Chapter 1 #2
A large shadow fell across their table. “Forgive the delay,” came a smooth voice.
Pythorus approached with effortless grace, his massive serpentine form coiling neatly as he set a round of drinks before them. His scales gleamed like polished rubies under the lantern light, each movement controlled and elegant.
“For my honored guests,” he said, placing the final glass before Liora. “A Solkarian blend. It sharpens the mind and steadies the spirit. You will find it… refreshing.”
She wrapped her fingers around the cool glass, watching the liquid inside swirl with faint, luminous currents. Gratitude stirred within her. Without Pythorus, they would have never gained access to Solkaris. Without him, their mission might have already failed.
Her thoughts turned inward once more, drifting back to the purpose that had brought them here. They had not come to Vale Crossing simply to find freedom. They had come searching for the children of Zeus.
Vale Crossing was a secret place where monsters lived, runaways from the Upperworld, hidden heirs, those who could not survive under laws that feared power beyond human control.
And the triplets possessed something no one else did.
Together, their abilities formed a single force.
Separately, their magic was strong. Elian could read magic like a language, auras, enchantments, the faint scars of tampering.
Zara sensed emotions and hidden intentions, and Liora’s sight of memory and essence.
But when their powers intertwined, something greater emerged.
A resonance. A clarity that cut through deception and disguise.
When they combined their gifts, they could identify demigods. Not just any divine lineage, but specifically those born of Zeus.
Their father was part geryon, and through that blood, they’d always been able to recognize others like them.
But after training under Hecate, their abilities deepened and sharpened.
What had once been limited to geryon lineage expanded under the goddess’s tutelage until they could also sense the unmistakable current of Zeus’s blood moving through the world.
She lifted her drink but did not sip it, her thoughts heavy with the weight of their task. Somewhere in Vale Crossing, perhaps even within this crowded bar, walked the hidden children of a god whose legacy shaped worlds and destroyed them.
And they were meant to find them.
She looked at the basilisk as he lifted his cup and took a long, unrestrained swallow, throat moving as he drained nearly half the contents in a single gulp.
Elian’s brows rose. “Well,” he drawled, amusement curling through his voice, “someone looks relieved.”
Pythorus lowered the cup slowly, golden eyes narrowing with mild suspicion. “Relieved of what, precisely?”
Elian smirked. “That you didn’t actually have to kiss our sister.”
A low, rumbling sound escaped Pythorus, somewhere between a cough and a laugh.
Liora snickered into her drink.
The memory of Zara’s dramatic schemes still lingered vividly in her mind. Her sister had never believed in subtlety, and her pursuit of their co-worker Hektor had been nothing if not spectacular.
“The performance was convincing,” Pythorus said carefully, regaining his composure.
Liora couldn’t help her laughter. The lengths Zara had gone to for Hektor’s attention bordered on legendary. The Drakkon had been stubbornly, infuriatingly restrained about his feelings: silent glances, careful distance, an iron control that Zara seemed determined to shatter.
So, she had done what Zara always did.
She created chaos.
It just so happened that Pythorus was game and wanted to help Zara make the Drakkon jealous. Liora remembered the scene vividly: Zara and Pythorus working side by side, all deliberate affection, playing the part of a devoted companion with theatrical enthusiasm. The effect had been immediate.
Hektor’s composure had fractured.
The Drakkon’s normally controlled demeanor had sharpened into something fierce and territorial.
His gaze had followed them relentlessly, tension radiating from him like heat from flame.
Every casual touch between Zara and Pythorus had drawn a visible reaction: clenched fists, rigid posture, eyes burning with barely restrained possessiveness.
It had taken just a day before he finally admitted what everyone else had already known.
She smiled into her glass. “You should have seen his face when he saw you two here,” she said. “I thought he might actually breathe fire.”
Pythorus made a thoughtful humming sound. “The Drakkon’s reaction was…intense.”
“That’s one word for it,” Elian muttered.
She laughed again, warmth spreading through her chest. It felt good, this ease, this shared amusement, this brief escape from the weight of their purpose.
Moments like these reminded her that even amid danger and divine conspiracies, they were still a family navigating the absurdities of life together.
The basilisk took another measured sip, his expression softening. “Your sister possesses remarkable determination.”
“That’s a polite way to say terrifying,” Elian said.
