Invisibility! Daemon bolted upright in his cloud. What if his banishment from Celestae wasn’t as simple as the gods not letting him through the gates when he showed up? What if Vespre had made it so that Daemon couldn’t see the gods’ home at all?

“Nines,” he swore. If that were true, he’d better get back to work at yelling for someone to come get him, because he wasn’t ever going to find Celestae on his own.

Daemon rose from the cloud and shook off the tendrils of mist that clung to his fur. His sparks were bright again; the self-healing properties of demigods also meant his energy could be restored relatively quickly, even though his rest had been short. He leaped back into the sky and flew straight up, to where the atmosphere thinned and breathing would have been difficult if he weren’t a demigod.

He began to cycle through a series of entreaties, shouting each at the top of his lungs.

“Liga, it’s Wolf! I need your help!”

“Luna, this is your grandson. The taigas need you!”

And finally . . . reluctantly . . .

“Vespre, it’s your profligate son! I’ve come home to apologize.”

On the hundredth time of calling his father’s name, the air suddenly began to blur in the distance. Daemon stopped yelling and held his position in the sky.

In what had once been empty space, a long stairway appeared. Hundreds of enormous silver torii arches lined it, each heavy-beamed gateway leading straight to the next, creating the sensation of a tunnel leading to the heavens.

Behind the torii-covered stairway, golden pagodas and archways and bridges materialized, like a Kichonan city built from crystallized honey, glimmering in the air. Every god had a towering castle, each tier elegant with curved eaves, broad balconies, and intricately carved gargoyles with fur that swirled like clouds. Around each castle was a sprawling estate, and as Daemon flew through the torii arches and drew closer to Celestae, he could make out some of the lush foliage in the nearest gardens.

Purple wisteria draped and swung in a subtle spring breeze, perfuming the air with a scent of grape candy. Maple trees boasted autumn reds and oranges. And tall, snow-dusted fir trees presided over parts of the floating heavens. Daemon took it all in with wonder. Time didn’t exist in Celestae, and neither, apparently, did distinct seasons. The gods could create and do whatever they wanted.

The rush of brooks, like giggling children, and the melody of crickets creating music that sounded a lot like Kichonan songs to the gods stirred something in Daemon’s memory. He didn’t remember anything specific, and yet he could feel that he’d been here before, that this place lived inside him, even when he was gone. He sped up, bursting out of the last of the torii arches and eager to see what else his first home would trigger.