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.

As soon as Feo’s feet met the ground, the pain struck him like a hammer. He felt the blood pour down his back, seeping into the torn fabric of his vest, trickling through the shredded layers of his skin. His wings had ripped through his back so violently, so suddenly. The usual method was slow, deliberate. Feo had trained them to come out with measured control, the process taking fifteen seconds at the least, but this time? This time, they had forced their way free in under a second. The sensation was raw, brutal, as the muscle and skin were torn apart to make room for the expanding wings. And now the aftershocks of that violence coursed through his body—sharp, searing pain, radiating from the gaping wound in his back and down his spine.

His muscles felt like they were on fire, burning from the inside out, but he couldn’t afford to focus on that. Not now. His mind was on Lucius—Lucius who had just been thrown out of a window, Lucius who had been shaken and terrified and confused. Lucius needed him. Lucius needed him strong. Feo couldn't let him see this weakness.

He swallowed hard, pushing the pain down as best as he could, the blood trickling from the shredded skin in steady rivulets. He couldn’t even tell if his bones had been damaged or not. His wings had torn through too quickly for him to process anything other than the burning sensation that had nearly knocked him out. But as long as Lucius didn’t see the extent of the damage, he could keep going. He could keep it together. For him.

Feo’s legs felt heavy, his movements sluggish, but he forced himself to walk. Each step was like dragging himself through quicksand, the pain radiating from his back making every muscle scream. But his expression was stone, his gaze set forward, unwavering. He couldn’t afford to let anything show. His jaw clenched, and the muscles in his face tightened as he fought to keep his composure.

The anger was still there. Raging beneath the surface. How dare the woman—how dare Tetra throw Lucius out of a window like that? How could she not see the danger she had placed him in? The fury simmered just beneath the mask of calm Feo was forcing himself to wear, but it wasn’t enough to overwhelm him. Not when Lucius needed him to be calm, to be present.

As Feo neared Lucius, the rage began to melt away, replaced by something gentler, something quieter. He saw the look on Lucius’s face—the vulnerability, the rawness there that Feo hadn’t seen before. His shoulders were tight with tension, his expression drawn. He was scared. Feo could see it in the way Lucius’s eyes darted from the rubble to him, the desperation, the fear.

The anger in Feo’s chest slowly faded into something else—something that made his heart clench. It wasn’t anger that Lucius needed right now. It wasn’t fury that would help them survive this. No, what Lucius needed was someone strong, someone who could hold it all together when everything around them was falling apart. And that someone... that someone had to be Feo.

Feo’s hand reached out, his fingers lightly touching Lucius’s shoulder. The touch was grounding, firm but gentle, a silent promise. Feo didn’t say a word—couldn’t say the words that were tangled in his chest—but his hand did the talking for him.

He was here.

He was staying.

"I’ve got you," Feo said again, his voice barely above a whisper, yet there was a certainty in it, a steadiness that was all for Lucius. "I won’t let go."

The words were simple, but the weight they carried was heavy. Feo could feel the pain in his own back, the blood staining his clothes, the fire in his muscles. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was Lucius. Lucius who was standing before him, looking more vulnerable than he’d ever seen him, and yet still standing strong in the face of everything that had just happened.

Feo’s gaze shifted from Lucius to the chaotic world around them. The scene was nothing short of apocalyptic. The air was thick with the acrid scent of dust and smoke, choking and oppressive. The world seemed to pulse in time with the tremors still rattling beneath their feet, the ground itself groaning and shifting like a living thing, hungry and restless.

People screamed in panic, some running, some just standing frozen, paralyzed by fear. The sirens wailed and the distant cries of terror blended together, creating an oppressive symphony of chaos. A few people were clutching their loved ones, others were stumbling through debris, their faces contorted with confusion, with desperation.

Feo’s eyes caught on a little boy, maybe no older than six, standing by a fence, shaking uncontrollably. His tiny hands gripped the rusted metal bars, knuckles white. His eyes, wide with terror, locked onto Feo for a brief moment. The boy's gaze flickered between Feo and his wings, as if trying to make sense of it all. Beside him, a slightly older girl, maybe eight or nine, held onto his hand, her face streaked with dirt and tears. She was trying to pull him away from the fence, trying to get him to move, but he was rooted in place, too terrified to move.

