Feo’s head was spinning, his body still half-braced for an attack that hadn’t come—at least, not in the form he expected. The tremors beneath his feet were unlike anything he had ever felt before. The walls groaned, the ceiling shuddered, and the floor beneath them threatened to betray its purpose entirely. It was as if the entire building was alive, writhing in pain, and Feo had no frame of reference for it.

His golden eyes flickered between Lucius and the woman, confusion flashing across his face. “What the fuck is an earthquake?” His voice was sharp, laced with frustration. The word meant nothing to him.

But there wasn’t time for answers.

The room lurched again, and Feo’s instincts screamed at him to move. He was up in an instant, shoving the bottles of painkillers into his vest with practiced efficiency. His hands were already moving before his mind fully caught up—grabbing the gun from the nightstand, making sure it was loaded, then slinging the suitcase over his shoulder. Every movement was sharp, honed from centuries of battle, though his pulse raced from the unknown force shaking the world around him.

The sound of cracking drywall and the distant roar of panicked voices outside urged him forward. The very walls of the hotel were splitting apart, as if the building itself had decided to turn against them. Feo’s gaze darted to Lucius, assessing, making sure he was steady before he made his next move. The last thing he needed was for Lucius to go down in the middle of all this.

The goddess was already at the window, yanking back the curtains. The city outside was in chaos—screams, sirens, people running in every direction like ants fleeing from a flame. This wasn’t just some natural disaster.

Feo had seen destruction before. War. Fire. The wrath of gods. But this? This was something else.

And yet, none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was getting Lucius out alive.

Adjusting his grip on the gun, Feo took a steadying breath. "What the fuck is happening.." His voice was low, steady, despite the uncertainty curling in his gut. He didn’t know what an earthquake was, didn’t understand the forces at play—but he understood survival. And right now, survival meant getting the hell out.

Yet, Feo barely hesitated as he moved toward the window, his mind a storm of instincts and urgency. He couldn't afford to be slow, couldn't afford to hesitate. Not when the world was literally tearing itself apart around them.

His grip on the suitcase tightened as he glanced outside again. The streets were swarmed with people, their voices rising in a chaotic symphony of panic. The cracks in the asphalt twisted and snaked like veins of an angry god, stretching toward the towering buildings that groaned under the strain.

Feo snarled, frustration and adrenaline battling in his veins. He didn’t understand this force, didn’t know how to fight something that shook the very ground beneath him. But what he did know was that the rules of Midgard no longer applied. Whatever was happening wasn’t natural, and that meant he didn’t have to play by its rules.

With one decisive movement, he let go.

Pain, sharp and searing, ripped through his back as his wings burst free from his skin, coming faster than they naturally should. The skin that held them back tore open, but he barely felt it through the chaos. Feathers, dark as a starless sky, unfurled in the dim hotel light, catching the dust that rained from the cracking ceiling. The muscles in his back tensed, adjusting to the weight of them, the familiar pull of something that was both a blessing and a burden.

The tremors grew stronger. The floor beneath them groaned like it was on the verge of collapse.

Feo didn’t wait.

He threw the suitcase out of the window, tucking his wings in tight as he dove out of the hole, spreading the large limbs once again and diving to catch the suitcase before it hit the ground. He tucked the gun into the top of his pants and rose into the air again, watching the window with blown pupils, prepared to catch Lucius. The goddess could probably take care of herself. But, more importantly, she'd better take care of Lucius, or he'd have her throat for this.

Pain continued to sear through his back, but that wasn't what mattered. Feo kept himself aloft, blocking out the noise around him and focusing only on the blonde hair that he saw above him.

Feo’s wings sliced through the air, their span wide and powerful as he fought against the chaotic winds surging between the crumbling buildings. Dust and debris whipped past him in jagged streaks of gray and black, the scent of cracked stone and split concrete filling his lungs. The city was falling, and amidst the collapse, Lucius was plummeting.

A raw, feral growl built in Feo’s chest as his sharp gaze tracked Lucius’s descent. That woman—Tetra—had thrown him. Thrown him. The sheer audacity of it sent a flash of rage through Feo’s veins, his hands itching to tear into something, to rip and shred until there was nothing left of whatever had dared put Lucius in danger.

But he didn’t have time to be furious. Didn’t have time to snarl, to curse, to swear vengeance.

Lucius was falling.

Feo moved.

