“Oh, I’m sure there are those who remember,” Magus said. “But they live far from Vallessau, where their trinkets and prayers might go unnoticed by the Lion and the Butterfly. They tell their stories to their children over midnight campfires, these wicked worshipers of the even more wicked Dagon. None would dare whisper them to a spoiled little princeling. Yet you call me a liar? The proof is self-evident, Cyrus, if you were to but open your eyes.”

Magus took a step closer. He loomed over Cyrus, seeming so tall, so mighty.

“The heathen gods worshiped outside the empire are manifestations of people’s faiths. They adopt incarnations the populace understands, most often as variations of animals. If I walk the verdant fields beyond Vallessau, the butterflies soar like clouds, wondrous and beautiful. Lycaena is equally beautiful and wondrous, and she bears their wings, their skin. But Endarius? Did you never wonder? Did you not once see the obvious truth before you, little prince?”

Another step. His voice shook with rage.

“There are no lions on Thanet.”

The strength in Cyrus’s legs faded. His stomach churned, vomit eager to travel up his throat. He met Magus’s silver eyes and wished he could fade away into nothing. What might he say in response? What worth did his stories and family traditions carry against such obvious truth?

“All we have done, your family did the same,” Magus said. His tone softened. “But there is wisdom in the past, if you seek it. Lycaena remained neutral in your War of Tides, and so she bonded with Endarius, and ruled alongside his chosen family. While Dagon was forgotten, the Butterfly goddess blossomed. The same can be said for you. The Lythan family, it was not evil, any more than the Everlorn Empire is evil. What purpose does a god serve if they lack the strength to protect their people? But just as Thanet knew peace after war through unity, so, too, do we offer that unity, not to a mere island, but the entire world.”

He offered Cyrus his hand.

“You have grown strong, little prince, and Thanet lacks a true regent since Gordian’s death. I can relinquish that title to you. I can forgive your many crimes in the name of a greater good. Reveal your identity to the populace. Tell them you have seen the mercy of the God-Incarnate. The Vagrant shall bend the knee and serve. Beg your subjects to do the same. Turn their hearts from their dead gods. What greater purpose could you serve for your people? End this rebellion. Bring them peace. Bring them safety.”

Cyrus stared at the paragon’s offered hand. In his mind, it clutched a sword still wet with the blood of his parents. He saw bodies hanging from the Dead Flags, their hands bolted together. He saw forty bodies dropping with nooses around their necks. He watched boats burn, heard Lycaena’s keening death cry.