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Summary
When the Gods fell millennia ago, Phainon had fallen with them.
Now he is the last. A remnant of times long ago, a fragment of divinity cast to the mortal world and tied to the great God-Kings of Sak-Kahn-Ko. He is theirs to do as they please; to serve each father and son and son of his son, unageing, undying, unchanging. He does not see the sun rise each day. He does not see it set.
Come a springtime he can only hear in the sigh of the wind, the God-King he serves has guests to visit. Many guests, from all corners of the mapped world, there to pledge allegiance to Sak-Kahn-Ko, to bow to the one great enough to own a God.
But one guest is strange. He does not look to Phainon’s humiliation with glee or envy or pride. He does not look at all.
Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos looks, instead, to the God-King he must bow to; and he looks with anger, at the one who owns the divine. He looks with rage.
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