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ablaze in darkness (arise in light)

Chapter 13: claws of the lion

Summary:

In which Herodotos strikes a deal, and Kassandra... doesn't listen

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Orin sat in front of bushes and underbrush, in the middle of a forest so thick he’d been surprised to find any sort of clearing at all. 

 

And truthfully clearing was a stretch– it was a circle-shaped spot in the depths of the trees, hidden but perfect for what he was trying to do, which was… nothing. 

 

Nothing. 

 

He couldn’t remember why he was doing this. 

 

He… couldn’t…

 

He could… only remember the earth in his hands, feeling it break-

 

Why was… 

 

Cliffs and cracks and dirt breaking to reveal stone beneath, the stones breaking to reveal heat that he could feel, she could–

 

Disconnected.

 

“Evi?” 

 

“Victoria.” Evi ran a hand over her face. Her skin felt cold, clammy. She could still smell the trees in the forest she’d sat in as Orin. 

 

“You haven’t gone into the Animus in a few days, what spurred it now?” 

 

Her vision cleared, but it still hurt to open her eyes. Maybe if she settled on one spot she could pretend that the world wasn’t spinning in circles around her. 

 

“Evi?” 

 

“Victoria,” Evi said lowly, “I don’t think I need to tell you that being involuntarily disconnected is extremely disorienting and dangerous.”

 

“And I don’t think I need to tell you that going into the Animus without telling me means there’s no one here to watch your vitals. That’s dangerous, Evi.”

 

“I can handle myself.”

 

“Don’t give me that,” Victoria snapped, “You went in for a reason, alone. You don’t see Layla doing that– at least she knows not to–”

 

“I’m not Layla,” Evi snapped. “Don’t compare me to her. We aren’t the same.”

 

Victoria stared at her, uncomprehending. “You’ve had a rough time with the Animus before. It could happen again.”

 

“Shut up.” She felt like a petulant child and maybe she was one. It didn’t matter. Victoria had already decided that she’d made a mistake.

 

She closed her eyes and slumped back into the couch, praying that was enough. 

 

The burning weight of Victoria’s eyes on her eventually dissipated, and only then did she truly relax. She was tired. The Animus provided no actual rest whatsoever. 

 

“You feel like you’re useless.”

 

“Fake. Not… helping.”

 

“What’s the goal here, exactly?” 

 

“To save the world?” 

 

Orin snorted. In the tiny, pocketed sort of headspace they shared, he was still leaning against the shrubs from her memory, his arms crossed and his hands in his lap, his eyes shut. 

 

He looked peaceful. 

 

“Meditating is a good way to settle your thoughts,” he said. 

 

Evi shook her head. “I need sleep. Actual sleep. Not just… conversations with the voice in my head.”

 

The forest disappeared. 

 

A part of her wished she could’ve stayed there. 

 

Layla and Victoria were trying to save the world– to find weapons left by old gods, things that could be used to help save the world. 

 

She couldn’t even complete a full Animus session without desynching; Orin’s powers had scared her in a way she’d never really felt before. She’d felt his abilities like she’d never really felt anything else. The way he’d felt the world was… different. 

 

It had left her wanting more. 

 

But if she couldn’t stay in the Animus for longer than a few minutes… 

 

She’d been so confident when she’d found her way here, insisting that she could help, insisting to herself and to the others that Orin’s path was what she needed. And maybe it was. But she was rushing, and wasn’t that the hardest part? That Layla could stay in the Animus for hours, and she couldn’t hold onto a session for more than a few breaths, even ones spent in meditation.

 

She was falling behind. She’d lost herself in the Animus before and fallen, this was the same.

 

She’d start slowly, one memory at a time. Falling back into it– into Orin’s past, and his powers. 

 

She fell asleep, and in her mind’s eye, all she could see was trees.

 

~

 

“Ready?”

 

Layla took a sip of water. Hesitant. She inhaled once and faced the window. Raindrops rolled down the glass; the city skyline was luminous against the dark sky. 

