The temple of the sun was always eerie in the early hours of the morning. Before worshippers came in droves to offer prayers and gifts and before the sunlight came flooding down to receive them, the wide halls and vaulted ceilings held only the lingering chill of a young spring still shaking herself free of the cruel grip of winter.

A pair of young novitiates huddled together against a rickety wooden door near the back of the temple. The older one jangled a set of brass keys in his shaking hand while the younger held a small lantern up to the rusted doorknob.

"Can't you go any faster? It's freezing out here." The younger boy squeaked, trying his best to shield the flame of the lantern from the early morning breeze. It was ancient and half the glass panels had broken making it only slightly more reliable than a candle.

"Don't rush me or I'll drop them." The older one reprimanded, yawning half-way through the sentence. He picked out a key from the bunch and stuck it in the lock. The thing wouldn't turn, but it never did on the first try. He gave it a jiggle. "It's not like it'll be any warmer inside."

"Can we just get this over with?" The younger one whined, missing his thick, wool blankets. He knew he wouldn't be seeing them till sundown at least, but this early in the morning he could still remember their warmth.

The older boy was close to trying another key or maybe just kicking the old door off its ruined hinges when it swung open. The darkness beyond it seemed more solid than the door had ever been. It might've been thicker than the stone that contained it. But the boys shuffled in anyways. The young one went first, shaking with more than cold. He held the little lantern out in front of them, afraid the dark would swallow them both as easily as pumpkin seeds. The older one shut the door behind and braced himself for what the dim, flickering light would reveal.

The temple of the sun was built with light in mind. Its high, vaulted ceilings and wide halls were made to contain as much of it as possible. The stone monuments were positioned to catch the light streaming in from the stained-glass windows and the altar stood in the center of a constant beam of sunlight cast from the open ceiling. No one ever considered what the place looked like in the dark because the only ones who entered before the sun were lowly novitiates.

"Old king Lin is just up ahead, don't drop the lantern when you see him." The older boy warned the younger, fumbling for a candle by the door. In the dark, all the solemn marble monuments of fallen heroes and past kings became judgmental, frightening things that perpetually aimed their ceremonial swords and scepters at the heads of foolish novitiates. There was a reason why none of their lanterns stayed in good shape for long.

"Oh! There he is!" The younger jumped but held the lantern tight. He tried his best to not sound startled by the sudden appearance of the stern bearded man, frowning ever deeper in the flickering light.

"They don't like being woken early either. Step lightly." The older one said as he lit a dozen long, tapered candles on the lantern flame two at a time, handing his companion half. He went about the east atrium placing the candles in their holders and lighting more off them. When the temple was decently lit, they went to work sweeping up the dust and debris that blew in every night and filled the corners of the temple and scrubbing down all the stone benches and monuments as well as they could manage.

The opening in the ceiling over the altar was designed to welcome in the sun god. But it also welcomed all manner of birds and bats who left offerings of their own.

The temple brightened by small, imperceptible increments as the two moved from one corner of the temple to the next, dusting off small family altars and laying out the temple textiles that had been stowed away the night before. By the time they reached the center, all the world was a dull shade of grey, just light enough to make out the edges of the steps leading up to the altar but not quite bright enough to do without candles.

It turned the many statues and monuments from golems, all too alive in the darkness, to ghosts, all too still in the thin morning light. The steady movement of sweeping and scrubbing had begun to warm the novices' bones. They were no longer shaking as they laid out the worn but lustrous carpets, but no less eager to finish up and get back to the sanctuary of the acolytes where fireplaces blazed, and warm porridge was being served for breakfast.

In that dreary half-light, the older novice glanced to the altar made of a stone much older and rougher than all the polished marble and stained glass of the temple. In this light, it was only a vague, jagged outline of grey only slightly darker than the grey of the temple walls. But the idea of it loomed over him as he worked along with the memories of watching poor, helpless lambs and calves sacrificed on it.

