A chill ran down Creation’s spine; the iciness beneath his words might not have been noticeable to the mortal ears of the villagers following them, but Creation felt it like a chiding hand upon his shoulder.
“You know you were made for this,” Light offered simply, his eyes never leaving the mortals they passed. He paused from time to time, reaching out to lightly cup the faces of some, run his fingers through their hair, or brush a thumb across their foreheads, their temples. “She should have responded to your sway as easily as I can sense that you have responded to hers. Do not let her actions dissuade you.”
An involuntary flush rose to Creation’s cheeks. What Light was saying was truth, pure fact, and yet it left him feeling a bit breathless. Perhaps it was his new body’s reaction to his embarrassing failure. But at the memory of Destruction within his grasp, her nearly luminescent gaze as all-encompassing as her magic, he found he couldn’t lie.
Instead of bringing voice to these thoughts, however, he heard himself parroting on half-second delay, “I was made for her.”
At this, Light spared him another glance, an eyebrow raised. Under his calculating gaze, Creation wanted to fidget, possibly squirm, but he kept his face impassive and his shoulders square.
They came to a stop, and Light spoke louder, no longer just for Creation’s ears. “Loyal subjects, my son shall bless your fields, bring them to life once more.”
Creation looked ahead of them, noticing for the first time that they’d walked to the edge of town. There, sloping slightly, was a stretch of farmland gone barren. Creation could almost see the threads of life and possibility that had been torn apart.
Had Destruction run through here on her desperate flight?
His magic rose, as if trying to assist him in pushing the thought away. Creation brought up his hands with it, casting his essence across the fields. The yellowed grasses greened, and the hard soil became dark and rich—teeming with life again. But, that which was already growing and thriving, his magic did little for.
“Do you see, now?” Light asked.
“I do.” His magic responded best to things destroyed, ended. In every way, it had been designed to work with hers. The celebrations of the mortals lauding him as their prince faded. Instead, he heard Destructions words, harsh and bitter at the back of his mind:
You’re nothing more than ashell. You only feel what they designed you to.
“Yes . . . designed . . . but does that mean this bond between us . . . this connection . . .?”Is she right?
A flicker of emotion passed over Light’s face.Annoyance.
“You are but a tool, Creation,” he said, voice not quite angry, but close enough to have some of the nearest villagers recoiling in fear. Creation almost did the same; it took far more strength than he was aware he possessed to stand his ground. Especially as Light turned the full force of his glare on him. His voice carried the same debilitating authority as the magic radiating off him in waves, and Creation very nearly knelt in submission at the onslaught. “Just like you have shown here, this day, you are meant to follow orders and do as you were made.”
Much like Destruction’s words had left him frozen, Light’s ultimatum had his knees locking in place, tension holding his neck and spine in a stranglehold.
“Your very reason for existing, the only reason you have been gifted lifeat all, is to control and temper Destruction on behalf of the pantheon. This life, bestowed upon you with great mercy and benevolence by your makers, serves that single purpose alone. Nothing more.”
“He shall save us from the Demigod Zoria and her trail of destruction,” some of the mortals closest whispered.
Creation fought the objection that there was nothing, truly, to fear from Destruction. She was merely scared and alone. He had sensed much in her, but true malice wasn’t among them.
As his rage hadn’t just been nearly tangible, Light relaxed his shoulders and reached toward Creation’s tense frame. Strong fingers, warmed by their internal light, carded through his silver hair, letting it fall with a gentle touch over one of Creation’s wide-set eyes.
“What you feel, the power and temptation drawing you to her, is what you aremeantto feel. Do not wander from it, or from my gaze and the warmth of the pantheon.” Light smiled, pulling away from Creation. Before truly washing his hands of the situation, however, he added, “Perhaps it would be wise of you to spend your time assuring that this life we bestowed upon you does not go to waste, rather than questioning it.”
Creation barely registered Light’s departure, most of the villagers following in his wake. Some stuck behind to offer Creation praise and thanks, or small gifts from their homes. He paid them no mind, removing himself from their presence the moment he had the wherewithal to do so. And even then, his movements were sluggish and directionless, feet dragging him back towards the forest.
You’re just doing what they command,Destruction’s words filled his head again, screeching like a murder of crows.You don’t feel anything.
You only feel what they require you to,she may as well have said.
You are but a tool, Creation.Light had done nothing to assuage his confusion and guilt, his steadily rising panic.What you feel . . . is what you aremeantto feel.
It was because Creation’s mind was whirring and occupied that he didn’t register another godly presence until a hand had wrapped around his upper arm, yanking him into the cover of the forest’s edge.
The first thing he noticed was the tangle of black curls, and the next, a wolf’s huff as it poised protectively between their feet.
Hunt.
Before he could ask why she was also walking amongst the mortals, by this Aristonian forest specifically, she placed a calloused fingertip to his lips. Her eyes scanned his face, filled with emotions he couldn’t decipher. Though when she spoke, her voice was eerily calm.
“Follow me. I want to tell you something.” Hunt dropped her hand and turned away, already walking into the forest.
