Millennia shimmered in the afterglow of the Diamond Storm, its towers still vibrating with residual charge. From the highest terrace of the Emperor's Hall, Vectra watched the last filaments of crystal dust burn away in the upper realm as the diamonds kept raining down.
He was gone.
Of course he was.
Whenever the storm began on Tripolis, Theron vanished. Not to oversee, not to bless, not to intervene. He disappeared like a sulking child. The children pretended not to notice. Vectra did not have that luxury.
The injury had not been subtle. The pulse of the storm that struck Areilycus had rippled through the network that bound the Celestials together. She had felt it—an aberration in the current that always ran clean and obedient.
She had searched Millennia first. The marble galleries. The suspended gardens. The vaults beneath the Hall. No trace of him.
Vectra had a steady and calm disposition. She did not get annoyed, she did not get frustrated.
Except when it came to him. The bane of her existence, the child in god's clothing–the starlight of her life.
The injury had not been subtle. The pulse of radiation that struck him had rippled through the network that bound the Celestials to their maker. She had felt it—an aberration in the current that always ran clean and obedient.
She had searched Millennia first. The marble galleries. The suspended gardens. The vaults beneath the Hall. No trace of him.
Half the realm lay in perpetual daylight, its structures white and blinding beneath the Sibelle star.
The other half drowned in velvet night, neon constellations flickering across obsidian streets. The line between the two cut straight through the city. The casino straddled that line. When she crossed the threshold, ignoring the Kaen people forcing drinks into her hands, all she heard was eruptions of vulgar laughter.
Coins clattered. Glass shattered. The central floor was dominated by the rat chase table—a grotesque game in which vermin raced through labyrinths while wagers mounted higher than common sense.
Theron stood at the head of it.
He was radiant even in disarray. Silver hair loose, sleeves rolled, collar open. His veins pulsed faintly black beneath jade-white skin. A glass dangled from his fingers.
"Thirty!" the Baron of Covaxani crowed, his jeweled rings flashing in the half-light. "Thirty souls by week's end, Your Lordship!"
The table roared with approval. Theron only smiled. Vectra moved through the crowd without hesitation. When she reached him, she did not speak. She seized him by the collar and yanked him back from the table. The crowd gasped—then cheered.
Their god and his favorite servant.
Theron blinked down at her, red eyes glazed but amused. "Oh, hello," he drawled. "You're interrupting."
"You lost thirty," she said evenly.
"Did I?" He glanced back at the table as if mildly inconvenienced. "How careless of me."
"Every trip you take to Kaen means more responsibility for me in the wake of your absence. Just how many chores am I supposed to do on your behalf?"
He laughed and, with a careless flick of his fingers, conjured a sprig of lily of the valley. Its white bells trembled with artificial fragrance. He leaned in and tucked it behind her ear.
She was bald. She lost her hair the day she chose him over everything else. The flower rested absurdly against bare skin.
Her green eyes burned when she delivered the slap. The crack silenced the nearest tables. "Wake up."
Theron adjusted his jaw, slow and deliberate. The amusement did not leave his face, but something sharpened beneath it.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Areilycus is injured," she said. "The Diamond Storm poisoned him."
For a heartbeat, he only regarded her.
"Oh," he said at last. "Good."
The word landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Vectra did not flinch. "Good?"
"There is a little of me in all of my children," Theron replied, lifting his glass again. "If something were fundamentally wrong, they would all feel it. They do not."
"Not like it is in Areilycus," she said quietly.
His gaze flickered, just once.
He finished the drink and set the glass aside. "Keep Milada isolated."
Her spine stiffened.
"She will try something reckless," he continued. "She always does. Do not let her near him until we understand the extent of the damage."
Vectra studied his face. The faint tremor in his fingers. The black pulse in his veins. The careful neutrality.
The storm had not slipped; it had been guided. Understanding dawned in her with cold clarity. She did not voice it.
Theron stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "Contain her," he murmured. "I will be home soon, okay?"
Behind them, the rat chase resumed. The Baron laughed. Thirty lives from Kaen would be harvested before the week ended.
Vectra inclined her head.
"As you command."
She turned and walked back through the divided light of Covaxani, leaving him to his debts and his ghosts.