Once he’d made it within the borders of High Luana, it wasn’t difficult to pick up on Destruction’s essence. He followed on autopilot all the way to the crystalline beaches Hunt had pointed him towards. He could practically taste her magic on his tongue the closer he got.

It surprised him that her presence stayed stationary upon his approach; surely she felt him just as potently in the air now that she was aware of his existence. As he navigated the coarse sands, traveling the perimeter of the vacant beachscape, her presence grew stronger and more pronounced.

He was taken aback at the sight of her again, standing ankle deep in the sapphire waves, staring out at the horizon.

But her voice held exhaustion. “So you intend to seek me out, then, for the rest of my days?”

The bitterness—the blatant disgust—in her voice sent a lonesome pang through Creation’s chest. But that was why he was here, to let her know how very untrue that assumption could now be. Creation stepped forward, off the sun-bleached sand and into the seafoam to stand at her side.

From every angle, she was breathtaking.

“No,” he offered her simply, and had he not been staring at her so intently, he would have missed the momentary furrowing of her brow as it changed the delicate lines of her face in profile. Though she still refused to look at him, eyes locked upon the vast stretch of sea, her surprise was palpable. So, before she could demand explanation, he offered one. “Hunt plans to kill Chaos, and if she succeeds, you will be free.”

For a long moment, Destruction didn’t seem to know how to respond, jaw clenched as she processed his words. Then, she asked, “And you intend to take this as an opportunity to gain my interest? Manipulate me into your good graces with the promise of freedom just like Carver manipulated wood and clay to make your body, or Light manipulated your thoughts to feel fondness for me?”

Though Creation’s heart ached at the implication, however understandable, he pressed on, stepping toward Destruction. The motion brought on Destruction’s gaze at him, her expression carefully blank. He saw her emotions, locked behind her eyes like animals pacing a cage. “If the plan to kill Chaos succeeds, then you will no longer matter to the pantheon as you do now. With her gone, Oblivion cannot be formed—by you or her. Which, yes, means your freedom to carry on as you are. Not just from them, but also from me. If that is what you wish.”

The words sat heavy at the back of his throat, choking him, but he willed them out, desperate for their truth to reach Destruction’s ears.

“I’ll alleviate myself from the equation. If you choose for me to never approach you again, for the rest of our days, then that is your will as a free demigod. And I will honor it.”

When the admission left him, his throat sore and chest hollow, Destruction faced him properly. Surprise sprung free from its cage and now ran amok on her features. It no doubt mirrored his own as Destruction filled the silence between them with one hesitant step towards him.

And then another.

Creation held his breath, watching as she slowly breached his personal space, almost unconsciously. Her eyes never left his, flitting about his face as if looking for the lie. She pushed the boundaries even further, stepping so close that he could almost feel the heat of her body, their breaths mingling in the air.

There wasn’t much height difference between them, but enough that Destruction had to tilt her head up to keep his gaze. At the look of determination flickering in her eyes, Creation swore his own heart stopped. There was so much magnificence before him. The natural splendor of the world around them paled in comparison to the woman who could keep him in perfect thrall with a mere look.

“If we decide to be together,” she said in a breathy and low whisper that restarted Creation’s heart double time, “and one day I decide to leave—” Creation let out a breath, that same heart clenching “—does that free will still stand?”

All at once, hope coursed through him, a challenge lingering within the question that made it easy for him to reply.

“If Chaos dies, your life is your own. You will be free to do as you please. In any regard, in any age, at any time. You have my word on that.”

Destruction inhaled the answer, using it to fill her lungs with new air—an air laced with freedom and opportunity. Yet still, as she exhaled, she did not take her leave. Instead, she placed a hand over Creation’s heart. Surely she could feel how fast it was beating, could hear how hard and loud it was beating for her.

“What if . . .” Destruction whispered, letting her hand trail up his chest until fingers were digging into the nape of his neck. His eyes nearly fluttered closed at the contact, but he forced them open, unwilling to miss even a second of her face so perfect, so near. “What if you find, even with free will, that you love me so much you can’t let me go?”

Please don’t ever go, his mind cried, every inch of him, magic and body alike, begging for her to stay right where she was, in that moment, forever. He didn’t even know if he could handle another bout of separation.

“What if you find you love me so much that you can’t let me go?” he dared.

Her eyes widened barely a fraction. She quickly hid the surprise from him before he could discern what else was there. “Answer me.”

“I will never go back on my word. Your life will be your own.” He breathed in, then let out a pained exhale. “I would let you go.”

For the first time since their eyes had met, something not unlike relief seemed to flash across Destruction’s face. Relief and what Creation thought—hoped, pleaded—was akin to fondness.

“You would give me up?” she repeated, barely a note to her voice, though Creation heard each word like a song, one that his entire being mourned despite its beauty. When she pulled him in further by his neck, he selfishly let it happen. This might be the closest she ever wanted him to be, so he sank into her touch, allowing himself to pretend.

Closing his eyes to whatever his words might illicit in her, he gave her what she wanted. “I would do anything you asked of me.”

There was no way for him to prepare for the sensation of his companion’s lips against his own. It was even more overwhelming than that first tickle of her magic in the air, more all-encompassing than their first moment of physical contact. More primal. It sunk deep, deep into Creation’s being, made it sing with new life.

Though he was only half-aware—too lost to the feel of Destruction’s teeth against his bottom lip, her tongue soothing the bite—he swore her nails dug into his scalp. He wrapped her up in his arms, pulling her chest to chest with an arm around her waist and a hand tangled in her hair.

Even as his lungs were straining for air, he still felt as though he was breathing for the first time since awakening to this new form.

Just as quickly as she had lured him in, sunk into every fiber of him, Destruction pulled away. Again, that voice that screamed to keep her close protested, an arm reaching to pull her back, though he stopped himself in time.

Destruction watched his movements with wary eyes. She was testing him; he knew it and he let her. He would pass every test she gave him if that’s what it took to win her favor.

When Destruction turned her back on him, he let her walk away without a single protest.

He had expected it, had been waiting in agony for her to run away from him again since the moment he’d stepped onto the secluded beach, but it still ripped him apart as he watched the line of her back and the wave of her hair vanish quickly from sight.