Ytra stood at the edge of the vast desert, the wind whipping sand against her skin as she gazed toward the distant silhouette of Kyros's castle.

  The structure rose like a forgotten relic, jagged towers piercing the sky.

  She had always hated this place—this barren, forsaken land that mirrored Kyros's disregard for balance. Everything here was the same color of pale desolation.

  Ytra steadied herself, brushing the sand from her hands, her mind already preparing for the confrontation. She could feel Kyros’s presence, his power thrumming through the desert itself. She had crossed a line, and he was furious.

  The massive doors to the castle swung open without a word, as if the sand itself had moved them. Ytra hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside. The grand hall greeted her with a cold stillness, Kyros waiting for her at the far end of the room, seated on his throne of cracked stone.

  He had built himself into the shape of a man, tall and statuesque, a form Ytra knew he used to strike fear into his lessers.

  But she was not his lesser.

  And she was not afraid.

  As time had passed, Ytra had watched as Kyros silently descended upon the gods of the pantheon like a disease, whispering in their ears, pressing daggers to their necks, wooing them with false promises of titles and noble positions—turning each and every god against Morgana until her allies were mere shadows and corpses.

  But unlike the other gods, Ytra was not corruptible. She had been born of a single, pure purpose. Kyros and Morgana had designed her to be like the cruise control on a jet plane–possessing no true emotions of her own, her only impulses were to correct, to right, to mend, to fix. She could not be swayed by superfluous things like greed or loyalty.

  Also, beyond that, she just found him… How to phrase this?

  Annoying.

  She found him annoying.

  “Ytra.”

  “Kyros.”

  "I trust you know why I have summoned you?"

  "I am not sure," she replied, "Is it to put me in a jail cell again?”

  The guards at his sides drew their swords at the mere sniff of disrespect. She had just arrived, and they were already ready to expel her. Hm. Let them try.

  She fixed one with a searing look, and the sand he was built from disintegrated in an instant, the sandman’s armor clattering to the floor.

  Kyros looked at her with unhidden annoyance in his eyes.

  “No, not this time,” he said. “I have no desire to watch over you like some babysitter. But you have broken the rules again. And there will be consequences.”

  She was unmoved by the attempt at intimidation.

  “I have not broken a rule. There is not a single rule in the Book of Existence that I have violated since I came into existence. It would go against my very nature.”

  Kyros rose from his chair, his skeletal feet booming across the floor.

  “I am not talking about the rules in that ancient tome,” he hissed.

  “I am bound to no other rules except those in that ancient tome, my lord.”

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  Kyros scowled. Like a father greeting a child, he placed a frigid hand on her cheek. But there was no warmth there, no blood circulating under his skin. He was pure bone.

  "But if I were to guess what your ranting is about," she said after a moment, her eyes sliding to his white fingers, "I would assume this is about Earth."

  He retracted his hand suddenly and slapped her across the face, blunt pain stinging her cheek. Ytra did not feel emotion, but in that moment, she felt the sudden and animalistic urge to return the motion, to take her own hand and slide it across his face with equal and opposite force. It would only be right, to distribute the pain evenly.

  But she refrained. He had already stomped too far away, back to his throne. He clamped a hand over it and then craned his head back toward her, snarling.

  "Of course it's about Earth! What else would it be about?"

  The entire fortress shook with his rage. Some of his guards fell over in their stances.

  "You know I am due to inherit Morgana's power within the week. Why are you bringing further trouble to my doorstep?” he continued, stalking back over toward her. “When the transfer of power is complete, there will be no wrongs you have to right. I will be in full control, and as promised, I will rid the Nether of the demon menace. I will let you initiate as many planets as you want. You can push the system to the whole universe, watch if I care."

  “You taking sole power will not fix the imbalance in the Nether, Kyros."

  "And why should it not? This disharmony is caused by the rift between me and that vile woman, dare I not speak her name. When I alone hold the power to the Book of Existence, I can rewrite the rules. And when I rewrite those rules, you and I can decide what is fair."

  Ytra took a step closer to him, her wings shuttering behind her. Adrenaline flooded through her at the mere suggestion of such a crime.

  "I cannot let you do that," she said. “The Book of Existence is not to be rewritten.”

  "Let me," he laughed, his shoulders moving up and down. He looked around at his guards as if he was performing his own comedy special. "Do you hear her? She thinks she is in a position to let me do anything! Oh, wow. This is good!"

  The laughing abruptly stopped. He burst up from the throne, rushing through the air and seizing her by the shoulders. She felt as if the sun itself had grabbed her, molten pain shocking her to the core. But she did not flinch. She would not show subservience.

  He bellowed loudly, "You are not in charge, Ytra! I do not know how else to impress this upon you. I alone am the god of morality. I alone am the god of what is right and what is wrong. You, by definition, should be a servant to me!”

  At all his anger, she simply shrugged.

  “And yet I am not.”

  Kyros screamed, and in his rage, a sun beam as large as the desert itself emerged from his chest and barreled straight through Ytra; obliterating the castle, vaporizing the sand dunes, and then going so far as to shatter the very domain he had created, so a large crack in the sky now revealed the glinting blackness of the Nether.

  When the light faded, Ytra stood there, unharmed. The remnants of the castle stood scattered around them, Kyros’s surviving guards quietly beginning to sweep up the debris.

  “Are you done?” Ytra asked politely, smiling.

  His jaw clenched. She refused to look away from him.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking when we created you.”

  Ytra had a quick answer for that. “Probably so that if you ever had a bad day, you’d have me to remind you that it’s important not to destroy the universe and everything you hold dear.”

  He grumbled and then slipped into his throne, which was the only real piece of furniture remaining in the dust.

  "I will let you continue this system initiation for Earth on one condition.”

  Ytra brightened. Finally, progress.

  “As long as it is within the laws of the Book of Existence, I am happy to oblige.”

  “Oh, just be quiet. I think I have found a way so both of us are happy. You get to initiate Earth, and in order for the transfer of power to take place next week, I need one specific plan-trampling goddess to… stay put there. Permanently.”

  “Do you mean Miss Momo?”

  He scowled.

  “Yes, Miss Momo.”

  “And how would you suggest I accomplish that?”

  He shrugged, beckoning one of his guards over to hand him one of his favorite calming instruments—that little cat bell.

  Morgana had been the one to give it to him, but Ytra knew better than to remind him of that.

  “It doesn’t matter. Just chain her to Earth, make sure she can’t come back.”

  “Barring gods from returning to the Nether is not allowed.”

  Kyros looked at her with a wide, manic expression. He had a terrifying smile on his face, and he laughed in disbelief.

  “Oh my—I am going to kill you! Just get it done! However you want! Find a way to make it work with your stupid little rules! Just—do it!”

  Ytra could feel herself nodding, even though she didn’t particularly want to nod. At the end of the day, Kyros was the leader of the Nether, and in absence of Morgana, she was bound to serve him, at least, within reason.

  If he made a request, she was required to do her best to accomplish it.

  Of course, how she accomplished it, or what accomplished really meant, were up to her discretion.

  She smiled at him, a plan already forming in her mind.

  “Yes, my lord.”

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