Chapter 10 #2
Galen and their mother had been Leukos’ whole world until their father’s plans tore them apart.
From then on, Nik and Theo had filled the void.
Training together under Pelagios, the three of them had forged a bond as strong as blood.
And now, back in Achaea, their old friendship had returned with ease.
Nik still had much to prove in the eyes of the Achaeans, but Leukos trusted him again—thanks to Alena.
Snow crunched beneath his boots as he climbed the winding trail. He should have focused on the caves he passed, dark mouths in the mountainside, half-buried in frost and shadow, but his mind was elsewhere.
As always, his thoughts drifted to her.
Alena.
She’d changed everything.
She’d burst into his life like a blinding ray of sunlight—so optimistic, so curious about a world that hadn’t yet crushed her as it had so many others.
He’d tried to keep his distance, but like magic itself, she’d embedded herself into his heart and soul, drawing him out of his despair.
He’d meant every word when he told her she’d breathed life back into him.
The na?ve girl with the bleeding heart and ridiculous auburn hair.
He’d wanted nothing more than to protect her, to shield her from the inevitable cruelty of their world, but she had suffered all the same.
Her sister had seen to that.
Now she was gone, and though he tried to focus on the rebellion, council meetings, and the upcoming wedding, his mind always returned to her.
Where was she? Was she safe?
She’d left to train and seek answers, but when would she return?
A familiar pulse of magic stirred within him, snapping his attention back to the present. Leukos slowed, eyes narrowing, and drew the torch from his pack. With a practised flick, he struck it alight, the flame flaring against the cold.
“Here,” he murmured, more to himself than to Nik.
“Are you sure?” Nik eyed the dark interior warily. “I don’t see what makes this one different from the dozen others we passed.”
“It’s here,” Leukos said, not bothering to explain. “Keep your eyes open.”
He stepped inside. The wind’s howl faded behind them, replaced by a muffled stillness that pressed against his ears. The cave was barren, just stone, a scatter of old twigs, and an unnatural chill that called to him.
At the back, he passed the torch to Nik without looking. “I’ll call for him. Be ready for anything.”
Kneeling before a flat slab of stone, he set down a flagon of wine. With a shallow breath, he unsheathed his dagger and dragged it across his palm. Blood welled up, dripping onto the grey surface.
He muttered the prayer, a shortened version of the one his mother had spoken at the palace altar each winter. Each word tasted like ash, an echo of rituals he no longer believed in.
“North Wind, master of the cold, with breath of ice and wings of dusk, you herald winter’s reign. In your season, we offer blood and wine. Come. Hear me.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the temperature dropped. The torchlight guttered. The air thickened, pressing against his skin like ice-packed snow. Stifling magic filled the cave, coiling around his chest, and a shadow stirred at the edge of his vision.
A voice cracked through the stillness, rough as splintering ice. “You have some nerve, boy. You think a measly offering after years of neglect is enough to appease me?”
The cave trembled under the weight of the words.
Nik dropped to his knees, head bowed, as the cold cinched tighter around them.
The winged figure stepped forward. Leukos stood firm, though a cold knot twisted deep within him—rage and grief mingling in a silent scream.
He hadn’t seen the North Wind in years—not since the days after the massacre, when Agapios had smuggled him out of Megara. He had gone straight to the god’s temple in Thracia, storming through its sacred halls, demanding why his patron had done nothing to save his mother.
The North Wind had met his fury with quiet finality.
“Because she never called for help,” he’d said solemnly. “I didn’t know until it was too late.”
Now, the god appeared as a young man in an elaborate chiton, purple-feathered wings folded neatly at his back. A pulsing blue light shimmered through his shaggy hair and icicle-laced beard. A cold mirror of Leukos’ magic.
Leukos locked eyes with him. His breath hitched, chest tight with fury he could barely contain. “You’re here, aren’t you?” he spat.
The god’s shimmering gaze narrowed, glinting with glacial wrath.
“Leukos…” Nik warned. Summoning a god was one thing; speaking with contempt was another. Mortals who forgot their place rarely walked away whole.
Leukos’ fists trembled at his sides. He forced a breath through his nose and dropped his gaze in reluctant submission. “My magic is fading,” he said, “and I need it back.”
