36. Nyssa
Nyssa
Furious waves crashed into the bow of the ancient ship, mirroring my foul mood. The sting of the sea spray soaked me instantly, improving absolutely nothing about the situation I had found myself in.
Now I was livid and wet.
And not in the fun way.
From the moment my boots slammed into the worn timber deck, I knew Poseidon had no intention of giving us an easy pass.
I also knew he’d be out for my blood in particular.
Sails snapped riotously in the winds overhead, and an enormous wave slammed into the side of the creaking ship, jolting me into a splintering wooden railing.
Leander’s dying face flashed through my mind — his bloodstained eyes, his colourless skin, the way his face froze in fear as I cleaved soul from body. The way it felt for my soul to absorb his… that lecherous, oily feeling of it being devoured within me.
The ship lurched again, drawing me back to the present. The memory washed away with the tide. I choked it down, all of it. I had no time to dwell on the dead when Poseidon’s ocean was trying to make a ghost out of me.
Lightning forked through the turbulent skies, illuminating the other four champions struggling to find their sea legs. We were all that remained after Ares’ violent culling: Aros, Apollo, Archimedes, Caelus, and me.
My eyes darted to the white-haired warrior wrenching down on thick ropes, his obscenely muscled arms flexing beneath the soaked white fabric of his tunic.
His lightning-scarred hands worked quickly, the motions seeming oddly well-practiced as he secured the lines to prevent the sails from whipping free.
The sight of him hit me like a blow to the stomach. I hadn’t seen him in almost a fortnight, despite his promises to return. He had checked my wounds, tucked me into bed… and then vanished for the next two weeks.
I waited hours for him.
Then a day.
Then two.
It took a week before I realised, he wasn’t coming back at all.
Eventually, Charon had done what he always did — rescued me from the darkest recesses in my mind, one terrible joke at a time.
Now, as I stood here, drenched in seawater and rage, I met his gaze with nothing but icy indifference. I was done waiting. Done being vulnerable. No matter how much it hurt to seal off my heart once more.
Poseidon’s voice boomed from everywhere and nowhere, carried to us on the gale winds.
“The ocean is an unpredictable beast. It does not bow or yield to any but me. It will break those it finds unworthy.”
Another wave struck against the ship, and the vessel groaned under the relentless assault. I was thrown sideways into the rails, in danger of toppling over, until my shadows poured out of my hands, latching onto the timeworn wood — temporarily saving me from Poseidon’s vengeance.
“Behold my trial! All you have to do is make it to shore. Navigate these cursed waters. Avoid the sea’s beasts, if you can — and you might survive.
Fail, and the waters shall lay claim to you.
You may not die from drowning, but there are some fates worse than death, champions, ” the sea god seethed.
“I’ve got five hundred gold drachmas that says I make it to shore first!” Aros yelled across the deck.
“Make it a thousand!” Archimedes returned, grinning.
“I’ll take that bet,” I said, the challenge igniting something within me. I locked eyes with Aros, matched his competitive smirk, and — for the first time in days — felt lighter.
Apollo even cracked a quick smile despite the next wave battering down upon us. He dropped the rope he’d been tying, eliciting a roar of exasperation from Caelus — a direction I was pointedly not looking — and gestured quickly.
I’ll bet on the underdog , he signed, teasingly.
It stole a huff of laughter from my lips.
“I’m not sure any of us would say she’s the underdog,” Aros quipped.
“That’s for damn sure,” Caelus muttered.
I turned sharply, hands landing on my hips in a gesture I’d seen Lethe use a thousand times before delivering a scathing reprimand. I inhaled quickly, ready to confront the storm-wielder and his distance — when I heard it.
A single lingering note on the salty sea air.
It tickled something inside my mind, not unlike the twang of Fate’s threads. The note swelled delicately, folding into a chorus of ethereal harmonies. It danced like the waves, rising and falling in a hypnotic melody that drew us to the edge of the boat.
Apollo was the only god who did not move. His gaze swung around wildly in confusion.
What is it? he signed.
A melody, I gestured, itching to climb the rail, compelled to get closer, to learn where it came from.
His brows furrowed, lips curving down at the corners. He turned to the horizon, where a small dash of land had appeared from within the stormy blue sea. That was the source of the music, and I was driven by a relentless need to get there.
I had just moved to join the others on the railing when a firm arm hooked around my waist, dragging me down to the deck. My back slammed into the timber, and the air whooshed from my lungs as pain radiated from the impact.
“What the fuck?!” I cursed, looking up at golden eyes blazing with fury, the urge to climb the railing still riding me.
Sirens, Apollo signed.
Understanding doused my pain like a wave. I smacked my hands over my ears with a sharp slap. The song still trickled in, but its effects were less intense, and I could push through the fog blanketing my senses.
Aros, Caelus, and Archimedes wavered on the railing, rocking with the ship’s rhythm, entranced.
Apollo’s hands covered my own. A soft golden glow flowed from his warm, umber fingers. All at once, the song stopped. Whatever he had done had given me back full function of my mind and limbs.
“Thank you,” I said — only, no sound came out.
My brows quirked in confusion as I tried again. Still nothing.
It dawned on me: it wasn’t just my voice I could no longer hear, but everything had gone eerily quiet. The waves still crashed against the ship and the wind still tore at my hair. But I couldn’t hear any of it.
My world had been silenced.
I reached up, tugging at my lobes. They didn’t feel any different. But then, Apollo’s deft fingers caught my attention as they formed shapes in the air.
I used a tangent of my power to remove your ability to hear, he signed.
I stifled a gasp, mourning the music I would no longer dance to.
It is temporary, he continued. Once I remove the block, your hearing will return. But for now, you are safe from the sirens.
