Rule number one of being a demigod: If the forest growls, do not stand there like an idiot.

Rule number two: Do not trust a god who’s smiling during said growl.

Hermes was smiling.

Poseidon wasn’t.

That was somehow worse.

The rumble under our feet grew stronger, like something massive was just beneath the surface—something impatient. The trees began to shift, leaves rustling in an unnatural rhythm. The light dimmed, though the sun hadn’t moved.

Apollo twirled his fingers and conjured a miniature sun above his palm. “Yup. Definitely a bad vibe.”

“Anyone want to explain what that is?” I asked, gripping my dagger like it was worth more than my life (it probably was; Hephaestus made it).

Hephaestus stepped forward, eyes locked on the trembling treeline. “It’s not supposed to be here. The wards should’ve—”

“Should have,” Dionysus said lazily, swirling his wine. “A tragic phrase, really.”

Poseidon growled low in his throat. “Everyone shut up.”

We did.

A second later, something huge burst out of the woods.

It was like a bear had swallowed a crocodile and then been cursed by a storm god. Scales over fur, too many teeth, claws that raked the earth as it lunged toward us, and eyes like black whirlpools.

“Oh no,” I said. “That’s a Fangshade.”

“Did you say Fangshade?” Astronaros asked, summoning his blade with a flick. “That thing’s supposed to be extinct!”

“Well it’s not extinct enough!”

The gods didn’t move.

No, seriously. They didn’t move.

Apollo sat on a tree stump, adjusting the strings of his lyre. Dionysus took another sip of his wine. Hephaestus looked mildly concerned but didn’t even raise his hammer. Poseidon picked at his teeth. Hermes checked his nails.

“What are you doing?!” I shouted as Astronaros flung a spatial ripple that warped the beast’s momentum.

Hermes looked up. “This is your test, remember?”

“What?!”

“We’ll jump in if it eats you,” Dionysus offered.

“Maybe,” Apollo added. “Depends how messy it is.”

“You’re the worst support system ever!” Astro barked, dodging a tail swipe that splintered a tree.

“Try hitting it from the left!” I yelled, then froze time for a half-second—just long enough to shift five feet and avoid being skewered by a claw the size of my torso.

I snapped time back into motion. “Got an idea?”

“Buy me three seconds!” Astro shouted.

I narrowed my focus, slowing the next blink of reality. It felt like pulling an entire galaxy backwards through molasses. I hated doing it for longer than a heartbeat, but I held it, gritting my teeth as sweat beaded on my forehead.

Astronaros moved like a dancer between fractured space—his steps distorted the forest floor beneath him as he spun in midair, gathering a ripple of dimensional force like a ribbon wrapping around his arm. At the third second, he flung it.

The ripple slammed into the beast’s chest, not hurting it—but displacing it.

Suddenly the Fangshade was twenty feet in the air, looking very confused about gravity.

“That’s your plan?!” I shouted. “Throw it up?!”

“Nope!” Astro replied. “That was your window!”

Oh.

Right.

I threw my dagger.

Except it wasn’t just a dagger. It was a temporal blade forged by Hephaestus himself, able to slice through anchored moments in time. I aimed for the shadow curling beneath the beast—the place where time bent wrong, like a parasite puppeteering its movements.

The blade struck.

Time hiccuped.

The Fangshade let out a roar—not of pain, but of disintegration. It unraveled midair, like a sketch being erased. Pieces of it crumbled into ash before it ever hit the ground.

Silence.

Then:

“Nicely done,” Hermes said with a grin, flipping his coin.

Poseidon nodded once. “Still ugly, though.”

Apollo gave a slow clap. “You’re officially cooler than I expected.”

Dionysus raised his goblet. “Survived the first monster. You may now earn brunch.”

I sat down on a rock before I fell over. “I hate all of you.”

Astro dropped beside me. “Same.”

Hephaestus knelt nearby and retrieved the dagger from the dirt, inspecting it carefully. “You used the fracture edge. Smart.”

I blinked at him. “Wait, you saw that?”

He flushed. “Well… I made it. I know what it can do. Just didn’t know you did.”

“That’s a compliment,” Apollo stage-whispered. “He usually only talks to his anvil.”

Poseidon stepped forward, his expression more serious now. “Fangshades don’t wander into divine zones on accident. Something pushed it here.”

Hermes’s coin spun a little slower. “Something bigger. Stronger. Hungrier.”

Astronaros stood up. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Dionysus rolled his eyes. “Don’t get all broody. That was just a warm-up. You’ve got real trials ahead.”

“Like what?” I asked, already regretting it.

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “Each of us will… test you. Our own way. Our own domain.”

Apollo grinned. “Love. Light. Lies.”

Poseidon cracked his knuckles. “Strength. Sea. Survival.”

Hephaestus hesitated. “Creation. Control. Consequence.”

Hermes’s smile sharpened. “Deception.”

Dionysus twirled his goblet. “Desire.”

Astro and I exchanged a look.

“We’re going to die,” he said flatly.

I groaned. “Hopefully in our sleep.”