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she answered. “Got a bad feeling I’m gonna be in here a while.”

 

“You say that every time,” Victoria said, giving Layla a pitying look. 

 

Layla shrugged. “Never been wrong.”

 

~

 

The jagged edges of Phokis’ mountains parted, revealing, at their depths, a series of cragy rocks– bone-like structures that gave the appearance of a serpent skulking through the cliffs. 

 

It was, Kassandra thought, an appropriate place for a so-called cult to hide a snake of their own. 

 

She reached upward, into Ikaros’ eyes, and peered down at the serpent’s back, eyeing the guards who wound their way through the winding paths. There were seven guards in total, each of them covered in armor colored black as night. Golden snakes twisted over the broad fronts of the shields they carried. The swords they carried were heavily weighted– blades that required strength and training. 

 

And there were seven of them. No matter. With a bit of quiet footing, she could lure them to their deaths one by one. 

 

Maybe that’s what the Cult wants. She swallowed back her fear and pride and lowered herself closer to the ground. From up this high, the guards on the ground were little more than tiny specks. There was a terrible loneliness in being the only one to stand above such a sight, and worse still was the fear that she was walking into yet another trap. She’d scoffed in the face of the Cult before, questioned their ability to stalk her and lure her closer, but here she was, stumbling toward them from the mountaintops above their heads. 

 

And being here, seeing them, that made it all real. There were real, mortal men down there, and the weapons they carried meant they were prepared to fight if needed, offering their own lives for their beliefs, and that was what scared her most. 

 

She was nothing. An orphan grasping at words made of vapor and the promise of a threat to her person. She had nothing to fight for, except her own identity, and that was worth… what?

 

She inhaled and shut her eyes, settling her concerns in the push-pull of an exhaled breath, and skirted the ledge’s end onto the smaller cliff below,. She continued her descent, ducking into the shrubs seconds before the guard nearest to her looked in her direction, drawn by her movement. 

 

She eased her spear from her back and readied it, reaching forward to probe the branches of the bush in front of her. The guard didn’t move. 

 

She snatched a stone from under her sandal and threw it hard, snapping her wrist so that the stone riccocheted off the rocks cresting above a tent a few feet away. Her heart hammered in her chest as the guard grumbled under his breath and drew nearer, his own blade in his hand. 

 

She was pressed low to the ground, one palm to the dirt, the other hand clutching at her weapon. The guard came closer, grumbling under his breath. His boot toed the edge of the underbrush; his eyes widened and the instant he shouted out loud Kassandra sprang upward, driving her blade into the softness between his neck and collarbone.

 

“You don’t belong here.” 

 

She parried away the strike at her throat and tore his shield-hand upward, drawing him into an arch-armed creature with all his softness exposed. “Neither do you.”

 

She wiped her blood on his tunic and left him in the dust, his shield buried into his neck, blood pouring from his throat.

 

The other guards were further into the ruins, preoccupied with their posts. There were two more above her on the ledges leading up to a hole in the rock-face– a cave. 

 

Go. Heat hot and arrogant sliced through her skull, jabbing at her forehead and through her temples. She winced, glaring at the sky, but it was not Ikaros who drew her gaze. It was the strange, wailing energy that had drawn her here, something that drew her forward now, holding her to the cave. 

 

She knelt, unslinging her bow from her back, and readied an arrow, widening her aim so that it missed, hitting the cliff above the guards in front of the cave. 

 

She ran, keeping close to the side of the mountain, out of view of the guards. Another of her arrows pierced one guard in the side of the neck; the other she dealt with quickly, leaving his body on the ground before ducking into the cave.

 

The cave yawned forward, opening into a deep pitch in the mountain. A fire was lit in the corner, and a few desks and carved shelves had been pulled together to form a strange coming together of valuable goods– books and gemstones, and a plethora of coins. 

 

“You’ve arrived at last, dear Kassandra– kind of you to make it. I’ve been waiting oh so patiently.”

