As the man approached, Finn couldn’t help but realize how he wasn’t drunk enough for this. Grabbing his glass, he gulped down the remaining contents and wiped his lips with the back of his arm. The tan man eventually drew closer and sat down at the bar next to him.

  “Margarita, salt the rim,” he ordered, his eyes shifting from Finn to the server. His voice was gruff and strong. He smelled like the sea—not the rank smell of dead fish, but a refreshing salty breeze.

  Finn grabbed one of the crab claws he had previously ordered, breaking it open and getting the meat out. He didn’t initiate conversation. Maybe if he ignored the problem—the man—long enough, he’d go away. He could hope, right?

  “So,” the word drawled on, stretching farther than necessary. The tan man smiled, revealing straight white teeth. The smile lines on his face deepened as he spoke. “Come here often?” This casual question was directed towards the only other person present—Finn.

  ‘Don’t interact. Eat your food, maybe order another beer, end this day on a happy note, and don’t talk to weird floating guys who aren’t real,' Finn thought. He wasn’t real, right? Finn just had to stay quiet. Simple, easy. “No,” he said, ignoring his inner monologue’s advice.

  “I expected as much,” the tan man snickered, thanking the server as they gave him his drink. “I know basically everyone here,” he paused, lips pressing to the glass. The contrast between salt and liquor made him hum. He stared at Finn even though he didn’t look back. “Not that the community down here is overly large or anything, but still.” He shrugged, and silence fell between the two men.

  Maybe Finn was still holding onto the thought that this was a hallucination. By not looking at him, Finn felt like the man wasn’t real. If he continued to not look, maybe he’d continue to not be real. But that wasn’t how the world worked. With a tired sigh, he turned his gaze, finally getting a closer look.

  Black messy hair, tan skin like a surfer, five o’clock shadow, and nearly flawless facial proportions. He was built pretty well—a clear heartthrob. Finn guessed the man was in his late twenties to mid-thirties. His green eyes were nearly black; they were so dark.

  “I know I’m a looker and all, but staring is rude.” He seemed pleased, as if the attention was expected. The smug smile playing across his lips definitely rubbed Finn the wrong way, so he looked away with a scoff.

  So what if he looked like a model? That didn’t matter in the slightest. He didn’t care. He wasn’t envious or anything. “So,” he borrowed the tan man’s opening line, “how about those squids?” Yeah, that was lame. Really lame, and he regretted saying it immediately as the words left his mouth.

  The tan man seemed amused, taking a sip of his drink and holding back a chortle. “Yeah, I swear they’re getting closer and closer to shore as time goes on. Bigger as well. You wouldn’t believe the size of the one I saw on my boat earlier today.”

  He was fucking with him, wasn’t he? This man was fucking with Finn, acting so casual as if he couldn’t command the seas, as if he hadn’t shown off supernatural powers on that bridge to defeat that leviathan. What did he gain from finding Finn? Why was he here, trying to make simple conversation? Did he plan to kill Finn? No witnesses. That thought didn’t scare him as much as it probably should—most likely because Finn wanted to die. But still...

  “Alright, man, cut the shit" Why are you here?” He was done playing. After everything that had happened, his tolerance for bullshit just wasn’t as high as it usually was.

  There was a gleam in the tan man’s dark green eyes. He was enjoying this, but there was a time for fun and a time for business. He finished his margarita and set the glass down, his eyes roaming as he gathered his thoughts. “Okay. But how about we start with names? I go by Tavi these days. Pleasure to meet you.” He paused, giving Finn a look, expecting him to finish where he was headed.

  Shaking his head, Finn didn’t meet Tavi’s gaze and begrudgingly gave him his name. “Finn.” Short and sweet.

  “Finn, a strong name. I like it. Alright, time to blow your mind, kid.” Tavi cracked his knuckles and leaned back on his stool. “There’s not really a good place to start with this. It’s a whole mess, really. I’ll rip the bandaid off quick—you seem like a man who likes to keep it straight. Gods are real. I’m a god. I was fighting with a monster, and you saw that. Hell, you helped me out.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Finn processed that information—or did something along the lines of processing—as the silence fell between them. On one hand, yeah, right, sure this guy was a god. On the other hand, water powers while glowing and flying... “Gods are real, and you’re a god,” he repeated to make sure he was hearing right.