Feo’s heart clenched at the sight, the helplessness in their eyes a stark reminder of the world that was falling apart around them. He wanted to help, wanted to rush in and protect them, but he knew—he knew that they couldn’t save everyone. Not with what was happening. Not with what they had to face next.

The wreckage of the building, once a place of shelter, now lay in ruins, a twisted mass of concrete and steel. The road beneath them had sunk in places, splitting wide open, swallowing up the cars that had been caught in the tremors. Some of them were still moving, trying to escape the collapse, while others were trapped, engines sputtering and failing, trapped in the deepening cracks of the earth.

Feo’s wings twitched in agitation as he scanned the scene. Every inch of his being wanted to rush into the chaos, to save whoever he could, to shield the innocent from the destruction. But he couldn’t. Not with Lucius here. Not with everything that had just happened.

Lucius had already been through enough, too much already. Feo couldn’t let him face this alone.

He took a slow breath, forcing himself to focus. His muscles still burned, still screamed for relief, but that was a distant thing now. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Lucius.

Feo glanced over at him, his eyes softening. The world was falling apart around them, but in this moment, with Lucius at his side, he knew they could survive this. Together.

“We should go,” Feo said, his voice low and steady, yet carrying the weight of the urgency of the situation. “The longer we stay here, the more dangerous it gets.”

He didn’t need to say more. Lucius would understand. Feo’s gaze flicked back to the wreckage, to the little boy clutching the fence, to the people running, the chaos spreading like wildfire. They had to leave. They had to move—before it was too late.

He turned to face Lucius fully, making sure his gaze was locked on his.

“I’m not leaving you behind, Lucius,” Feo murmured softly, his voice filled with that same determination that had driven him through every trial. "But we need to go. Now."

With a great effort, Feo pulls the suitcase into his arms, nearly crying out in pain but managing to suppress it as his wings tremble with the strain. The pain from his shredded back, the torn muscle, the broken bone—it all sears through him like wildfire, but he forces it down. He can’t show weakness now. Not when Lucius needs him.

His wings unfurl with a sharp crack, and the familiar rush of air fills his senses as he takes off after Lucius. The beat of his wings is strong but uneven, the blood still trickling down his back, but he pushes through it. He can’t let it slow him down.

Every beat of his wings feels like it could tear him apart, but he’s in the air now, following Lucius into the sky, away from the chaos below. His heart pounds in his chest, a reminder that they’re still alive, still moving forward. The weight of the suitcase feels almost negligible in comparison to the ache in his bones, but he doesn't falter. He won’t.

He forces himself to focus, to keep his eyes on the horizon as he follows Lucius through the air, the wind cutting through the pain that wants to consume him. The world below is a blur, the wreckage, the people, all fading away as they soar higher. He’s not sure if it’s the flight or the sheer force of will that keeps him going, but he doesn't think about it too much.

"Stay with me," he mutters to himself, more as a reminder than a plea, as he flies onward, one beat of his wings at a time.

With every beat of his wings, Feo feels the sharp, tearing pain along his back, the remnants of his wings bursting out too quickly, too violently, from the pressure. He keeps his eyes forward, trying to block out the exhaustion that pulls at him. The suitcase he holds presses against him, weighing him down even more, but he grits his teeth and holds on. His entire body is screaming at him to slow down, to stop, to rest. But he can’t. Not now. Not when there’s so much at stake.

The ground falls further away as they climb higher, the chaos of the wreckage below shrinking in the distance. But even as they soar into the sky, the turmoil in his chest only grows heavier. They have to keep moving, have to keep fighting. But the question that’s been building in his mind refuses to stay buried any longer.

He looks over to Lucius, assessing the sapphire eyes with worry that masked the crushing pain. His voice comes out hoarse, rough from the strain of everything—the fear, the loss, the pressure of being on the run. "So," Feo begins, the weight of the question hitting him as he speaks. "Are we still going to Florida?" He lets the words linger, like a fragile thread holding them together in the uncertainty of everything that’s just happened.

He pauses, taking in the silent expanse of sky between them. The land below is a blur, a reminder of how fragile their plans have become in the wake of the destruction they've just left behind. "Or has everything changed?" His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of worry and determination coursing through him. "Can we still make it? Can we still make it work?"

The question hangs between them, unanswered, as the wind whistles in his ears. The world around them is uncertain, shifting and breaking apart like the ground they just left. He wants to believe, wants to hold on to the idea that their goal is still within reach, but everything feels so fragile now. Their lives, their plan, even their survival.