“That’s what happens when you ignore me.” The North Wind plucked the flagon from the altar, sniffed its contents, and took a long swig.
“You never cared for me—only my mother,” Leukos accused, eyes narrowing, “and yet you still Gifted me.”
“Because your mother was a faithful servant,” the god replied coolly. “She prayed to me daily. Every offering, every whispered plea was for you.”
Leukos’ jaw tensed. “I prayed, too. I gave you offerings after we came to an agreement in Thracia.”
“Ha!” The North Wind’s jagged bark of laughter scraped against his skin like frozen snow. “You think one year of half-hearted prayers and a few blood-stained trinkets earn you a lifetime of power?” His eyes gleamed. “I haven’t heard your voice in years.”
“I was busy. In hiding,” Leukos snapped, then forced his tone down. “Surviving.”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. The god tilted his head, unimpressed.
Leukos pressed on, shifting tactics. “The last time we met, I thought we were in agreement. I thought we both wanted the Emperor dead.”
“I do. Nothing has changed.” The god’s wings fluttered, a whisper of feathers edged with menace. “But that’s the problem, little prince. After many years of hiding and scheming, you have nothing to show for it.”
Leukos bristled. “I made an alliance with the Westerners, and soon, with Tiryns.”
“And yet the Emperor still lives!” the North Wind roared. His wings snapped wide, unleashing a gust that struck the cave walls and sheathed them in frost. “His legions are at my borders, destroying my temples and killing my priests!”
Ice bloomed in fractal patterns across the stone, sharp and glimmering.
Leukos didn’t flinch, his Gift shielded him from the cold, but beside him, Nik hunched lower, arms wrapped around himself, breath coming hard and white in the frigid air.
Leukos forced his voice steady. “As long as your winds sweep down from the mountains each winter, freezing rivers and fields, the Achaeans will not forget you.”
The god prowled closer, his face carved with wrath enough to make most mortals crawl. Leukos held his ground. He hadn’t feared the North Wind ten years ago when he’d hunted him in the mountain depths of Thracia, and he wouldn’t start now.
The North Wind had protected his mother’s family for generations. He would never harm Zeuxippe’s boy, and they both knew it.
“I don’t need them to remember me,” the god snarled. “I need them to fear me, worship me, feed me with sacrifices.”
“And so they will, once the Rasennans are defeated,” Leukos said through clenched teeth. “But without my Gift, there is little I can do.”
The god paused, folding his wings. “And what will you give me in return, boy?”
Leukos met his gaze without blinking. “The Emperor’s head.”
“That’s no longer enough.” The god paced the cave with the flagon in hand, frost whispering in his wake. “If you aim to challenge Laran’s Gifted, you’ll need more magic than I’ve ever granted. That requires a sacrifice.”
Leukos’ anger flared, but he swallowed it down. “What do you want?”
“It must be something you will not easily part with.” A fierce grin split the god’s face. “I want your life—or rather, your soul.”
The words hit like an icicle driven into his spine. Nik’s eyes widened beside him. Both understood the weight of such a bargain: eternal servitude. A soul bound to the god’s whims was forever denied peace or reunion with loved ones in death.
“If you’re to be a great Achaean hero,” the North Wind said with smug satisfaction, raising the flagon for another swig, “you may as well die like one and continue to serve me.”
Leukos’ chest tightened. His thoughts didn’t go to Charis, the rebellion, or even Megara. They went to Alena.
The way her nose crinkled when she was annoyed with him. The way she read his silences as though they were words meant for her alone. The warmth of her in his arms when the world spun out of control.
The god’s lips curled with slow malice, the kind that came from knowing exactly whose face haunted Leukos’ thoughts.
“Live to defeat the Emperor, then give me your soul,” he said smoothly. “Those are my terms.”
A tense silence followed. Even the wind beyond the cave seemed to hold its breath.
“Leukos…” Nik’s voice broke through, taut with warning.
Leukos’ pulse thundered, but he kept his voice level. “What do you mean by ‘more magic’?”
The god let out a dark chuckle and began pacing again.
Frost coiled in the wake of his wings. “I mean the kind that lets you command winter in the height of summer.” He drank more wine, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“And if you intend to face the Undefeated and Laran’s whore, the fire they both wield isn’t to be underestimated. ”
Nik flinched.
