Ishtal stood inside the temple, watching the sunset.
From this height, Sippar looked like a promise made of stone—clean lines, pale walls, golden light. The city below caught the sun the way a blade caught fire: refined, shining, almost holy. From above, you could pretend it was perfect.
Ishtal never allowed himself that comfort.
He held a cup of wine in one hand, a taste he'd learned to appreciate. The priests behind him murmured prayers to Shamash as they moved through their evening rituals, but Ishtal's attention was elsewhere, spread across rooftops, streets, alleys, and the slow crawl of shadows along the outer wall.
The ring of shadow lay beyond that wall like a wound the city refused to acknowledge. Even now, in the softened light, dust still rose from it. Sippar's glow did not reach that far.
His eyes didn't blink.
Most people survived by choosing what not to see. They called it peace. They called it sanity. They called it faith.
Ishtal called it cowardice.
His Divine Edict was simple in wording and brutal in practice: never close your eyes to injustice.
The problem was that injustice was rarely easy to recognize.
Laws were not born from the world itself. They were written by men. Chosen, amended, enforced by those in power, then called justice once enough people obeyed them. What was lawful to one side was suffering to the other. A decree could be righteous in the eyes of its authors and cruel to those forced to live beneath it. Both would claim justice. Both would believe themselves justified.
If both sides believed themselves justified, where did injustice lie?
Even divine law was not immune to that truth. Prophecies themselves were unjust by nature, demanding sacrifice from some for the sake of an outcome none of them chose. He despised that truth.
Ishtal had learned that justice was shaped by who wielded power, and whether they understood the weight of it.
Without restraint, even sacred law became a weapon.
A movement caught his attention at the edge of his vision. Nadira appeared at his side as if she'd stepped out of the shadows themselves.
Ishtal didn't turn his head yet. He kept his gaze on the horizon, on the bleeding edge of the sun.
"What happened?" he asked, already knowing she wouldn't have come unless something important had occurred.
"My lord…" Nadira said, her tone sharp with tightly controlled anger. "Your brother nearly killed three eyes today."
Ishtal raised an eyebrow and finally looked at Nadira, allowing himself the smallest shift of attention.
"What happened?" he asked again, a faint smile on his lips, the words smooth and the pace careful.
Nadira had been observing Ereshgal the entire time. Until then, he had stayed mostly inside. When he did leave, it was usually for short walks in the afternoon, never following a fixed pattern.
She told him everything.
How Ereshgal moved suddenly despite being far from the incident. His strength, how he sent one of the eyes flying with a single punch, how he lifted another by the face without any visible effort.
Ishtal's fingers tightened slightly around his cup, only enough for him to feel it.
"From what I observed" Nadira said "his strength and speed match an Ascendant's, if not more. And he wasn't even reinforcing himself with spiritual energy."
Nadira continued, explaining that she intervened when Ereshgal was about to crush the man's skull with his fingers.
"You should've seen his eyes, my lord" Nadira finished. "There was no trace of gold. They were red… blood red. Those were not human eyes."
Interest gleamed in Ishtal's gaze, the kind a tactician reserved for a new weapon on the field. The wine remained untouched as he stayed perfectly still, letting the information settle.
Ascendant, or more.
Red eyes.
Ishtal finally took a sip of wine, then he asked, softly: "Do you think what he did was unjust?"
Nadira's eyes widened slightly. She'd anticipated disapproval, perhaps irritation—even knowing Ishtal rarely let anything show on his face.
Instead, he asked about justice.
That was the difference between those who served Shamash and those who merely used his name.
Nadira hesitated. She wanted to answer quickly. She wanted to say yes. It would have been easier.
The pause spoke for itself.
Ishtal turned slightly toward her then, his expression calm, his voice even.
"I understand why you treat him as you do" he said. "Your past makes it inevitable. But you must stop assuming that his nature makes him evil."
Nadira bit her lip beneath the scarf, hard enough for a thin line of blood to slip down its edge.
Ishtal continued, "It's true that the punishment he used may seem excessive… but as you well know, they were already starting to cross the line. It will do them good."
He wasn't defending Ereshgal out of affection, nor excusing the violence. He was placing it in context.
His edict did not allow him to ignore what the eyes had become.
The eyes were supposed to serve justice, not indulge cruelty. When men like that learned they could push boundaries without consequence, they kept pushing until they found someone weaker than themselves.
That was why he had already begun correcting the problem at its root.
Ishtal's eyes returned to the city.
"More importantly" he said, "we've learned several things about him."
"One, his strength." His finger lifted "While it's not definitive proof yet, your judgment gives us a baseline of what he's capable of… and therefore how dangerous he could be."
He raised a second finger.
"Two, we know he can restrain himself." his gaze sharpened, as if he could replay the moment in his mind. "Despite nearly killing them, he stopped when you arrived. That matters."
Ishtal continued, "It's clear that when Kisaya hunted him, he was not in control of himself. All living things in his path were killed and drained of blood."
Then he raised a third finger.
"And lastly, we don't know why, but the woman and the child are important to him."