He couldn't see the flowing bloodstain soaked deep into the pitted granite or the dip in the center of the stone where so many bodies had lain but they weighed on his mind every time he was near it. He always kept it at the corner of his eye and as the darkness faded, he couldn't help but notice that the silhouette wasn't quite the right shape.

He stopped sweeping and looked away as his heart turned to ice. He had only taken the briefest of glances, but he could've sworn there was a body on the altar. The boy knew he couldn't tell the younger one. He wasn't about to needlessly frighten someone so new to life as an acolyte if there wasn't anything wrong. And if there was a body on the altar as he feared, he didn't want to traumatize the boy for life. He'd tell the kid to leave early, finish scrubbing the bird shit off the north wall himself and deal with it himself.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the younger one let out the high-pitched shriek of a kid too scared to feel shame for screaming like a girl. The older one turned immediately to the body lying on the stone altar. In the low light, he was as pale and still as any of the monuments. The thick, black bloodstain flowing from its neck. Without another thought, both boys ran to the rickety wooden door, leaving an armful of candlesticks in their wake.

The sound of hymns sung by the voices of many began to rise with the sun in the east. When the sun had just begun to cast shards of rosy light across the floor, the carved oak doors swung open. The high priestess stepped through them with two elder acolytes, her eyes going wide under her clean white cloak when she saw the man sleeping inside.

"Shut the doors behind us." She delivered the order to the temple arms quickly, quietly, so as not to alarm the parade of the faithful just a few yards behind them. With any luck, they could wake the intruder and usher him out without anyone knowing anything was wrong.

Without it, at least they could come up with some less embarrassing excuse for postponing the rites of the first dawn of spring than someone wandering in and taking a nap on the sacred altar.

"Send two more around the back, just in case." The priestess added as the women in ceremonial gold armor began to pull the doors closed. One nodded and signaled to the small army clad in gold behind them.

She ran up to the altar in the center of the temple, her robes rustling loud as a forest in a storm in the empty temple. One of the elders shuffled up as fast as he could while the other hung back, grumbling her disbelief at this bizarre development.

At first glance, her only thought was that some poor, foreign vagrant had taken advantage of an unlocked door and sought shelter here, ignorant to the significance of the stone slab he had mistaken for his bed. But looking at him closer, it seemed almost as if he belonged there, as much a part of the temple as the altar itself.

He was clothed in a thin sheet of blue silk, color brighter than she'd ever seen in the markets. His golden hair hung long and smooth streaming over the edge of the stone parallel to the ancient bloodstain.

Despite his nakedness, he didn't seem to feel the cold of the morning breeze or the hard, rough granite on which he slept. From the expression on his smooth, boyish face, he might very well have been napping on a featherbed in the midsummer sun.

The man seemed to have seen a lot of combat, but not necessarily a hard life. He well-fed, with all the lean muscle of a prized racehorse, but the scars of varying severity and age scattered across his tanned skin spoke of necessity rather than vanity. Still, he didn't have the layer of grime one would expect on a traveling workman or a hunter. He didn't even have dust on his feet from walking around the temple. It was as though he'd just been dropped from the sky

"Do you think perhaps... The Sun has come down from his palace to be among us?" Elder Senilis asked beside her, bewildered as she was. The priestess thought the idea ridiculous but glanced over to the marble statue of their lord, the King among Gods, just in case. They looked nothing alike. Why on earth would a god present himself as a sacrifice anyways?

"Maybe Our Lord intends for us to sacrifice him." Elder Crassula hissed sarcastically from a few feet away. She resented the inconvenience but seemed to want no part in its solution.

"Maybe he is a gift. Maybe he is a punishment. Whatever he is, we need him awake and off damn altar before anyone starts asking questions."

She took a deep breath and reached out to shake his shoulder. At the slightest brush of skin, the man sprang upright causing the sheet to flutter to the ground. He seemed oblivious to his nakedness and the people surrounding him, instead staring out at the cold marble faces of the temple monuments with confusion and despair. Finally, he turned his face up to the open ceiling, tears welling up in his eyes.

