a single ball around their ankles. I stand above this bound, undead god, unsure what to do. Being here is an act of apostasy, of heresy. Our gods are dead! And yet, here she is, and here I am.

Her touch brushes against my mind, eager and insistent. I stagger to the side as a thousand images flash through my mind, memories that are seared into me like the XII brand on my chest. In my mind, I watch Atticus butcher my father. My family’s estate burns. Marcus dies.

All these pieces of the Castor mosaic cry out and are unanswered. Justice—vengeance—whatever name it wears, has not been delivered. I am owed it and this undead thing before me promises me a path to it. A votum is a pact between us, and she is eager to do her part.

My hesitation vanishes, burned up by the fire she stokes. I accept. I need. Together we will right the wrongs.

“Why are you bound more than the others?” I ask, probing her restraints with my senses. To my surprise, they reject my scrutiny, pushing back with a latent sense of will, as if there is something inside of them that holds them together.

“Because I refused their plan,” Nemesis’s rotting throat groans. “Your ancestors buried me deeper than the rest of them.” My eyes flick up to her blindfold, so distracted by her story that I forget to be repulsed.

“What plan?”

She only laughs, a horrifying sound now that it comes from her throat and not her power. “Release me, and I will show you the truth of this rusting world, young abominatio. There is much that we must cleanse together.”

Once more, I do not hesitate, for it is too late. Nemesis is uncovered. She will be free, whether it is by my hand or not. I cannot put her back in her box. I reach into her coffin and grab the thick iron chain that holds her left leg. To my surprise, the metal is frigid. A dark, cold power pours out of it like a living thing, trying to attack me. I tsk in irritation, seizing Ancient Frost and using it to grapple with the strange will.

My mouth drops open as I realize that my cold power is the same as the one that repels me now. Whoever sealed Nemesis in here bound these chains with the same Elder Symbol that I carry. My eyes pop open, and I stare at Nemesis’s corpse for another moment. There is a question that I need answered before I continue. “Was it Frigidus or Aquilo who bound you with these?” I demand.

The Goddess of Vengeance’s voice crackles as she mocks me. “Both, abominatio. It was both.”

I begin to understand.

The goddess is still laughing when I break the fourth chain. It is a simple matter for someone who is bound to both of the Symbols that were used to restrain her. It’s as if I were forged for this very task. I use my will to reach into the metal and push out the relics that someone—a god or one of the Iron Lords—placed inside of them. Once they are extricated, the iron shatters with a thought.

Nemesis wastes no time. One moment, she is lying in her coffin; the next, she stands before me, looming over me by more than a foot. Fear assails me, but it finds no purchase on my heart. The cold logic of Iron and Ice keeps them at bay.

“Tell me why are you bound? Why the Iron Lords failed! Tell me what you are!” My voice rises in anger as I stare at the freed, rotten goddess. This is yet another betrayal—another stain of rust on the life I live.

The goddess’s ruined mouth stretches as she smiles in amusement. “Make me, Ovicula.”

“You promised.”

“And I will deliver. When you are ready.” Her voice is thick with promise.

I am silent, holding my hands loosely at my sides, icy blades held low but ready. I am not Frigidus—I do not know if I can defeat her—but she is not what she once was either. Her centuries of imprisonment have eaten away at her. I have made a mistake. She is not an ally, but a wild animal.

Nemesis does not attack. Instead, she laughs. “I accept you as my supplicant now, abominatio. Together we shall right this world. Justice requires vengeance. The scales are out of balance, and blood is required.” I swallow, excited and terrified. I have broken something foundational. The fire is started.

“What must I do?”

“What any good follower must do.” She sounds like she is in pain. “I require essence. Feed me with your vengeance and make me whole.” I shudder, but my oath is accepted. I am bound to her, and she to me.

“Are you going to give me your Symbol?” The question comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. Every god who has crossed my path has foisted another burden onto me. I can only assume that she means to do the same. I am terrified what the strain of another Copper Cor might do to my mind. She tilts her cadaverous head to study me before chuckling once more.

“No, I will not curse you with this yet.” She laughs.

Despite her words, part of me is disappointed. I thought that binding myself to a living god would bring me power, but she denies me. Nemesis must see this on my face, despite her blindfold, for she cocks her rotting skull to study me.

“Do you know what Justice is?” she asks. I shake my head, unsure how to answer. “Justice is a terrible thing, young abominatio. I would not wish it on you for the world. It is in every sharp blade. It is a part of every cold piece of ice. Every death belongs to me before it does to Pluto or his ilk.”

I swallow, terrified beyond words.

“Do you know who my mother is?”

“Nox,” I whisper.

“It is no mistake that I, the Goddess of Justice and Vengeance, sprang from Night’s loins, abominatio.” Her blindfolded gaze consumes me, devouring me from the inside. “Justice can only be achieved once the whole world is blind.”

What have I done?

She smiles, enjoying the fear on my face. “Rest well, my supplicant. Together we will do dark, dark things in the name of Justice. I will see you soon.” Then, with a flicker of the world, she is gone, and I am alone in the ruined temple of a living god.