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Muses inspired the arts.
There was Chase, Muse of Artists.
There was Deacon, Muse of Reading.
Two gods born from the same divine breath, their domains different but forever intertwined. Libraries and paintings. Stories and canvases. Ink and color.
Once, they had stood beside one another in the heavens.
Then one of them vanished.
Lost his divinity.
Lost his temples.
Lost his place among the gods.
And became human.
"I want to see him."
Deacon stood in the fields outside Bronze's farm, staring at Nox.
The God of Thieves looked entirely unimpressed.
"No."
Deacon's eye twitched.
"He's my cousin."
"He was your cousin."
Nox folded his arms.
"He's a mortal now."
The correction landed heavily.
Deacon hated it.
Nox continued.
"A mortal who happens to be my husband."
"Your husband who was once a god."
"My husband first."
The answer came immediately.
As though Nox had rehearsed it.
As though he had already had this argument with himself a thousand times.
Deacon stepped forward.
"You can't keep him hidden forever."
"I'm not hiding him."
"You're absolutely hiding him."
Nox considered this.
Then shrugged.
"I'm protecting him."
The field fell silent.
Wind moved through the wheat.
Deacon clenched his jaw.
"Protecting him from what?"
Nox looked at him for a long moment.
Then sighed.
"From people who only remember the Muse."
The answer caught Deacon off guard.
Nox's expression hardened.
"You remember the temples."
"You remember the paintings."
"You remember the worship."
His voice lowered.
"I remember the aftermath."
Deacon said nothing.
Nox rarely spoke about Chase's former godhood.
When he did, it was never fondly.
"Every night he remembers something new."
The God of Thieves looked away.
Toward a distant horizon.
"Sometimes it's a prayer."
"Sometimes it's a face."
"Sometimes it's a memory that leaves him crying before dawn."
The words settled heavily between them.
Deacon's anger faltered.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Nox continued.
"You enjoyed being a muse."
The Muse of Reading lowered his eyes.
Because that was true.
He had loved his libraries.
Loved his readers.
Loved being part of stories.
Nox pointed toward the distant palace hidden beyond reality.
"Chase didn't."
The statement was simple.
Brutal.
Honest.
"He remembers being admired."
Nox laughed bitterly.
"As if admiration is always kindness."
Silence.
"He remembers people treating him like he existed for them."
Another pause.
"He remembers being valued more as an idea than as a person."
The wheat rustled around them.
For a moment neither god spoke.
Then Deacon quietly asked,
"And when he becomes a god again?"
Nox's expression softened.
A little.
Not much.
But enough.
"He will."
The answer was certain.
"Eventually."
The God of Thieves smiled faintly.
"A few years from now."
"Maybe longer."
"Long enough for him to heal."
Deacon stared at him.
"You sound very confident."
"No."
Nox shook his head.
"I sound hopeful."
That surprised him.
More than anything else.
Nox looked toward the palace again.
Toward the man waiting inside.
"He deserves a better ascension than the first one."
A quiet wind passed through the field.
"He deserves to become a god because he wants to."
Not because the world demands it.
Not because worshippers need something from him.
Not because artists want another muse.
Just because he chooses it.
For a long time Deacon said nothing.
Then:
"I still want to see him."
Nox laughed.
A genuine laugh this time.
"I know."
"And?"
"No."
Deacon groaned.
"Nox."
The God of Thieves smiled.
A possessive smile.
An infuriating smile.
A smile that promised absolutely nothing.
"For now, Chase is mortal."
He looked toward the palace one final time.
"And for now, he belongs to himself."
The smile deepened slightly.
"Unfortunately for everyone else, he also happens to be mine."
Deacon rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder the heavens didn't hear it.
But he didn't argue further.
Because beneath Nox's possessiveness was something else.
Fear.
The fear of losing Chase again.
And that, Deacon understood all too well.
Nox ran his hand through the wheat.
Golden stalks bent beneath his fingers before rising again.
The field stretched endlessly around them.
For now.
Fields never lasted forever.
Nothing did.
The God of Thieves knew that better than anyone.
"I've heard about you too, Deacon."
The Muse immediately looked suspicious.
"That sentence never ends well."
Nox ignored him.
"You married the Sea God."
Deacon winced.
"A mistake."
"You had feelings for another god afterward."
"A larger mistake."
"And now you're living with a farmer."
Deacon folded his arms.
"Bronze has a name."
Nox smiled faintly.
"That wasn't the point."
The wind shifted.
Somewhere in the distance, village bells rang.
Ordinary sounds.
The sort of sounds gods rarely appreciated until they were gone.
Nox stared across the fields.
"I wish I could tell you this ends happily."
Deacon's expression softened slightly.
It wasn't often Nox sounded this serious.
"But?"
Nox laughed.
"There is always a but."
The God of Thieves looked toward the horizon.
Toward lands neither of them could see.
"I've watched too many wars."
His voice had grown quieter.
"I've watched too many villages disappear."
The wheat rustled around them.
"I've seen kings steal from peasants."
"I've seen peasants steal from kings."
"I've seen fields like this burn."
The words were matter-of-fact.
Not dramatic.
That somehow made them sadder.
Nox wasn't imagining tragedy.
He was remembering it.
"The farmer loves you."
Deacon blinked.
The sudden change caught him off guard.
"Yes."
"And you love him."
A pause.
"Yes."
Nox nodded.
Then sighed.
"As a god, I could give you a blessing."
