Considering the circumstances of his wounds, the priests had allowed Homer to be treated within one of the many side room hospices within the cathedral. It smelled horrible; they’d been ‘draining his humors’ and other terminology she didn’t understand heads or tails of, but she could tell they’d been doing *something* to his wounds based on the two buckets of viscera next to the door, waiting to be picked up by some apprentice that’d then pour them out somewhere- perhaps the city sewers.

  It was a wonder that he’d lived at all. Two deep stab wounds, right through his front and back, a ssh along his stomach, and other smaller cuts… His blood had been extensively drained, or so expined the withered old man slowly stitching together what he could. In his professional opinion, despite Homer’s size and general good health, a man of his age had no business surviving these wounds, much less recovering from them even if he did survive.

  “Then again,” the old man spoke with a needle gently pced between his lips, fiddling along with some special string, blessed with healing properties, “gods are queer things. Maybe they decided he ought to live.”

  She sat there and watched for hours. Aymanah had come by as well, and they watched together for some hours, but she eventually sent them back to the inn so that they could rest. Homer would still be here tomorrow, she promised, and they could rest easy with her watching over him. She’s not sure if Aymanah bought it or not, but they left without compint.

  In truth, Maia just dreaded the fact that she’d have to say goodbye to both of them; doing so at the same time would be overwhelming. Better pace herself out. Eventually the healer was done with his work, shrugging to her questions of how well Homer would recover.

  “That matter is up to the gods, and we’ve seen how at least one of them has treated him… Then again, with the godsyer by his side, perhaps it is merely mortal effort that determines his pce in this world in the coming hours.”

  And so they were left together. She sat by his bedside, and he slept. Sometimes he stirred, as if showing signs of awakening, and yet…

  It is her who is awakened by him, funny how that works, hand on her shoulder. Darkness. There’s a single lit candle at his bedside. She must’ve lit it slightly before she fell prey to her own drowsiness. Homer’s eyes are a little bloodshot, and his voice is weak. But he speaks. Short but true.

  “... I’m alive?”

  “Somehow.”

  “Did I win?”

  “You lost.”

  Homer lets out a groan of utter frustration and lifts a hand, staring at his fingers as if he’s confirming their presence, ‘till he lets them run down his face instead.

  “But they’re gone, aren’t they? I wouldn’t be here out of their good mercy. Did you do something stupid, or did the other gods have mercy upon my soul for my valiant effort?” The sarcasm dripping out of his voice is overpowering, but she expins the events the best she can. Not that there’s much to expin.

  She killed a god.

  That makes Homer bust a gut, perhaps literally too- he has to hold his own side for a good while after that ugh, cringing when he speaks next. He really should have some more self-discipline when bedbound like so.

  “Hahahaha! That one’s going to sting, I bet! You’ve never lifted a sword, have you? And you’ve only ever held a walking staff. Should’ve bonked them on the head with that before they went, just to drive it home… Aaah. That must be why it doesn’t boil right now. The blood. They’re gone for a while, a day or two, reforming wherever the gods are born… Until then, I’m at peace. My head feels clearer than ever.”

  Maia’s not sure if that’s actually true or if he’s just experiencing catharsis, though. She fiddles with the sleeves of her robe.

  “You’re leaving with Death tomorrow, then. It was a good journey, wasn’t it? One of us got what they wanted. I’m still here, in this cursed and old shell, and now I carry some new scars… But I suppose I need to let the sleeping dog lie.”

  Homer stares at the ceiling, a wry smile on his face.

  “Or I could try and kill them again in the coming year. Would you and your new mistress come and see that?”

  Maia whaps him on the arm. His groan of pain is definitely fake, and she pouts.“I’d come see you and Aymanah, but I would not come see you get yourself foolishly killed. Shouldn’t you consider this divine grace? Fate has decided you should live.”

  Homer grunts and appears a little more contemptive now.“My wife and son will be here soon, won’t they? Mmm. Likely tomorrow. You’re lucky, with your godly connections… They’ll have to talk to the priests and plead and prove their retionship to me. Hahahahaaaa. I’m not looking forward to that. Who told them, I wonder…”

  Maia doesn’t even wait,“I did. Your wife came looking for you while you were out. I told her where she’d find you.”

  “Mmm. That makes sense. It could’ve been my comrades, I suppose, but I firmly believe they’re not that suicidal… I do still need to live long enough to be able to crawl out of this bed to fy them alive myself, for causing this whole incident.”

  Maia rubs her temples and sighs,“really, you caused this yourself, since you would’ve started a fight even without War being prepared…”

  Homer makes some sort of childish noise of frustration. Such a baby of an old man. Maia leans back in her seat and stares at the darkened ceiling, barely visible with the light of the candle.

  “I’m a little scared.”

  Homer scoffs.