 

His words were like honey– sickly-sweet and slow to drip. Kassandra growled softly, her footsteps silent over the sandy floor as she edged closer into the cavern, closer to Elpenor’s bastard shadow. 

 

“I’m going to kill you where you stand,” she snarled. “You sent me to kill my father!”

 

“And, like a dutiful soldier, you carried out my command.” Elpenor neared, the firelight catching his eyes so that they glowed amber. “You did, didn’t you? Sending my men to kill him in your stead would be a terrible waste of resources.”

 

“He’s dead, you snake. He’s dead because I wanted to kill him.”

 

“And did he tell you that your mother is alive and well? That you’ve lived your life under the false impression that you were alone, that your bloodline is so much more than it seems?” 

 

Kassandra balked. “My mother is dead–”

 

“Is that what you think? The blood of the gods is not so easily destroyed, little one,” Elpenor mused. “ You is what we want, you know. You know so little of the power you hold.”

 

“Stay away from me. Stay away from my family. ” Her vision melted down into a needle-fine point. All she could see was Elpenor. All she could hear was her heartbeat thrumming in her own chest.

 

Elpenor unsheathed his blade, a too-wide smile on his face as he held it toward her. “I know what you came here to do, Kassandra of Kephallonia. I am prepared to die for my cause.” He tilted his head, laughed softly and asked, “Do you even know why it is that you fight?” 

 

Kassandra saw only red when she rushed at him, her blade drawn and the sword pulled from her sheath, and her movements were thoughtless as they exchanged blows. Parry away from her throat. Block the strike to her head, chest, shoulder. Each strike and she knocked him backward a little more, panting as she did so, every blow stronger and stronger, fueled by fear, anger, rage. 

 

“You don’t know who I am.” She knocked him down to his knees, tilted her sword so that the blunt end rammed into his jaw. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

 

Elpenor coughed once, spat out blood. “I know you better than you know yourself, misthios.”

 

“Silence,” Kassandra hissed, drawing out his last breath in a thin crimson line. “Your life is ended. Not another word out of your mouth, snake.”

 

She threw him across the room and lunged, one foot against his chest. With an angry twist she cracked bone under her sandal, cursing under her breath as Elpenor choked on his own blood. 

 

Don’t question me,” she hissed, stooping to one knee, pushing hair and sweat out of her eyes. “Don’t. Don’t.” 

 

He was dead. She’d finished him. His blood was on her blade and she should have felt some pride at that, but all she heard was her own heartbeat roaring in her ears. She felt like she was choking. The whole room smelled of blood. 

 

She had to move. Had to focus.

 

She had to do this.

 

She sifted through Elpenor’s robes, carding through his belongings– coins and trinkets, a seal and some papers. The papers she grabbed and crammed into her pockets, but one trinket in particular grabbed her attention. 

 

A triangle-shaped object, one made from a material she’d never seen before. It glowed with the same sort of energy that hummed loudly in her ears and her palm ached when she held it, her skin and bones burning like she was holding fire. 

 

She put the trinket in the bag at her hip and closed her hand, reopening it to test the sensation. The spot where the object had sat still burned. 

 

There was more– the books that lined the shelves were ancient histories, stories of the gods and their affairs, of heroes and nymphs, of titans and primal spirits. A mask and black robe were folded neatly at one end of the table; Kassandra stashed those away too, looking the shelves over one last time, combing for anything of importance. 

 

What she’d done here… what she’d started… what had she started? If Elpenor was any sort of figurehead in the cult, killing him wasn’t going to go unnoticed. If anything, she might have made things worse. 

 

Did it matter? There was still so much unknown– so many threads to untangle. 

 

She’d never questioned a kill before.

 

She pulled her own hood over her head and ducked out of the cave, climbing up the mountainous terrain until she was safely out of view.

~

 

“They meet after dark, in a cave beneath a temple in the Sanctuary of Delphi. Right under our noses.”

