Chapter One
The sun remembered when mortals weren't afraid of the dark.
Astrid watched it sink toward the horizon, painting the meadow in shades of amber and rose, and wondered if it mourned for those lost days as much as she did. The breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and freedom—a freedom that would vanish the moment twilight arrived. She let herself drift, imagining a world where evening meant nothing more than the promise of stars...
"—and then Ingrid's chicken escaped right into Bjorn's bread stall!"
Natalia's voice pulled Astrid back to the present. Her friend's hands flew as she spoke, weaving wildflowers into a crown while recounting the morning's drama. "The poor man was chasing it around with a rolling pin, feathers everywhere, and Ingrid just stood there laughing! She said, 'Well, at least now you know your bread's fresh enough for my Henrietta!'"
Astrid blinked, realizing she'd missed the beginning of the story. But Natalia's infectious energy made her smile despite the melancholy that had gripped her. "Henrietta? She named her chicken Henrietta?"
"She names all her chickens! There's Henrietta, Beatrice, and—oh, what's the spotted one? Cordelia!" Natalia collapsed back into the grass, giggling. "Remember when Cordelia got into the sacred grove during the dawn gathering? Elder Magnus tried to continue the invocation to the earth spirits while that chicken perched right on his head!"
"The gods must have been laughing," Astrid said, then her smile faltered slightly. "Well, some of them, anyway."
Natalia's expression sobered for a moment before she deliberately brightened it again, reaching over to poke Astrid's side. "None of that now. We're having a good day, remember? No talk of... them."
They'd been walking for hours, following the winding path that led from the village through the grasslands to the old oak grove. It was their favorite escape, a place where they could talk freely without the weight of watching eyes and whispered warnings. The basket between them held the remnants of their picnic—bread, cheese, and a jar of Natalia's mother's blackberry preserves that they'd nearly finished between them.
"Oh!" Natalia sat up suddenly, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Speaking of the sacred grove, did you hear about Erik?"
Astrid groaned. "What did he do now?"
"He tried to court Freya—you know, the baker's daughter? He wrote her a poem." Natalia cleared her throat dramatically. "'Your eyes are like fresh bread rolls, golden brown and warm—'"
"Stop!" Astrid was laughing so hard her sides hurt. "He did not compare her eyes to bread rolls!"
"He did! And that's not even the worst part. He tried to recite it to her in the middle of the bakery, in front of everyone, including her father who was holding a very large paddle at the time."
They dissolved into laughter again, the sound carrying across the meadow like birdsong. This was what Astrid treasured most about her friendship with Natalia—the way her friend could find joy and humor in everything, how she made even the darkest days bearable with her irrepressible spirit.
"You know what I love about you?" Astrid said suddenly, watching as Natalia wove wildflowers into a crown. "You see the world as it should be, not just as it is."
Natalia's fingers paused in their work. "And you, my dear friend, see the world as it could be. That's why we make such a good pair." She reached over and placed the flower crown on Astrid's dark hair. "There. Now you look like one of the Wild Gods we pray to—beautiful and fierce."
"Natalia..." Astrid's voice carried a weight of doubt. "Do you really think they hear us? We've been praying for years, and still..." She gestured vaguely at the world around them.
"They hear us," Natalia said firmly, though her fingers tightened around the remaining flowers. "They have to. The Wild Gods are different from the ones who... who hunt us. They care about mortals. I know they do."
"Then why haven't they answered?" Astrid couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice. "Why do we still have to hide when the sun goes down? Why do people still disappear?"
Natalia reached over and took her friend's hand. "Maybe they are answering, just not in ways we can see yet. Have faith, Astrid. Please. Without hope, without believing that someone up there cares about us... what else do we have?"
Astrid felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I just think—"
"I know what you think." Natalia's hand found hers, squeezing gently. "You think we deserve better than cowering in our homes at night. You think we should be free to walk under the stars, to dance in the moonlight, to live without fear. And you're right."
"But thinking it doesn't change anything," Astrid said softly.
"Doesn't it?" Natalia tilted her head, studying her friend. "Remember what you said at the last village meeting? About organizing patrols, about finding ways to protect ourselves? Old Tormund nearly had a fit, but I saw others nodding. You plant seeds, Astrid. One day they'll grow."
