Rowan woke up underwater. First thought: River accident. Second: Not drowning. Third: Too many arms.

  Bad sign.

  The world beyond the glass was warped—too bright, shapes twisting in ways they shouldn’t.

  He opened one eye. Nope. Still wrong.

  Oh, come on.

  A shadow loomed overhead. He looked up—or, at least, he thought he did. Vision worked weirdly without bones.

  Abby’s smirking face came into view, upside-down. “Morning, sunshine,” she said cheerfully. “Or… whatever time it is. Kinda hard to tell with you.”

  She tapped the side of the oversized fishbowl he was currently occupying. A fishbowl. Not even a respectable tank.

  Rowan extended five of his eight arms, forming the approximate shape of a human hand. With all the dignity an octopus could muster, he flipped her off.

  Abby burst into laughter.

  He slopped himself over the rim, a tangle of limbs collapsing onto the floor with a wet slap. A heartbeat later, his human body reasserted itself—leaving behind a puddle.

  He lay there, soaked and exhausted, the world still tilting. His face was wet. Scowling, he wiped at it. “Ugh.”

  A towel hit him in the face.

  “You good?” Abby asked, though she didn’t sound particularly concerned.

  Rowan peeled the towel off, sat up with a groan, and blinked at his surroundings. He was on the floor of a cabin, which was built directly into the landscape, half-woven with roots and wildflowers creeping through the windows. It smelled like warm earth and fresh rain.

  And, sure enough, there was a very large, very empty fishbowl beside him.

  Rowan pointed aggressively at the fishbowl. “Explain.”

  Abby grinned, leaning against the counter like this was the highlight of her day. “You got here, made a dramatic entrance, then immediately turned into an octopus and passed out.”

  “I did not.”

  “You did.”

  “...I had a reason.”

  “Uh-huh.” Abby leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “And the reason was?”

  Rowan opened his mouth, hesitated. “...Shut up.”

  Abby chuckled.

  “Three hours, Rowan.” Nadia’s voice was cool, but the weight behind it wasn’t casual. “That’s how long you’ve been out.”

  Rowan’s head snapped up. Nadia stood near the open doorway, her expression unreadable, hands lightly resting on the stone that allowed her to manifest here.

  Then he noticed the walls were breathing. Not metaphorically. They inhaled. Roots twitched like startled animals. The air curled too close, as if listening.

  Wildflowers on the windowsill sighed, blooming, wilting, blooming again—

  A heartbeat. But not his.

  Rowan’s stomach twisted. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Abby’s smirk faded. “Magic’s breaking. And it’s getting worse.”

  Rowan dragged the towel over his face, like he could wipe away reality itself. “Alright. Let’s hear it. What’s today’s apocalypse?”

  Abby and Nadia exchanged a glance. Not a good sign.

  Abby pushed off the counter, crossing the room with easy, unhurried steps. But even her movements looked… off. Not wrong exactly, just too fluid, too smooth, as if the world was shifting around her instead of the other way around.

  She gestured toward the open window, where the wind was whipping through the trees too wildly, too erratically.

  “It’s everywhere,” she said. “Magic’s acting up. Spells are twisting, getting distorted. Even my own realm has been changing with it. It’s like—”

  She hesitated. Frowned. “Like the world is holding its breath.”

  Rowan turned to Nadia, who was still standing perfectly still, the only person in the room who wasn’t shifting, moving, reacting.

  “You wanna translate that into something useful?” Rowan asked.

  Nadia’s gaze flicked toward him, sharp as ever. “The border between purgatory and the void is unraveling.”

  Rowan blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Abby sighed. “Yeah. That was my reaction too.”

  Nadia’s voice remained calm, but that didn’t mean much—Nadia sounded calm even when delivering the worst possible news.

  “Marcus is still in purgatory. And he’s not just lingering—he’s doing something to it.”

  She tilted her head slightly.

  “Perhaps not consciously. His mind is fractured. But his presence alone is enough to make it unstable.”

  Rowan dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his eyes. “And when you say unstable…?”

  Abby exhaled through her nose. “Demons are coming through. Not all at once. But they’re testing things.”

  Rowan rubbed his eyes. “Oh, perfect. I was worried things were stabilizing.”

  Nadia’s unreadable gaze didn’t waver. “The balance is breaking. And balance always finds a center.” She met his eyes. “Purgatory needs a ruler.”

  Rowan froze.