"You coward! You filthy, lying coward!" He cried out with all the air in his lungs to the patch of sky above them. The flock of pigeons roosting on the roof took flight scattering feathers over their heads, a few getting caught in the flow of his hair. He took another heaving breath, tears streaming down his face, and continued shouting until his words lost all form. He dissolved into a puddle of tears and incomprehensible babbling.

The priestess could do nothing but look on with annoyance and begrudging sympathy as the temple arms made themselves known, coming through the rickety wooden door with all the grace of confused cattle. She waved them over.

"Let him air out his grievances to Our Lord in the crypts." She sighed, turning to the doors so she could get the spring rites back on track before the morning passed them entirely.

Both the burly men hemmed and hawed at the order. It was exceedingly rare that the temple arms were required to do anything beyond opening doors and carrying things in these peaceful times. Whenever they were given a new task, they took to it like a fish to hiking. "You don't mean... kill him, priestess?"

"Wha- No, don't be ridiculous." She turned on her heel and put on a toothy grin that resembled that of a wolf snarl than an actual smile. "I mean you should take him down to the crypts where it's quiet and make him comfortable until after the morning rites when we can have a lovely conversation over breakfast. Do you understand me better now?"

They both looked down at their feet and mumbled something to the effect of yes.

"Elder Crassula, please accompany them." The priestess asked as the temple arms lifted the mysterious intruder to his feet. He didn't put up a fight, though his lean, muscular build and the many scars striping his body spoke of many in his past. That vacant, lost quality in his too-bright eyes suggested he didn't much care what happened here on earth with the rest of them

She turned back again to the carved oak doors to the east and took a deep breath. "Let's hope that is the only disaster today, Elder Senilis."

The old man nodded, the creases in his face drawn tight with contemplation.

"Open the doors!" The sun came streaming in through the doorway, blinding the priestess with its brilliance. This was the new dawn, the first and most popular holiday of the year for the devotees of the sun. It was a symbol of relief from the hard winter and hope for the year to come.

The priestess managed to avoid disaster while performing the morning rituals and sacrifices, though there was a child among the devoted masses who wouldn't stop crying during the blood sacrifice. She felt incredibly lucky that there was only one this year.

She could hear the sounds of the day's continuing festivities above as she descended the stone staircase into the underground crypts. The wail of a poorly trained violinist accompanied by the beat of hundreds of dancing feet brought a wistful smile to the priestess's face.

She hoped to resolve the issue with this morning's intruder quickly and be out in the sunshine among the dancers as soon as possible. The dusty old catacombs were an awful place to spend an afternoon.

In addition to being a final resting place for the more prestigious devotees, they also served as a kind of storage closet for ancient artifacts and relics too delicate to be handled. These hundreds of crumbling texts, carvings, and paintings leaned against the sepulchers and on top of memorial altars in haphazard stacks. They were in the process of reorganizing the crypts and had been for a few months now. It seemed they would be until this place was also nothing more than a relic in someone's collection.

The intruder sat among them against a grey stone sculpture of a long-dead hero. He was as still and solemn as anyone else who resided there, but the shining gold of his hair and healthy glow of his skin set him apart from his companions.

He did not move when the priestess entered the alcove and continued to stare off into the catacombs when she addressed him.

"I apologize for hauling you down here so abruptly, but I'm afraid we found you at an inopportune time. I am the high priestess of the Temple of the Dawn." The man seemed entirely unimpressed or perhaps deaf. She continued, crouching directly in front of him to catch his attention. "Can I bring you anything? Food, water, clothing?"

The question was a bit pointed, as the man sat on the cold floor without even the thin blue sheet to cover him. She felt they both might be more comfortable conversing once he was wearing something. Anything.

"Your praise means nothing to him, our King among Gods." He said, meeting her eyes with a strange intensity. His speech was quiet and raw from crying, but there was a natural power to it. As though his voice was meant to carry across miles. "All your years serving him with such devotion. All these people, all their praise. It falls on unfeeling ears."

