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.

Felix passed Apollo back to Betsy and ran for the passage.

The seam had opened wide enough to spill light across the creek. Shapes moved inside it, bright and indistinct, pushing against the boundary between worlds. Each time one touched the ground, the stones jumped.

The young soldier led Felix to the people gathered below. Mrs. Hart had brought them by truck. Some carried ropes and shovels. Others had come to help the nearby farms evacuate.

Zeus stepped from the passage and lifted both hands. Lightning struck the ground before the nearest shape. It recoiled, but another pushed through beside it.

“Keep them away from the entrance,” he called.

Felix seized a fallen tree limb and braced it across the narrow path. Two townspeople helped him. Together they drove the first shape back toward the light. It had no clear face or body, only an outline that changed whenever Felix tried to focus on it.

Farther down the creek, people led horses away from a flooded crossing. Mrs. Hart guided the young soldier and three farmers to a safe route through the trees.

The work gave everyone a purpose. Felix heard familiar voices calling warnings across the bank. People who had avoided him in town were now passing him ropes, taking his instructions, and pulling beside him.

“Left side!” a farmer shouted.

Felix turned in time to catch a second limb as it fell. He pushed it clear of the path.

Betsy appeared at the chamber entrance, Apollo in her arms. Gold shone through his blanket.

“Get back inside!” Felix called.

“The mark is pulling him toward the circle,” she answered. “I can’t keep him calm out here.”

Zeus looked from the breach to the child. “Take him in. I’ll hold this side.”

Felix hurried to them. He and Betsy entered the chamber while Zeus’s lightning lit the creek behind them.

At the center of the carved circle, Apollo reached for Felix. The seal on the floor answered, casting gold lines toward the walls. The hum grew louder.

Betsy knelt with Apollo. Felix put his hand beneath the child’s. For a moment, the light held steady.

Then a shock passed through the chamber.

The breach reached down through the rock, pouring force into the circle. Felix felt it seize his arm. Images flashed before him: his mother beside the hearth, Betsy at the barn door, Apollo asleep against his chest. The threshold seemed to search through each memory for something it could use to pull him away.

He held Apollo’s hand.

“Felix!” Betsy cried.

The floor split beneath one edge of the seal. Felix pushed Betsy and Apollo clear as stone broke away. He fell against the far wall and struck it hard enough to lose his breath.

Outside, Zeus’s lightning faltered. A shape crossed the creek and reached the entrance. The young soldier and two farmers dragged a heavy log across its path, buying a few moments.

Felix tried to rise. His legs gave way.

Betsy set Apollo safely against the inner wall and came to him. “Look at me.”

“The seal is breaking,” Felix said.

“I can see it. Tell me what you need.”

He looked at Apollo. The baby was crying now, frightened by the noise and light. Felix wanted to lift him, but his hand shook.

“We need him close,” he said. “He follows my voice.”

Betsy helped him stand. Every step back to the circle hurt. Beyond the passage, a new crack split the air over the creek.

Zeus entered, breathing hard. “I cannot hold it much longer.”

“Then stand with us,” Betsy said.