Kigal did not sleep that night. Not that she needed to, but it was one of her only respites when her mind was heavy and full, a way to escape her own thoughts. Yet that night, she sat in the broad windowsill, legs cushioned under her, and stared out at her kingdom. Their music and fireside stories put away for the evening, the shades slumbered too, leaving the world quiet save for the occasional rustling breeze.
Everything she had created here would be for naught if the Anzu returned. She and Nergal had only encountered one, and even together they’d nearly perished. As a mortal, she remembered hearing others whisper cautionary tales to their children about the goddess Tiamat, how she’d birthed serpents whose veins were filled with poison instead of blood, how she’d waged war upon the gods
