One
Destruction wasexactly where Creation had last seen her, last touched her.
Almost.
Now, rather than standing at the window, she lounged in his bed, waving one hand in thin air. The tiles that served as stars in the constellations on his ceiling shattered to the ground. Then Creation watched as they magically came back together and returned to the ceiling in a slightly new design.
“Your magic lives here.” Destruction tilted her head toward him. “Every time I destroy something it has an instinct to come back together, though sometimes it’s a little different.”
He wanted to revel in the moment with her. Creation wanted to stop everything and hold her and pretend they could continue to explore the love and synchronicity they had only just found. But Hunt’s death demanded to be the only thing on his mind.
“Hunt is dead.”
Destruction’s hand fell slowly to her side. She stared at him, processing the words. “Dead?”
“Chaos killed her.” Creation tried shaking free the memories of the carnage. “Killed a whole party of her acolytes. I don’t know if Hunt was tracking Chaos or merely at the wrong place at the wrong time. But, either way, Chaos killed her.”
For another minute, Destruction seemed to stare at nothing. The silence was so absolute that Creation could almost hear the beating of her heart—low and slow—not nearly as panicked as his was.
“She is derived from Oblivion and was never a part of the pantheon . . . I’m not surprised she could kill a god if she worked hard enough at it.” Destruction pulled herself to her feet, the long, midnight-colored silks she had swathed herself in like a robe pooling around her and hanging off her shoulders. “But I’m confident because of this that my magic could destroy this world—this reality—as I am not beholden to the pantheon’s rules either, then.”
Her plan came back to him. If his heart wasn’t racing before, it certainly was now, just like his feet were racing to close the gap between them. Creation rested his hands on her shoulders.
“We have no proof that my magic could successfully rebuild it.”
“With that much power released from the death of a world, converted to pure magic, combined with and channeled through your own powers? I’m certain you could, Creation. You could do it simply . . . without gods.”
“What about myself?”
“You’ll stand at the apex of it all. You’ll create a space outside of time first.” Destruction lightly took his hands, lacing his fingers with her own. “This is the only chance we have at being together. Otherwise she will eventually find me. She will force me to rejoin with her and when that happens I will not be able to protect you. Oblivion will destroy everything to return the world to as it was before the gods—to that endless nothingness that she came from and thrives in.”
They hadn’t had enough time together. They hadn’t been givenenough.
“You will see me on the other side,” Destruction whispered. “You will, I promise you. Bu you must do this for everyone.”
“I know,” he finally admitted. The world—the universe—would be destroyed if Oblivion reigned once more. So, if he failed, the outcome would be the same. If he succeeded, but she did not return, then at least all life—other than the gods—would be saved. And, truly, the god’s time was limited with Chaos evolving to learn how to slay them.
His brain hurt just thinking about every wretched avenue, but each one rounded back to the singular fact that it was the only option available to them. Even at the cost of Life, Light, Carver,Love,it was the only option.
“I will find my way back to my magic and to you.” She freed her hand and cupped his cheek. “Have faith in that.”
Sealing her promise, Destruction leaned in, resting her lips lightly on his. Creation relished in the warm heat of her breath, savored it all.
Destruction pulled away, looked him in the eye, and whispered, “Let’s do it now, before anyone else can find out and thwart us.”
“Very well. First things first . . .” he began, thinking aloud, forcing himself to recall her earlier plan. “This way.”
Creation led them from his room and to the right, into the workshop he’d used, what seemed like a mere hour ago, to construct Hunt’s arrow. Surely, it had been more time than that? Not that it really mattered; he was about to attempt to alter time and reality itself.
His eyes on Destruction the entire time, Creation used the feeling of her magic, the intimate knowledge he had of her, to fashion a small, silver box. He tried to imbue it with her essence—for that was what it would ultimately have to hold. The light formed underneath his hands once more, building the outline of the box in the air, slowly weaving together and condensing into pure silver.
All the while, her gaze remained locked with his. Destruction didn’t stare in wonder, she didn’t watch his work. She looked at him and Creation could only hope that it was because she was as desperate to memorize his shape as he was.
“What do you think?” he asked, finally pulling his hands away.
“This is more your area of expertise than mine.” Destruction lifted the box, turning it over in her hands. “I don’t feel the need to break it down, however. It’s almost . . . familiar?”
“Then perhaps your magic won’t try to break it down—or out—either.” He hoped. They didn’t really have time to test it, so Creation took her hand—the small box in the other.
