Baalat and Horus were alive, returned to Elati by the Creator. It had been they whom Teshub had found in Anki, and how he had learned of the jihn's origin and purpose. As Teshub gave the scant details of his message for Thoth to Sekhmet, Urhi-Teshub eyed the empty ship before the portal, bathed in pale, cold, cerulean light, its nose pointed at the wall of churning light, poised to leave them there to die. Teshub fell silent, his message to Thoth complete. Without another word, he turned and walked to the edge of the dark island's inky shore and put his back to them.

Sekhmet watched him go, her look unreadable. Urhi-Teshub touched her arm, tugged her toward him, gentle. For a beat, she held firm, resisting him, stubborn. Angry.

"Please," Urhi-Teshub whispered, his heart aching, unwilling to part this way.

She met his eyes, hers dark with bitterness. He tugged again, let her see his anguish, his longing to hold her one last time. She blinked. Sorrow tainted the contours of her mouth. Her dark armor glinting with frost, she came to him, and let him enfold her in his embrace. He stroked her face, his fingers numb with cold, raking his gaze over her, drinking in her fierce beauty, her power, her passion. His throat tight, he tightened his hold and drew her to him, memorizing the feel of her—the perfect fit of her—against him. "For a brief time," he said against her ear, "I will remember the man I once was. We will have yet a little time."

She pulled back, her eyes hard, sharp with tears. "It was Teshub."

He didn't understand. "Teshub?"

She nodded, forlorn, misery bleeding from her. "Teshub." A whisper, anguished.

Realization slammed into him. Her secret. Defeat touched him. Of all the gods he could have become . . . He had promised her she would never be second to anyone, and now—

"No," he said, firm. "I will not be him. His past is not mine. It will not be the same."

"You will be the storm god whose consort is gone," Sekhmet said, stepping away from him, her expression shuttered. "Perhaps this connection you share is why I was drawn to you from the first heartbeat I saw you—you bore so much of his light." She turned away, her profile taut in the wan light. "I must go. Thoth warned me not to tarry."

Urhi-Teshub lunged after her, caught her arm. She stopped, tense, defensive, her back to him.

"I will overcome this. I will love you," he murmured. He would not lose his past, or her, not after all he had endured, after everything he had lost. "When I return, I will write of my life before I became a god. I will not disregard my own words. I refuse to lose you."

She glanced at him, then at the portal, her golden irises glistening, her lashes spiked with unshed tears; her bleak silence slayed him.

He dragged her back into his arms and kissed her, deep, fervent, desperate, tasting the metallic tang of the tears of a goddess. With her, the colors of his life had sharpened, his existence had deepened, and the passion of his warrior's heart had awakened. He would find a way to come back to her, no matter how long it would take.

She backed away. One step, two steps, her eyes never leaving his, her soul bared to his, aching, lost, tumbling toward an eternity of lonely solitude.

"You will be my consort," he said, ragged, defiant. "We will be together again."

Giving him a final, broken look, she turned, her booted feet skimming over the loose surface of the shale-clad island, soundless, light as a cat. She slipped up the steps into the ship. The door slid closed. A beat later she took her seat in the flight deck—her profile hollow, etched with restrained grief, the raw beauty of her sorrow haunting him.

The ship's engines awakened, and a low rumble echoed over the cavern's barren, frost-rimed walls. With a heavy creak, the wheels lurched free of their position. A breath later, the ship rolled forward, its weight cracking against the stones, sharp, jagged. He clenched his fists, willing her to look at him one last time. Tendrils swept over the ship, encircling it, tugging it into its embrace. At the last heartbeat, she turned. Her eyes met his, soaking his heart with her love, her farewell. Brilliance erupted from the portal. A dense silence surged over him, holding him suspended in its grip. The beat of his heart came first, then the gentle lap of water touching the shore. The portal dimmed. He looked, but he knew the truth. The one who had stolen his heart, who had breathed life back into the shadowed remains of his world, was gone.

Deep cold gnawed Urhi-Teshub's flesh. He huddled into himself, his hands tucked under his arms, enduring the burning cut of freezing fire. Behind him, the portal pulsed soft, dim, dormant, its light reflecting against the cavern's dark waters. In such an unchanging space, time lost all relevance; he had no idea if an hour or a morning had passed. A little distance away, Teshub remained locked within himself, clad in silent, impenetrable walls.

Urhi-Teshub paced the length of the island, focusing his attention on the stones beneath his booted feet, counting the largest ones to fight the lethargy settling over him. Dark thoughts flickered at the edge of his mind, suggesting there might be no transition after all, that Teshub was wrong and Thoth was right. Once, in this very place, Urhi-Teshub had been prepared to become the storm god, had held a dagger to his heart, innocent to the depth of the price he would pay.

