Chapter 16 Nyssa
Nyssa
Gods can tell the instant they set foot in another realm.
The air weighs heavier on our skin, our power hums with a strange dissonance through our bones, and every sense takes a moment to adjust. Every change hitting at once feels like an assault of the most precise kind.
Therefore, it was easy to discern who had never set foot in Ephemeron before.
Of all who stepped through the portal to land in the large, ornate chamber, only Evie struggled with the sensory assault. We waited as she cried out and keeled over. Aros was there to catch her and whisper steady reassurances into her ear until the feeling passed.
A few minutes later, with tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, Evie straightened. She met my waiting gaze and inclined her head.
Pride bloomed in my chest as I nodded back. She’d handled it better than other full-blooded gods I’d personally witnessed on the rare occasions that my father brought Charon and I along with him to the mortal realm. She’d handled it better than I did the first time.
The faint memory of nausea, vertigo, and a churning stomach lingered on the periphery of my mind, quickly dislodged by the sound of something shattering.
Within the broken mess, stood a man clad in a long white robe cinched at the waist, his hand raised as if still holding the now-fragmented pitcher.
“Uh-uh-uh, I, uh,” the mortal stammered. Blinking as if to clear us from his vision, he threw back his hood, revealing a youthful face and smattering of brown curls above pockmarked skin.
“What is the meaning of this racket?” boomed another voice, causing the boy to flinch.
A second figure rounded the corner into the chamber, clad in the same long robes, bee-lining for him. “Did you not clean your hands after pressing olives this morning, Elias? Why must mess follow wherever you go?” the second man scolded, his white, waist-length beard bouncing as he spoke.
Elias said nothing, but Aros’ amused chuckle gave us away.
The old man’s gaze flicked over to us dismissively, then back to the boy.
A heartbeat and a sharp inhale later, his head whipped back around, eyes wide and mouth agape.
His gaze immediately dropped to his feet and he threw himself down onto his knees, disregarding the shattered pitcher he now knelt in.
“Lady Athena, forgive me for I did not see you there—”
The goddess stepped forward with one palm raised. “Hush, Sophocles. No offence has been taken.”
Sophocles blinked up at her, his brows knitted together like two hairy grey caterpillars embracing. “My lady remembers me?”
Athena grinned. Her sandals crunched the clay shards as she offered a hand to the old man. “One never forgets a friend.”
“Even a friend one rarely visits?” Sophocles dared to raise a singular caterpillar brow as Athena helped him to his feet.
She loosed a short bark of laughter. “You have my sincerest apologies, Soph. Time moves differently for us… and my mind has been otherwise preoccupied.”
Sophocles winced, clutching his left knee. Bloodstains now marred the once-pristine fabric, eliciting a frown from the god to my left.
Apollo strode forward, indicating that the man should raise the hem of his robe.
Sophocles froze, his eyes widening as the god of healing approached. Apollo merely rolled his own and lifted the hem himself, crouching to take a closer look at the mortal’s wounds.
May I? he signed.
Sophocles nodded wordlessly, and Apollo placed his hands over the cuts, sealing them in seconds.
“Thank you,” Sophocles breathed, awestruck.
Aphrodite couldn’t help but approach next, clicking her tongue.
“These stains won’t do. Not when this robe was so perfect before.
” She snapped her fingers and the fabric shimmered — stilling, once her powers had removed any trace of the injury.
“There,” she grinned, giggling at the poor, frozen man and his equally dumbfounded underling.
“My Lord Apollo, my Lady Aphrodite… I must confess, I know not why you grace us with your presence.” Sophocles studied Athena for explanation.
“We come because war has found its way to your doorstep,” I answered, drawing their mortal eyes back to the portal — and to the cohort of gods and creatures who came to save the realm of men.
I strode forward slowly, allowing my dual crowns to appear upon my head — letting the men come to their own understanding of what their presence signifies.
“We come because Kronos is already here, ready to make sacrifices out of you all. And we come because we believe you will join us to oppose him.”
Elias looked on the verge of tears, his face turning a sickly shade of chartreuse.
Sophocles breathed a horrified, “It cannot be,” before stooping into a low bow.
“Rise,” I ordered softly. “Rise and stand with us.”
To his credit, the elder swallowed his fear and confusion. When he straightened, his back was not as hunched, his beard not as trembling, and the lines of his weathered face instead bore evidence of grim determination.
