Two gods sat on the back row of a recreation of World Walker Park’s newest attraction.

“He seems to be doing well,” God Rion said, pulling the lap bar down.

“Better than I was expecting, yeah,” Goddess Tippy muttered, adjusting her own lap bar. It was hard for her to express that someone other than herself could be right, even in divinity. But here they were, brother and sibling, both right to a degree.

Clouds rolled in overhead, the brewing storm swallowing the recreated Walker. The godly duo indulged in the mortal wonder of “rain,” the illusionary weather reminding both of memories long past. They sat in silence for a few moments, simply enjoying the mortal amusement attraction.

When the shark landed on the deck, both gods flinched.

“Was it always this realistic?” Rion asked. “Magic has truly evolved since we were kids.”

“You know we can’t talk about that.”

“But doesn’t it amaze you? Look at what they were able to achieve! Forget about your pet project’s creation magic, and look at what Sol made!”

Tippy found herself agreeing. The Guilds keep so much locked away… She shook her head and flicked her wrist. “Sol’s magic is amazing, but it breaks so easily.” Around them, the illusions failed, cracking into dust like sand hit by a hammer.

Rion gave her the look. “You have no imagination.”

“And you have too much imagination.”

They both glared at each other as the ride came to a stop. The restraints released, and they stepped off.

Tippy sighed, supposing she’d be the first to speak—Rion was childish like that. “Neb made a move.”

The god hesitated, then glanced up at the stars. “I noticed that as well. Some of the constellations shifted over the park.”

“That old fool is looking for any—and everything—to do. Why does he have to involve himself with me? Luka’s mine, can’t he see that?”

“Neb’s a god like you or I,” Rion reminded. “He can do what he wants… mostly.”

Tippy grunted, which sounded more akin to a growl, and said, “Is he so bored of his stars that a small village is worth his time? He’s rarely interested in mortals’ personal lives. Why now? Why Luka?”

“Because Luka is interesting. And well,” Rion gestured between himself and his sister, “we are interested in Luka. You’ve appeared before the boy several times now and influenced events to unprecedented levels—”

“You steal two smashburgers, and everyone starts to think poorly of you.”

Rion smiled softly. “I wasn’t going to bring it up.”

Tippy just glared. “You’re the one who wanted them!”

“Was I? I remember the event differently.” He flicked his wrist, materializing a long couch as he sat down on it. “Come now, sis, let’s forget about such troubling thievery and instead discuss Luka’s most recent prayer.”

Tippy sat down as well. “I’ve handled it already.”

“Have you?” Rion’s eyes went deep, magic allowing him to see the future. “Oh wow, that’s devious sister. Are you sure that’s a gift and not a curse?”

“For most, a curse. But for a man like Luka?” She left the rest unsaid.

***

Luka sat with Ren, Nicole, Mr. Sticky, and several of the other children out by the lake and water slides while on an hour-long break. The park would run without him, he reminded himself, and working to the bone was good for no one. Spending every waking moment thinking about rides, attractions, and guest satisfaction would only get him so far.

Eve had already forced him to agree to a sit-down daily mental health lunch or dinner with her and/or Franky. Luka was glad about that, in all seriousness. Just knowing someone was looking out for him, made his insides feel all warm and fuzzy.

In his hands, Luka held the newest issue of the Sneerhome Chronicle—the front page reading “A WORLD WALKER OR A WORLD MAKER?” The article then went on to describe the reporter, Stell’s, day at the park and the absolute amazement he, and the other attendees, felt while riding Rogue Wave—the park’s newest, and most enticing, attraction. Then, at the bottom of the article almost like an afterthought, Stell wrote about Goddess Tippy and her divine involvement in the park.

Apparently, Stell wanted the park to speak for itself, goddess or no. And he only had positive things to say. On page two of the newspaper, Luka and Mayor Tram’s interview took up nearly half the page.

