And the changes go deeper than that, too. Seokga, although he should possess all of his powers now that he is again a deity, is unable to do one thing—riffle through the minds of creatures. Try as he may, something blocks him each time. Something tells him that it’s the pressure, the desperation and extreme fatigue, interfering with his capabilities. That should he sleep more than two hours a night, perhaps he’d have no trouble at all.

But he can’t stop. He can’t.

For a time, he was better. Before the Red Thread of Fate appeared, he was excited. Eager. Happy. Playing harmless pranks, wandering the streets of Iseung, eager for the opportunity at every corner. Convinced he would see Hani at any second.

Now he’s tired. Depressed. Miserable.

Dr. Jang smooths down her modest black blouse and reaches for the analog telephone at her side, giving him an I told you so look that somehow manages to still be kind.

Yet every part of Seokga stiffens as she punches in a few numbers. “Who—?”

The therapist gives him a stern look. “I’m calling your brother. As your doctor, it is within my jurisdiction to prescribe you with something you dearly need.”

Seokga frowns, thinking of the meds he’s already on—pink pills he takes with his evening coffee at seven each night. “What?”

Dr. Jang presses the phone to her ear. “A vacation.”

Tonight, dinner is takeout from Iseung, the mortal realm: deep-fried corn dogs dusted with sugar and drizzled with ketchup and mustard. It is, in Seokga’s opinion, an affront to his holy eyes and taste buds. It was Hwanung’s turn to bring dinner to the monthly pantheon gathering, in which all Okhwang’s gods sit around an overlarge table in Cheonha Palace and “bond.”

Oh, Seokga hates bonding. He prefers the logistics that come first: the scheduling of Korea’s weather with its respective gods, discussion of Unrulies and how the haetae are faring against them, how things are going for Yeomra in the underworld, et cetera. Today’s discourse was a particularly riveting discussion of the shamans: Korean family lines blessed with patronage of one deity or another, tasked with performing the minute duties that the gods themselves can’t be bothered with (such as the creation and maintenance of glamours, healing the sick, and—at least for Seokga’s shamans—causing chaos whenever the opportunity presents itself)…And there’s also the unspoken obligation of proving their patron deity’s superiority over all the other gods. Seokga’s shamans have been specifically instructed to seek out Hwanin’s shamans and use their shape-shifting magic (generously bestowed upon them by Seokga himself) to change into birds and shit all over their snobby heads.

(Deity shamanism has, clearly, changed since the ancient days. Many still practice the old ways, but Seokga greatly prefers his shamans to practice modern traditions as it’s vastly more entertaining.)