“As you wish.” Liga looked up toward the sky, and the air above their chestnut grove turned hazy, as if a purple cloud had descended. As he began to speak, moving images appeared in the violet fog, like a vivid, realistic miniature of everything that had transpired.

Celestae was a paradise, an island in the heavens that looked as if it were made of honey, translucently golden and crystalline. Sweet peaches and plums bowed the tree branches, and the air smelled of their nectar. There were lakes of such stunning turquoise, no color on earth could compete, and mountains topped with thick snow as fine as powdered sugar. Each god lived in a grand palace of their own making, with every luxury they could ever desire, and they entertained themselves with contests of strength and speed, celebrations full of music and dancing, and bountiful feasts with endless fountains of rice wine.

But there was one denizen of the heavens who grew tired of his idle life. The constellation wolf did not know how long he had lived here—time did not exist in Celestae, and so a day could be years, or a millennium could be a minute—but he did know he was bored. He craved, for better or for worse, hardship and challenge.

So he went to his father, Vespre, the god of night, who stood on the balcony of his palace, watching the sky below as it turned to the purplish-gray of gloaming. Vespre was seven feet tall with skin the color of midnight, broad shoulders, and muscles bulging across his chest. His eyes flickered like nebulas, bright and dark and multicolored at the same time, and his cheekbones and jawline were sharp and edged in white light, like the lines of a constellation. A trail of orange fire like a comet’s tail followed his feet.

“Father,” the wolf said, “I want to leave the heavens.”

“Are you unhappy?” Vespre asked. “Is Celestae not enough?”

“On the contrary, Celestae is too much.”

The god of night’s eyes swirled in confusion. “Too much? You would desire less?”

The wolf tried to explain. Perhaps it was the humanity in him—his mother had been mortal—that needed a purpose in order to be happy. But Vespre did not understand.

“You are one of my favorite children,” Vespre said. “I know I promised my human lovers that I would never deny their offspring’s requests to visit earth, but that was to be temporary, if they wanted to see their mothers. But your mother is gone. She died in childbirth. There is nothing for you among the mortals.”

“You would keep me prisoner here against my will?” the wolf said.

Vespre grew angry then, the color in his eyes suddenly gone and replaced with darkness, like black holes. “You are half god, and you belong in Celestae. I will not discuss this further.” With that, the god vanished, leaving the wolf standing alone on the cusp of twilight.