The floors of the pantheon were like ice on Creation’s bare feet.

Landing on the great balcony he had descended from hours, days, perhaps months ago—he knew of the passage of mortal time, but tracking it was unimportant to him—Creation was met with an oddly foreign world. The Light’s throne was dim, the god’s attention elsewhere, and Creation found it to be an unexpected relief.

This should be his home, but all Creation could muster was a cautious ambivalence toward it.

As Creation walked in the main room, his suspicions only grew. None of the divinities seemed to be present. Could they perhaps know his plot with Hunt?

Slight movement from behind had Creation leaping forward toward his would-be attacker. He nearly lost his balance.

“Your own shadow will begin to startle you if you stay so on-edge.” Hunt leaned against a large column, not unlike how he first met her. Her wolf paced back and forth between them.

“He’s restless, too,” Creation observed softly, more musing to himself. But Hunt surprised him with a response.

“So you can feel it then.”

“Pardon?” His eyes returned to the goddess.

“Chaos. You can feel the havoc she’s reaping.” Hunt frowned and pushed away from the pillar, heading toward the balcony.

“What’s happening?” He followed close behind on her heels.

“She’s made a rather big play,” Hunt said grimly, referring to Chaos, “and anomalies are popping up everywhere; the other gods descended to try to find her and pin her down . . . but she’s just making sport of them.”

“Has she found Destruction?” he asked quickly, his heart racing at the thought of Chaos taking the woman he loved so soon after the first taste of her.

“If she had, we would know.” Hunt buried her hand in her wolf’s fur, giving it a rough scratch. “I’m headed down there now to join the fight.”

He watched as she poised to take flight to earth, toward whatever madness Chaos had wrought. Uselessness settled on his shoulders, weighing him down. “What can I do?”

“The fact that Chaos hasn’t found her yet may be your doing already.” Hunt paused at the edge. “Your magic is a counterweight to Destruction’s. It may be helping reign her in, keep her tethers from running out so far that Chaos could easily pursue her.” The goddess tilted her head, as if ruminating on the idea. “Perhaps that’s why Chaos is beginning this assault. If she can’t hunt Destruction as she used to, then she may just be trying to burn her out like a fox in a den.”

This was the reality; Creation had no strength to refute it. Now he needed to search for usefulness beyond merely chasing Chaos like the rest of the pantheon. “Your weapon. I could make it now, while everyone is distracted. You could have your champion use it—”

“We don’t know where Chaos is, just where her magic has been wrought. I couldn’t navigate my champion there in time, and she is still being trained. However, you are speaking some sense . . ..” Her wolf gave a small huff and sat heavily on its haunches, as if frustrated with the holdup. “Come, I think I’ve found a suitable workshop for you. That is where we can begin working on the weapon.”

“Where is it?”

“Your kingdom,” she teased.

“My . . . kingdom?”

Hunt laughed. Without another word, she stepped off the balcony and disappeared, leaving Creation scrambling to catch up.

He landed on light feet at the edge of a great city (by mortal standards) made of stone and wooden shingled rooves. The air was thin and cool, a light breeze ruffling familiar trees. Creation turned, trying to place where he knew it from.

“This is—”

“Aristonia,” Hunt finished for him, beginning to walk. Once more, Creation followed without question. “It’s where you first found her. A town to the northwest of here is where you performed your first miracle for the mortals alongside Light, setting them to speak wonders of you.”

Back on the earth, he sensed Destruction once more, though vaguely. One kiss, and their bond had deepened enough that he felt he could find her nearly anywhere without Hunt’s help. But he resisted the urge. She desired him to let her go . . . for now.

“The king of the land lives here, in the capital city of Goddik, and he has decreed that the ‘Prince of Gods’”—Creation recognized the moniker the mortals had used for him—“will be his family’s patron divinity. They even repurposed a temple to you.”

“A temple?” Creation paused mid-step. “To me?”

“Sometimes I think mortals have little else to do than revere us. As if we will be able to truly do anything to help them. We can barely do anything to help ourselves right now.” Hunt came to a stop as well.

Before Creation could defend the work that Light did on behalf of mankind, and would continue to do once Chaos was destroyed, Hunt raised a hand and pointed. Atop a hill, wide and winding stairs led to a large structure on the edge of the city.

“May I present your temple,” Hunt said dramatically with a small smirk.

“This . . .is for me?”

“Yes.” She began walking as she spoke. “They outfitted it for you, and because it has been deemed in your honor, there’s power here, a sort of barrier if you will that prevents unwelcome gods from spying or entering. When Earth told me of it, I thought it’d be perfect for our purposes.”

“Then I could just . . .” Creation’s words trailed off mid-sentence. I could just hide her here, was what he was going to say. But Destruction wasn’t some trinket to be stored away in a vault.

“Yes, I doubt she’d take kindly to the idea,” Hunt agreed, easily hearing his unspoken statement. “And the barrier is not quite a tangible force—more of an etiquette among gods. Anyone who trespasses will feel a general discomfort. And, even if Chaos somehow couldn’t just stroll in, then she would rattle these foundations to their core to get to Destruction . . . But I think it will be a good place for you to make me my weapon.”