Sitting and reading the newspaper felt strange to Luka. Honestly, he felt as though he was back on Earth. If you stripped away the strange races, magic, and cultural differences, this—still unknown named world—was incredibly similar. People worked, people ate, people had fun, and people eventually died. Passions and goals were at the forefront of the masses and religion kept everyone in line.

Still. People were relying on Luka—he knew that. A yawn escaped his lips. But working the graveyard shift then opening, operating, and running the park just wasn’t sustainable. A few hours ago, he and Tram had ironed out a tentative schedule for his involvement, especially related to when he would build new sections of the park.

People would come far and wide to watch his magic in action, something even Aunt Sol agreed with. It wasn’t every day that someone hosted a divine magic showcase, especially a World Walker.

And it was in these few moments of relaxation that Luka was glad he chose Emberwood Village. No one was pushing him, no one was forcing him to do what they wanted via contracts or manipulation. Mayor Tram, in all her earnest goodness, was, at the end of the day, a good person. Luka could see that, so could every other villager—and even the kids.

Speaking of the kids…

“What about apples?” Ren asked.

Luka took a deep breath. “Apple sauce, pie, strudel, cake. Cinnamon and apples are an amazing combo, so is apple and pork sausage with sage.” He thought for a moment. “There’s probably thousands of pastries using apples, though most are variations of each other—types of dough, sweetness, sourness, etcetera.”

Ren’s eyes were as large as saucers as he wrote down the World Walker’s home-world foods. Soon, the page was filled. Information about cashews, apricots, bell peppers, and salmon were the first few entries. While crossed out local fruits and vegetables took up the rest. Apparently, Earth didn’t have those, or if it did, Luka didn’t know about them.

“What about hymnberry?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Really? It’s popular at parties. Give the eater a ‘divine voice’ for a few minutes like musekale.”

“Never heard of that either.”

Ren scoffed, muttered something about ‘Earth being weird,’ and wrote some more notes.

Beside the boy, Nicole manipulated Mr. Sticky to mime him working through an invisible kitchen. The doll sauteed and chopped, flipped and grilled—quite vividly, if Luka were honest. Small, whittled pots and pans sat strewn across the table, along with an open-air concept stove Luka built from a hunk of wood and a memory.

“When are you going to open Ren’s restraint?” Nicole asked, looking up from her doll.

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Ren’s green face instantly turned red. “Shut it, Nicole! I told you not to bother him about that!”

Luka frowned at the boy. “Be nice, Ren. And have I said I’d make Ren a restaurant? I don’t remember.”

“Mmhmm!” Nicole hummed. “Ren said you said it was going to be three stories tall with two large kitchens. The top floor was going to be the expensive menu while the lower two were going to be for peons!”

Luka blinked at the girl. “I definitely would have remembered using the word ‘peon.’ Got something to say, Ren?”

The boy looked to be on the verge of imploding. “I—I—” He swallowed a wad of spit the size of a skipping stone. “So—no hymnberry, huh? How would you make lemonade, then?”

The World Walker rolled his eyes. “With lemons.”

“Oh, right…”

That got a chuckle from Luka. A dozen or so paces ahead, a group of kids linked arms and whipped down the slide, splashing into the water like a jet ski wipeout. They giggled and hollered when they resurfaced, each blaming one kid in particular for ruining the group’s balance.

Apparently, the kids were playing a modified version of “Ah! There’s a werewolf among us! Run!” a social deduction game where one kid is randomly chosen to be a “werewolf” and tries to “turn” all the other players into werewolves with subterfuge and lies.

“What about chicken?” Ren asked

“Way too many dishes to list.”

“The highlights?”

Thinking about it, Luka suggested, “Fried, grilled, and roasted, all with sauce. I like sauces.”

“Fried? Like in oil?”

“With a seasoned flour breading.”

Ren considered this. “I… think for my restaurant, it’ll need to be taller than three stories. There are just too many dishes to make. And the first rule of creating a menu is to keep it small.”

