Humans called him by many names: God, the Almighty, Allah.

  The languages shifted, the rituals clashed, but the core idea was always the same:

  one being above them all.

  They were wrong.

  They used his name as an excuse for kindness, for cruelty, for everything in between.

  He didn’t care. From afar he watched them like animals in a glass cage—arguing, loving, breaking.

  Entertainment.

  The truth was different.

  He had parents. Brothers. A whole difficult, bickering family. His days were not so different from theirs; he just played on a grander scale. Today was scheduled as a day of fun.

  Earth had finally matured. The humans were ready. He returned home, to the true center of the universe, Lithra. The castle at the heart of it all, the seat of power, shone with blinding light. He drew in a sharp breath and stepped inside, ready for the games to begin.

  Nothing met him at first. The hall was silent. His heart began to race as he moved deeper in, toward a door of crystal that glowed from within. Sound trembled through it: voices, low and eager.

  He pushed. The door swung open.

  Inside, Grakor and Tristana sat waiting.

  His brother and sister. Over the millions of years that had passed, their faces had changed, their resemblance stretched thin, but he would always know them.

  Tristana was short, barely reaching his chest. Her brown hair stuck out in ragged tufts, and an upward-curved, mischievous smile seemed carved permanently into her face. Her amber skin—red-orange, like cooled lava—was what set her most apart. After millions of years spent on volcanic worlds, her body had adapted to sulfuric air and burning skies.

  Grakor was tall and thin, his jet-black eyes narrow slits. His expression rarely moved, but Leanor knew better. Beneath that stillness he was a black hole waiting to tear nearby stars apart, a volcano holding its breath.

  When Tristana noticed Leanor frozen in the doorway, she sprang up and launched herself at him. He caught her easily, and when her feet touched the ground again she clapped, bouncing on her toes, excitement written all over her face.

  “Ready, ready, I am,” she chimed.

  Behind her, Grakor nodded once, arms crossed as he fell into step beside Leanor.

  “Sit first,” Grakor said, voice soft and flat. “Then we decide.”

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  They took their places.

  Their parents—the Creators, the beings who had shaped the universe from nothing—held these challenges for their children. Today’s battle would decide the claim over a new galaxy. The next cluster of stars would be added to one of their collections.

  It was entertainment against the backdrop of endless void. Leanor had hundreds of siblings by now; all of them would be watching. The game carried weight. Stars, lives, entire galaxies were the currency on the table.

  “With only twenty years left, until the challenge begins” Grakor said, monotone, “we need to set the ground rules.”

  Tristana shot her hand up. “Portals, portals, portals,” she sang, not bothering to hold back her joy.

  Leanor’s stomach tightened. That rule would put him at a disadvantage and they all knew it. Humans were inventive, quick, endlessly adaptable—but their bodies were fragile. Strip away their tools and gadgets, and they were painfully easy to break.

  Grakor’s planet held a humanoid species called the Draken.

  They were born warriors—fast thinkers, viciously adaptable. Their dense muscles and towering frames made their advantage obvious. Their weapons were primitive, but for portal trials they were perfect. They bred quickly, matured faster, and could raise an army in the time it took a human child to learn to read.

  Tristana’s world boasted something else entirely—what her people simply called the Gift. Their bond to the volcanoes gave them access to raw earth and fire magic. They leaned so heavily on that power that their technology lagged far behind humanity’s. The Gifted would be a problem, especially in portal trials.

  While the challenge relied on cooperation and clever thinking, its core rule was simple: the power of one.

  Leanor knew the scoreboard favored species with a few exceptional outliers—one strong fighter could be worth a hundred weak ones. That was his only path, his only option if he was to win.

  Each portal tier was worth a different amount of points, and the species with the strongest individuals could rack them up the fastest. Humans were plentiful—just not powerful. Not one by one.

  Leanor opened his mouth to argue. He’d prepared a whole speech about why the challenge should be built on puzzles, on intellect and strategy instead of brute force.

  “Agree,” Grakor said before he could get a single word out.

  Too slow. Again. In a game that rewarded aggression, he’d stayed passive. That had always been his problem.

  “Shit,” Leanor muttered.

  Above them, the ceiling rumbled. Two immense eyes opened in the light, gazing down. A voice he knew too well echoed through the chamber.

  “Terms are sealed. Twenty-year countdown initiated. Portals will open when the countdown reaches zero. T-minus twenty years. Scoreboard initializing.”

  Twenty years might sound long to mortals. To them, it was the length of a nap. A blip.

  “Okay,” Leanor breathed.

  The challenge had barely begun, and he already felt behind. His gut knotted and a trickle of fear ran up his spine.

  Not because losing Earth would hurt. The death of the humans didn’t bother him as much as what their failure would do to his plan. He hadn’t lost in a few thousand years and commanded the largest collection of galaxies out of all his siblings, yet he could never shake the feeling that they were gaining on him, that it was never quite enough.

  He’d have to be strategic now, choose the optimal portal locations, and slip the few allowed perks to exactly the right people.

  His stomach dropped as he took in the task before him. The cards he held were weaker than his siblings’, but he knew his mind was sharper.