"Who are you to claim such things?" The priestess had never felt the need to defend her faith before. She'd had to reassure people suffering loss that The Sun still watches over them even when they don't feel it. They were often angry and nihilistic and she'd learned to help them in whatever way she could without taking personal offense.

"Not so different from you." He smiled. The cruelty of it seemed out of place on his firm, handsome face. "I also served him. I offered him my entire life, forsaking all earthly bonds. He left me in a puddle of my own tears. You won't be given even that courtesy."

"Who are you?"

"Helianthus, consort of the Sun God." He took a long, shuddering breath his gaze falling leaden to the stone floor. "Former consort now."

For a brief moment, the high priestess felt dizzy. The declaration felt like a blow to the head. She reached out to the wall for support. "Impossible. We have no record of The Sun taking human consorts."

Helianthus snorted. "I'd like to see these accurate and up-to-date records of the gods' personal lives."

"Of course, all our sources are outdated at best but if The Sun was plucking up young men and leaving them heartbroken on altars, someone would know!"

"I know." He passed a hand over his tear-swollen eyes

The priestess took a seat against the wall of the alcove, taking deep breaths as she reconstructed her idea of the distant, benevolent King among Gods to accommodate the distraught young man's claims. She had been taught that he was so far above such simple, human compulsions as desire and betrayal.

"What... what is he like? I simply must know."

Helianthus went cold and quiet, becoming as much a part of the crypt as the tomb he sat against. The priestess knew that she would have a better chance of getting the dead to speak than to get another word out of him now.

She got up, gave him a brief bow hopefully befitting a direct servant of The King among Gods and quietly made her way back up the stairs.

For the next few days, the strange man in the crypt did not speak. The Priestess allowed no visitors to intrude on his privacy, delivering his meals herself twice a day so she could observe him directly, discretely. She hoped that someday, he would come to trust her. It would take patience and time, not entirely unlike gaining the trust of a stray cat.

Over about a week of observation over silent breakfasts, she noticed he seemed to be keeping himself occupied with reorganizing their collection of relics. It wasn't often that she caught him in the act, but every time she came down they seemed to be arranged into slightly different piles.

Today, it seemed that he had taken a liking to a few of the painted icons bearing the image of The Sun enthroned. He had them leaned against the walls of the chamber he had chosen as his own. Different versions of the same pale, muscular man all stared out from their gilded windows with regal passivity.

"Are you fond of these?" She asked between spoonfuls of her morning porridge. She never expected an answer from her mysterious guest. Mostly, she asked questions just to hear something other than the two of them breathing. "They're nice. Some of our oldest surviving paintings of Our Shining Lord."

"They make me laugh."

The sound of Helianthus' solid, powerful voice after so many days of silence made her heart stutter. She shoved an empty spoon in her mouth to keep herself from cheering or bombarding him with questions. She sucked the faint taste of honey from the wood before setting it back into her bowl and addressing him again.

She took a breath, letting the silence fill the room for a little longer. She'd come too far to spook him now. "Oh?"

"Yes. Of all the images down here, these look the least like The Sun." He continued, still staring down at his bowl of porridge with all the concentration of a scholar. He still refused the offer of novice's clothing, but thankfully found a set of ancient silk robes among the relics. They were in great condition, shimmering orange and green in the dim light. Wearing them, he didn't look all too different from the people in the paintings.

"That one," He gestured to one leaning against the tomb. "That is my favorite."

The man on it was pale as a pearl with a loving grin on his face and white hair splayed over his bare chest. His throne was made of clouds and around him, all the other gods knelt in reverence. To his left, a flock of birds refilled his wine glass. To his right, a wild dog offered him the moon.

"The painter was said to have painted this after a vision given to him by the gods." The priestess smiled at its eccentric use of color and scale.

"I believe it. That is the perfect image of the god of dreams and madness. Right down to his fondness for wine."

The Priestess laughed and they fell back into an easy silence.

From then on, her visits to the crypt lasted a little longer every day. There were still days when he wouldn't come out from the expanse behind his brown eyes and they'd sit in the deathly silence, but he was answering her questions more and more often every day. She was beginning to put his story together.