Nicole looked strangely at her friend. “You made that up.”

“Nuh huh! Tell her Luka!”

Luka stole a glance at the young dryad. She was timid when she looked at him—bunny staring down a hawk, timid. And yet, the girl did stare. Ren, likewise, wasn’t intimidated by the title of World Walker, something most, if not all, of the other kids failed to mimic. Hell, even some village adults walked hesitantly around Luka.

They bother me, Luka told himself. It wasn’t Nicole or Ren’s outgoingness nor their willingness to ignore their friends to sit with him, but rather the darkness that hid behind their eyes.

Eve had told Luka his smile was fake—a faux crutch to hide the sadness in the back of his mind. And while Luka didn’t see it himself, he did see it in Nicole and Ren. Ren’s outspoken love for cooking, and Nicole’s following around Ren like a lost puppy. On the surface, neither were that strange.

But with the village’s morbid history? Luka shivered at the notion. Guilt and sorrow smothered his own problems in his mind. The park? Bombs and war? They were nothing compared to the problems plaguing the kids—the orphans.

Is Ren’s obsession with cooking the first signs of trauma? Could Nicole’s reliance on Mr. Sticky and Ren be hitting the same notes? Or am I just imagining things? Hell, am I projecting my own trauma onto them?

Luka shook himself out of his own head. Pessimism will get me nowhere, he thought. It was then, he decided, that all of his work—the park itself—was for the kids. The profits, the investments, everything would go to them, they deserved it.

“Tell me about the food of this world, Ren,” he said, his voice quiet. “Maybe start with your favorite?”

“Smashburgers,” Ren said after thinking for a moment.

Luka shook his head. “That’s from my world. Tell me about this one. For example, my mother used to make me toast with cinnamon and sugar on it with lots of butter. When I imagine it, I can still taste it.”

Ren breathed slowly and Nicole looked strangely at him. Then, as if the floodgates broke inside of him, words spilled out. The boy started rambling, long winded, nearly incoherent, statements about his mom, his dad, and the food they used to share.

“And then, this one time, she cooked this meat pie thing that—I don’t know its name—but it tasted like dirt, but the more I ate it, the more I liked it, but not because it was good, but because my mom made it and she loved me and my dad, and because it tasted like dirt, she promised to make better food, and then the next thing she made I helped, and it was good, like really good, and from then on I liked cooking, and also it was nice because my mom got better at cooking too. Then she died and that makes me sad. Dad, too.”

Luka flinched. “Uh—” He subtly looked around for Tram or Ben or someone. No other adults were around. “Thanks for sharing, Ren. And I’m sorry they died. My mom also died.”

“Did she make good food?”

“The best.”

Ren locked eyes with Luka. “That’s not true. My mom made the best food.”

Luka held up his hands, surrendering the point. “Okay, okay. Your mom made the best food. I trust you, little chef, to know what’s good or not.”

Ren puffed his chest out with pride, his eyes falling on something past Luka’s shoulder. “Your wolf is peeing on the pizza oven.”

Luka turned, finding a miniature Leo with his back leg up. “Leo!” he snapped. “You couldn’t go anywhere else? We use that to eat!”

The dire wolf jerked his head over, finding his rider and a few of the children. If animals could be abashed, the way Leo’s tail dropped between his back legs was it. But then, realization came over him. He was a wolf. Using magic to make himself larger, he grew to his true size, shadowing the picnic table and blotting out the sun for those sitting. And finally, Leo let out a loose, deep groan.

It wasn’t a growl, but Leo had to show dominance. He had to! HE could pee wherever he wanted—

“Don’t you make that sound at me,” Luka chided. “People eat off the oven, that’s gross.”

Leo’s groaning became louder.

“Hey! Stop that! If you don’t, I’m going to tell Olive she can peck you whenever she wants.”