  “Scared of what? Being tied down by a ball and chain now? Trust me, Maia, despite my escape from her clutches, being bound to someone for life is a comfort and not a curse. The curse I bear was simply stronger than the comfort she gave me…”

  Maia whaps him on the arm again.

  “Scared of what’s to come, I suppose. Leaving you two behind. It being real now makes this all so… Final. We won’t be seeing each other for some time now. I’ll be with Death for months, perhaps until next year, depending how long she deems I ought to stay and train…”

  It’s Homer’s turn to whap *her* on the arm, even though the effort clearly strains him and makes him hack and wheeze. He shouldn’t be extending his arm out like that.

  “Then you stay and train. I’m not in the grave yet! I’ve got ten or twenty years more in me, hah! And you have Aymanah to visit too. You shouldn’t let our little adventure, mere seconds of our lives, make you regret the rest of it as it comes-”

  “But those seconds were precious! I- I had so much fun. I saw the world. If you hadn’t agreed to help me at that tavern, I… I don’t think I would’ve ever gotten this far. I would’ve slinked back to my little hut, prayed, and… I don't even know.”

  Homer hacks and wheezes, but that wheeze is just the prelude to a gentle, fatherly ugh. Reminds her of her own father, when he would be exasperated with her for eating dirt as a very little child, ruffling her hair… It’s strange how time makes one forget the faces and voices of those whom you love. It’s been years now, and she just barely recalls what her father sounded like.

  She hopes he would’ve liked Homer.

  “Then we’ll make those seconds into minutes over the years. And you won’t go back to that hut unless you ever want to go home, Maia… Mmh. You saved me, you know? Without you, I definitely would’ve died. You might’ve brought death, but you also brought life. Don’t let anyone think otherwise. And I think you saved Aymanah too, in your own way. That little hatchling would’ve been miserable in their vilge…”

  Did she save them? Now she thinks Homer is high on his own vapors. She leans over, presses her face to his chest and gives him a gentle hug. His hand on her back is so rge, twice the size of her own palm, but it's comforting.

  When she lets go, she doesn’t want to- but she has to.

  “Get some rest. I… I’ll come see you again tomorrow, before I go.”

  “Or I could crawl out of this hospice to see you off.”

  “Only if you promise me you won’t be spilling your guts out on the floor as a parting gift, Homer.”

  “Now you’ve spoiled the surprise, you brat.”

  There was some more light banter before she finally left the hospice room, stopping in the hallway to take a long breath. Haaaaaah. That was that, then… And this would be this. She steps out of the cathedral and onto the chilly night air. The streets were lit, but the darkness above was still overbearing yet oddly comforting, perhaps due to its retion to Death.

  Aymanah was waiting for her underneath one of those streetlights, awake and staring at her.“I thought you went back to the Galnt.”

  “I did. I got bored, though… And worried. But I didn’t want to intrude in case Homer needed more treatment. You came out right as I was about to leave.”

  Then they could leave together, Aymanah’s cws scraping against the fine cobbled streets as they went. People weren’t out at this hour even on usual days, but this day being a holy one meant it was especially quiet. Everyone was inside their houses celebrating, having good food, sharing tales of the defeat of War and the successful rebirth… Others were in churches, praying more to show the purity of their soul,

  and then there were Maia and Aymanah, wanderers in the eye of the storm. The exhaustion of the day was starting to hit her like a carriage with no rider, and she had to stifle a yawn.

  “I think you’re the first person in all of history to yawn after killing a god, Maia.”

  It’s a quiet remark whispered under their breath, but it makes Maia blink, giving Aymanah a side-eye… And then she starts to giggle.

  “Heh- heheheheh, yes, I- I suppose… Hehehehe oh-”

  She’s not even sure why she’s ughing. What a mild, regur observation. Something about that just made her ugh. It was so absurd, wasn’t it? Would she have thought she’d be killing a god when she set out on this journey? Who the hell even cares!

  Aymanah also ughs, probably for simirly absurd reasons. Two young people with their entire lives uprooted and changed in such a short time really couldn’t do anything but ugh about the sheer insanity of all the twists and turns, especially now at the end where they’d reached some sort of satisfying conclusion. Maia ends up wrapping an arm around their shoulder with an uncharacteristic grin.

  “When we get back to the Galnt, I’m going to buy us two drinks. You can’t say no. I want to have one tankard of ale before I leave, and you’re the only person I could imagine sharing one with.”

  Aymanah blinks, free wing fpping idly.

  “Not Homer…?”

  Maia just grins.

  “Homer would make fun of me if I said it tasted bad. You haven’t had any ale either, right?”

  Aymanah squawks a little.

  “... I’ve had stronger drinks once or twice…”

  Although the sheepishness implies these “stronger drinks” are still not alcoholic. Maia just ruffles their hair and lets go, stretching and turning her eyes to the stars.

  It’d all be okay and over soon.