They arrived at the entrance of the temple, the doors pulled open. Creation wandered ahead, awed by the delicate stonework lining the atrium, the various tools of craftsmen held up on pedestals. At the far back hung a portrait of, he assumed, him, judging from the swoop of white hair across the painted man’s face.

Hunt clearing her throat brought him back to reality. “You need to invite me into your temple, that whole barrier-not-barrier thing.”

“Oh, right. Please come in, Hunt,” Creation said, hoping he didn’t need to be any more ceremonious than that. Her step in assured him he didn’t. “We’re here, what now?”

“Let’s find a space we can work.”

The two began to explore, walking through the various halls and rooms of the temple. It was more like a palace, really, on the inside. Toward the back, behind the main congregation area, they stumbled on an elderly man donned in yards of white fabric.

“Prince of Gods.” He fell to his knees. “Goddess Mielikki.”

Creation glanced at Hunt on hearing the strange name. He would never understand the mortal’s need to give a name to everything. It seemed much easier to call the pantheon by that which they were the patrons of. Or, at least have all mortals agree on a singular set of names. But he didn’t correct the mortals who referred to Light as Zeus and he certainly wouldn’t start now.

“You honor this lowly priest of creation with your presence. How may I be of service to your cause?”

“I have come to inspect my temple,” Creation said with an air of authority. “Is there a place I may take rest and work?”

“Yes, of course, the God’s Wing has been prepared for you. All craftsmen of the city have left offerings for you there.”

“Show me.”

The man led them back toward the entrance and off to the side, up a narrow spiral stair, and through a heavy door. “These chambers are not touched, save for offerings. I shall tell your acolytes you have come to honor us. You will hear them sing joyous praise to you for hours to come.”

“Thank you,” Creation wasn’t sure what else there was to be said. He was grateful for it all, but had asked for none of this.

“It is our honor, Lord Snow.” The priest gave one more bow—so low he almost fell flat on his face. Then, one to Hunt. “Lady Mielikki.” With that, he quickly departed.

“Lord Snow?” Creation repeated, starting through one of the three doors that branched off the landing.

“It seems you received your first mortal name.” Hunt gave a small grin. “At least it’s a fairly simple one.”

“Though it makes no sense,” he sighed. Snow had more to do with “God of Winter,” as one mortal had incorrectly called him, than creation.

“Perhaps your hair and general glow?” she suggested. Further conversation on mortals and names was cut short as Creation opened the door to a modest but exceptionally well put together workshop. There were tools of every shape and size and long wooden tables and wide beams along the stone ceiling.

“This is all for me?” Creation wondered aloud, looking back to the landing. What was hidden behind the other two doors?

Hunt’s fingers ran lightly along the surface of a table. “Just wait until you have shrines popping up everywhere—little ones in small towns, big ones in cities. You never know what you’ll find there. The offerings really are a delight to pick through.”

“I suppose we’ll see when we get to that point,” he said, pretending to be optimistic. Nothing felt guaranteed as long as Chaos lived, not even the next morning’s sunrise. Which brought Creation to the reason they came to this particular corner of the world. “About your weapon . . .”

“Yes.” Hunt crossed to the table. “The champion I have in mind will be an archer.”

He could’ve guessed, given the large bow strapped to the goddess’s back. “So you’ll need a bow and arrow, then?”

Hunt paused, thinking. Strumming her fingers along the table, she finally shook her head. “Just the arrow. I don’t want a bow of god-like power roaming the world.”

“But an arrow that can kill a demigod roaming the world is fine?”

“Don’t try to impress too much logic on me, Creation. I’m a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kind of woman.”

Just the kind he liked, if Destruction was any measure. “Very well, just an arrow then.”

Creation lifted his hands off the table, envisioning what he would like to make. Warm, yellow light began to hover in the air, condensing into lines like a blueprint. This would be far more complex than making his clothing.

“One other important thing,” Hunt said quickly. Creation glanced at her. “Make it so no godly hand can touch it but yours and mine.”

“What?” His hands fell, and the light faded. But a new light dawned on him. “You do not want to risk it falling into Chaos’s hands.”

“Yes,” Hunt said grimly. “I know you will die before giving it to her, as will I.”

“You don’t trust the rest of the pantheon?” Creation felt like he should be surprised by the fact, but he wasn’t. In truth, some part of him felt suspicious. Perhaps it was the corner of him dedicated to Destruction and her wariness bleeding over into his own mind.

“Motives shift faster than the weather. Gods do as it suits them. I only trust myself and those I’m forced to.”

Creation nearly asked if she trusted him as well, but quickly backed away from the question. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to trust him; they just needed to work together. They just needed to kill Chaos. At the least, he knew she trusted they both had an invested interest.

So Creation lifted his hands once more, allowing the light to condense—now with a new thought in his mind. Let no one touch this but Hunt and I. Yet Destruction crept in his head and, like always, he did not have the will to push her away.