...A dusty camp, with warriors dressed in copper armor. This was his- no, your- home, among the people they call the Copper. The new body given to you by dreams slides over you like a snake into molted skin.

You walk with confidence, carefully surveying the eyes of those around you. For when your city fell, when your rulers assuaged the Sun and Moon with the blood of a god, their practice of sacrifice became tainted. Some that partook of the dead awoke with new hungers, and a desire for dangerous knowledge. Our kings would not allow this. And so, as with all things, some of our number were given the hunt. We would weed out those who gave into their hungers, into the dreams of water.

You were envious of their knowledge, their power. As you murdered one seeker in their shrine, you felt the knowledge leave with their blood from their body. When you held the corpse above the black glass to offer to your lords, you felt an idea slither into your mind. You were loyal to your masters only for the power it afforded you; when that was not enough, you would defy their highest edicts: to avoid deals with the whisperers behind the glass. Under night you snuck across to the camp of the Rosers.

As you tread over the corpses of your comrades, you hold the flag of parley aloft. Grim eyed soldiers in thorned armor seized you and brought you to a mirror. There, you saw a feathered serpent The Resplendent Quetzal, with its thousands of coils, with feathers that drip with poisons. “I have been waiting.” It says. It agrees to a pact. You will weaken the Copper, and it will give you the knowledge of those you hunt.

Your flint knife continues to slay the Seekers. You still offer their corpses as tribute to the Three. But first, you bring them behind the glass. As you kill them, the serpent whispers their secrets. And then, it draws you close, and gives you a taste of venom that recalls the sun.

Your hands shake in anticipation of your next kill, and the reward of venom. One night, you realize that your whole body is shaking, and will not stop. You think of telling your lords, and asking for mercy. But you are still strong enough to defy both the serpent, and your lords. And so, you turn to your forbidden mirror, and ask for a taste of the venom. You feel something seize your mind. The shakes stop, and you are replaced with a sense of calm. But you cannot move. You can barely remember walking through no control of your own.

Your knives take many. But you do not know who they are, only the reward you get. You still make sacrifices to the Three. You still taste the venom that brings visions of the sun and transcendence. But you have no control anymore.

It is at last you remember holding another corpse aloft, to present to the Three. It is lighter than most. You realize that you are holding the body of a child. Your outraged comrades gasp. The Mottled Man holds up a hand, and says to all “Kill him. Take his mirror.” Your knife is in hand before you can think. As you fight your enraged comrades, you slowly feel the serpent leave you, its lended strength following it. At last, they smash you to the ground, and wrest the mirror from your pocket.

The Cat speaks this time. “Ensure he will never go North.”

You are taken to your old home. As they shut the stone coffin that is to be your tomb, you laugh one last time, bitterly. The one that was supposed to bring you power has left you. All this, removed in one moment of weakness, one moment of pride. You will never feel the joy the serpent’s poison brought you, or an end to the hungers that plague you.

You can see the years. The Three’s servants abandon them, and form their own dusty tombs. When the Bazaar brings its final punishment of light and lacre on the Fourth City, some of the Rosers flee here. They go into dust with their old enemies.

You feel yourself leave the Conceited General’s body. You are now standing in front of his tomb. You see a flash of light on the ground. A mirror shard. You know that you need it, though at the moment not why.

And then you hear hissing. You look up, and see a massive dark shape obliterating the stars. Poison rolls off its scales, rising in hissing steam from the stone paths. You begin to run, but it lets out a massive roar that seizes you with fear. It dives to the ground, and wraps its body around you. The poisons from its feathers burn your body.

It meets your eyes, and speaks in a voice rough with dust and age.