She nods back but stays silent. I take my cue from her. It’s not long before the sleeker buildings give way to the more bone-thick temples. There’s a cruelty to them, almost as if they were summoned from the ground rather than built. No one in my family ever converted to the Ashlord religion. There are Dividian who have taken up worshipping their foreign gods, and I’ve never understood the decision. The gods are the reason we became their servants in the first place. They’re the power behind every Ashlord threat, the reason we keep our heads low and our dreams even lower.

I might not worship their gods, but only a fool doesn’t know the names.

On our right, the Fury’s temple looms. The Ashlord god of strength and bravery. Great bonfires burn in every corner of the ziggurat. Each one surrounded by waiting priests. Firelight glints off the horns of their bull masks. The men are shirtless. The women in plain shifts. There’s a healthy mix of Ashlord and Dividian in their number. No surprise that every tier is crowded with servants. The Fury has long been the most popular god in an Empire that worships war.

We round the building—close enough to catch warmth from the nearest fire—and head in the direction of a second temple. This one is less adorned. None of the rib cage–like tiers the others boast. In fact, it looks much more like a tower than a temple. Steep walls reach unbroken to the circular crown of the building. It’s high—at least four stories—but I can still see the murder holes that look out in every direction over the city. I don’t need to see priests in falcon masks to know this is the home of the Curiosity. The god who wakes, watches, and whispers.

Other temples flank the main road, each the domain of a different deity. The Butcher and the Hoarder and the Dread. There’s one temple at the end of the lane that’s backlit with electric blue light. It’s the only one I can’t figure out. “Which one is that?”

Ayala nods. “The god of next, the creator of progress. We call him the Striving.”

Of course. The Striving. I eye the flickering, alien lights before our path takes it out of view. The same god who created switches in the first place. The one who hands the Ashlords their next technological fad every few years. We slip between worship cathedrals before arriving at our destination. An undecorated temple. There are no priests, no fires, nothing at all.

My skin starts to crawl. What is this place?

“This temple once belonged to the Veil,” Ayala whispers.

Proximity breathes cold air over us. The closer we get, the more surrounded I feel by that empty feeling. Ayala glances left and right before leading me into the shadows.