The Last Spark of Oros

Kaelen’s fingers bled as he pried the rusted casing off a dead machine. In the ruins of the Sun City, everything was sharp, cold, and quiet.

"Keep your head down, Kaelen," he whispered to himself. "Don't look at the sky. Don't look at them."

Above him, the air hummed. Two "Seven-Day Gods" were fighting three miles up. To the rest of Oros, they were legends. To Kaelen, they were just a source of falling debris that might crush his skull. He didn't care about their divine wars. He only cared about the scrap, the glowing blue bits of metal left behind when high magic hit steel.

If he found three more pieces, he could pay the Rent-Takers. If he didn't, they’d break his hands.

"Found you," he breathed, pulling a shard of pulsing blue glass from the wreckage.

It was warm. It felt like a heartbeat. In the slums, this tiny shard was worth a month of life. Kaelen stuffed it into his ragged pocket, his heart racing. He just needed one more.

A shadow fell over him. It wasn't a cloud.

Kaelen froze. The humming in the air changed from a low drone to a scream. He looked up, breaking his own rule.

One of the gods was falling.

It looked like a meteor wrapped in white fire. It hit the center of the ruins with a sound that tore the world apart. The shockwave tossed Kaelen backward.

His head slammed into a stone pillar.

Stars danced in his vision. Dust filled his lungs. He coughed, trying to crawl away, but his legs felt like lead.

Through the haze of gray smoke, a figure stumbled toward him.

It was a man, or what used to be a man. He wore gold armor that was cracked and melting. His skin was glowing so brightly it hurt to look at. This was a High-Exalt, a man who had taken a Spark and become a king for a week.

But his seven days were up.

The man’s eyes were leaking liquid light. He fell to his knees inches away from Kaelen, his breath coming in wet, golden gasps.

"Please," the god-man wheezed. His voice sounded like grinding metal. "Take it. Don't let... don't let the Thresher... find it."

"I don't want your trouble," Kaelen hissed, backing away on his elbows. "Stay away from me!"

In the distance, a horn blasted. It was a cold, lonely sound. The Hunters were coming. They were coming to harvest the Spark from this dying man. If they found Kaelen near him, they wouldn’t ask questions. They would just kill him to clear the path.

"I need to go," Kaelen panicked. He turned to run, but a hand gripped his ankle.

It was like being hooked to a lightning bolt.

"You are invisible," the dying god whispered, his face inches from Kaelen’s. "A Scav... no one looks at the dirt. Hide it. Hide it in the dark."

"Let go!" Kaelen kicked, but the man’s grip was like iron.

The god-man reached out with his other hand and slammed his palm against Kaelen’s chest.

"NO!" Kaelen screamed.

The world turned white.

It didn't feel like power. It felt like someone had poured boiling lead into Kaelen's veins. He felt his ribs crack. He felt his heart stop, then restart with a violent, electric thud. The golden light flowed from the dying man into Kaelen’s skin, sinking deep into his bones.

The High-Exalt slumped forward, his body turning to gray ash instantly. The armor clattered to the ground, empty.

Kaelen lay on the dirt, gasping. His vision was changing. He could see the heat rising from the stones. He could hear the heartbeat of a rat a hundred yards away. Most of all, he could feel the thing inside his chest. It was a ball of fire, hungry and vast. It wanted to burn his soul to keep itself alive.

He looked at his hands. Veins of gold light were pulsing under his skin.

"Seven days," a voice echoed in the back of his mind. Not his voice. Something older. One hundred and sixty-eight hours until you burn to nothing.

"I'm a Scav," Kaelen sobbed, clutching his chest. "I'm nobody. I'm not supposed to have this!"

The horn blasted again. This time, it was closer. Much closer.

Kaelen scrambled to his feet. He felt light, like he could jump over a building. He felt strong enough to tear a tree out of the ground. But he also felt the shadow of death leaning over his shoulder.

He began to run. He didn't head for the slums. He couldn't go home. If the Rent-Takers saw him like this, they’d sell him to the highest bidder before he could blink.

As he rounded a corner, a man stood waiting in the middle of the path.

The man was tall, wearing a long coat made of heavy, scarred leather. He carried a hook-bladed sword that dripped with black oil. His eyes were as cold as a winter grave.

The Thresher.

The legendary hunter didn't look surprised. He didn't look angry. He looked like a man who had just found a lost coin.

"A Scavenger?" The Thresher’s voice was a low purr. He raised his black blade. "The Spark has a cruel sense of humor. Don't worry, boy. I'll make the extraction quick. You won't feel a thing after the first cut."

Kaelen’s heart hammered against the Spark. The gold light in his veins flared. He had never fought a day in his life. He was a hider, a runner.

But as the Thresher stepped forward, Kaelen felt a surge of cold, ancient rage that wasn't his own.

"Get back," Kaelen warned, his own voice sounding deeper, vibrating with power.

The Thresher laughed and lunged.

Kaelen didn't think. He swung his hand, and a wave of golden force exploded from his palm. It hit the Thresher like a runaway train, smashing the hunter through a brick wall.

Kaelen stared at his hand, terrified.

Then he heard the sound of more boots. Dozens of them. The Thresher’s pack was surrounding the alley.

"There!" a voice shouted. "The Scav has it! Kill him and bag the Spark!"

Kaelen looked at the crumbling wall, then at the golden light eating his skin. He had six days and twenty-three hours left to live, and the entire world had just started hunting him.

He didn't run away. He looked at the black-clad hunters rushing toward him, and for the first time in his life, Kaelen didn't want to hide.

He wanted to burn them all down.

The first hunter leaped at him, sword raised. Kaelen dodged with impossible speed and felt the Spark scream for blood.

I'm going to die, Kaelen thought. But I’m taking this world with me.

Behind him, the rubble shifted. The Thresher was standing up, blood leaking from his forehead, a smile of pure madness on his face.

"Again," the Thresher whispered. "Do that again, little god."