Beyond time. Beyond the thin illusion mortals called sky and stars, gods gathered.
There was no chamber, no throne room, no shared architecture. Their meeting place was a hollow between realities where concepts could speak without tearing creation apart. Light folded in on itself here. Sound existed without vibration. Thought carried weight.
They manifested one by one.
Some as towering silhouettes of flame and shapes. Others as shifting shadows wrapped in crowns of static. Some wore faces once worshipped. Others had long since abandoned such limitations.
The Veil trembled at their presence.
A low murmur rippled across the gathering.
Anger.
Fear.
Calculation.
One voice rose above the rest, vast and cold.
"Our Chosen are dead."
A ripple of dissonance followed.
"Not dead," another corrected. "Devoured."
A third voice, sharp as fractured glass, hissed:
"By a mortal."
Silence.
Then fury.
The space itself warped as divine pressure surged.
"Impossible."
"They carried our mark."
"They were supposed to be protected."
A presence near the center pulsed, slow and deliberate.
"Protection is irrelevant when one vessel becomes the predator."
That truth hung heavy.
Images flared between them, flickering impressions of battle, of wings and fire, of a man laughing as angels fell and demons scattered. Of something old awakening inside flesh never meant to house it.
"He broke covenant."
"He broke hierarchy."
"He broke precedent."
Another voice, deeper than the rest, rumbled through the veil.
"He broke all of our chosen and stole power from each of us."
The silence that followed was not empty.
It was afraid.
At last, one spoke what all were thinking.
"Then we descend."
The reaction was immediate, violent rejection from several quarters.
"The Veil exists for a reason."
"To cross it openly would unravel the balance even further."
"We would be seen as usurpurs against the old ones plan for the chosen."
A sharp laugh cut through them.
"We cannot allow the events Kur caused in the past to repeat."
A pause.
Then more voices:
"He has devoured so many chosen."
"He now walks with the Destroyer."
"He carries the will of that hateful dragon."
The implications spiraled outward.
At last, a consensus formed, not agreement, but necessity.
"If we do not act, others will."
"The fae already stir."
"The djinn move without sanction."
"The old compacts are breaking and there is no longer balance."
Another voice, quieter, more dangerous for it:
"Then we remind the world why the gods were feared."
The veil rippled.
A plan began to take shape.
A way that would not tear reality open but would let them hunt.
And far below, in the blood-warm soil of the mortal world the consequences had already begun.
King Maymun felt the war before he saw it.
The djinn always did.
The air over the desert shifted, too heavy, too loud. The winds whispered in broken patterns. Fire refused to dance properly. Sand clung to itself as if afraid to move.
Maymun stood at the edge of his palace balcony, carved from pristine white marble overlooking a growing city built into the desert. Towers spiraled like coiled serpents. Flame burned without fuel. Rivers of glowing sand flowed between districts. Djinn and refugees walked the streets. The population continued to grow as the world around them crumbled.
As he watched the bustling area below he felt that something had gone terribly wrong.
A messenger burst into the chamber in a spiral of heat and smoke, dropping to one knee.
"Your Majesty," the djinn rasped. "The fae have issued a declaration."
Maymun's jaw tightened.
"Say it."
The messenger hesitated.
"…War."
The word echoed like a blade striking stone.
Maymun closed his eyes slowly.
So it had begun.
"Which court?" he asked, though he already knew.
"The Anta Court," the messenger replied. "Members of the Sunroot Throne. They claim their protected land was violated. Destroyed."
Images surged into Maymun's mind unbidden.
A village.
Flattened.
Reduced to ash and cratered stone.
Mike.
The mortal-turned-something-else.
And worse Binyai had been with him.
Maymun exhaled through his nose, thinking of the djinn councils uproar, he gripped the railing of the balcony as he sighed.
"The human was under our protection," he said carefully.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And the fae do not care."
"No, Your Majesty."
Another presence entered the chamber without announcement.
Tall.
Lean.
Wrapped in an eerie white skin and bone.
The envoy of the Unseelie court. A Skinwalker.
Its voice was a chorus of countless voices. Its face rippling between features of countless people.
"You are also in violation of the Accords."
Maymun turned slowly.
"You do not speak unless invited."
The creature smiled with large unnerving grin.
"The Accords were broken when your kind crossed the ocean without sanction. When you harbored a devourer. When you allied with that thing."
Its eyes glowed.
"The Anta court has declared blood-debt."
"And we," it continued, "have declared a hunt."
The air ignited.
Djinn guards appeared instantly, blades of flame and wind drawn.
Maymun raised one hand.
They froze.
"You presume much," he said calmly. "This land is not yours."
The skinwalker's grin widened.
"It will be."
The threat hung in the air. A deep frown formed on King Maymun's face.
With a ripple of distorted air, the envoy vanished.
Silence crashed back into the chamber.
Maymun turned to the horizon.
To the west where the Appalachian mountains slept.
Four fae kingdoms.
Four ancient territories untouched by djinn, demons, or gods.
Scotland. The Seelie Court.
Appalachia. The Unseelie Court.
The Andes. The Anta Court.
West Africa. The Azizian Court.
Each one was very old and powerful.
Each bound by treaties forged before humanity had taken a foothold.
And now two of them had declared war.
Because of one man an all out war was on the horizon. The report from Binyai made him aware that West Africa's Azizian Court declaring war was merely a matter of time.
Maymun clenched his fists.
"Damn you, Michael," he muttered.
A ripple of golden light ran along the palace walls as the king turned.
"Summon the council," he ordered. "All of them. Make sure Binyai is present to explain all of the events."
The messenger bowed deeply and vanished.
Maymun stared at the distant sky and the veil beyond it.
He could feel it now.
The gods stirring.
The fae mobilizing.
The djinn being dragged into a war they never sought.
And somewhere out there a man who'd become the successor of his old friend was gaining the attention of every ancient power in existence.
Maymun exhaled slowly.
"This world is going to burn, balance is lost,"