 

She had everything she’d found out on a table. A handful of notes, a few coins, and the amber piece. The notes were written in a sprawling script. The coins were from various places, and each of the gems glimmered no matter their color

 

She still wasn’t sure what the amber was for . It resonated in her hand, and she couldn’t hold it for long. The energy it carried with it buzzed uncomfortably in the back of her head, like an itch she couldn’t quite scratch. 

 

“They’re meeting tonight, Herodotos. I have to go.”

 

Herodotos was quiet, his gaze fixed on the far side of the room. He hadn’t spoken for several minutes. 

 

“Herodotos?” Kassandra prompted. 

 

“I’d heard stories– phantom tales of masked men roaming the streets, killing those that crossed them. There are many in Athens who believe that the Greek world is sick, Kassandra– this war… it’s unending. Fed by bloodlust.”

 

“And?” 

 

“A cult like this could… feed such a war, if it truly is as big as they claim.”

 

‘The whole of the Greek world’, that was what he said,” Kassandra murmured, scowling. “Plunging the world into war.”

 

“There are many that believe the war should have ended years ago.”

 

“Fuck what other people think,” Kassandra said. “All the Spartans know is war. They won’t end until they know they’ve won.” 

 

“That may be so, but the man I serve–”

 

“Herodotos, night is falling,” Kassandra said. “In the past few days my mother has been mentioned more than once, and I have reason to believe my own life may be in danger. The Cult of Kosmos is meeting tonight. I need answers, and I’m going to get them.”

 

“Know that there is more at stake here than one life, Kassandra. Even if it is yours, and even if is your mother’s.” Herodotos fixed her with a firm gaze. “I mean no disrespect, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Kassandra parroted, sighing. “You’re led by duty, Herodotos. I can see that now.”

 

“Aren’t we all, in one way or another?” 

 

“I’ve had enough of this.” She pulled away. “Whatever you stand for, I need to know there’s someone watching my back, Herodotos.”

 

He nodded. “I can be that for you.”

 

“You’ll stay out of view?” 

 

He pulled his hood up over his head and smiled at her, his eyes bright. “I’m used to being overlooked.”

 

~

 

“How do I look?” 

 

“Terrifying.”

 

Behind the white mask she wore, Kassandra chuckled. Her eyes were fixed on the cave around the bend; the edges of Ikaros’ perception had warned her of the guards’ presence just beyond, but she was dressed like one of them now. 

 

Except, well, she was… not exactly known for… not causing a scene. 

 

“How do you feel?” 

 

“Scared,” she whispered in spite of herself. “Small.”

 

“I understand,” Herodotos nodded. “Have you thought on what I said?”

 

“If I get out of this alive, I will listen to what you have to say, Herodotos,” Kassandra said. “There’s too much on my mind to…” she sighed. “I need to find out what the Cult knows about me. About my family. About… my mother.”

 

Herodotos faced her, his arms at his sides. He looked almost awkward standing there, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. It would have been amusing if she wasn’t so nervous.

 

“Stay focused,” he said. “Don’t do anything rash, Kassandra.”

 

“Me? Rash?” She cracked a smile. 

 

He nodded toward her, quiet.

 

She went into the cave. 

 

It was dark– few guards lingered at the entrance, at least until she wound her way further, where the cave began to open into a proper cavern, one that grew increasingly brighter with firelight as more torches lit the path ahead. 

 

After a few minutes she saw soldiers, dressed in the same dark armor she’d seen them wearing at the snake ruins, carrying the same gilded weapons and holding the same snake-guarded shield in their hands. Black and gold. Heavy armor. For decorum as much as it was for their own protection. 

 

Ceremony. Craftsmanship. Men willing to die for their cause, and no doubt to protect the people waiting beyond the winding path.

 

Her hands closed into empty fists. She missed her weapons. She wasn’t counting on much– all she needed was to come out alive. 

 

The line of soldiers stopped, and so did Kassandra. 

 

The cavern beyond was far bigger than she’d expected– too big. There was a cold kind of light within. At the center of the cavern the ground branched three different ways, and most of the cavern’s occupants linged on the ground between the three branches.

