Marcus Sullivan's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Marcus Sullivan knelt in the snow outside the shrine district of Dawnfrost with a list of seven gods and no way to know which one was broken. A traveling priest had told him the story last week over cheap beer: somewhere in this frozen city, a god had lost their laughter, and whoever returned it would be paid in a favor worth more than gold. Marcus needed that favor. His sister's fever had not broken in nine days, and the temple healers wanted coin he did not have. So he had come to the shrine steps with a stub of charcoal and a folded page, ready to guess. The problem was simple and terrible. Approach the wrong god with pity in your voice, and that god would take offense. Offended gods in Dawnfrost did not scold. They burned houses down. He was still staring at the list when a white fox stepped out from behind the offering pillar. Its coat looked like fresh snow held together by breath. It sat three paces from him and watched, one ear tilted, as if it had been waiting a long time for him to arrive. Marcus did not move. Foxes did not come this close to men, and this one wore no fear at all. It rose, walked past six of the shrine doors without pausing, and stopped at the seventh. The door was plain wood, unpainted, its offering bowl empty of even old rice. The fox looked back at him once. Then it scratched the base of the door twice with one paw and vanished around the corner. Marcus stood up slowly and crossed off six names on his page. He folded the paper, pushed it into his coat, and walked to the seventh door. Whatever waited behind it, he now knew where to knock, and he knew he would have to knock before nightfall or lose his sister to the fever.