A spray of water painted my skin like freckles, and I frowned, caught between the phantom sensation of touch without sound and the oppressive weight of the silence.
A second splash followed the first.
Then a third.
I knew before turning that three splashes would not bode well. I twisted my neck, and sure enough — three splashes, in this instance, meant three hapless gods leaping overboard in a desperate attempt to reach the siren’s island.
I loosed an exasperated sigh, ignoring the fact that I would have dived right in beside them if Apollo hadn’t intervened.
Bracing my thighs against the balustrade, I uncoiled the darkness within me, shaping it into an ink-black rope.
With a flick of my wrist, I twirled it above my head and lassoed the floundering shape of Archimedes, who was closest.
Apparently, swimming was not one of his many strengths.
With a silent heave, I dragged him back toward the boat, where Apollo had fashioned a giant net from stands of pure sunlight to scoop up the dripping god.
Arch’s face was pure devastation as he fought desperately to get back in.
Apollo leaned forward and clapped his hands over Arch’s ears. This time, I saw the golden bubble pulse from his palms before it faded, clarity washing over Archimedes’ features.
I left Apollo to his explaining while I attempted to hook another god-sized fish from this deathtrap of an ocean.
Just as I looped the shadow rope under Caelus’ arms, a glimmer of movement beneath the water caught my eye. I paused, eyes darting around the churning waves, trying to make sense of what I’d seen. Caelus thrashed, fighting the rope, his gaze fixed on that cursed island.
Again, a flash of green scales flitted through the sea.
Panic surged through. I yanked hard on the rope, reeling him in as fast as I could manage. A second pair of hands grasped the line behind me — Arch. A quick glance confirmed it. Apollo stood ready to scoop Caelus from the sea like a giant ladle in an overly salty sea soup.
I kept wrenching and dragging the waterlogged god as the ocean churned beneath him — a giant set of maws closing in fast.
I had seconds. Maybe less.
The ocean’s surface broke with a roar. A disgustingly large serpentine head emerged, its long needle-like teeth snapping at the air where Caelus had been a second prior.
But there was no time to catch my breath, no time to acknowledge the idiot of a storm-wielder sprawled on the deck beside me, because the serpent had turned its attention elsewhere: the other fool of a god still in the creature’s domain, crashing his way through the surf.
Aros.
Oblivious, he ploughed forwards. He was roughly three-quarters of the way to the island now, little more than a speck of red in the distance. Well beyond the reach of my shadowy lasso.
I don’t know what to do!
I exchanged panicked glances with the gods beside me, none of us able to do anything but watch. Aros cut through the water, blissfully ignorant to the danger he was in — the lure of the siren song wrapped too thickly around him.
He did not see the sky darken or the shadow of the beast behind him.
My grip on the railing tightened. I opened my mouth to shout, to warn him, but even if he could’ve heard…
The serpent struck. It exploded from the sea in a spray of foam and scales. A blur of green lunged from the depths, its fangs snapping closed around Aros mid-stroke. His head twisted, our eyes meeting just as the beast’s monstrous jaws shut.
His face contorted — not in his usual haughty defiance, but in raw horror. He realised, just as I did, that this time… the god of war would lose the battle.
Aros opened his mouth in a soundless scream as the beast dragged him under.
He was gone.
Just gone.
Nothing but bubbles and a flash of red beneath the waves.
My knees buckled. I collapsed, crying out soundlessly in despair — but instead of crashing into the worn wooden deck, a pair of wet, muscular arms caught me.
I was too lost in the fresh stab of grief to care who they belonged to. I didn’t care that I’d been furious at him an hour before, and I didn’t care that he was grieving too.
Caelus just held me as I stared at that distant patch of ocean where our friend had disappeared. He didn’t let go when Apollo signed something I didn’t care to interpret. He held tight as the waves pounded again into the ship’s side.
I didn’t know how much time passed. Eventually we stood, and Caelus left to rig the sails. Arch and Apollo busied themselves, probably readying the ship to sail on — with one less sailor.
But still I stared at that spot.
So, when the waters churned and bubbled once more, I was the only one to witness the miracle. I shouted, forgetting none of them could hear me. I lunged to grip the railing, fingernails digging deep gouges into the timber as I stared intently at the whirling water, unblinking.
Then I saw it.
Red.
A fleck of colour, moving steadily closer.
I leaped back as the ocean surged up over the railing, drenching me again. Water crashed onto the deck, leaving two figures as it receded. Caelus and Apollo reacted instantly, unsheathing weapons as fast as their next breath, but Arch had been knocked sideways by the force of the water.
The first figure was one I knew well: Aros, waterlogged and wounded. His shirt had been shredded, and deep gashes from the serpent’s teeth covered his entire upper body. His breathing was ragged, his skin pale, painted in blood and saltwater.
Somehow, impossibly, the god remained conscious. Though, a haunted look lingered in his warm, amber eyes.
The second figure stood protectively over him. Her fair, ocean-tinted arms were thrown wide, delicate fingers splayed, but her azure gaze was steady — unyielding.
Pale blue locks flowed around her as if caught in an unseen current, and her gown shimmered with the same subtle movements.
It was crafted not with fabric but woven from the sea itself.
It clung to her form like a tide grasping at the shore, appearing strangely translucent, shifting with the subtle colour variations of water — aqua, jade, seafoam green.
She was a nereid — a goddess of the sea.
Her lips moved, though with Apollo’s block still in place, I could not hear her words. Her gestures, however, were slashing and violent. The goddess was clearly furious.
I gestured to my ears, shaking my head. She paused, then turned to Aros. The sea goddess crouched down to his level, delivered her message, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His face softened as she stood.
Without looking back, the nereid dove gracefully over the railing and disappeared back into the ocean, leaving five speechless gods in her wake.