The sound of a distant explosion reached me, followed by the unmistable rumble of buildings shifting faster than normal. The ground beneath me vibrated. The gentle restructuring I had witnessed earlier on was nowhere to be found only violent movement and aggressive shaking.
The city was unhappy.
I pushed myself to my feet, divine senses extending outward. The magical framework that held Tradegate together was reacting. Responding to some intrusion, some violation of its nature. Buildings actively moved now, creating barriers, redirecting streets.
Another explosion, closer this time. Followed by screaming and hooting. The screams Appeared to be from excitement. From the thrill of pursuit. I could recognize those very well from Artemis's hunters.
My thoughts went to my war hammer, still stored in my dimensional ring. Whatever was happening, it was causing chaos, and chaos in a place like this could spiral quickly into disaster. I didn't need it currently but just in case, I was ready to drop it immediatly.
I moved toward the sound, climbing onto a rooftop for a better vantage point. My divine strength made it easy, though I was careful to appear merely athletic rather than superhuman.
The plaza came into view, and with it, the source of the disturbance.
Riders. A dozen of them, mounted on horses that weren't quite horses. The creatures had too many legs, eyes that glowed with spectral light, and they moved through the air as easily as across the ground. Their riders wore armor that shifted between old styles, never quite settling on any single form. Antlers crowned several helmets. Others bore animal masks.
And they were chasing someone.
A girl, white-haired and running with supernatural grace, darted between buildings that rearranged themselves to block her pursuers. Her eyes glowed green, cat-like and feral. She moved like water, flowing around obstacles, using the city's reconstruction to her advantage. Parkour! Micheals memoires supplied, the memories tinged in amusement.
Michael's memories clicked into place on who they were.
The Wild Hunt. Aos Sí. The fairy folk of Tír na nÓg.
The magical signature radiating from them felt familiar. It reminded me of Ἑκάτη, Hecate, goddess of magic and crossroads. That particular flavor of ancient power, the kind that predated even the Olympians. Magic that dealt in thresholds, boundaries, the spaces between worlds. Disturbingly familiar.
I found myself thinking of Athens. Of the Deipnon, the monthly ritual honoring Hecate on the night of the new moon. The mortal Athenians had understood something fundamental about her, about the need to appease the darkness that guarded the crossroads.
I remembered watching them, centuries ago, leaving offerings at the three-way intersections. Meals set out for Hecate and the restless dead who followed in her wake. The souls who "longed for vengeance," as the priests said. The ritual had three parts: the meal itself, an expiation sacrifice, and purification of the household. A way to atone for offenses against her, to earn back her favor.
The Deipnon always occurred on the night of the new moon, when no moon was visible in the sky. The Athenians called it the evening meal, usually the largest meal of the day. They would prepare food and leave it at crossroads, usually in a shrine outside the entryway to their homes. The next day came the Noumenia, when the first sliver of moon appeared. The day after that came the Agathos Daimon oikos.
The Athenians had been wise to fear her. Hecate held sway over witchcraft, necromancy, ghosts, and protection of the land. She was a goddess of odd numbers and dark spaces, of things that existed in the margins of reality. The offerings were about survival, about maintaining her favor so she wouldn't withhold her protection.
And these riders carried that similar scent of liminal power.
The girl vaulted over a cart that materialized in her path, the merchants diving for cover. The Wild Hunt followed, their horses' hooves striking sparks against the cobblestones. One rider raised a horn to his lips, and the sound that emerged made City itself shiver.
Tradegate responded with increased aggression. Buildings rose like walls. Streets twisted into dead ends. The Hunt rode through it all, their magic allowing them passage through the city's defenses.
I watched from my rooftop, calculating. Should I intervene? This wasn't my fight, wasn't my world. I'd just arrived and knew nothing.
The girl was being hunted, and she clearly didn't want to be caught.
The riders drew closer, cutting off her escape routes with practiced efficiency. She'd run herself into a corner, and she knew it. Her glowing eyes swept the area, searching for any way out.