  “Yes,” Tavi responded casually. Throughout this whole interaction, he seemed casual—even when he was currently reshaping Finn’s entire view of the world. “A god of the seas. Listen, it’s more complicated than it really has to be. It’d be better to not think so hard on that part.”

  “You’re a god, and you want me to not worry about that?” Finn asked, his face still blank and the tone of his voice dry. Yeah, Finn was done with this. Maybe dying was better. He came here to find that spark, but maybe he should just stop looking.

  “Yes, don’t worry about it too much. Listen, I can’t explain everything about being a god without having you sit here for days at a time. So I’ll summarize. Let’s see... uh.” He paused, trying to find the words for his thoughts. “Gods are real. Some cultures have different names for gods that are the same people. Poseidon, Dagon, and so on are examples. I’ve gone by those names in the past.” He paused. “You know what? Explaining that probably gives you more questions than answers. Forget that for now, Finn.” He sighed.

  “You’re a god,” Finn stated once more, this time with a chuckle.

  “Yep. Listen, we’ve been over that. Now we should talk about our future.”

  Finn just looked at the god, giving him his best what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about look. “Our future? Honestly, man, I’m not sure if I have a future at all, especially one with a god.” Yeah, he was just going to go get those pills out of his car and end this nightmare.

  “Mhm. Yeah, I figured as much,” Tavi responded with a nod. “You’re already half in the void. The others won’t see you coming.”

  “Void? Others? I’m genuinely lost,” Finn admitted.

  “You want to die. You’re halfway there with that mentality. It’s why you’re so casual and brash with me—a god. You will do well with my offer to you.”

  Finn looked away. Was that the reason he was talking so casually with a god—or a self-proclaimed one, anyway—or was it the fact that he hadn’t yet accepted Tavi’s claim? Perhaps a mixture of both. His wish for death did make him bolder, and his doubt played a minor role.

  “Offer? Listen, guy, I’ve read enough books. Offers from gods shouldn’t be taken. Have you ever read Percy Jackson?” He asked the god with a raised brow.

  Tavi didn’t respond, instead keeping the conversation on task. “Become my chosen. Gather the other chosen of my allies. Gain powers, riches, friends, and much more. Fight for us and lose the monotony of your usual life. Be something more.”

  “You’ve definitely read it. I’m not big into quests or socializing, if I’m being honest, man. In fact, talking to you has already emptied my social battery for the next two weeks, so no thank you. No quest, no working for you, no becoming your chosen. No. Just no. Right now, I’m probably tripping balls off mushrooms or something, and you’re probably some guy in a bathroom at a gas station fucking with me while I hallucinate.”

  Tavi stared, his casual demeanor hardening ever so slightly. “Listen, Finn. It’s hard to believe. I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re coping with all this, but still.” He grabbed the bridge of his nose and grunted. “Okay, different approach. You want to die, but there’s something deeper down in there. Sure, I may not be real. None of this may be real. But what’s the harm in playing along? You want to find a reason to live, don’t you?”

  Finn hadn’t said anything about that. Sure, he had thought it more than enough, but either this was his subconscious creating an elaborate dream trip, or this guy could read him like a book—or just plain out read his mind. “I’m debating if I really want that more and more,” he muttered softly.

  “Well, still.” Tavi waved his hand dismissively. “You can die quietly. This is a beautiful place, for sure. I wouldn’t mind it being my own resting place. But I’m offering you more than that. Being my chosen is dangerous—death is nearly guaranteed. But rather than dying quietly, you’ll die with a bang. I’ll provide you with money, luxury, and women. You’ll have what you want if you only agree to being mine.”

  Finn disliked his wording. One, he didn’t swing that way, so the possessive way the god said “mine” wasn’t really appealing. The other part, though—going out with a bang. He didn’t want a painful death, sure. But did he genuinely want to overdose and die in his hotel room all alone?

  He was so indecisive, and it was honestly pissing him off. This silence was the longest. Tavi gave him time to digest the offer, and Finn thought about his own suicidal plans. The promises were nice, but he still couldn’t grasp the idea of gods and monsters being real. Would it be easier to just drop everything he knew, accept this man’s words at face value, take off on some random trip, and maybe die along the way? Death didn’t scare him. Living scared him. What was the right choice? He turned to Tavi.

  “I’m not drunk enough to make a decision. Why don’t you provide me with enough alcohol for me to make a choice?”

  The tan man smiled, raising a hand for the server. His green eyes sparkled. “I’d be more than happy to do just that.”