The sun had begun its descent while they talked, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Astrid hadn't noticed how late it had gotten, lost in the comfort of Natalia's company and the peace of the meadow.
"We should head back," Natalia said, but she made no move to get up, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
"Just a few more minutes?" Astrid asked. "Look at it, Nat. The way the light turns the river to molten gold, how the trees look like they're on fire... When do we ever get to see the sunset anymore?"
Natalia bit her lip, that familiar worry creeping into her features. "Astrid..."
"I know, I know. But we're always so afraid. We spend so much time hiding that we forget why life is worth living in the first place." Astrid stood, pulling Natalia up with her. "Five minutes. Just five minutes to watch something beautiful."
"You and your five minutes," Natalia muttered, but she was smiling. "Remember when you asked for 'just five minutes' to explain your irrigation idea to the council? We were there for two hours!"
"It was a good idea!"
"It was! But Astrid, the sun—"
"Please?" Astrid's voice grew soft. "Sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating, Nat. Like the walls are closing in and I'll never see anything beautiful again. I just... I need this."
Natalia's expression melted. She'd never been able to refuse Astrid anything, especially when she got that lost look in her eyes. "Five minutes. But then we run, agreed?"
They stood together on the hillside, hands still linked, watching the sun paint its farewell across the sky. The breeze picked up, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine from the distant gardens. For a moment, Astrid could almost believe they were free.
"There," Natalia said as the last sliver of sun vanished below the horizon. "Now we should go."
They started down the path, their earlier laughter subdued by the approaching night. At first, everything seemed normal—the familiar trail, the cooling air, the first stars beginning to appear. But as they walked, Astrid noticed something that made her steps falter.
"Nat," she said quietly, "do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Exactly. Nothing." Astrid's skin prickled. "Where are the owls? They should be calling by now."
Natalia's pace quickened slightly. "Maybe they're just... quiet tonight?"
But Astrid knew better. The evening chorus of owls was as reliable as sunrise. She'd grown up with their calls, learned to identify each species by sound. Now there was only silence, heavy and unnatural.
They walked faster, neither wanting to voice their growing fear. The path seemed longer than it should be, the trees pressing closer. No insects chirped. No small creatures rustled in the underbrush. Even their own footsteps seemed muffled, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
"It's getting dark too fast," Natalia whispered. The words Astrid had been thinking but didn't want to say aloud. Natural twilight was gentle, gradual. This darkness fell like a curtain being drawn, hungry and purposeful.
"Just keep moving," Astrid said, though her heart hammered against her ribs. "We're almost to the village. Just—"
A branch snapped somewhere to their left.
The sound was impossibly loud in the suffocating quiet, like a bone breaking. Both women froze, hands finding each other instinctively.
"I knew we should have left sooner," Natalia's voice was barely a breath.
"It's fine. We're almost there." But Astrid's words rang hollow even to herself. The darkness pressed in from all sides now, thick and tangible. She could barely see the path beneath their feet.
They rounded the bend, and Astrid's blood turned to ice in her veins.
He stood in the center of the path like he'd been carved from the gathering shadows. At first glance, he might have passed for human—tall, lean, with the kind of sharp-featured beauty that made mortals write songs. But there was something fundamentally wrong about him, something that made Astrid's primitive instincts scream at her to run. The air around him seemed to bend and writhe, and his eyes... his eyes held depths that had seen the birth and death of stars.
"How delightful." His voice was cultured, amused, the tone of someone who'd found an unexpected treat. "Two little mice out to play after dark. And such pretty mice, too."
Astrid's mind raced through their options. The path behind—no, he'd catch them. The forest—too thick, too dark. The river—too far. Her hand closed on the earth beside the path.
"When I move, you run," she breathed to Natalia.
"Astrid, don't—"
She flung the handful of dirt at the divine one's face and shoved Natalia off the path. "Run!"
They crashed through the underbrush, thorns tearing at their clothes, branches whipping at their faces. Behind them, laughter rang out—not angry or frustrated, but genuinely delighted.
"Oh, how wonderful! It's been so long since anyone's tried to fight back!"
Astrid risked a glance over her shoulder and immediately wished she hadn't. He wasn't chasing them. He was simply... there. Lounging against a tree far behind them, examining his nails as if he had all the time in the world.
