The gods of Ashkareth built their world on blood and silence.

Someone else's blood.

Someone else's silence.

Brann spent fourteen years drinking away the things he'd done-what the gods demanded, what the temple required, what his bond was built on. He was done with all of it. Then a name he buried came back to find him. And something older than the gods began to speak.

Now he must learn the horror of what it means when the thing the gods fear most call him by name.