Page 148 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“And if I return?”

“Victory.”

“Christ,” Aren muttered, then caught himself and boomed a laugh as amusement buzzed from the Being.

“You say that name a lot for someone pledged to worship it.”

“I’m sorry.” Sorry for the offense, perhaps, but not for the candor or the humor in being caught. The Being could appreciate honesty.

“There are worse things.”

Sheepishly, Aren noted, “It wasn’t on my list of sins.”

More amusement rang through the space like a bell in the wind. It reminded The Warrior of his sister-in-arms. She had always felt divine to him—innately gifted, honed by righteous fury and unwavering compassion that drove her to sacrifice often.

The Being had its own plans for her.

“In the scheme of all things, you do not truly believe it was worth noting,” the Being pointed out. “Outweighed by your sacrifices, your service.”

“You said I chose to carry my sins?”

“Like tender already rendered.”

“But were they not wrong? Condemnable?”

“Only the Soul decides the crimes for which they can be crucified. I am but a mirror of their own convictions.”

“And yet we are trapped? Reincarnating time and again? Are we not being punished?”

“It was never my love or approval you were lacking, Aren.”

Aren got the distinct impression his God had nodded and… chuckled. That surprised him somehow.

“You’re not… what I expected,” The Warrior admitted.

More humor warmed the air, and The Warrior thought it was just like Alvara’s flames against his skin—skin that wasn’t skin—tangling with the fondness saturating the space.

“I get that quite a lot.”

Aren sat for a moment, the faces of his earthbound family looping through his consciousness. The Being waited as he fought the memory of Ansel’s brutal death. Alvara fighting like the ancient gods. His enemy plunging a blade into his neck, the serpent slicing it clean across…

Magnolia…

Only love had ever dictated The Warrior’s decision to reenter the world in a new body.

It was fitting that love would make him reclaim the body still warm in The Witch’s arms.

“How much time do I have to decide?”

“Time is an illusion,” the Being reminded him. “A construct built upon the fragility of mortal minds.”

Aren pondered that for a long moment before asking, “What does that mean?”

“It does not exist. You do not exist within a figment of mortal structures. You are all and nothing. You extend far past the body you’ve left behind—clearly. So too does reality.”

“So… I don’t need to rush?”

“There is no such thing as a rush.”