She whipped her head forward again—and her heart stopped.
He was directly in front of them now, leaning casually against a tree in their path, still examining those same nails with theatrical boredom.
"You know, most mortals just stand there and scream," he continued conversationally, as if he hadn't just performed an impossible feat. "Or they beg. The begging gets so tedious after the first few centuries. But you—throwing dirt! How marvelously primitive!"
Natalia let out a sob of pure terror. Astrid yanked her in a different direction, but it didn't matter. He was there again, sitting cross-legged on a fallen log, chin propped in his hand like a child watching ants.
"The blonde one's about to faint," he observed. "You might want to slow down. It's no fun if they collapse before the game really begins."
"Please," Astrid gasped, pushing Natalia behind her. "We haven't done anything wrong. We're just trying to get home—"
"Wrong?" He tilted his head, and for a moment his form seemed to flicker, showing something vast and terrible beneath the human mask. "Oh, my dear, you misunderstand. This isn't about right or wrong. This is about entertainment. Do you think the cat considers the morality of playing with the mouse?"
"We're not mice," Astrid said through gritted teeth. "We're people. We have families, friends—"
"How touching." He was standing now, moving closer with that horrible, languid grace. "Tell me, little mouse, do you think your families will mourn you? Or will they be relieved that it wasn't them tonight?"
He moved faster than thought. One moment he was ten feet away, the next his hand was locked around Natalia's wrist. She screamed—a raw, animal sound of pure terror.
"No!" Astrid grabbed Natalia's other arm, pulling with all her strength. "Let her go! Take me instead!"
"Astrid, no!" Natalia was sobbing, her free hand clawing at the divine one's grip. "Please, please don't—"
"Such loyalty." The divine one seemed genuinely curious now. "How quaint. Very well, let's see how far it goes."
He pulled, and Astrid felt her friend slipping away. She dug her heels into the earth, muscles screaming, but she might as well have been trying to move a mountain. With casual, insulting ease, he tore Natalia from her grasp.
"Astrid!" Natalia's scream pierced the night. "Help me! Please, don't let him—"
Astrid lunged forward, but suddenly strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Not the divine one—someone else, someone who smelled of sawdust and leather and mortal sweat. She thrashed wildly, screaming Natalia's name as her captor lifted her off her feet and ran.
The world became a blur of darkness and wind. Trees whipped past so fast they became mere suggestions of shadow. She could still hear Natalia screaming, the sound growing fainter with each second, and the divine one's laughter threading through it all like poison through wine.
Then they were inside. Wooden floors rushed up to meet her as her rescuer dropped her unceremoniously and slammed the door. She was on her feet in an instant, lunging for the exit.
"Don't." A hand pressed against the door, holding it shut with surprising strength. "There's nothing you can do now."
"Get out of my way!" She spun to face Eamon, her lover's scarred face harsh in the lamplight of their shared cottage. "I have to go back! She needs me!"
"She's gone." His voice was flat, emotionless, but she could see the fear in his green eyes—fear for her. "The moment he touched her, she was gone. You want to join her? Want to give him two playthings instead of one?"
"She's my friend!" The words tore from her throat like broken glass. "I can't just abandon her!"
"You already did." His words were cruel, but she knew this was how Eamon dealt with terror—by turning it to anger. "The moment you stayed out past sunset, you abandoned her."
The harsh words hit her like physical blows. She stumbled back, shaking her head. "We just wanted to see the sunset," she sobbed. "Just once. Just once in our lives to watch something beautiful without being afraid. I asked for five more minutes. That's all. Five minutes. It wasn't even that long—"
"Five minutes?" Eamon's voice rose, his fear morphing into fury. "Five minutes is all it takes for them to find you! You know how dangerous it is out there after dark. You know what they do to us, and you stayed out anyway!" He was pacing now, running his hands through his hair. "I came looking for you when you didn't come home. I thought—I thought I'd find you dead. Or worse. And now Natalia—"
"Don't." Astrid's voice broke completely. "Please don't—"
"Everything that happens to her now is your fault." The words hung between them like a blade. "You know that, don't you? Whatever they do to her, it's because you wanted five more minutes of sunset."
Astrid felt something break inside her at his words. The guilt was crushing, but beneath it, rage began to build. "Don't you think I know that?" she screamed. "Don't you think I'll carry this for the rest of my life?"
