This wasn’t the Timothy who ordered lattes or flinched when I stood too close. This was Thoth in full glory, holding the world together through sheer refusal to let it come apart.
Standing there among the gods, something painful settled in my chest. This was the version everyone else got. The one who belonged to the universe.
And I had touched the man underneath.
Timothy reached out and pulled down a floating star system from the ceiling, letting it hover in front of him, shimmering with celestial beauty.
I watched, captivated, as he manipulated the galaxies with his long, dexterous fingers. His voice filled the ballroom, steady and commanding. “Just as the planets circle their stars in balanced harmony, we immortals must recognize the interconnected rhythms that bind us. Though we may keep our distance, we are still drawn together by a divine rhythm essential to our existence.”
His words resonated deeply, and my body felt weightless as I followed his movements, the smooth track of the stars and planets in front of him. It looked like a hologram, but I couldn’t assume anything. Maybe Timothy truly held galaxies between his hands.
“In my duty as the God of the Dead, I reap souls and judge their fates. Each soul I encounter releases energy that strengthens us, allowing our pantheon to maintain its power and influence across realms. The more souls I judge, the greaterthe energy available to all, creating a symbiotic relationship that sustains our immortality.”
I hung on every word, marveling at how he embodied both authority and compassion, proving that even in Grim’s absence, he was more than capable of maintaining balance.
As Timothy’s passion grew, his voice brimmed with confidence. “I have the wisdom and strength necessary to navigate our complex existence. I am the keeper of records and the judge of souls?—”
“Kiss me,” Seth murmured but quietly enough that no one would hear him but me. I lifted an eyebrow at him in both confusion and disgust. I didn’t speak but my answer was plainly written on my face.No.
Seth’s forehead smoothed. “I wasn’t asking.”
Power gripped me from within, jolting me straight as he compelled me through our bond.
I woodenly closed the distance between us as his nonverbal commands echoed in whispers in my mind. It choreographed my hands to lay on his shoulders as I leaned in to inhale his overpowering aftershave that made my nose wrinkle and sting.
“In my duty as God of the Dead.” Timothy was still speaking. “I maintain the balance and order of the passing of souls. I?—”
Timothy’s words faltered the same moment my lips found the column of Seth’s neck. My lips parted so my tongue could swipe and press against Seth’s skin in open-mouth kisses.
Timothy cleared his throat.
Seth sighed contentedly even as he continued to watch Timothy, as if nothing were going on. I tilted my head while obeying Seth’s command so I could see the stage.
Timothy’s eyes flicked towards us, his composure fracturing for a fleeting moment. The galaxies between his fingers wobbled as if the cosmos itself felt his distraction. I could see the jealousy creeping in, like a poisonous vine choking his focus.
Timothy’s knuckles whitened around the staff, and his voice, once steady, now wavered.
And then his control slipped.
For the briefest instant, the god-mask faltered.
His ibis head flickered and the smooth planes of his human face flashed through, jarringly mortal and exposed before the divine form reasserted itself. Another pulse hit him, his image stuttering between god and man, the shift so fast most mortals would miss it, but every god in the room would not.
He swallowed hard, forcing the transformation down, but the effort shook him.
“I…I ensure the smooth transition of souls,” Timothy continued, but the conviction had drained from his voice. His eyes darted back to us, locked onto the spectacle Seth was forcing me to create. I could feel Seth’s satisfaction pulsing through our bond, a sickening sense of victory that made my stomach churn.
Seth’s hand found its way to my waist, a possessive grip that made my skin crawl. I wanted to wrench away, to scream that this wasn’t what I wanted, but my body was no longer mine to control. I was a puppet, and Seth pulled the strings with a smug smile.
Timothy’s words slowed, his speech becoming labored.
His ibis form wavered along the edges, feathers dissolving as Timothy tried to hold himself together. His head snapped into human shape with a rough, uneven tear of magic that made several gods exclaim. The strain showed in the tight lines of his jaw and the tremor in his hand on the staff. He had not meant to shift at all. And now everyone knew it.
The room’s atmosphere curdled, the gods murmuring to one another behind raised glasses and hidden smiles. I could hear the whispers, the doubts that Timothy was truly fit to fill Grim’s shoes.
“He seems distracted by Set,” a voice muttered from the crowd. “Like Set is making him nervous.”
“I thought he was supposed to be the smart, eloquent one,” another chimed in with a low snicker.