Leo stopped in his tracks. Without missing a beat, the wolf shrunk his size down to that of a kitten, promptly skipping over to his rider and hopping into his lap. He gave Luka a few licks for good measure.

“Good boy,” Luka said, petting the childish wolf. But on the second stroke, he stopped, noticing a ring on his finger that was definitely not there this morning. “What the?”

He held up his hand for Ren and Nicole to see, showing off the weathered silver band in all its glory. A butterfly then landed on his nose, appearing from seemingly nowhere.

“Uh—”

“You ask for an artifact, your wish shall be granted,” a voice said smoothly, as if her words were silken drapes.

Luka and the children flinched, finding Goddess Tippy sitting with them at the picnic table. She was made of sparkling energy, magic made physical. Skin the color of harmony, stretched across bones made of pure wisdom. Her dark, luscious hair draped around the area, touching debris and cleaning the lakeside. Rocks, sticks, and fallen leaves all disappeared. The grass was cut short, the bushes trimmed back—

Leo barked.

The Goddess chuckled. “Yes, I agree, little wolfy.”

Leo barked again.

“Uhhhhh—” Ren cut himself off, Nicole grabbing his elbow.

“Do not worry, children, I come only to speak to this one,” she nodded toward Luka. “But I do bring gifts.” She motioned with her hand, light bending around it like a prism rainbow. Candies of all types appeared, some even vibrantly pulsing with magentas and golds.

Ren’s hand darted out, snatching a lollipop.

Tippy laughed again. “Make sure you share. There is plenty for all of you children.”

Only now noticing the goddess in their midst, the children hunting for werewolves stopped and stared, their jaws almost on the grassy floor. But despite the children’s stupor, their guardian wasn’t so surprised.

“I figured you’d leave me alone after all the time we spent together,” Luka said.

“Why would you think that?”

“I got the feeling I was annoying you.”

Tippy frowned at him. “Nothing ‘annoys’ me, Luka. Nothing mortal, at least. I experience time differently than you—our time together was needed, regardless of my ‘annoyance’ or not.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You left my domain quite upset. I am checking on you and making a delivery.” She nodded to the ring on his finger. She then hesitated for a moment. “I also come to warn: one of my ilk has noticed you and the park. God Neb, of the stars and constellations.”

Luka blinked. “Am I supposed to be worried?”

She shrugged. “Depends on if he talks to you again.”

“Again?”

“He was a guest in the park.”

“I think I would remember another god appearing in the park.”

“He isn’t as,” Tippy snapped her fingers, sending rainbow sparks across the area, “colorful. But enough about that. We should discuss the ring.”

Luka spun the band of metal around his finger. “An artifact.”

“An artifact, yes.” Tippy sighed. “For reference, I would not have given it to you. But you prayed, so here I am. The ring will assist you in creating, both materially and with the more metaphysical aspects of glyphs and magic.”

“Metaphysica-whatty?” Ren asked.

The Goddess and World Walker ignored him, the latter opting to ask, “Why wouldn’t you have given it to me?”

“The same reason I don’t just tell you what to do and what not to do. The moment we remove free will is the moment we gods become something else.”

Luka’s thoughts stopped. “Is that sentiment in the same vein as reincarnating someone without consent?

“Yes. And before you get mad, your soul did consent. My brother can attest, you wanted to have a second chance at life. Dying on that frozen bench on Earth, all you thought about is the ways you’d fix your mistakes.”

“That doesn’t—”

“No, it doesn’t. But are you going to sit and whine, or do something productive?” And with that, she poofed away in a burst of spotlights.

A moment passed in silence, but then one of the kids standing by the waterslide yelled, “Jenny is not going to believe this! The one day she decides not to come with us to the lake, and a Goddess visits!”

“Sucks to be her!” another yelped.

Luka shuddered. “Kids are ruthless,” he muttered to himself. “And so are the gods.”

He had a lot to think about.