The next time the goddess of premonition says, "Hey, Arden, you're gonna die," I should really take her more seriously. She's annoyingly right about things like that.

It's just... I didn't want to think about dying. I was busy enough with a pregnant foxkin builder, a slime gal that may or may not be melting, and a goddess that kept bombarding me with snarky telepathic nonsense.

Throw in a disappearing city, a deadly gypsy festival, a feisty band of brothel-working elf women — and Reyna. Oh, Reyna. The white-haired, charcoal-skinned hell maiden begging for my hands all over her... skills. She needed help sealing the rifts to the underworld before Duul turned the afterlife into his own personal weapon.

All this before the god of war marches his ugly ancient ass into Halcyon for a showdown with Nola, my new family, and our growing city of refugees.

Who has time to die with all that going on?