Chapter 10
The smell of this place was ancient—older than time itself, yet all too familiar. Tethys knelt beside the altar, a sheer black veil curtaining her face in quiet, despondent, solitude.
“You have done well, daughter, but there is still much to do.”
Tethys raised her eyes, now blurred with tears. “No, Mother. I’ve yet to do anything. The world burns because of me. The continent suffers, because of me,” she replied.
A hand, not quite settled into reality, brushed her cheek. Its touch was a cooling trail across the blazing warmth burning from within her.
“Tell me, dearest, do you know where the child sits?”
Tethys paused, her breath catching on her mother’s words. “What child?”
“He floats between worlds, waiting for you. Save him, daughter.”
The darkness around the altar swirled to life with groaning and wriggling shadows. “Save him, daughter. He waits for you.”
The touch of a hand, once gentle and coated in love, tightened around her throat until Tethys barely drew breath.
“You’re hurting me, Mother,” she choked, struggling against the iron grasp. Her nails dug into the altar’s edge, cutting through the sensitive flesh across her palms.
“He waits for you. Save him, daughter. Save him.” The voice was more persistent now, pushing her toward a hesitant future.
“Let go, Mother. Please,” she begged. Sweat dripped down her brow, stinging her eyes under the suffocating veil.
“He waits for you. Save him.”
Tethys lifted the veil. Sitting on the altar was a boy with yellow hair and milky white eyes.
“Find me,” he whispered, unhinging his jaw. Suddenly her vision blurred and the boy’s image molted into pale flesh, and rotten teeth. Then the darkness swallowed Tethys whole.