[b]Anathet![/b]

[You must hide,] Tia thinks sternly at you, but you can feel the fear roiling underneath the surface. The kind of fear that causes people to lash out and panic. [You may be brave after [i]They[/i] leave. Yes. That is when you may be brave. Not now. Not like this. I am not allowing you to be brave.] She crosses her arms and plants herself right in front of you.

"...the parade will be the First Regiment..." Aha! Yes! Your instincts were good: the Seneschal is hashing out the last of his plans for Shamash's triumph right here and now. Down in the bowl of the library, there are probably two or three of his peers, prepping and sending off their last-minute orders. If only you could pretend to be one of them! Or somehow sneak bad information in! But you're definitely not getting off any plans, clever or otherwise, with Tia being so overprotective. Who knows what she might do if you press her?

***

[b]Team Mirrors![/b]

The Sacred Field has been brought up from the depths of the Temple of Shamash, a vast circle of tempered brass and gold etched with holy geometries, and here the chariots make their final approaches. They, amusingly enough, resemble nothing more than George Lucas's podracers, with two tethered engines suspending a very dangerous energy field between them, crackling and lashing plasma, connected to an ornate car. Don't be fooled: they evaded missiles with ease and tore fighter jets out of the sky during the invasion.

There are two nobles here, along with their retinues, to welcome the High God: Asahel ab-Shamash, the Huntsman of Caphtor, and Jezcha ab-Marduk, here as a representative of her father. A full company of janissaries stand by as an honor guard. You arrive on the open hangar as Shamash's chariot touches down, and the Annunaki fall to their knees, shimmering shadows suddenly at half height. (Their retinues grovel on their faces.) The chariot's portal dilates, and Shamash unfolds from it.

They're eight fucking feet tall.

This is the first time either of you have seen one of the elusive High Gods, and it's a shock to realize that their superhuman depiction in Annunaki art might not just be artistic license. There isn't a hint of skin to be seen (and you can see them far too clearly, as if only a faint gauze separated you from them), just gleaming black and burning gold and a helmet shaped like a screaming horse. From every reflective surface nearby -- every tracking panel, every bowl of offered wine, every golden decoration on the banners of the city -- comes the sound of dying cavalry charges, or else of chariot engines shearing themselves apart. It's difficult to tell.

They are hesitant a moment, staring out at the assembly before them, but it's impossible to say whether they also stare at you. You can see the plaits of their helmet lashing in the backwash of the engines, the sway of the fleet keys upon their intricately graved breastplate, and the minutest twitch in the gauntleted hands, each one the size of your head, one at their side and one on the chariot.

They saw you once before, Canada. Was it a stupid, doomed plan to think that you could sneak up on them again? Does your nerve hold in that moment?

Their power is not like yours, Marianne. You can [i]smell[/i] it. It is not even simply dead, it is other, alien. If this behemoth has any power in your land, it is the power of tools and devices and tricks. This "god" is not a deity here, even if it can see you, even if it can touch you. You belong here. It does not.