Michael's memories supplied more information, unbidden. Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon. The Child of Destiny, fleeing through worlds to escape those who would use her power.
The Elder Blood. The ability to travel between realities at will. Of course the Wild Hunt would chase someone like that. Of course they'd follow her across dimensions.
Why here, though? Why Tradegate?
She'd probably been looking for refuge. A place where the Hunt couldn't reach. Instead she'd found herself trapped by a city that took offense to magical incursions.
The lead rider raised a spear, preparing to throw. The weapon crackled with frost and starlight, death given physical form.
No god was chasing her. Michael's memories supplied that detail with odd certainty. Cernunnos could have been the one hunting her. Could have led the Wild Hunt himself. He wasn't here, though. Just his followers, dangerous enough in their own right.
I made my decision.
I didn't draw my hammer. Didn't announce myself. Instead, I reached into my storage ring and pulled out something I'd forged as an afterthought in Olympus πτερόεντα πέδιλα : a pair of winged sandals, similar to those I'd made for Hermes. Smaller, though and not as strong and fast as his were.
The girl ran directly past my position, her white hair streaming behind her like a banner. Our eyes met for the briefest instant, green meeting brown, and I saw recognition flash across her face. Recognition of what, I wasn't sure. She understood I meant to help, though.
I winked, tossed the sandals down to her with perfect precision, and attached a note with twos word in a language that would translate itself: Fly and Sigil.
She caught them without breaking stride, understanding immediately. The sandals activated the moment she pulled them on, wings unfurling from the heels. She launched herself skyward just as the spear struck where she'd been standing, the cobblestones freezing solid from the impact.
The Wild Hunt roared in frustration, their horses rearing. Several riders pulled bows, arrows already nocked.
The girl was gone. She shot upward and away faster than they could track. She cleared the city walls in seconds, vanishing into the twilight sky beyond Tradegate's boundaries.
The lead rider wheeled his mount, searching for the source of her escape. His gaze swept across the rooftops, pausing for a moment on my position. I'd already dampened my divine presence, appearing as nothing more than a curious observer.
After a long moment, he raised his horn again. This time, the sound was a retreat. The Wild Hunt wheeled their mounts and rode back the way they'd come, passing through a portal that opened in the air like a wound in reality. Frost lingered where they'd been, and the smell of winter forests.
Then they were gone.
Tradegate settled, the buildings returning to their normal pattern of reconstruction. The merchants began emerging from cover, grumbling about property damage and lost merchandise. Someone shouted for the city guard.
I descended from the rooftop as casually as I'd climbed it, blending back into the crowd of gawkers. I couldn't help chuckling as I made my way back to my lodgings, though. Michael's memories had supplied the full context now. Ciri, the girl who could travel between worlds, being chased by the Wild Hunt who wanted to use her power. And I'd just given her the means to escape them constantly.
In another reality, in another story, things might have gone very differently. Here, in this moment, I'd helped someone for no reason other than she needed help. No Zeus demanding it, no Olympian politics requiring it. Just a choice I'd made because I could.
It felt good.
Back in my courtyard, I settled against the tree once more. The evening market continued as if nothing had happened. Within an hour, Tradegate had repaired all the damage, the city's self-reconstruction working overtime to erase any evidence of the intrusion.
I pulled out the scrolls Kessandra had sold me and broke the seal on the first one. Knowledge flooded into my mind, magical theory arranging itself into comprehensible patterns. The Great Wheel cosmology. The way magic flowed through the planes. The fundamental principles of binding enchantments to physical objects.
It was different from what I knew. I could work with this, though and adapt my divine crafting to local rules, create items that would function across multiple realities. The compatibility was there.
Tonight, though, I would drink Dionysus gifted wine while I sat in a courtyard in a city that rebuilt itself, in a reality that wasn't mine, having just helped a girl escape the Wild Hunt with a pair of winged sandals and a wink.
And I was going to enjoy every moment of it.