He sifted through his memories, sorting through the pieces of his life he had secreted away, locked deep within his heart—pieces he would not allow himself to forget: The day he gave Anash to Istara; the afternoon his father stripped him of his right to the throne; the night he forever lost Istara to Egypt in the royal enclosure at Kadesh; his crowning as King of Hatti; his return to life from the brink of death in Karchemish; his journey across Thamud Desert; his escape from the Etemen'anki; the dagger he plunged into Istara's heart, her blood coating his tunic, her legs giving out—her resurrection as a goddess; Elati; the strange beasts he had seen while collecting the cores from the pyramids; Sekhmet. He swallowed, his throat tight, his thoughts dwelling on her, morose. It couldn't be over. They had hardly even begun. Seven days of life glinted back at him, brilliant, alive, his heart had once more beat with purpose, and now—this. He kicked one of the loose stones. It skittered into the water, and sank with a quiet burble. Perhaps he was destined to be just like Sekhmet, starved of love, and alone, for eternity. No. He would fight it. The alternative was unbearable. He looked up, catching Teshub's gaze on him, cold, implacable, the portal's pale light rippling over his grief-ravaged features.

The once-storm god strode across the distance and bore down on him.

"Don't mourn her."

"Who? Sekhmet?"

"No, Arinna. She is not yours to mourn. She is mine."

"Considering what has happened to Istara," Urhi-Teshub returned, stamping his feet, enduring the frigid splinters of cold crackling up his legs, "I doubt I will have much choice in the matter."

Teshub said nothing. He looked away, stricken anew. The muscles in his jaw clenched.

Urhi-Teshub stamped his feet again. More pain. He welcomed it. "As much as it is in my power to do so, I intend to remain with Sekhmet."

"I would suggest you reconsider," Teshub muttered.

Urhi-Teshub 's heart thudded. Anger pooled.

Teshub folded his arms over his chest. The symbols left by the Creator gleamed, pale, in the wan light. "After I lost Arinna, Sekhmet warmed my bed for a time. I sensed she wanted more." He gave Urhi-Teshub a heavy look. "She is not consort material."

"I think she is."

"Sekhmet is blood, violence, darkness. It is her purpose. It is her only purpose."

Urhi-Teshub stilled. Blades of ice and fire sawed through him. "I see her differently."

"Perhaps," Teshub said, "but you will be the storm god. She is the goddess of war." Teshub eyed the portal, his eyes dark with grief. "In this match, there can be no balance between light and dark. All the pairs are balanced. The Creator made it so. You cannot unmake it."

Urhi-Teshub endured the deepening chill digging into his bones, damping down the nascent embers of his outrage. "So I must be alone for eternity?"

"There will be plenty of others to warm your bed."

"No," Urhi-Teshub said, his thoughts congealing, the cold pulling them away from him, one by one, taking them hostage. "I lost one woman. I will not lose another."

Silence. Teshub let out a grunt of pain. Then, low, harsh with suffering: "You remind me of me."

A shard of agony sliced through Urhi-Teshub. It skittered away, splintering off, fragmenting into a hundred directions. His body no longer cold, but afire, shattering into a thousand pieces. He roared, tearing at his skin, desperate to free himself of the jagged blades shunting his existence to shreds. Images tore through his mind. Istara dressed in the Egyptian style. His throne in Hattusa protected by the pillars of Teshub. His crown torn from his fingers by Rhoha, smiling, cold, clad in a shimmering gown of black. Istara's pendant in his grip; the broiling heat of Karchemish stealing his last choking breaths. Light. Golden light.

He started. The pain had gone. He opened his eyes. Light surrounded him, encasing him within a perfect cube. He reached out, longing to touch it. Stars glided along its walls, their presence laden with sentience, calling to him, whispering the secrets of eternity. He brushed his fingertips against them. The light rippled, the stars brightening where his touch alighted. Awareness suffused him. Euphoria found him. It lasted a single, blissful, unforgettable heartbeat, then, the light shivered and collapsed, a relentless, perfect enfolding, descending into smaller and smaller cubes until nothing more than a speck remained. Emptiness poured into him. He lunged after the remains of the light, seeking to capture it in his hand. It slid free and hurtled away, absorbed by the vast dark. A starless, dead void slid into its wake. Isolation impaled him.

A kick—rough, hard—against his leg. He opened his eyes. A roof of black stone hung over him, its frosted surface glinting in the portal's pale light. Spikes of icy cold slammed into him, pinning him to the chill, bleak stone of the cavern's forlorn isle. Violent shivers shouldered their way through him. Pain soaked his body—the deep, grinding pain of a fragile, dying existence—the kind of pain he had forgotten about in Elati. The grip of mortality dragged its brutal weight against him, relentless, brutal, vengeful. Everything hurt. Breathing hurt.

