Once the scent of sunshine faded, D’Argen remembered that he was one and returned to his body as himself. He felt Acela’s hold on him release and he dropped his chin. He reached for his mahee and let the scent of the ocean spill out of the cage of his body only for a moment, to confirm that he was himself and separate from the others. Once that was done, he checked his body and rubbed his throat. It was just bare to the entire crowd around him a moment before, leaving him vulnerable. He hated that feeling, no matter how euphoric it felt to connect with Acela and the rest of the Never Born. He would definitely be looking into those metal bands he noticed most of the gods wearing around their throats. They were probably gold, bouncing the scents of the mahee back into the body if it escaped like a mirror would to light.

A quick glance at the mortals around him revealed them all rising and steady on their feet. For some, their eyes were slightly glazed, but the high they experienced earlier was gone. Not one of them made a sound other than to shuffle their clothes as they all looked up to Acela like the god they claimed her to be.

“I welcome you all,” Acela started speaking again in the common tongue. “I see some new faces here and I want you to know, you are always welcome.” She was speaking to the mortals in the crowd, those that were here for the first time. As she continued her usual speech of welcoming them, D’Argen thought back to the first few conferences with mortals present. Back then, he believed that Acela recognized all the old faces, those that were changed by time, and could easily point out the new ones.

Now, he knew better.

He did not dare move from his spot, Acela’s magic still keeping him controlled even though her scent was faint, but that did not mean he had to pay attention to her words. This speech was the same as the last time he heard it. As it had been for the past one thousand years.

Acela barely made a full circle, facing each side of the platform, before her speech came to a close.

That was new.

D’Argen focused on her last words, hoping to catch what the differences were from before.

“As we spend this time together to learn from one another, I wish you all to look to us for guidance and help. We are always here for you.”

It sounded the exact same as before. He must have missed where she cut her speech short.

“You are home,” she finished the speech with the traditional saying, one that was originally meant only for the Never Born. Now, she spoke it in the common tongue so the mortals would understand it too.

D’Argen raised his chin in respect to her, as did every other Never Born in the crowd. The mortals around him did the opposite, bowing their heads and some even dropping to their knees on the ground. He did not understand where that custom had started but it was one that all mortal nations used, in one form or another.

D’Argen dropped his chin and rubbed at his throat, as if to check that the entrance of his mahee was still safe and unharmed.

The bustle and commotion of the crowd returned and shortly after started music, right from the platform. The crowd had started moving again so D’Argen did not see who was playing, but it sounded uplifting and happy. He would not be surprised if Yaling was up there and dancing.

“I did not know you would be here.” A male voice startled him into jumping to face its owner.

D’Argen found himself looking down at Vain, Chief Scholar and God of History, also known as The Historian though many of the Never Born considered him nothing more than a librarian. He was the one in charge of Evadia’s library and all of the written knowledge they possessed. He was, also, the one that sent D’Argen running around all of Trace at a whim, trying to fill in the blanks in his records.

“I was looking for you,” D’Argen replied with a smile. The scholar was so quiet that D’Argen did not notice him sneaking up on him at all. There was no scent coming from the man either, but a quick glance revealed his throat bare of both metal band and Simeal’s charms.

“To report something?” Vain asked. He looked the exact same as the last time D’Argen saw him. The man had skin so pale that it looked almost translucent, making him stand out from the crowd even when completely covered in his long robes. He was almost a full head shorter than D’Argen, his long dark hair held back in a half bun and a pair of delicate wire-rimmed glasses before his eyes that he did not actually need. He looked too young for many of the mortals to take him seriously, barely a boy out of his teens, even though he was the highest ranking scholar in all of Trace.

“Not exactly a report,” D’Argen finally answered. The crowd was starting to get loud again. “Do you have a moment?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I wanted to speak with you.”