 

Three branches– three different rooms. A fire roared in one, and a low groaning echoed from the branch on the far right. Everyone wore the same black cloaks that Kassandra wore; as she neared the first of the costumed figures, she noted that the masks they wore were roughly the same too, though adorned with slightly different variations. 

 

She took a deep breath and lingered, letting her curiosities play out for a moment. 

 

Sitting atop the ceiling was a fixture that anchored a huge bronze snake to the rocks. The serpent curled in on itself until it hung over the center branch, its tongue flicked outward, its eyes a gleaming black. 

 

Standing beneath it, Kassandra felt very, very small. 

 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” An old woman’s voice spoke from behind her. “Such a creature demands admiration– the snake is a hunter no one sees coming. Its poison can fell even the mightiest of foes.”

 

“Truly dangerous,” Kassandra echoed, nodding. 

 

The woman appeared at her right– shorter than she was, with her face covered with a mask carved in white porcelain, ornate crimson markings atop her forehead. 

 

“You must be new,” she said, fixing her with a look that somehow burned into the center of Kassandra’s being. “Not many choose to stand beneath the serpent’s gaze for so long.”

 

Kassandra swallowed. “I am new,” she said. “I… what is this place? Who are these people?” 

 

The woman waved a long, slender hand. “Merchants, shipbuilders, and politicians from all around the Greek world. Athenian, Spartan– neither matter here. The war doesn’t exist. Each of us fights for the strength of the Cult. Only together will we be strong enough to pursue our goals.”

 

It sounded exactly like the sort of cultish horseshit she’d been expecting. At least that hadn’t failed her. The giant snake had been quite the surprise so far, however.

 

“And… what exactly are our goals?

 

“You’ll learn all that and more soon enough.”

 

“Of course.” Kassandra bowed her head and stepped away from the woman, drawing closer to the tiny cluster of people at the edge of the center branch. 

 

Her attention, however, was toward the flames flickering on the right side of the cavern. She plucked at the edges of her cloak, picking tentatively over the stones connecting one branch to another. The flames were only the beginning of the right side of the cave; a rock wall rounded into another, smaller space, where an assortment of shelves and tables were covered with books and papers. 

 

Kassandra’s brow furrowed. Were they really so arrogant that they thought no one would be able to sneak in and find the documents they’d hidden? 

 

She considered looking over her shoulder, but the white of the mask she wore was sure to catch the firelight, alerting anyone looking to her presence. She ducked into the alcove instead. 

 

Stupid. 

 

“Don’t be rash, that’s all he told me,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she pored over the notes splayed on one of the walls. “I–”

 

Names. 

 

More on the table, maps and letters on the desk. 

 

Names. People she sort of recognized. A sailor off of the Obsidian Islands– a woman in Athens. Cultists– the ones knitting together the cult across the entirety of the Greek world, just as the soldiers and Elpenor himself had promised.

 

But there was more than that. Journals, written in different scripts– some of them sprawling, others in shorthand, blockier. She could see only brief phrases in the faint light, but what she did see– boy in training, stormclouds, titans, artifacts, priestess of hera– was enough to make her shove several of the longer notes into the pocket hidden in the folds of her cloak. 

 

And there was more– because of course there was. 

 

The Cult of Kosmos had, singlehandedly, been churning the war onwards for years now, because they had hands--and weapons--on both sides. 

 

“Shit,” she sighed, leaning against one of the tables for a moment. This was… so much bigger than she’d ever thought it could be– and far more dangerous. 

 

She wouldn’t be able to take them down alone. Hell– not even all the men on the Adrestia would be able to wipe out such a force. Who could know where they began and ended? How far their morals had already spread?

 

Shit. 

 

“The mother is the one we need– she is the key to the bloodline.”

 

Kassandra reached for a spear she didn’t have. 

 

Two cultists rounded the corner, stopping just short of the alcove. The taller one was a man, broad-shouldered and fat, with a beard that hung down low under his mask. The second was slimmer, a woman, and her mask carried different markings than her companion– though companion didn’t seem like exactly the right word. 

