19. Nyssa
Nyssa
The ancient wooden door swung closed behind me with a rickety groan.
It vanished into thin air, trapping me inside a dark, stagnant space.
Alarm bells rang within me; the feeling of being trapped threatened to overwhelm.
With no way back — not that I wanted to face the sphinx again — the only way out was through.
There’s no way in Tartarus I was getting stuck here for the rest of my immortal days, wherever here was.
The room stretched further than I could see in any direction, but it was far from empty.
Piles upon piles of objects stared back at me — glittering trinkets and gaudy furniture stacked in high rows, leaving barely enough room to walk through.
Faded tapestries balanced precariously on top.
Priceless artworks leaned against the mounds.
Jewels, crowns, and brooches lay buried beneath thick layers of dust, as if they’d be thrown and left wherever they landed.
Dust motes danced through the thick, stale air, illuminated only by a dim light source high above — so high I couldn’t tell where it came from.
This was a treasure-filled graveyard.
A labyrinth within a labyrinth.
I immediately understood how Thallo was lost somewhere in here. But was he the only one? Had Athena already made it out? How many other champions had made it this far, only to lose themselves among the stacks?
A shiver raced down my spine, and I swallowed roughly, wondering how long I’d have to sift through Hermes’ souvenirs to find what he’d taken of mine — what he’d dared to pilfer from my home.
Nothing looked familiar. Nothing tugged on my senses, begging to come home. Not the broken fiddle with its severed strings, nor the golden chalice I’d kicked across the floor. Not even the obsidian bust crafted in the likeness of Hades.
My father’s face silently bore its judgement as fleeting sorrow danced poignantly across my heart. I missed him. I wished he could come back.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled — a weight pressing in. The sensation of being watched. I knew the god of thieves would be keenly aware of all we were doing in his trial. Every choice, every movement, every slip, and every chink in our armour would be analysed.
But was I currently the object of Hermes’ attention — or was someone else marking me as prey?
I moved slowly, each silent step a deliberate decision as I waded through the clutter. I welcomed the potential challenge. The thrill of the hunt.
Let them watch.
Let them plot, and scheme, and wait. It only made the game more interesting, because whoever lurked unseen in the shadows would soon realise the darkness wasn’t their ally. It was mine.
Minutes bled into hours — or maybe it trickled into seconds. I couldn’t tell anymore. Time wasn’t linear in this trial. It was distorted. Dizzying. And that feeling of being watched still lingered.
If I ever get out of here, how many days will remain before the next trial?
Maybe I’d already missed it, stuck in this forgotten trophy room.
I threw my hands up in exasperation, after what felt like hours later. I’d silently scoured countless piles of junk and still recognised nothing as my own.
The heavy silence began to play tricks on me — my mind conjuring fabricated sounds to fill the uncomfortable void: the disgusting scurry of a mouse, the gentle rustle of fabric, the twang of a bowstring being released, the whistle of an arrow slicing through the air?—
When a silver arrow embedded itself in my left shoulder with a thunk , I realised I hadn’t imagined that last sound at all.
My body jerked as it struck, barely allowing half a second to register that I’d just been hit with a fucking arrow before the pain began.
A searing, jagged agony spread from my shoulder to my fingertips, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Every inhale made it burn hotter. Every heartbeat pushed more sweet-scented blood out of the wound.
I tried to move the limb, but it was useless — locked in place by the metal shaft.
Panic flared, but I forced it aside. It had no place on a battlefield. And that’s what Hermes’ final challenge had become. Someone had just attacked me, and I needed to fucking move .
Another glint of silver flashed in my periphery. I reacted without conscious thought, ducking forwards just as my attacker sliced through the air at my back. I spun to face them, instinct riding me hard — but not hard enough.
The sharp edge of a dagger swiped past my face, grazing my cheekbone. It was wielded by a dark, well-trained hand. A woman stood before me, her brunette hair swaying between our bodies.
A glimmer of recognition struck as I realised I was bleeding, not because my reactions were too slow, but because she was abnormally fast.
Diana.
Unfortunately, the daughter of Artemis had inherited her mother’s enhanced senses and dexterity — an advantage not easily overcome in close combat.
“So much for sisterhood,” I grunted as she slashed again. My jaw snapped shut, my eyes narrowing to slits.
“You’re no sister of mine, Underworld whore,” Diana seethed in reply.
Treacherous hag.
I was done playing. Who was she to look down on me? I wasn’t just mad — I was pissed.
A black dagger formed in my outstretched palm, meeting her steel with a metallic clang as it blocked her strike to my chest. Surprise flickered across her features, but she twisted again and threw herself forward.
Diana’s speed far surpassed mine — worse, I was getting slower with every move, and soon she’d be able to land an incapacitating blow.
My left arm still hung useless at my side while my lungs heaved.
I was weakening with every dodge, though Charon would at least be proud that my footwork remained smooth and silent.
Every parry, however, left me shaking. My vision grew hazier with each breath, and the room had begun to whirl.
Something was wrong — something more than a simple arrow wound.
Unease uncoiled in my stomach as I struggled to fend off Diana’s attacks. She was relentless, and I was fading fast.
I glanced at the shaft still embedded in my skin, noticing for the first time a greenish sheen clinging to the silver. The sweet scent of berries drifted past again as fresh blood poured from the wound.
My mind snagged on a scent-induced memory:
I was six years old, roaming the palace gardens, avoiding my studies — and that gargoyle of a tutor. Charon ran beside me, laughing, flashing his dimpled grin. It made my world seem lighter somehow. Less heavy. Less dark.
His grin morphed into something more mischievous.
“Bet I can catch you within a minute, even if I give you a ten-second head start!” Charon dared. “Ten, nine…”
With a squeal, I launched myself forwards into a sprint. Heart racing but unburdened, I ran until the sound of his countdown faded behind me. Hiding behind a huge ebonwood tree, I gasped, trying to stifle my heaving breaths.
“Got you!” Charon roared, jumping around the tree and slapping the trunk beside my head.
I squealed again, as little girls do, and took off running. But instead of the nimble escape I had planned, I tripped on the stone edging of a garden bed.
I landed face-first in the blackened soil, crushing a bed of purple flowers. The sickly-sweet scent of honey and berries filled the air as my cheeks began to itch and redden.
I’d fallen right into a patch of belladonna flowers.
Suddenly, my mind cut through the haze, and I recognised the smell for what it was. The berry-like scent lingering around my wound wasn’t my blood at all.
It was belladonna. Nightshade. Poison.
And I had mere minutes before I succumbed to its paralysis.
With a final burst of energy, I pitched forward, raising the hilt of my dagger high and bringing it down on the skull of an unsuspecting Diana. She crumpled. And then I, too, collapsed in a heap beside her.
My breathing was ragged. Heartbeat erratic. Eyes unfocused. I had no choice but to hope my body could work the poison out of its system before Diana woke — before another opportunistic champion found me — or before I was disqualified.
The poison was winning. Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. Just before I yielded entirely, the searing gaze of Apollo hovered over me.
His expression burned with intensity, imploring me to understand something I had no hope of grasping in my current state. I glanced down at his nimble hands, signing a message far too quickly for my addled mind to decipher.
Then the darkness won.
I fell headfirst into its peaceful hold, and for one long moment, I relished in the stillness.