  He turned to Nadia, slowly, deliberately. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I must’ve had a stroke. Because that makes no sense.”

  “You didn’t have a stroke,” Nadia replied.

  “Purgatory. Needs. A ruler,” Rowan repeated flatly.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Nadia tilted her head. “It needs a tether. A stabilizing force.” Her gaze sharpened. “Without one, it won’t hold.”

  Rowan looked to Abby for support. “And you have somebody in mind?”

  Abby grimaced. “She’s right… and there aren’t many candidates.”

  Rowan held up a hand. “Hold on, hold on. Let’s back up. Why does purgatory need a ruler?”

  Nadia tilted her head slightly. “Because without one, it will collapse.”

  Silence.

  Rowan felt something cold settle in his stomach. “And when it collapses?”

  Abby shook her head. “No idea. But it won’t be good.”

  Rowan let out a slow breath. "Okay. Sure. That’s bad. But Marcus is in purgatory—shouldn’t that be keeping it together?"

  Abby frowned. “He’s keeping the demons in. The magic is still coming apart underneath him.”

  Nadia’s voice was measured. “Purgatory needs control, Rowan. Marcus is raw power. He’s holding it together by force, not maintaining it.”

  Rowan narrowed his eyes. “Then why haven’t the demons overrun the place yet?”

  Nadia met his gaze. “Because they are running.”

  Rowan blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  Abby nodded. “That’s the weird part. They’re not fighting to take over. They’re leaving. They’re fleeing.”

  Rowan’s stomach twisted. “Where are they going?”

  Nadia was silent.

  Abby exhaled. “We don’t know. They’re avoiding Earth, avoiding us. But they aren’t just vanishing.”

  Rowan frowned. “So what, they’ve got a new home?”

  Nadia’s gaze flicked toward Rowan, considering. “They are not directionless,” she said carefully. Then, softer—almost offhand—“A tide doesn’t move on its own.”

  Rowan let out a dry laugh. “Oh, fantastic. So we’re not even getting the demon apocalypse? Someone else gets express shipping?”

  “Possibly,” Nadia said. “But eventually, purgatory will collapse. And then it will become our problem.”

  Rowan threw his hands in the air. “Cool, cool, cool. So all we need is some idiot to take over the place before that happens?”

  Nadia didn’t blink. “Yes.”

  Rowan immediately pointed at Abby. “Why not her?”

  Abby snorted. “I’m the Wild Mother, Rowan. Do I look like I belong in purgatory?”

  “No, but you could make it nice.”

  Abby deadpanned. “Oh, sure, let’s turn the prison of the damned into a lovely nature preserve. Demons love that.”

  Rowan threw up his hands. “Okay, fine. Then where’s Thadius? This was his job, wasn’t it?”

  The moment he said it, something changed in the air.

  Abby and Nadia exchanged a look.

  “Thadius is gone,” Abby said.

  Rowan frowned. “Gone how?”

  Nadia’s expression remained unreadable. “No one knows.”

  Rowan raised an eyebrow. “No one?”

  Abby crossed her arms. “No one here.”

  Rowan’s gut tightened. “You’re saying he left.”

  Nadia inclined her head. “Or found something bigger.”

  Rowan exhaled through his nose. “Well, if I’d been stuck in purgatory against my will, I’d have bailed too.”

  “He never wanted the job,” Abby admitted. “But he kept purgatory stable while he was there. Now he’s gone, and Marcus isn’t filling that role.”

  Rowan let out a slow breath. “So the guy who held it together left, the replacement is insane, and the place is unraveling.”

  “That about sums it up,” Abby said.

  Rowan rolled his shoulders like shaking off a bad bet. “And now you’re looking at me.”

  Nadia inclined her head. “You can move between realms.”

  Rowan groaned. “Oh, come on. That’s the only qualification? I can also juggle. Should I take over the circus while I’m at it?”

  “Marcus has three domains. His hold is stretched thin,” Abby pointed out. “You have two.”

  Rowan let out a dry laugh. “Fantastic. So I’m the least overworked god. Love that for me.”

  Nadia didn’t blink. “You were always going to take this on.”

  “Of course I was.” Rowan exhaled. “It’s practically tradition at this point.”

  “We all hate it,” Abby said. “But you’re the only god we have that can move between worlds without an avatar.”

  Rowan exhaled through his nose. “And if I don’t?”

  Nadia’s voice was measured. “Then we wait for purgatory to collapse. And we deal with whatever comes next.”

