"Marcus," Sarah began, her voice quiet but insistent as she stared across the table at him, "I can't help but be curious… why did that happen?"
Marcus hesitated, his hands loosely clasped on the tabletop as his gaze shifted downward, avoiding hers for a moment. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy and resigned. "If I'm being honest," he said, his voice low and rough, "I'm not entirely sure. But… I have a theory."
He leaned back slightly, his dark eyes meeting hers with a flicker of unease. "My guess is that the sanctuary functions almost like a lie detector. Not just for mortals, but for gods too. When a question is asked within these walls—especially one infused with intent, with divinity—it demands an answer. The sanctuary, acting as a kind of intermediary, won't allow the question to be ignored or a lie to take root. It forces truth, even when the truth is… complicated."
He rubbed a hand across his face, his movements heavy with exhaustion. "Your question about why the coffee didn't represent me? It touched on something I've been hiding for so long that even I avoid thinking about it. And when the sanctuary pushed for the truth, it disrupted the balance I keep on my divinity. That's what you saw. That's what we both just endured."
Sarah absorbed his explanation, her brow furrowing as she replayed the moment in her mind. "So… the sanctuary forced you to reveal what you were hiding by breaking your control?" she asked, trying to piece it together.
Marcus nodded, though he still seemed uncertain. "That's my best guess. But don't take my words as fact, Sarah. I'm no expert on sanctuaries. Honestly, I'd be shocked to find a god who is, aside from those as old as time itself. In my experience, sanctuaries are… rare. Unpredictable. And as far as I know, this is only the second fully fledged sanctuary that's ever existed."
Sarah tilted her head, her curiosity sharpening. "The second?" she echoed. "What was the first?"
Marcus glanced at her, a faint, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. "The first," he said softly, "was the Hanging Gardens of Babylon."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Wait," she said, confused. "The Hanging Gardens? But… wasn't it destroyed?"
"It was," Marcus replied, his tone factual, almost cold. "And it wasn't some natural disaster or human folly that brought it down. It was the father of all gods himself—Zeus—who made sure it was erased."
Sarah's breath caught, her mind racing with the implications. "Why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why would Zeus destroy something like that?"
Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His expression darkened, a shadow of something ancient and bitter passing across his features. "Because the Gardens were more than just a sanctuary," he said. "They were a place where gods and mortals could stand as equals. A place where divinity wasn't feared or worshipped, but shared. Zeus saw it as a threat to his rule, to the natural order he thought he'd established. So he destroyed it. Wiped it from the earth as though it had never existed."
Sarah stared at him, her heart sinking as the weight of his words settled over her. "And now this place…" she murmured, glancing around the café. "This sanctuary… it's the second."
Marcus nodded slowly, his gaze steady but somber. "And just like the Gardens, it's fragile. Sanctuaries like this aren't meant to exist. They go against the way things are supposed to be. And if the wrong gods find out about it…" He trailed off, his meaning clear without needing to say more.
A chill ran down Sarah's spine as she considered the enormity of what they were dealing with. The café, once a safe haven, now felt precarious—like a fragile bubble floating in a storm, one wrong move away from bursting. But even as fear clawed at the edges of her mind, she pushed it back, determination taking its place.
"If this place is so important," she said firmly, "then we'll protect it. No matter what it takes."
Marcus looked at her, his eyes softening slightly. "You say that now," he said quietly. "But the cost of protecting a sanctuary… it's not small, Sarah. It's not something I would ever ask of you."
"You don't have to," she replied, her voice steady and sure. "I'm here because I choose to be, Marcus. And if that choice comes with risks, then so be it."
For the first time since the conversation began, a faint, genuine smile crossed Marcus's lips. "You're braver than most gods I've known," he said, the warmth returning to his tone, even if only briefly.
Sarah returned the smile, though her heart still weighed heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. Whatever trials awaited them, she knew one thing for certain: she wasn't going to let this sanctuary fall. Not like the Gardens.
Not without a fight.
They sat there silently for a moment allowing the tense air to dissipate and fall underneath their feet.
"Sarah," Marcus said gently, his voice carrying the kind of warmth that could only come from someone truly grateful. "Go home and get some rest. It's been a long night."
He smiled deeply at her, his dark eyes locking onto hers, speaking to her without words, as though he were addressing her very soul. "Thank you," he said softly.
In that moment, Sarah instinctively let her newfound abilities unfurl, her senses reaching out to perceive the truth behind his words. What she saw stole the breath from her lungs. The man before her glowed—not with the faint ember-like light she'd seen before, but with a brilliance that could rival the birth of a star. He shone like a supernova suspended in the endless black of space, his divinity blazing so warm and so bright that she could have sworn it would blind her.
Yet, even in the face of such overwhelming radiance, she didn't look away. The glow wasn't harsh or cruel—it was beautiful, suffused with a kindness and depth that no mortal sunset could ever replicate. It was Marcus, stripped bare of his masks and shadows, a being of profound contradiction: sorrow and hope, doubt and faith, destruction and creation, all coalescing into something uniquely, impossibly him.
"Also," Marcus continued, his voice pulling her back to the present, "don't worry about coming to work tomorrow if you don't feel up to it. One day of rest is the least I can offer you after… well, this." He placed a flat palm against the center of his chest, the faint ember-like glow she now recognized as his divine core pulsing faintly beneath his hand.
His smile returned, but this time it wasn't one of reassurance. It was a smile of quiet resignation, the kind of smile that said, I've accepted this, even though it still eats at me inside. There was an anxiousness behind it, as though he were standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable but was too tired to fight it anymore.
Sarah stood from the table, pushing her chair back with a gentle scrape against the floor. Her own smile was soft, tinged with an understanding she hadn't known she was capable of just days ago. "I'll see you tomorrow, Marcus," she said, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. "Sleep well, and… take care of yourself, will you?"
Marcus chuckled lightly, a sound that carried a flicker of the warmth she had come to treasure. "I'll try," he said, though there was an edge of doubt in his tone that didn't escape her notice.
As she made her way to the door, she paused for a moment, glancing back over her shoulder. Marcus was still seated at the table, one hand resting lightly on his chest, his gaze distant as though he were staring into some far-off horizon only he could see.
"Goodnight, Marcus," she said softly, her words lingering in the air like a promise.
"Goodnight, Sarah," he replied, his voice low but clear, carrying the weight of gratitude he could never quite put into words.
As Sarah stepped out into the cool night air, the café's warmth lingered with her, wrapping around her like an embrace. She knew that the road ahead would be far from easy—for either of them. But for now, for this moment, there was peace. And that, she thought, was enough