His wings snapped wide, catching an updraft as he dove, muscles burning from the sudden, forceful motion. He ignored the way his recently-summoned wings ached, ignored the sting of torn flesh where they had ripped through his back. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was reaching Lucius before the ground did.

Lucius was curled in on himself, braced for impact, expecting impact.

No.

Feo’s heart slammed against his ribs as he forced his body to move faster, to catch him before the world could break him.

The wind screamed around them, the earth rumbling in protest as the tremors grew stronger. More glass shattered, raining from windows in jagged, glinting shards. Chunks of the hotel crashed down around them, pieces of concrete and steel twisting as gravity tore them apart. The sound of sirens wailed in the distance, barely audible over the destruction.

Feo was seconds away.

He reached, his arms stretching out, hands open—too fast, too hard—he needed to be careful, needed to be precise, needed—

Contact.

His arms wrapped around Lucius, fingers clutching tightly as he pulled him in, securing him against his chest. The impact sent a jarring shock through his body, but he held on.

And then came the second battle—the landing.

Lucius wasn’t heavy, not really, but catching a full-grown demigod midair and adjusting for the sudden shift in momentum was another challenge entirely. His wings burned as he forced them to angle their descent, shifting to counterbalance the force of their combined weight. His body screamed in protest, every muscle coiled tight, but Feo’s grip didn’t loosen. Not even for a second.

He wasn’t going to let go.

He wouldn’t let Lucius crash.

With a final powerful downward stroke, Feo dropped, bending his knees at the last second to absorb the landing as his boots struck the cracked pavement. Dust billowed around them, the ground vibrating violently beneath his feet, but he stayed steady, stayed anchored. His wings flared, adjusting, steadying, the ends brushing the ground as they settled behind him.

The city was still a mess—people shouting, car alarms blaring, buildings groaning under the strain of the unnatural quake—but Feo only heard his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Lucius was still in his arms.

Still breathing.

Still alive.

Feo exhaled sharply, adjusting his hold just enough to shift Lucius more securely against him before finally speaking, his voice rough, breathless, but carrying every ounce of certainty he possessed.

“I’ve got you.”

Sirens wailed in the air, car horns screaming, piercing cries of confusion that all blended in a shrill descant. The descant that rang in his ears with each thundering pound of concrete, brick, steel and glass that shattered and broke through the ground below. It was all beating with his heart in his ears.

But as fast as he was falling, the hotel was faster. The way the dust blew outward, rippling out in a crash louder than he had ever heard. The rubble was ruins. There was nothing left that could've said it was once a motel. Or a hotel--or anything more than ruins.

And then the arms that kept him from hitting the ground. The beating of feathered wings that stretched to keep them from hitting the ground too hard. The dust swept out from around them.

Lucius lowered his feet touching the ground. He looked up toward Feo. His heart raced briefly in his chest as he steadied himself. It had been terrifying but he was safe. "You've got me. I'm okay. I just didn't expect--" Her--the thought registered before he turned, looking back at the hotel. "No--no. Tetra--she's still in here--"

He scrambled forward, trying to piece at the rubble with his singular hand. She had been the only one to be kind, she couldn't be gone. She was a goddess! Right? That meant she had to be fine. She had to be.

His sapphire eyes swept through the rubble.

She was the only nice one! She had listened to them. She hadn't pestered him. The goddess had to be alright. He kicked at rubble, desperate to unearth the goddess. "No no no--"

His hand slipped on something, glaring briefly before realizing what it was. Golden. Ichor was this color.

Gold that mixed with the bright red. No.

Lucius stepped back, his eyes spotting the limp lifeless hand. The golden blood that dripped from the gashes turned red.

He took another step back, his heart racing in his chest until it froze. It couldn't be. It wasn't fair. His chest locked in place as he stared at the lifeless palm. Sapphire eyes traveled between the residue on his own hand and the scene in front of him. Even as the ground trembled again, he couldn't find it in him to move.

"Feo," he said quietly, "she's gone."

It was almost paralyzing. It couldn't be.

His eyes finally turned from rubble to the Nordic demigod. He had lost his own mother but he hadn't cared. She wasn't... caring. But that woman, that goddess... had.

"She's... gone." He echoed the words.

A part of him had realized now that it could have been him too. She hadn't thrown him out of malice, out of panic or anything. She had known... she... had given everything.