Inside, the god sat at a folding table, eating instant noodles from a styrofoam cup. Zalmos looked like a retired actuary—thin hair, thick glasses, a cardigan with a coffee stain on the left cuff. He did not look up.
He woke on his knees in a hallway of polished lead. The air tasted of rust and burned rosemary. Ahead: a door without a handle. Behind: a wall of weeping stone. Elias knew the protocol. He closed his eyes, bit the inside of his cheek until copper flooded his mouth, and spoke the name he'd been bred to forget. zalmos proxy
"I need you to deliver something," Zalmos said. Inside, the god sat at a folding table,
"And what's that?"
"Myself. Thirty years ago." Zalmos finally looked up. His eyes were not an actuary's eyes. They were deep wells where logic went to drown. "Before I became... this." He woke on his knees in a hallway of polished lead
Behind him, Zalmos sat alone in the lead hallway, waiting for a reply he already knew would never come.