Tales of the woman who commanded Laran’s Flame and led the Black Helmets on the northern front had reached even Tiryns. The Rasennans hailed Katell as Laran’s Chosen, but among the Achaeans, a crueller name had spread.
Leukos cast a glance at Nik, who stared at the ground, jaw clenched. He’d spoken little of his time in the arena with her—only that they’d survived it. Alena had once hinted that Nik cared for her sister. If so, he had buried it—like everything else.
Without warning, Nik rose to his feet. “If you want a soul,” he said, voice edged with resolve, “then take mine.”
The god’s icy gaze slid to him, one eyebrow arching. “Yours? And why would I want your soul?”
Nik stepped closer, shoulders squared. “If you seek revenge for the massacre, then take me. I’m the one who led the Rasennans into the city. I’m the one who showed them Queen Zeuxippe’s rooms.”
A sharp pang knifed through Leukos’ chest, the memories tearing open like an old wound. Rage flared, hot and immediate, but seeing Nik standing there, offering his soul like penance, froze it cold.
The North Wind circled Nik, assessing him. “I would make you suffer for it.” The words echoed through the cave like a dark promise. “Every day you would plead and beg for mercy until I was satisfied my wrath had been sated.”
Nik didn’t waver under the god’s scrutiny. “That’s fine. I’ll pay the price—whatever it takes to see Leukos win and free Megara.”
Leukos stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. Since arriving in Tiryns, Nik had endured months of whispers, suspicion, and exile, shouldering his guilt in silence. And Leukos had let him, distracted by council politics, the wedding, and the rebellion.
But this?
This was too far.
“Nik, stop.” He stepped between them. “You don’t understand what you’re promising.”
Nik’s jaw stayed firm. “I won’t let you sacrifice yourself when we both know I’m the one who should pay for my crimes.” He held out his hand to the North Wind.
Leukos caught his arm in a desperate grip. “Don’t be an idiot!” he snapped, panic clawing up his throat. “He will bind your soul!”
“Better mine than yours,” Nik shot back.
“You’re the Prince of Megara, heir to the throne.
As the son of a Silver Shield, it’s my duty to protect you, no matter the cost. You can’t lead the rebellion without your Gift.
Our people need you.” His voice dropped, raw with conviction. “The Omega will need you.”
Leukos’ pulse thundered, anger dissolving into fear. But before he could protest, Nik pulled free and stepped forward, defiant.
“Gift him all the magic he needs to lead the rebellion and defeat the Emperor,” he said, voice ringing clear in the cold. “And when the Emperor falls—then, and only then—take my soul as payment.”
The North Wind’s eyes gleamed with predatory delight. His pale hand stretched forward, veins of purplish blue snaking up his arm like frozen lightning. But before he could grasp it, Nik pulled back slightly, a wry smile curving his lips.
“One more thing,” he said, almost casually. “Can you undo the betrothal to Charis?”
Leukos blinked. The question was so absurd that for a heartbeat, he almost laughed. Instead, something bitter curled in his chest. Even now, Nik was still thinking of him, still trying to protect him.
The god sneered. “Their parents swore a vow before the Achaean Twelve. There might be a way if the Sea God were willing. But that old fool favours the match. There’s nothing I can do against him.”
Nik winked at Leukos, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Worth a try.”
Then his face contorted in agony as the North Wind clasped his right hand. A brilliant, ice-blue light erupted between them, flooding the cave. Leukos shielded his eyes. When it dimmed, a new Mark traced intricate swirls across Nik’s forearm, binding him to the god’s will.
“I want a sacrifice. Something fit for the patron god of Megara’s prince,” the North Wind said, voice heavy with decree. “Only then will your magic return. Enough to rival any Silver Shield or Achaean hero.” His gaze lingered on Nik, a sinister smile curling his lips. “I’ll see you again soon.”
In the next instant, he was gone.
Leukos stood frozen, his eyes locked on the Mark seared into Nik’s skin, a brutal reminder of the fate that now awaited him.
Guilt rooted deep, cold as the frost clinging to the cave walls. He had come seeking power to win a war, but Nik had paid the price with his soul.
And Leukos didn’t know how to live with that weight.