"I suppose we should make it official," Dianite says from across the blood knight's living room. Sir Jeriah sets down the scroll he has been reading and looks at the god.

"Make what official?" He asks. Their relationship? The god's rebirth? So much had changed in such a short time that he could be talking about any number of things.

"You becoming my champion," the god says as if it were obvious. Perhaps it had been. "Although it has faded, you still bare the crest of Mianite."

"Oh," Jeriah says. He looks down at his exposed arm. Just below his shoulder was the ink marking him as a Mianitee, faded after the weeks of disloyalty. "I suppose so."

The god stands up and walks to where Jeriah sits.

"And if the others see it?" Jeriah asks him. "Do I tell them how I changed it?"

"Think of it as a conversation starter to tell them I have returned," he answers.

With the loose ends now tied up, Dianite puts one hand around Jeriah's right wrist and the other covering the old crest. "This is going to hurt."

»«-»«-»«-»«

When Sir Jeriah wakes up he clutches his head and groans. "What? What happened?"

"You have officially changed gods," Dianite tells him. He rolls over on the bed only to lurch up from the searing pain in his right arm. "It'll sing for a while I'm afraid."

"Jeriah!" Mot's voice shouts through Jeriah's communicator. He groans but picks it up, regardless of his feelings towards the man on the other end.

"What," he says flatly into the device. At least he hadn't been called a 'soggy napkin,' whatever that insult was supposed to mean.

"It's Spark," Mot says urgently. "Come to Ianarea! Quickly!" He hung up the communicator, leaving Jeriah alone with Dianite.

"What was that all about?" Dianite asks him.

Jeriah sighs. "No idea, but I honestly want nothing to do with them."

"Sounds like an opportunity to tell them you've switched sides to me," Dianite says.

"Perhaps."

Dianite throws a shirt and cloak to Jeriah who catches it expertly and slips the clothing on. "I'll send you over there so you don't have to walk."

Jeriah stands up and faces his new god, who kisses him on the cheek before sending him off in a tornado of flames.

"Always so dramatic," Jeriah mumbles to himself.

"I heard that!" Dianite's voice booms around him.

"Never said I didn't like it. I walk around on a giant storm cloud for gods' sakes." Jeriah materializes on a short pier beside a startled fisherman as Dianite's comforting laughter fades. He nods to the man, "afternoon," before continuing to the main part of the island.

"Afternoon," the man mumbles after him before trying to regain his composure.

Jeriah smirks to himself and pulls the hood of his cloak over his face and walks in the direction of Spark's house. Town's people stare at him as he passes but he pretends not to notice.

"You'd think by now these idiots would be used to freaks walking through their town," he mumbles to himself.

What could possibly be so important that he had to come right away? Did the old man manage to find trouble, despite his age? Perhaps the girl ran off and they were trying to find her.

As he approaches the house he hears hushed whispers coming from inside. A few villagers stand outside, listening in. Maybe the others had been interested in his presence because of whatever these ones had overheard.

"Scram." Sir Jeriah glares intimidatingly at the eavesdroppers and Dianite chuckles in his mind as they scatter in fear.

I knew I liked you.

Jeriah smirks and pushes open the front door.

"Why is he taking so long?" Mot says from upstairs. Jeriah glares. Obviously they had been talking about him.

"Relax Mot," Ianite says. "He sounded like he had just woken up when you called him, and we are on a island."

Leave it to the goddess of balance to be the voice of reason.

Jeriah slips his cloak of and drapes it over his arm as he walks towards the stairs.

"Maybe if he didn't piss of his god a week after we got here he could have gotten teleported here," Spark's crackly voice comes down the stairs just as Jeriah begins to ascend, making him stop. Spark sounded absolutely dreadful.

Jeriah took the stairs two at a time.

"Spark," he nearly shouts as he rounds the corner. Everyone in the room turns to look at him. "Are you alright?"

Ianite gasps and Jeriah remembers his crest. Although his shirt covered it to the others, she must have sensed something. He self consciously slips his cloak back on.

"Jeriah," she says warningly. "What have you done?"

"What's wing with Spark." He tries changing the subject.

"How did you get here so fast?" Mot asks him.

"A minute ago you eye complaining that I was taking too long, now I got here to fast?!" Jeriah walks swiftly past Mot and Ianite. "What is wrong with Spark."

"I'll be fine," Spark dismisses his worry with the wave of a hand, although his voice gave him away.

"Well you sound like shit." Jeriah crosses his arms and Spark laughs softly.

"Jeriah," Ianite says again. He does not answer her and instead breaks eye contact with Spark to look out the window.

"Jeriah," Spark says carefully, "what's wrong."

Spark always had been the only one, before Dianite that is, who could tell when something was weighing the blood knight's mind.

Shame he was straight.

Jeriah removes his cloak and reveals the flaming crest now tattooed on his arm.

The room went silent.