Feo waits for Lucius's response, feeling the weight of the unknown settle on his shoulders. His wings beat in a rhythm close to steady above him, but his mind races with a thousand possibilities, all of them terrifying. Could they still push forward? Or had the world already decided for them that their journey was over? The pain in his back is sharp, but the uncertainty in his chest is even worse. He doesn’t want to face it, but he knows he has to.

Feo clenched his jaw as he forced himself to stand steady, wings trembling slightly from the strain. He could, theoretically, fold them back in, but the thought alone made his stomach churn. The pain was already unbearable—forcing the shredded muscles and fractured bones to retract might be the final nail in his coffin. It wasn’t worth the risk. Not now. Maybe not ever.

His hands twitched at his sides as Lucius stepped toward him with that determined look in his sapphire eyes, holding out the golden wrap. Feo’s eyes flicked from the fabric to Lucius’s arm, now free from its own protection. Stubborn fool. Always so quick to toss his own well-being aside for someone else. Feo had seen it before, and he hated it just as much now.

“Keep it,” Feo said, voice rough with exhaustion but firm. He stepped back, wincing as the motion sent a fresh ripple of agony through his spine. “I’m not taking that from you. You need it more than I do.” His fingers curled into fists, his breathing uneven. He knew how bad he looked—Lucius wasn’t an idiot, he could see the way Feo was barely holding himself together—but he wasn’t about to accept help at the cost of Lucius hurting himself even more.

His gaze shifted downward, focusing on the train tracks, trying to steady himself. They needed to get moving. He didn’t want to stand around talking about wounds and wraps and whether or not either of them was falling apart.

“You said we’re catching a train,” he said, forcing his voice into something steadier, more certain. “Then let’s focus on that. The faster we get out of here, the better.” His wings shifted slightly, feathers ruffling in discomfort. The bleeding had slowed, at least, but his back still throbbed with every heartbeat.

A gust of wind blew through, sending dust swirling around them. Feo’s gaze flickered toward the ruins in the distance, his stomach twisting. They had lost someone. Maybe not someone they had known for long, but someone who had helped them. And the weight of that loss sat heavy on his chest. But mourning would have to wait. Right now, all that mattered was getting out of here.

Feo exhaled sharply, glancing back at Lucius. “We’ll figure things out in Florida,” he muttered. “Just… keep that thing on your arm. I mean it.” He wasn’t about to argue about it anymore—he didn’t have the energy for it. They had bigger things to worry about.

His fingers tightened around the suitcase as he turned toward the tracks, wings staying spread despite the pain. Folding them away wasn’t an option. He just had to deal with it. He had dealt with worse before. Probably.

Feo barely had time to process what Lucius was doing before the golden fabric was being pulled around his torso. The moment it made contact, a sharp, searing pain exploded through his back, nearly knocking the air from his lungs. The pressure sent white-hot agony lancing through his spine, radiating outward like fire in his veins.

His entire body tensed, muscles locking up as he fought every instinct screaming at him to shove Lucius away. His jaw clenched so tightly it ached, his fingers digging into the suitcase handle until his knuckles turned white. He wanted to roar, to snap at Lucius to stop, but all that escaped was a strangled, guttural sound that he barely managed to muffle behind gritted teeth.

Every wrap of the fabric sent fresh spikes of pain through him, like knives carving through already shredded flesh. His wings twitched violently, feathers ruffling as if they were trying to shake off the pain, but it did nothing.

Feo sucked in a shaky breath through his nose, trying to steady himself. He couldn't let this break him. Not now. Not in front of Lucius.

His voice came out rough, strained. “Lucius—” He had to pause, had to swallow down the agony before he continued. “You’re testing my patience here.” His fingers twitched, his breathing uneven, but he didn’t push him away. As much as he hated this—hated feeling weak, hated feeling like he needed help—he knew Lucius was just trying to keep him from completely falling apart.

But gods, it hurt. It hurt worse than he’d expected, worse than anything he’d felt in a long time.

His wings trembled, his entire body shaking from the effort of staying upright. Feo sucked in another breath, staring hard at the train tracks ahead. Focus. Just focus on moving forward. On getting out of here.

Because if he focused too much on the pain, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep standing.