“Accurate,” she agreed.
A sudden crash shattered the easy warmth of the moment. Sharp, heated, and distinctly territorial voices rose near the bar. The low hum of conversation faltered as attention shifted toward the disturbance.
A cluster of young basilisks had gathered near the counter, their forms coiling and uncoiling with restless energy. They spoke over one another in loud, swaggering tones, all posturing bravado and puffed pride, their hoods flaring slightly as they argued.
One of them struck the bar with a heavy palm, rattling glasses.
Another hissed something sharp in response.
The tension in the room thickened.
Beside her, Elian straightened slowly. The teasing ease drained from his expression, replaced by focused attention. His gaze fixed on the arguing group, pupils narrowing slightly. “I feel something,” he murmured.
She turned toward him. “What kind of something?”
His brow furrowed. “Magical.”
The single word settled heavily between them.
Elian’s sight of auras rarely stirred without reason. He saw what others could not, the shimmer of power, the signature of enchantments, the subtle currents of divine or unnatural energy. If something had caught his attention, it was never insignificant.
Liora didn’t hesitate. She tipped her glass back and drained the last of the glowing liquid in a single swallow. The sharp taste burned down her throat as she set the cup down with a decisive thud against the table.
“Well,” she said, pushing her chair back, “I guess we should find the lovebirds then.”
Understanding flashed immediately across Elian’s face while Pythorus’s golden eyes gleamed with quiet amusement.
Earlier that evening, when they had seen Zara and Pythorus on their “date,” Hektor had reacted like a storm given form, silent and utterly focused.
Without a word to anyone else, he had seized Zara and dragged her from Pythorus, hauling her outside the restaurant while they watched in stunned fascination.
The aftermath had promised drama.
The arguing basilisks near the bar suddenly broke apart, their agitation sharpening into purpose. With sharp hisses and muttered challenges, they began moving toward the exit, broad shoulders bumping into each other and tables as they went.
Pythorus uncoiled smoothly. “I think we should check out what’s happening,” he said calmly, though the alert tension in his posture betrayed his readiness.
“Yeah, there’s something there,” Elian rolled his shoulders. “I definitely want to know what that aura is.”
Without another word, the three of them followed. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, more had gathered. Phones were out, recording the chaos like it was the evening’s entertainment.
Before she could say more, two unmistakably familiar figures emerged at their side: Hektor and Zara. The Drakkon stood rigid and alert, every line of his diamond-scaled body coiled with tension, while Zara wore a distinctly unimpressed expression, irritation sharpening her gaze.
Liora leaned close. “I think,” she whispered dramatically, “we need to triangulate.”
Elian nodded earnestly. “We have a feeling about these guys.”
Zara arched a brow. “Really? Now?”
“Chaos tends to shake loose magic,” Pythorus only shrugged. “Might as well use the opportunity.”
They moved without speaking, instinct guiding them into place.
The triplets triangulated, their powers weaving together in perfect harmony.
The world sharpened. Magic surged through the air, a living current humming against their senses.
Reality seemed to tighten, focus narrowing until only the truth remained.
Then it appeared.
A brilliant white lightning sigil split into existence—visible only to them—burning above the arguing basilisks. It flickered with raw, unmistakable divine energy, its radiance pulsing like a heartbeat.
A mark of Zeus.
Zara stared. “Oh gods…at least three of them are demigods.”
The basilisks kept at it, blissfully unaware.
“We need to talk to them,” she said, “but how do we get their attention?”
Elian gestured toward the growing crowd of phones. “Too late for subtle.”
“I can handle that,” Hektor said.
Zara snapped her gaze to him. “Oh no,” she whispered. “Not that.”
His chest was glowing, ruby-bright, molten, and alive. And then a column of fire roared upward from his mouth, blazing past the awning and lighting the night sky in brilliant red gold. Phones dropped, screams echoed, and the courtyard cleared in seconds.
When the smoke drifted away and the heat faded, only the basilisks remained, stunned, impressed, and mildly offended.
One blinked and muttered, “…okay, that was excessive.”
Another shrugged. “Well, I’m awake now.”
All attention shifted to Pythorus.
Straightening, voice calm and authoritative, he said, “We’re here because some of you are not just basilisks. You are demigods descended from Zeus.”