All Lakhires could remember was dying painfully at the hands of the King of Bethsemane.
   His eyes fluttered open, and he took in the skylight above him. Sunlight shimmered through, small particles of water vapour making it shimmer.
   Under him, the softest mattress supported his weight. Being constantly on quests, he forgot how comfort felt like. Give him a sack of hay and that would've been sufficient.
   Carefully, he got up. The blood in his chest had stopped flowing, and his wound was no longer there. In fact, he felt... better. No, better wasn't the word for it. He felt powerful. His blood felt renewed, and he felt immortal.
   Slipping off the bed, his feet touched the ground, which was as soft as clouds, but at the same time, very, very solid. 
   Where am I? What is this place? I should be dead, wandering the Underworld. But why here? His mind raced with questions.
   He looked down, realising that he was donned in a white robe. It was the most comfortable thing he's ever worn in his life. Or past life. Having woken up alive in a strange place after being stabbed blurred his senses.
   The sound of a thick curtain being pushed away came from his right. From the doorway came a pretty young girl with large sky blue eyes and white hair tied in a braided bun, carrying a wash basin, a pitcher and a washcloth on a silver tray. "Lakhires, we better get you prepped up for your meeting," she said.
   "Meeting? What meeting? Where is this place? And how do you know my name? Meeting with whom?" Out from his mouth poured many questions, probably too many for the girl to answer.
   The girl guided Lakhires towards a chair, and set the tray next to his feet. She poured the pitcher's contents into the wash basin. Lakhires expected water to be pouring from it, but mist came out instead.
   As she dipped the washcloth into the basin, she started explaining the situation. "Lakhires, do you know who's your father?"
   "The god Kalstrios, god of mist," he replied, knowing that he had met him as a child.
   "Yes, him. You're going to meet him. One of the main gods here in the Upper Air, in fact. You're a god now, Lakhires."
   When the girl mention god, he might've jumped straight up the skylight in shock. A god, she said. I'm a god. That makes no sense. I'm mortal. This is a dream. It has to be.
   "This is no dream," the girl said. Again, the feeling of shock took over him. If he were mortal, the shock would probably kill him.
   "What are you? That was a thought. And you just... you just read it," he noted.
   "I'm a Harynger, a servant of the gods," she explained. "My name's Amorine. And I'm here to take you to Skye Hall."
   He nodded, too shocked to say anything.

                             ~~~

The Skye Hall is grand and open, with golden pillars supporting a marble roof covered in jewelled mosaics of the Air gods. Twelve thrones were arranged in the shape of a U around a large ball made from crystal.
   Lakhires entered the hall, escorted by Amorine. The thrones were empty, except for the third one on the right. A man in a cloudy grey robe sat on the throne, with a laurel wreath of mist around his head.
   "Son! You're here," he exclaimed, getting up from the throne. He walked over to Lakhires, and pulled him in for an embrace.
   "Heh... yeah, I'm here. After dying," Lakhires noted. "Father, explain. Why am I here? Why am I alive?"
   "So many questions, Lakhires. So many questions. You might as well be the god of curiosity," the god joked. "You're here because we found you worthy of being here. You've been on numerous quests, each of which you've completed successfully. Welcome to Skye Hall, the hall of the Air gods."