Ishtal's smile widened slightly. It was the expression of a man who had just found the weak point in a lock.
He took another sip of wine.
"Still" Ishtal said, voice quiet "we should test that control, to see what he does."
Nadira didn't ask how. "I will do as you command, my lord."
"For now" Ishtal replied, "continue observing him. Bring me reports as usual. I'll inform you when it's time to proceed."
Nadira held her position for a breath longer, then vanished, as if she had never been there at all.
Ishtal remained where he was.
The sun sank lower, its edge touching the horizon. The city's gold dimmed, turning softer, darker. He watched the rooftops, the streets, the flow of people returning to homes that felt safe.
Ishtal's smile stayed in place. But behind that smile, a question echoed.
What would happen if he drank human blood?
(Ereshgal POV)
A few days passed. Not quiet days.
I could find myself staring at a wall, thinking about nothing, consciously lifting and lowering my chest, just enough for others to think I was breathing. Then my vision would snap sideways and…
In one moment, I was a boy running barefoot through the dust of Uruk, laughing as I dodged carts and shouting merchants. Scraped knees. A cheap wooden toy clutched in my hand. My mother's voice calling me back before night fell.
In another, I was a teenager who thought he understood the world simply because he'd survived the streets.
Akhem.
I was living his life.
When it ended, I was back in Sippar, standing exactly where I'd been before, my body frozen in place.
There was never a day without one, sometimes there were two, or three. It started after I visited them.
And the worst part…
Once, I even saw myself from his perspective.
Me.
Ereshgal.
Golden eyes and a king's posture and a face that had once meant something to people. Akhem looked at me with the kind of admiration that made me sick.
Thankfully, no matter how long the memories were, only a few seconds passed in reality.
But… when will it end?
Will I relive his death?
Will I watch myself killing him?
I didn't want to think about it.
And what happens after that? He wasn't the only person I killed.
I knew that.
Will memories from others start appearing too? I closed my eyes, as if shutting them could lock something out.
I don't know if I can handle that.
A loud voice snapped me back to the present.
"Ennari, I can't believe you still don't know how to trace your rune!" Kisaya said, her voice raised with frustration.
I opened my eyes.
We were in the small house Ishtal had given us. The afternoon light bled through the window. Ennari was sitting on the floor with her legs crossed. Her expression was furious.
"What do you expect me to do?" Ennari snapped. "It's hard! And yelling at me isn't going to make me learn it out of nowhere. Besides, I wasn't going to train just because that idiot told me to!"
I laughed. Ennari whipped her head toward me like she wanted to throw something. I raised both hands in surrender.
Kisaya didn't even glance at me. She kept her focus on Ennari's hands.
"Your rune doesn't care why you're training" Kisaya said. "And without enough training, it will fail when it matters."
Ennari scoffed. "Wow, inspiring."
Kisaya's jaw tightened "Trace again."
Ennari muttered something under her breath that was definitely disrespectful, then lifted her hand and tried.
I watched her fingers move. Her spiritual energy took shape, silver, the color of Nanna.
It was strange seeing it.
She struggled to keep the trace steady. Discipline felt like a cage to her. And in a way, it was. But power demanded structure.
Since forming her divine pact, she'd been sent here, and she barely trained at all. So yesterday, when Kisaya asked about her progress and Ennari told her the truth, Kisaya got angry.
After that, every afternoon was set aside for training. And Ennari hated it. Which meant it was working.
The line wavered, broke, then flared out too wide, like her energy was slipping sideways.
Kisaya clicked her tongue. "Stop. You're forcing it. You're angry, so you're pushing. Stop pushing."
Ennari's shoulders rose and fell. She tried again, complaining under her breath the entire time. The silver glow pulsed, shaky but persistent.
Meanwhile, my thoughts kept drifting. I found myself curious about trying the divine trace myself.
Even though Kisaya didn't want me to use spiritual energy, I still wanted to try. Earlier today, I'd even gone to an altar to see if I could pray, maybe obtain a divine rune, or learn if I had an edict.
Nothing answered. Even standing before the altar, offering a prayer without a name, there was only silence. I almost laughed. It felt familiar, being ignored by the gods.
The difference was, this time, I still had power.
For now, I'll try the divine trace. Then I'll go check on Ari and Darim.
Kisaya and Ennari were still distracted.
I shifted slightly farther back, toward the edge of the room, like I was just giving them space. And I stared at my hand. I could guide my spiritual energy there. I'd already done that.
How hard could it be?
I closed my eyes and called my spiritual energy. It came instantly, surging instead of rising.
Alive, wild. It pulsed inside me like the heart I no longer had. I tried guiding it again. Gently, toward the tip of my finger.
Slow and controlled.
My mind locked onto one point: my index finger.
I opened my eyes.
My entire hand was being covered by it. Crimson energy crawled up my skin like liquid heat, and the veins beneath my hand bulged.
My nails stretched and sharpened, turning into claws.
I should've known it wouldn't be that easy. At once, I cut it off and ordered it to pull back. The crimson receded like a beast retreating to its den.
Normal again.
I glanced at Ennari and Kisaya. Neither of them had noticed anything.