he said, “there was a god imprisoned here. He was a terrible, beautiful, angry god, and by night when he roamed these white halls, everyone feared him. But by day, the god slept. And the body, the living mortal flesh that was his ball and chain, got to have a life of its own.” I inhaled, understanding, just not believing. He was speaking of the Nightlord, of course—but the body that lived by day was…? Near the window, Hado folded his arms. I saw this easily, despite the window’s darkness, because he was darker still. “It wasn’t much of a life, mind you,” he said. “All the people who feared the god did not fear the man. They quickly learned they could do things to the man that the god would not tolerate. So the man lived his life in increments, born with every dawn, dying with every sunset. Hating every moment of it. For two. Thousand. Years.” He glanced back at me. I gaped at him.
