SONS OF GODS

Chapter One: Cienzo

Poseidon gifted Man with the ship, but during the Age of Darkness, Zeus took revenge upon his brother and depleted the air of the winds so that man could no longer benefit from it. Trade was severely affected; however, the ingenious Innovators of Kenslan designed a lightweight steel gondola that could be steered by False Fires—opal wind-breathing dragons—that allowed the resumption of trade practices in the Cross Market.

ONE

CIENZO

HE WOULD ANSWER, if asked, that life had not been soft on him. He'd lost one parent to disease and grief, the other to murder. But despite life's penchant to complicate his days, he'd chosen to survive. He'd say that life was full of bumps, and a life without any would be a life riddled with banality.

Plus, he had a sister to live for. In fact, she was all he lived for. Little, kind Isla, whose budding, innocent laughter could be heard across the villages; whose smile cast light down on the gloomiest of days. And though she battled the sickness that tore their madra' from their clutches ten years back, he'd fought and held on to the withering scraps of hope. For if not her, what else would he live for?

These were the thoughts that plagued Cienzo Lansolav, and not for his own self-pity, but because he found a symbol of its reminders in every step of his days. Even then, as he crossed over the Lovenji Canal spotted by dusty gas lampposts and out to the far paddock where the few sanctioned Crothian Mender's practiced their Theurgy, he set his gaze over the impressive Monastery of Hephaestus. How it reminded him of his dapa', Demetrios. It towered high and mighty before the land. Its steel structure had been built by the callused, bleeding hands of the finest blacksmiths in Cienzo's family. A hammered-metal silver dome topped off its central rotunda tower, just above the flame-shaped windows. His dapa' had been a frequent visitor here and he could feel him as he stood in the empty space. Cienzo whispered a blessing and kissed the ring that draped from his neck—the ring Demetrios gifted him before he was brutally murdered by the Roamers—and then crossed into the field.

There it was, his sister's tent, as it had been for the last several months. Yellow, emerald, and white fabrics woven together in stunning design. Mild smoke plumed from a loosely patched tear in its roof. It was at this moment when Cienzo's fingers always jolted in tremor, for it was when he contemplated whether he'd emerge a loner or a brother still. Furthermore, and far worse, was when he couldn't conclude which of the two would better serve Isla.

Then he'd remind himself: If not for her, then what else would I live for?

He stared meaninglessly at the flap of the tent, as he often did for no particular reason. It was at this point, right before he entered the Mender's tent, where a sudden spike in heartbeat led to an absence of thought. His mind would go blank and it would feel as though he was somewhat floating through life. It would last only a few seconds before he would catch himself and casually scan for witnesses to his insanity. He rubbed anxiously at the steel ring that hung from his necklace. Pressed his thumb over the tiny engraved script that ran around the bottom rim. It felt light and heavy all at once.

He took a deep breath, pushed aside the heavy fold of tent, and ducked inside. He walked over to the cot Isla lay on; the one he'd crafted for her, made of the same raw material the moldable Roikas shoes were comprised of. She was deep in sleep. This was his favorite time to watch her, for she was at peace and didn't know of conscious pain. Simple and undisturbed. She may not remember this moment, but he'd file it away as a memory never to be forgotten.