Asag had once been a boy who believed in gods. He remembered kneeling before the family shrine, going to the temple at least once a week, his small hands pressed together, whispering evening prayers to the Five Gods Above , with the earnest devotion only a child could muster.
The All-Knower's wisdom, the Bringer of Mercy's compassion, the Warrior of Wrath's strength, the Sea-God's tides, and the Father of Laws' order - he knew each by heart, believed each would protect him if he proved faithful enough.
Night after night he prayed until his knees ached against stone and his voice grew hoarse. He truly believed devotion would earn divine protection, that the gods would smooth his path if he never faltered.
They didn't.
When yellow fever came, it took his mother slowly. She'd been strong - broad-shouldered, warm, her hands calloused from fieldwork.
