A part of him not lost to pleasure is terrified of what comes after this. He’s given himself to her so completely…only for her to leave. He knows she’ll leave. He’s certain that she knows it, too.

But if all Seokga can ever have are these fleeting moments, he’ll take them. Damn it, he’ll take them and hold them close to his chest on the lonely nights, the nights when he knows he is utterly alone in the world. He’ll forever remember the sound of Kisa’s soft gasps, the look on her face when she comes undone.

He’ll forever remember that, for a brief time, he had her.

The god and the gwisin spend the rest of the night curled up together, flipping through their raunchy romance books, laughing with as much heart and soul as they ever have.

When they fall asleep later that night, Seokga refuses to let go of her, burying his face in her mane of curls, arms looped around her slender waist.

“CAN YOU HOLD HIM?” Seokga roars, wind whipping through his hair and robes as he braces against its onslaught, barely able to see four feet in front of him where Hwanin is braced atop their father, holding him down to the cave’s slick, jagged rock that rises at least twelve feet in the air, nearly brushing the stalactites above. His brother’s only response is a guttural shout of pain. “Yeomra’s chains!” Seokga screams as Mireuk unleashes a bellow of rage, the cave quivering with his power. “Can you secure them? Brother!”

Eyes tearing from the violent gusts, Seokga staggers up the rock, head pounding from the effort of maintaining the illusion. For the Hwanin atop Mireuk is a distraction, a cleverly woven illusion that is taking its toll to uphold. “BROTHER!” Seokga shouts again, and this time it’s a signal to the Hwanin who stands next to him, hidden underneath another illusion. “NOW!”

As Mireuk thrashes, the true Hwanin lurches forward, knuckles white as he grips Yeomra’s skeletal chains in his hands. All they need is an opening to slap the bone-white bonds around Mireuk’s wrists—Yeomra’s magic will do the rest, tying Mireuk down to the rock forever more. Seokga holds his breath as the true Hwanin rips past his illusioned self and, with a great cry of rage, captures his father’s wrists in the skeletal shackles. Panting, he stumbles back as the shackles expand, clicking like old bones as their chains meld into the rock. The ankles are next, Yeomra’s death magic duplicating the bonds on the Mad God’s wrists onto his feet. The wind abruptly stops, and the cave is silent—so silent, the only sounds the rushing of the river above, the faint drip-dripping from the stalactites overhead. But only for a moment.