THE BURIED GOD
Chapter 31: The Watch
The weeks turned into months.
Damon stayed in Stillwater. He worked in the fields. He helped repair the walls. He taught the children to dig proper graves. He became part of the village.
But he never forgot the mountain.
He watched it every day.
From the window of his small house. From the edge of the forest. From the top of the watchtower.
The mountain did not change.
Black. Silent. Waiting.
But Damon did not trust it.
He could not.
The scar on his chest was still there. Small and silver, like a tiny crescent moon. It did not hurt. It did not itch. It did not bleed.
But it reminded him.
Of the seed. Of the blade. Of the hunger.
Of the god who was sleeping.
Of the god who might wake.
Vespera stayed with him.
She worked in the healer’s house with Lyssa. She learned to tend the sick, to bandage wounds, to mix medicines. She became part of the village.
But she never forgot the mountain.
She watched it every day.
From the window of the healer’s house. From the edge of the forest. From the top of the watchtower.
“The god is quiet,” she said, one evening.
They were sitting on the edge of the watchtower, their legs dangling over the side, their eyes fixed on the mountain.
“The god is sleeping,” Damon said.
“The god is waiting.”
“For what?”
Vespera was silent for a long moment.
“For the next gravedigger. The next key. The next sacrifice.”
Rook grew older.
His hair turned whiter. His skin turned thinner. His eyes turned dimmer.
But he never stopped watching.
He sat on the porch of his house, his gray eyes fixed on the mountain, his old hands folded in his lap.
“He’s still there,” he said, one morning.
Damon stood beside him.
“The god?”
“The hunger. Waiting. Watching. Hoping.”
” hoping for?”
Rook looked at him.
His gray eyes were wet.
“For you to forget.”
Lyssa left.
She did not say goodbye. She simply walked east, toward the sea, toward the other kingdoms, toward the rest of the world.
“She needs to find herself,” Vespera said.
“Will she come back?”
Vespera was silent for a long moment.
“I don’t know.”
The years passed.
Damon grew older. His hair turned gray. His skin turned thin. His eyes turned dim.
But he never stopped watching.
He sat on the edge of the watchtower, his legs dangling over the side, his eyes fixed on the mountain.
Vespera sat beside him.
Her silver eyes were still bright. Her pale skin was still smooth. Her cold hands were still cold.
“You haven’t aged,” Damon said.
“I was dead for a thousand years. Time has no meaning for me.”
“Will you watch after I’m gone?”
She looked at him.
Her silver eyes were wet.
“I will.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
The sun set.
The sky turned orange and pink and purple, the colors bleeding into each other like watercolors on wet paper.
Damon closed his eyes.
He listened.
Not with his ears. With something deeper. Something older. Something that had been sleeping inside him since the day he was born.
The silence was absolute.
“The god is quiet,” he said.
“The god is sleeping,” Vespera said.
“Will he ever wake?”
She was silent for a long moment.
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll be ready.”
Vespera took his hand.
Her fingers were cold.
“We’ll be ready.”
They watched the mountain.
The mountain watched back.
And the hunger waited.