 

“Bah! The mother may as well be dead– it’s the sister we need. Two demigods at our hand would cause quite the stir– I’d pay to witness that fight.”

 

“Perhaps if you held tighter to your drachmae, you’d have a better chance of winning your bets, you bastard.”

 

“Says you! When was the last time you–”

 

“If we may return to the matter of hand,” the woman said. 

 

The man scoffed. “The mother is the most important– she’s fucked the gods twice over. A woman like that is a woman we need on our side.”

 

“You aren’t thinking straight–”

 

“We need another opinion! I can’t debate in these conditions.”

 

“You can’t debate at all to begin with, idiot. I should be the one complaining, I’m the one paired with your foul stench.”

 

“Quiet! You, over there skulking in the shadows. Come here.”

 

Kassandra grunted quietly but did as she was told. “Yes?” 

 

“Your opinion– should we hunt Deimos' mother or his sister?”

 

She swallowed. “Who is Deimos?”

 

“Who is– who’s ass have you been hiding under, girl? Deimos is our Champion– the mightiest of us all. Those who cross him don’t live to see the end of the fight.”

 

“He’s a demigod– the child of Zeus. The Cult raised him. He knows no sides, and only does the Ghost’s bidding.”

 

The broad-shouldered man snorted loudly. “Tell that to his mother.”

 

“She is not his mother, even if she thinks so,” his comrade answered. “He does not answer to her.”

 

“He barely answers to anyone.”

 

“He answers to the Ghost.”

 

The man coughed, then spat a wad of saliva on the sand-ridden floor. “The mother would be an asset– a powerful bloodline for us to use. The sister would be another weapon outside of our control.”

 

“Even gods can be tamed.” 

 

“Tell that to the gods,” the man said. His eyes met Kassandra’s, and she suppressed a shudder. “So then,” he said, “who would be of more use? The mother? Or the sister?”

 

“The sister,” Kassandra answered evenly. “She would serve as a powerful ally to further our cause.”

 

“Finally,” the woman nodded, “someone with a decent head on their shoulders.”

 

An audible ringing silenced the man as he whipped around the glare at the woman beside him. Kassandra bristled; the amber piece in her pocket burned where it sat, and she felt a sort of tugging from it, like a hand beckoning her forward. 

 

She stepped, picking her way across the stones again until she’d reached the center branch. She’d missed it before– a pyramid of glowing amber sat on a small pedestal in the center of the little islet, and fuck, she could hardly think straight. 

 

The longer she looked at it, the more she wanted to touch it. Her eyes strained as she stared. She swore she could see golden sparks flickering up from each of the conjoined pieces. How had she missed it before? It was all she could look at now, but it was missing a piece. 

 

Her piece. 

 

She pulled it from her pocket and reached out her hand, pressing the piece into the gap in the pyramid. Each of the pieces flickered, then let out a pulse of energy when they were all together again. 

 

She inhaled and smelled burning wood. She blinked and was back in the cavern again. 

 

“Does it sing to you, as it sings to me?” It was the old woman from before. She’d appeared next to Kassandra without her realizing. 

 

“It… does,” Kassandra’s breath caught in her chest. It hurt to look at the pyramid. “I… what is it?” 

 

“Hundreds of our members spend their days searching for pieces as these,” the old woman said. “Together, the artifact they create is one that can be activated by only Deimos’ hand.” 

 

“Deimos…” Kassandra whispered. That name again. The demigod– their Champion. 

 

“My son,” said the woman proudly. “I raised him– we was just an infant when he came to me. A gift from the gods themselves.” 

 

“Is…” Kassandra swallowed. “Is he really your son?” 

 

“Of course he is,” the woman snapped. “How dare you ask such a question! Who do you think you–”

 

Something boomed in the distance. 

 

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and gathered around the center of the room, around the pedestal carrying the pyramid. 

