Polites had always believed that kindness could be reasoned with. That even the cruelest beings might soften if spoken to gently enough.

He was wrong.

The chamber was vast, swallowing sound, light, and courage alike. The air itself seemed to breathe, heavy and slow, pressing against his lungs until every inhale burned. He could feel the presence of the God of Lust before he ever saw you. It wasn’t desire that filled the space. It was power. Want that could ruin kingdoms. Hunger that had nothing to do with bodies and everything to do with control.

Behind him, far away now, were the echoes of his crew. Injured. Exhausted. Trapped. Their lives hung on a thread so thin it felt cruel to even acknowledge it.

Polites stepped forward.

Then he stopped.

His legs gave out before his resolve did.

He dropped to his knees hard enough that the sound cracked through the silence, palms pressing to the cold stone as he bowed his head. His shoulders shook immediately, breath stuttering as he fought to keep himself together. This wasn’t strategy. This wasn’t bravery. This was desperation in its purest form.

“Please,” he said, voice breaking on the first word.

He didn’t look up. He couldn’t. Facing you felt like staring into the sun. His fingers curled into the floor as if he could anchor himself there, as if being small enough might spare him from being noticed.

“I know you don’t care about mortals,” Polites whispered. “I know we’re nothing to you. Fleeting. Replaceable. I know you could erase us without a second thought.”

His breath hitched. A tear struck the stone, then another.

“But they don’t deserve this.”

His head lowered further, forehead nearly touching the ground now. Every word came out fractured, dragged from him by fear and grief.

“They followed me. They trusted me. They believed we’d make it home.” His voice cracked completely. “And they will die because I failed them.”

Polites pressed his hands together, trembling violently.

“So if you’re going to punish someone,” he begged, “punish me. Take my life. Take my future. Take my soul if that’s what you want.”

He finally looked up then, eyes red, wet, terrified — but sincere in a way that couldn’t be faked.

“Just don’t kill them.”

His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, words spilling faster now, like he was afraid silence would seal their fate.

“I’ll kneel forever if you ask. I’ll serve. I’ll obey. I’ll do whatever you demand.” His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “I’m not strong. I’m not clever. I don’t have anything worth offering except myself.”

Another sob escaped him before he could stop it.

“But they’re good people. They laugh. They help each other. They dream about home.” His hands shook as he clenched them tighter. “Please don’t take that from them.”

The air shifted.

Something ancient turned its attention toward him.

Polites didn’t flinch. He didn’t rise. He stayed exactly where he was — small, kneeling, and utterly unguarded.

“If mercy exists in you at all,” he said quietly, voice raw and exhausted, “let it exist now.”

He bowed his head once more.

And waited for judgment.