"Took you long enough." Teshub held out his hand. Urhi-Teshub took it and hauled himself to his feet. Teshub's fingers were ice, colder even than his own. "Thought I might meet my end before you got back. If the others are anything to go by, I think you have to die first for this to work." He eyed Urhi-Teshub's thigh. "It took a few tries to rouse you. I wasn't gentle."

Urhi-Teshub grunted. He didn't care about his leg. The pain of his very existence blinded him. He felt worse than he could ever remember feeling. Agony strafed him in jagged waves, alternating its torturous journey between his mind and body. After the perspective he had gained from far above the canopy of the skies, and of the revelations he had experienced as an immortal, the abrupt, rude, insignificance of his mortal self stunned him. How could he have lived like this for so long and never understood the occlusion of his brief existence against the canopy of forever? Yet, if he had, how could he have borne it? To be mortal, then immortal, and mortal again was too much to bear. It was time to finish what he and Teshub had begun with courage and without hesitation. His fingers clumsy with cold, he fumbled to unfasten the strap securing one of Marduk's weapons in its holder.

"No," Teshub panted, his face pale, shadowed by his own agonies. "Not disintegration. Use the blade."

Urhi-Teshub nodded, dull. Teshub was the god after all. Or had been. He freed the dagger from the scabbard strapped to his thigh, grateful he had decided to carry one at the last heartbeat. The blade's edge glinted in the chill light, cold, hungry, as if aware of its profound purpose. Urhi-Teshub lifted it to his chest and met Teshub's eyes. Hollowness eroded him. Once, he had stood in this place, ready to die to protect the woman he loved, when purpose had clothed him, ennobling his sacrifice. But this, he glanced at the blade—this was nothing. His end would not be borne out of sacrifice, only duty, and the hope he might resurrect as the storm god to aid the others in their fight against Marduk—a fight which had nothing to do with him. Bitterness shrouded him. His death would be nothing more than a repetition of the theme of his entire existence thus far. Dutiful. Selfless. He stared at the quiet susurrations of the portal's light. On its opposite side, a bleak eternity awaited with both Istara and Sekhmet taken from him, his heart lonely, lost, and doomed to mourn a woman he had never known. He lifted the weapon to his chest, slow, reverent, allowing himself his final heartbeats, to grant himself time to recall the man he had been. With one push, he would usher in the end of Urhi-Teshub, King of Hatti, husband of Istara, Princess of Kadesh, goddess of healing, and forever cut-off his nascent affair with Sekhmet, goddess of war. He tightened his grip on the dagger's hilt; only this morning he had wakened with her in his arms and whispered his heart would be hers until the end of eternity.

"Do it," Teshub breathed, his gaze on the blade primed to delve into Urhi-Teshub's heart. He lifted his eyes to Urhi-Teshub's, his, aching, desperate, dark; a caged, suffering beast. "Let me go to her. Let this end."

Urhi-Teshub drew a final breath, savoring the ugly tang of the cavern's raw, damp air, his thoughts lingering on the one who had liberated his heart from its lifelong bindings, willing himself not to forget her, and to have the strength to overcome the claws of his cruel destiny. He closed his eyes, readying himself for the thrust of the blade into his heart. One heartbeat. Two. Sekhmet. Searing heat screamed through his breast. His breath caught, shocked, silenced by his savagery. He yanked the blade out and sank to his knees. Metallic heat surged, saturating the razor-iced edges of his frosted tunic, stealing away the cold, and warming him from the outside in. He looked up at Teshub, who fell to his knees before him. The once-god took him by his shoulders, firm, yet gentle. A glimmer of golden light swirled in Teshub's torso, awakening, scenting the final stage of its journey.

"The Creator chose well." Tears glinted in Teshub's eyes. "Already you are better god than I."

Urhi-Teshub sagged. The dagger slipped from his fingers, its clatter abrasive against the thickening, expectant silence looming from the portal. He lifted his palm to his chest, morbid, fascinated, watching as the heat of his life slipped through his fingers, his slowing pulse strafing his senses, at once both cold and hot as it fled, exquisite, raw, liberating—the pain of his existence subsumed by the pain of death. The scorching, icy fire within his breast lessened. Relief beckoned. Teshub's arms came around him, enclosing him in the comforting embrace of a fellow warrior, refusing to let him die alone. Numb, Urhi-Teshub slumped against the one who had once reprieved him, whom he now sought to reprieve. As the light of the portal brightened against the bleak stones, he closed his eyes, clinging to fading images of Sekhmet, and of Istara, even as his heart succumbed to his will, and stuttered to its final, broken beat.