 

“He’s here,” the old woman whispered, her temper forgotten. “Step back and don’t make a sound– if you value your life, that is.”

 

Kassandra did, so she moved back and stayed quiet. 

 

This could only go badly. 

 

Deimos was a proud figure, tall and muscular, a hulk of a man. He wore white and gold armor that jingled when he moved, and his boots thudded heavily against the ground where he walked. 

 

He was also carrying a still-bleeding head.

 

It would have been funny if he didn’t have the aura of a man capable of killing everyone in the room. 

 

“Elpenor,” he growled, “is dead.”

 

And then he threw the head across the room. 

 

It squelched where it landed, leaving a trail of wetness where it slid. Nobody moved; few seemed capable of acknowledging that he was there. The very air seemed to crackle when he moved. The entire cavern was quiet. Not even the old woman made a sound. 

 

Kassandra believed them now– understood why they called him their champion. He just… was. 

 

“One of you is a traitor,” Deimos said, “who has broken their oaths– put the rest of you in danger.”

 

You, Kassandra thought, not ‘us’.

 

He sauntered past everyone in the room, headed for the artifact. The pyramid seemed to hum as he neared. “I will expose the betrayer.”

 

Someone was going to die. 

 

His gaze was slow as he picked them over one by one, circling in front of them. Kassandra resisted the urge to reach up and feel that her mask was in place; his eyes seemed to pierce the porcelain until he saw straight through what lied beneath. 

 

“You.” He tugged one of the cultists away with easy, shoving him toward the artifact. 

 

The slender man reached out and touched a hand against it as if practiced, and Deimos put his palm to the amber and shut his eyes, breathing in deep. The man flinched. Sparks of pure light flickered upward from the pyramid’s point. 

 

Deimos grunted, then shoved the man away. “Go.”

 

He gazed toward their circle again. 

 

Kassandra eyed the artifact warily. It called to her in a language that didn’t have words. Ribbons of light seemed to trace through the air toward her. She wondered if Deimos could see them– she hoped not. 

 

“You.” Another chosen, a woman this time. Deimos again went to the artifact, and the woman again put her hand to the amber, as if used to the action. 

 

What was the artifact exactly? What was it for? It didn’t… seem of this world, it seemed… strange somehow. Like it wasn’t supposed to exist. And it made her head ache. 

 

“You.” 

 

No one moved. 

 

Kassandra’s heart leapt into her chest. 

 

Deimos was staring at her. 

 

She moved, though everything in her screamed not to, and her every muscle seemed to lock with the tiniest step forward. Gods, she was stupid– this is what Herodotos had meant when he’d said not to be rash–

 

Instinct and necessity won out. She strode forward and put her hand to the amber. 

 

Deimos followed. 

 

Instantly, she was somewhere else. 

 

Sparta, maybe– the very air filled with smoke, ash clouding her vision. She recognized the mountains beyond her, and the temples lining them. She recognized–

 

No. Shit, where–

 

A battlefield, so much fire and smoke and screaming that she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear anything but her own heartbeat. She–

 

What he needed to see–

 

–the children on the mountain, the guard with Alexios in his hands, her tiny body knocking all three of them over the edge. 

 

Ikaros, screaming above. 

 

–the battlefield, the same battlefield. And Deimos. A spear in his hands. A shield. Someone’s shield. He threw out his hand, and–

 

Lightning, like the epicenter of a typhoon. The storm surrounded him and the winds howled, churning smoke and ash together as one. 

 

Lightning. From his own hands–

 

–the son of Zeus.

 

She shrank into herself, came back into her own head in the same second that she snatched her hand away. Lightning sparked across the pyramid’s pieces and struck her hand, filling her whole body with a warmth that sprang to life in her chest and stayed there, buzzing powerfully. 

 

Deimos stared at her. No one in the room dared move. 

 

She stared at him, really stared– and the image she had seen, the way she’d known he was seeing it too–

 

“Alexios?” She breathed. 

 

“Who are you?” He asked. 

