At her side, Lazaros knelt. “Holy One, it is time that you visit your wrath upon this city. Show them what happens when they turn away from your light.”

You don’t have to do this, Beru said. You could help these people. Ease their suffering.

HUMANS NEED SUFFERING. IT’S HOW THEY LEARN TO OBEY. YOU TAUGHT ME THAT, LITTLE ONE.

No, Beru said forcefully. That’s not—

“SERVANT,” the god said to Lazaros. “TELL ME—DO HUMANS REQUIRE SUFFERING?”

Lazaros bowed his head. “O Holy One, it is not for me to question the world as you made it. But I can tell you that the greatest suffering I endured, the pain and agony of cleansing my body of your stolen power … that made me who I am, your devoted servant. My suffering freed me.”

SO THEN PERHAPS SUFFERING IS WHY HUMANS LOVE ME, the god said to Beru. PERHAPS THEIR SUFFERING GIVES THEM THEIR FAITH. THEIR SENSE OF MEANING. SO I WILL HELP THEM, AS YOU HAVE ASKED.

He is wrong, Beru said. He needs to believe that suffering has a purpose because he cannot bear the alternative.

The god raised Beru’s arms, and the sky flashed red and white. Fire and light howled through the sky. The clouds themselves seemed to burst into flame—flames that rained down upon the city of Tarsepolis.

Don’t do this, Beru pleaded. Her arms were outstretched in front of her, her palms open to the sky. She felt a sick strangeness wash over her at seeing her own hands bring about this destruction. Hands that had strung beads together into jewelry, poked her sister in jest, touched Hector’s face with tenderness.

She reached for those memories. Ephyra’s black handprint still stood out against her arm. Beru focused on it. Focused on trying to touch it, to lay her own hand there, and remember.

But it was futile.

The fiery rain struck the Hall of Justice at the heart of the city first. It bloomed with bright, rippling fire. Another flame hit the Temple of Tarseis, setting it alight.

Beside her, Lazaros watched the sky in awe and rapturous delight.

Beru watched the city with horror.

People in the burning buildings poured into the streets, pushing past one another, some of them alight with flames. Screams of terror and anguish rose in a thick wave of sound as they scrambled and ducked and cowered, searching fruitlessly for cover as fire hemmed them in.

Please, Beru thought again. Don’t do this. Don’t punish them.

The god’s thoughts, its vindication, pressed in on her. These people had forgotten who their god was. They had worshipped its murderers, the Prophets. The god wanted to punish them. Had to punish them.

This is revenge, Beru said. You want revenge for what the Prophets did to you. But these people are not responsible. These people didn’t betray you.

STOP.

They have lives and families and homes.