Felix, a lonely Minotaur living on a remote farm in Minnesota, has his quiet life shattered when a goddess arrives with Betsy and her infant son, Apollo.

The creek path ended at a wall of pale rock.

Felix parked the truck where the ground narrowed. Above them, the seam in the sky had spread across the ridge. A low hum came from inside the stone, so deep that Betsy felt it in her ribs.

“My mother brought me here once,” Felix said.

He remembered being small enough to stand beneath her arm. She had placed his hand against the rock, then pulled it away when a golden line appeared.

“She was afraid,” he said. “I thought she was afraid of what lay inside. Now I think she was afraid of what might happen to me.”

Zeus came up beside him. “Your mother was the last keeper.”

Felix turned. “You knew her?”

“I knew of her. She refused to answer when Olympus called.”

“She had reason.”

Zeus accepted that without argument.

Felix set the carved stone into a shallow hollow in the rock. It fit exactly. The wall opened in a line of light, revealing a passage wide enough for two people.

Inside lay a chamber marked with carvings. Horned figures stood around a circle, their hands joined to hold back a storm. Near the floor, smaller figures carried children through the shelter they had made.

Felix studied the last carving. One guardian stood apart, hand open. Beside him was the keeper’s seal.

“My mother never told me what happened to them,” he said.

“They gave up their power to close the first breach,” Zeus answered.

“All of it?”

“Most of it. One line remained to watch this place.”

“Mine.”

“Yes.”

Betsy touched the carving of the children. “They stayed so others could leave.”

Felix remembered his mother’s long walks around the farmhouse at night. She had guarded a house, and beneath that ordinary habit lay an older watch.

The stone brightened. Words emerged along the wall, hidden until Felix’s hand brought them into view. He read slowly.

“The keeper holds the threshold. The child chooses the door.”

Zeus moved closer. “The power must pass through the child.”

“And the keeper stands with him,” Felix said.

“Felix,” Betsy said, “what does holding it do to you?”

The next line gave him his answer.

“The hand that holds may be lost beyond.”

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Zeus looked at the inscription. “I knew the keeper might be trapped. I did not know you were the last.”

“You knew there was a cost,” Betsy said.

“Yes.”

Felix faced Zeus. “You came for Apollo because you feared losing your realm. You left the rest out because you thought we’d refuse.”

Zeus met his eyes. “I thought you might.”

“I might still.”

A tremor passed through the chamber. Dust fell from the ceiling. Outside, someone shouted from the creek path.

Felix knew the ridge could not wait. He also knew an inscription written generations ago could not tell them everything about Apollo’s power. The child had stopped arrows when he reached for Felix. He had made a choice, even without words.

“We’ll bring him to the circle,” Felix said. “We stop if he’s hurt.”

Zeus started to protest.

“That is the condition,” Betsy said.

Zeus looked at the light breaking across the ceiling. “Agreed.”

Felix took Apollo while Betsy adjusted the blanket around him. The baby rested quietly, one hand against Felix’s neck.

“I don’t know how to be what the carving asks,” Felix whispered.

Betsy touched his arm. “You know how to hold him. Start there.”

They entered the inner chamber together. Behind them came the sound of hurried footsteps. The young soldier from Vale’s command appeared at the entrance, breathless.

“Something is coming through the crack,” he said. “The people at the creek need help.”