 

Time unfroze; she was aware of her own breathing again. Deimos shoved her toward the cultists and grabbed another man. He roared and the cultists did back up, none of them moving more than an inch, all of them flinching as Deimos brought the man’s head into the pyramid once and then again, shattering it, throwing amber to the floor. 

 

Kassandra watched. She watched as Deimos– her brother– beat the man to death, threw him to the ground and continued punching him, until a pool of blood drained from his head and his forced-open eyes were sunken in their sockets. 

 

She watched, and then she left, brushing past the soldiers at the entrance without a single word. They didn’t follow her. She would have fought them all to death if they had. 

 

She retched the second she was outside the cave. Wandered until she was far out of sight, waited until she saw Herodotos before relaxing at last. When her mask was off, she could finally breathe again. 

 

“How–”

 

“My clothes,” she said, shaking her head. “My spear.”

 

“But–”

 

“Please, Herodotos,” she said. “My clothes.”

 

He obliged, passing over her weapons and armor, then turned as she dressed. 

 

She swallowed hard and sat down beside him once she was dressed. She held her spear in her hands and turned it over, running her thumb lightly over the flat of the blade.

 

“Kassandra.” Herodotos’ voice was soft. “Are you alright?”

 

“They have a champion– a warrior stronger than any other,” Kassandra said. “He’s my brother, Herodotos. My brother, whom I’ve thought was dead my entire life. Whose death I’ve… thought I was responsible for, my entire life.”

“That is… a lot to take in,” Herodotos said, with all the grace of a man who had no idea what to say at all. “Are… you alright?”

 

“No,” Kassandra scoffed. “I’m not. They have an army, Herodotos– the whole of our world is at war and it’s their fault, and they’re after my family– my mother, no doubt my father, and… and me, and… and…” She snarled. “And I’m not strong enough to stop them. I don’t have an army.”

 

Herodotos was silent a moment. “The man I work for lives in Athens,” he said. “He has the resources you need.” 

 

“Athens?” She stood, strapping her spear to her back. “Herodotos–”

 

“His name is Perikles,” Herodotos said, raising his hands in a faux surrender. “If we speak to him about what you’ve found–”

 

Perikles?” Kassandra thundered. “The ruler of Athens?” 

 

“Kassandra, please–”

 

“Fuck you, Herodotos, and fuck your war,” Kassandra growled. “My mother is alive. My brother is a weapon. The Cult is after all of us and I want them back.”

 

Heat flared under her palms and she hissed, curling her fingers into fists. She could barely breathe. Shadows curled at the edges of her vision, and Ikaros burbled mournfully from somewhere just above her. 

 

“I will help you get your family back, Kassandra,” Herodotos said. “Athens is a big city, with many there who will be of use to us. Some of them may have information about your mother.”

 

“I’m not here to fight in your war,” Kassandra said, glaring at him. 

 

“I would never ask that of you. But in order to take down the Cult, fighting may be required.”

 

“I–” Kassandra sighed. He was right. “We travel to Athens, then. But I don’t like this, Herodotos. I just want… I want to see my mother again. That’s all I care about. I want my family back.”

 

“And you’ll get it.” He looked her square in the eyes. “If anyone deserves it, Kassandra, it’s you.” 

 

She twisted her hands together, hissed as something sharp needled at her palms. She looked down just as a blue spark jumped from her hand and fizzled into the air. 

 

“Kassandra?” Herodotos stared at her, his head tilted. “Are you alright?”

 

“I–” she flexed her hands, curling and uncurling them into fists, in and out. The heat beneath her skin was growing, and so too was the buzzing in her chest, until both sensations were too much to ignore. “I don’t know.”

 

She stared down at her hands, her heart racing, and clasped them together. A blue streak ran the length of one palm to the other, glimmered in the air when she separated her hands. When the energy disappeared, the air around her smelled of iron. 

 

“What… exactly happened to you in that cave?” Herodotos asked. 

 

Kassandra stared at him, desperate for an answer and finding none. “I… don’t know.”

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