  Rowan scrubbed a hand down his face. “Right. Cool. Just add it to my ever-growing list of bad ideas.”

  Nadia added, “Ellie may be the source of that instability.”

  Rowan frowned. “Ellie?”

  Abby nodded. “Something cracked. We don’t know what, but… it’s like she’s glitching.”

  Rowan pressed his fingers into his temples. “Right. So we’ve got a mad war god tearing purgatory apart, a justice goddess running corrupted code, and a gaping hole in the demon prison. And magic’s unraveling.”

  “That about sums it up,” Abby said.

  Rowan exhaled. “Fantastic.”

  Nadia didn’t blink. “You were the first god to move between these spaces. You understand the void better than any of us.”

  Rowan made a grand, sarcastic gesture. “Oh, yes, of course. Let’s put the god of trickery and bad ideas in charge of border control. I’m so qualified.”

  Abby, arms still crossed, gave him a pointed look. “You are also the god of fortune.”

  Rowan huffed a dry laugh. “Funny. Doesn’t feel that way.”

  Nadia spoke without missing a beat. “That is because you are not the god of your own fortune.”

  That shut him up.

  The words landed a little too well, hitting something deep, something Rowan didn’t like thinking about.

  He shifted, uncomfortable, suddenly too aware of the space around him—the trees bending just a little too much, the wind curling in patterns that weren’t quite natural.

  He exhaled through his nose. “Still not my problem.”

  Abby sighed, but it wasn’t annoyed—it was knowing. “Rowan.”

  “Nope.”

  “Rowan—”

  “Nuh-uh. I already filled my existential crisis quota for the year. Check back later.” He turned on his heel, already trying to walk toward the door.

  Nadia didn’t stop him. She didn’t need to. “Sofia will need you,” she said, like it was already set in stone.

  Rowan turned his head slightly. “Why?”

  Nadia’s expression didn’t shift. “Because the story isn’t waiting anymore.” A distant, almost knowing smile. “And she’s about to take her first step.”

  Rowan narrowed his eyes. “That’s vague, even for you.”

  Nadia didn’t elaborate. “I’d appreciate it if you looked in on her.”

  Rowan stared at her. He could feel a dozen unspoken meanings in that statement. But instead of arguing, he just sighed. “I was gonna do that anyway.”

  Abby clapped her hands together, suddenly all business. “Alright. Before you go—food.”

  Rowan blinked. “Food?”

  She gestured toward the table, where a suspiciously flat, round thing sat on a wooden board. “Figured you’d be hungry. Thought I’d make something nostalgic.”

  Rowan squinted. “Is that… pizza?”

  “Of course it’s pizza,” Abby said, looking almost offended.

  Rowan leaned in. The crust was swamp-colored and suspiciously damp. The cheese twitched. The sauce smelled like fermented regret with a side of betrayal.

  He dragged a hand down his face. “Abby. What fresh hell is this?”

  Nadia, after a beat too long, simply said, “I am suddenly grateful that I do not require food.”

  Abby shrugged. “Breadstuff. Wild mushrooms. Aged root cheese. Berry sauce.”

  “Aged root cheese?”

  “Yeah! Let it ferment in the soil for a couple of months, and boom. Cheese.”

  Rowan’s face was pure resignation. “Abby, that’s not cheese. That’s compost.”

  “Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she said, slicing off a piece.

  Abby tossed a slice onto a plate and handed it to him.

  Rowan took it like it might bite him first. He sniffed it. Immediate regret.

  Abby grinned. “See? Just like old times.”

  Rowan looked at her. At the ridiculous, too-wild, too-much goddess who was still, somehow, his best friend. And despite himself, he huffed a laugh.

  “Next time,” he said, pointing the slice at her, “I’m bringing real pizza.”

  Abby raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You making it yourself?”

  “Hell no.” He tossed the slice back on the plate. “I’m getting it from an actual city, where cheese doesn’t come from underground.”

  Abby smirked. “Coward.”

  As Rowan reached the door, Nadia spoke, as serenely as if she were discussing the weather. “What plane of existence does ‘real pizza’ hail from?”

  Rowan stopped, closing his eyes like he was fighting off a migraine. “Earth, Nadia. From Earth.”

  Nadia tilted her head. “A shame. I was curious if your chaos reality had its own cuisine.”

  Rowan turned, pointing accusingly at the pizza. “If it does, it’d still taste better than whatever that is.”

  Abby gasped in mock offense. “Rude.”