Deacon raised an eyebrow.
"That sounds suspicious."
"It is."
Another pause.
"Because every blessing comes with uncertainty."
The God of Thieves smiled sadly.
"People ask gods for guarantees."
"We don't have any."
The answer hung in the air.
"I could promise a good harvest."
Nox gestured toward the wheat.
"A war might still come."
"I could promise prosperity."
"A storm might still arrive."
"I could promise tomorrow."
His smile faded.
"But tomorrow belongs to nobody."
Not even gods.
For a while neither spoke.
Then Deacon looked down.
"You really don't think anything lasts forever."
Nox laughed softly.
"I am the God of Thieves."
The answer was simple.
"I spend my life watching things disappear."
Crowns.
Kingdoms.
Empires.
Even gods.
Especially gods.
The wind stirred once more.
Then Nox looked toward the farmhouse in the distance.
A tiny thing compared to palaces.
Compared to heavens.
Compared to eternity.
Yet somehow important.
"Still."
Deacon glanced up.
Nox's expression had softened.
"If the world insists on ending someday, that's hardly a reason not to enjoy what exists now."
The God of Thieves brushed another stalk of wheat aside.
"Love the farmer."
"Read your books."
"Complain about your neighbors."
"Grow old if you're lucky."
Deacon laughed.
"That's your wisdom?"
"It's excellent wisdom."
"It sounds mortal."
For once, Nox seemed pleased by that.
"Good."
His gaze drifted toward the distant farmhouse.
"Mortals understand something gods often forget."
"And what's that?"
Nox smiled.
"That something doesn't have to last forever to be worth having."
Nox returned long after sunset.
The palace recognized him immediately.
Doors unlocked.
Lanterns brightened.
The corridors shifted subtly, like a creature stretching after a nap.
Stolen things always knew their master.
The bedroom was warm.
Quiet.
The curtains were half drawn.
Moonlight spilled across the bed.
And there was Chase.
Asleep.
Or at least mostly asleep.
Curled beneath white sheets.
The blankets had slipped during his nap, leaving only enough fabric to preserve his modesty.
Nox immediately looked away.
Then immediately looked back.
Then immediately regretted looking back.
Gods were embarrassing creatures sometimes.
Even ancient ones.
Particularly when they were in love.
Chase opened one eye.
"...You are staring."
Nox straightened.
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
"I was observing."
"That's a fancy word for staring."
Nox sat on the edge of the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight.
Chase smiled sleepily.
There was something unfair about that smile.
Mortality had not made him less beautiful.
If anything, it had made him more real.
More approachable.
More alive.
Chase yawned.
Then looked upward.
Toward the ceiling.
Toward the stars.
Their bedroom ceiling was an impossible thing.
An entire night sky stolen from a hundred different eras.
Constellations overlapped.
Worlds collided.
Lights drifted where no lights should exist.
"Nox?"
"Hm?"
"There are more stars."
"There usually are."
"No."
Chase pointed.
"Those weren't there yesterday."
Nox followed his finger.
Understanding dawned immediately.
"Oh."
"What?"
"I found some."
Chase laughed.
Found some.
As if stars were loose coins.
"As one does."
"As one does."
The God of Thieves settled beside him.
Both of them staring upward.
For a while neither spoke.
Then Chase noticed something.
A cluster of stars near the center seemed dimmer than the rest.
Almost ghostlike.
"What happened to those?"
Nox was quiet for a moment.
Long enough for Chase to glance over.
The answer came softer than expected.
"They're gone."
The room fell still.
"Gone?"
Nox nodded.
"Some collapsed."
"Some became black holes."
"Some were destroyed."
His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling.
"And some still exist."
Chase frowned.
"Then why are they here?"
Nox smiled.
A sad smile.
"The stars are still there."
"The names aren't."
That answer made Chase pause.
Nox continued.
"Thousands of years ago people knew them."
"Sailors."
"Farmers."
"Poets."
"Children."
The lights reflected faintly in his eyes.
"They had stories."
"They had names."
"They mattered."
A pause.
"Then the stories disappeared."
Another pause.
"The people disappeared too."
The bedroom seemed quieter now.
The stars above them no longer felt decorative.
They felt lonely.
Chase looked upward.
"Nobody remembers them?"
Nox shook his head.
"Not anymore."
His voice carried an old sadness.
The sadness of someone who spent eternity collecting things the world forgot.
"So I keep them."
The answer was simple.
Natural.
The way another person might say they watered flowers.
Chase smiled faintly.
"You collect lost stars."
"I collect lost everything."
The God of Thieves reached upward.
Toward a constellation that no longer had a name.
"No one should vanish completely."
The words slipped out before Nox seemed to realize he'd spoken them.
Chase looked at him.
Really looked.
And suddenly understood.
The forgotten stars.
The stolen cities.
The lost crowns.
The abandoned memories.
The ruined marketplaces preserved in the gardens.
It was never about possession.
Not entirely.
Nox collected things because he hated disappearance.
Because somewhere in his ancient heart was the belief that being remembered mattered.
That loss should not be absolute.
That forgotten things deserved witnesses.
Chase reached for his hand beneath the blankets.
Their fingers intertwined.
Nox squeezed gently.
Above them, nameless stars continued to shine.
A sky filled with things history had misplaced.
Yet somehow they remained.
Because one stubborn god refused to let them be forgotten.
And as Chase drifted back toward sleep, he thought that perhaps Nox had done the same thing for him.