"Then why?" Eamon's voice cracked. "Why did you do it? You know the rules, Astrid. Everyone knows the rules. Stay inside after dark. Don't draw their attention. Don't—"
"Rules?" Her voice cracked on the word. "We shouldn't need rules to stay alive! We shouldn't have to cower in our homes like animals!"
"But we do." His voice rose to match hers. "This is the world we live in. They are stronger, faster, immortal. We are wheat before the scythe, and you—" He pointed an accusing finger. "You led your friend right into the harvest."
Astrid felt her knees buckle. She caught herself on the edge of her bed, Natalia's screams still echoing in her ears. "She begged me to leave. She wanted to go, and I... I asked for five more minutes. Just five more minutes to watch the sunset."
The fight seemed to drain from Eamon all at once. He crossed the room and sank onto their bed beside her, pulling her against his chest despite her resistance. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry. I was terrified when I realized you weren't home yet. When I saw you out there with that... thing... I thought I was going to lose you too."
She felt him shaking against her, and realized he was as frightened as she was. "Pray she's only raped," he said quietly, his voice breaking. "That's the kindest fate we can hope for now."
The casual horror of the statement—that violation was now the merciful option—shattered something inside Astrid. She collapsed against him, pressing her face into his chest to muffle the scream that tore from her throat. She screamed until her voice broke, until her lungs burned, until there was nothing left but hoarse sobs.
"It's not fair," she whispered against his tunic. "We pray to the Wild Gods every day. We leave offerings at the sacred stones. We follow the old ways, speak the ancient words, beg for protection. And they just... they take whatever they want. Whenever they want."
Eamon's arms tightened around her, one hand stroking her hair in the way he knew calmed her. "No," he agreed softly. "It's not fair."
"Then why do we accept it?" She lifted her tear-stained face to look at him. "Why do we just... let them?"
"Because what's the alternative?" His scarred face looked older in the flickering lamplight. "Fight back? With what? Our mortal strength against beings who can reshape reality with a thought? Our iron blades against creatures who were old when the mountains were young?"
"There has to be something—"
"There isn't." His voice was firm but not unkind. "Trust me, Astrid. Better people than us have tried. Heroes, warriors, mages who could command the elements themselves. Where are they now? Dead, or worse. The gods don't just kill those who resist. They make examples of them."
Outside, wind rattled the shutters like searching fingers. Astrid pulled her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible. Somewhere out there in the darkness, Natalia was discovering exactly what happened to mortals who caught a god's attention. And here she sat, alive and safe and drowning in the guilt of it.
"She called me a Wild God," Astrid whispered. "Said I had their spirit. Some spirit. I couldn't even save one person."
Eamon was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice held an odd note she couldn't identify. "The Wild Gods are just stories, Astrid. Fairy tales we tell ourselves to make the darkness bearable. No one's coming to save us. No divine champion will descend from the heavens to protect the innocent. We're alone."
"Then what's the point?" The words came out broken. "Why keep living if this is all there is? Hiding and fear and watching the people we love disappear one by one?"
Eamon didn't answer for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with exhaustion. "Because what else can we do? This is the world we live in. The gods take what they want from us mortals. Our prayers for justice, for protection, for mercy—they fall on deaf ears."
"Then why do we keep praying?" Astrid whispered.
"I don't know." The admission seemed to cost him something. "Maybe because we're fools. Maybe because hope is all we have left, even when there's no reason for it."
They lay together in the darkness, Astrid curled against Eamon's chest, both of them too shattered for sleep. Her mind replayed every moment—if she'd just left when Natalia asked, if she'd taken a different path, if she'd fought harder, run faster, been smarter...
Eamon held her tighter, as if he could protect her from her own thoughts. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he started at every sound outside their window. He'd almost lost her tonight, and they both knew it.
Outside, the night continued its hunt. While they lay safe behind locked doors and shuttered windows, Natalia faced horrors that would make even nightmares pale. The thought of it crushed Astrid from within—one friend stolen, one friend spared, and nothing but chance to separate their fates.
But their prayers had not gone unheard.
In halls beyond mortal sight, in realms where stars were born and died like candle flames, something stirred. The Wild Gods had heard every desperate plea, every anguished cry.
And they were coming.