“Welcome to Athenos, Lady…?”
“Nyssa. Daughter of Hades.”
He blanched, eyes darting once more to the crowns stacked upon my brow.
“Welcome to Athenos, Nyssa — Lady Death and Queen of all realms.”
An hour later, we found ourselves seated around a circular table in a round war room.
A large, timeworn map covered the bulk of its surface, each of its corners pinned in place by an assortment of daggers.
Miniature wooden models were scattered across it, representing various strongholds and known positions of the gods.
Ithacene, the capital of Athenos, was currently overfilled with figurines representing Caelus, Athena, Apollo, Aphrodite, Artemis, Hestia, Demeter, and three crudely carved lumps supposedly depicting Aros, Evadne, and myself.
Tossed aside was Poseidon’s model, and Hermes’ was tentatively placed in Telaris — the capital of Dromaris, the land of his people — while Hephaestus’ and Arch’s figurines had been set to the side.
Neros was scrubbed out in thick, black strokes, and the rest of the map, depressingly bare. We had no inkling of where Kronos hid, no knowledge of the monster who attacked Thaldon’s capital, nor had we heard any whisper of Ares’ current location.
“What happened in Neros was a tragedy indeed — but how can we be so certain it is the beginnings of war?” A middle-aged woman with dark, slicked back hair and a severe frown questioned.
“You mean aside from Apollo’s prophecy, the fact that Kronos now roams free, and the unnatural blaze that destroyed an entire city?” Caelus snapped back.
I placed my hand atop his, feeling his ire slowly drain away.
The woman, at least, had the sense to appear taken aback. She fidgeted in her seat, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Apologies, my lord.”
He sighed. “Apologies are unnecessary. We have displaced you by arriving unannounced, bearing grave tidings. You mourn your world and your place in it, and it is not my intention to bludgeon those feelings.”
My brows rose, pleasantly surprised at his answer.
“But I must encourage you to shake these feelings in order to focus on how best we can serve your realm… and how we can save as many of your people as possible.”
“As many of our people as possible,” she quietly corrected.
Touche.
The hint of a smile graced his lips as he inclined his head.
“Demetria, where is your scribe?” Athena asked the woman.
She gestured vaguely across the room. “That designation falls to Sophocles and his students in times of war.”
Athena turned to her mortal friend. “Sophocles, we need to send word to all of Ephemeron’s nations. All must know what’s coming and I feel this news would be better received if it comes from another mortal.”
The old man nodded, summoning Elias from where he stood against the wall. “You heard her, boy. We’ve got work to do.”
“And Soph?”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Be sure to include an invitation to meet and speak in person. Somewhere neutral. And soon.”
“Yes, my lady. The next full moon will suit, I think. And I know just the place.” He winked before hurrying from the room with the boy in tow.
“That’s an entire week away.” Artemis pursed her lips, staring at a large island on the southern edge of the map. Lunaris — where her people resided — still unaware of the threats hanging over their heads.
Apollo reached over to grasp his sister’s hand, offering what little comfort he was able.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t go to our people and warn them ourselves?” she asked, her midnight eyes relaying her keen distress.
Athena was the one to answer. “No. We shouldn’t separate unless absolutely necessary. Kronos is likely hoping we’ll do just that, so he — or his soldiers — can pick us off one by one.”
Overwhelm crashed over me and suddenly, I didn’t feel capable of leading an entire army to war; of ushering some to their certain deaths.
Deaths I wouldn’t be able to reverse no matter how much I might wish otherwise.
We were only here because of my decision to bring Caelus back — a decision I still could not find within myself to regret, not even now.
He flipped his hand beneath mine, interlocking our fingers with a light squeeze.
Don’t go there, his voice rumbled through my mind.
Go where?
To whichever dark corner of your mind you just inhabited. We’re going to get through this.
I shot him a small, grateful smile.
Or not, he continued with a slight shrug. But at least if we go, we go together.
Gee, thanks for that, I drawled. Super convincing. A huff of laughter whooshed out my nose.
It worked, though, didn’t it? His returning grin was warmer than the sun, and in that moment, I felt truly seen.
Like maybe, just maybe, we really could do this.
The chances were slim, but maybe we could win.
Fate fucking owed us at least a chance.