Kontis throws a potted plant at the wall, his fury blinding him to direction, distance, and outcome. The ceramic shatters into jagged fragments, and the soil within splashes out in a ring of dirt. A flower head smashes into the wall itself, flattening into the wood and wallpaper in a burst of petals, while another is intercepted by a shard of the pot, which tears it open like a great beast’s claw had laid into it.

Before the clump of roots and stalks can fall, the entire mess vanishes mid-disaster as if it had never been thrown. The space on a side table where the plant had been snatched from is conspicuously occupied by a potted plant which exactly resembles the one which had been thrown, pristine and freshly watered.

Kontis sweeps it from the table, sending it to shatter on the floor this time. It barely hits the ground before it’s back in its proper place, unharmed.

The string of curses let loose by the god of chaos would have soured even the rowdiest deities’ moods.

“It’s absurd! Outrageously absurd!” he bellows at the perfect walls. Even his spittle doesn’t linger on the surfaces it coats. “To think I would be taunted like this! Were the three millennia of solitude not enough!?”

This continues for a while longer before the god finally collapses into one of the many plush chairs to brood. Without a sound, his only servant appears around the corner, escorting a platter carrying a glass of water.

“For your throat, my Lord,” Wilx says, dipping slightly in the air. For a star, it’s on the smaller side, but that suits Kontis just fine.

“Wilx, can you believe it? They got me. They got my hopes up even after all this time.”

The star glimmers slightly.

“Is there anything I can do to remedy this for you, my Lord?"

Kontis shakes his head, staring at nothing while his thoughts fester. He knows he doesn't deserve that much, considering how active he'd been during the Age of War, but the entire night sky picked him and him alone to shoulder the blame for everyone's actions.

That human who came through knew a good word for it: a scapegoat. Maybe he should have paid more attention to those memories at the time.

"And of course, I can't have my own…" he mumbles.

"My apologies, I didn't hear you as well as I should. What would you like for me to get you?" Wilx bounces in place a little, agitated by the morose quality of Kontis's mood. This God has had his highs and lows, but to Wilx they never seemed to cut quite so deeply as this.

"I was done, Wilx. I was supposed to be done by now. Twenty-five hundred years, they said. It's been more than thirty, Wilx! Not only did they throw away the key, they now have to prod the caged animal as well! I do suppose it gets boring binding your own hands from the only thing that makes us gods.”

A long silence passes, and Kontis grunts. Another grunt follows it, lighter, only to be chased with a rumbling chuckle which makes the room tremble.

“The thing which makes us gods,” he says again, before slowly turning his gaze to the star floating in his orbit. “Tell me, Wilx, do you know what that is?”

“You are a preeminent being of the universe. It is your right and duty to observe and guide the souls of humans both in Telix and in Xilet.”

“Correct! You’re quite clever, Wilx.” Kontis leans forward, beckoning the star closer. “Tell me, how do you think I should go about that from inside this cage?”

“I… can’t say. If your power is bound within the prison, then you cannot influence Telix. If you cannot influence Telix, you cannot guide humans.”

“Ah, you’re so loyal, but that narrows your perspective! There is another here who is not bounded by the laws of the cage.”

The star retreats sharply, dipping almost to the floor.

“I am unworthy of carrying out your duties, my Lord. And besides, you’ve already-”

“Nonsense! Here, I’ll send you now!”

Kontis wiggles his fingers again, the same motion he always uses to send a soul on. A bright blue flame spirals out into a circle of black nothing underneath Wilx, and bands of white light loop up over the star, dragging it into the murky depths.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of light whites out the room, and Kontis feels as if he’s just jammed his fingertips into a boulder. As his vision returns, Wilx is rolling gently across the floor, leaving a scorched trail that vanishes a few moments after it rolls along. The star’s blue-white glow is dim and flickering.

“Absolutely ridiculous!” Kontis spits, stomping hard enough to split the palace in two. A moment later it’s restored as usual.

“As I was trying to say, my Lord,” Wilx says, voice weak and trembling. “We’ve tried that before. Two days after I arrived.”

Kontis slumps back into his chair.

“This is going to take work, isn’t it?” he asks.

Wilx declines to answer.