Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ALENA
Just as it had with the Blood Wolf, a burst of white light exploded from her hand, and the world vanished.
Blinding brilliance consumed everything.
Images of the past surged through her, though Alena’s mind reeled, too battered by pain to catch them all.
A woman with a small girl clutching her skirts and a babe in her arms stood before a stone shelter. A man paced nearby, rocky hills behind him, the wind tugging at his cloak.
“Your father was Gifted by the South Wind,” the man said. “I thought one of our children would receive a blessing, and yet none of them bear a Mark.”
“There’s still time,” the woman protested.
The image shifted. The couple again, older.
The man, red-faced and sweating, paced with fury blazing in his eyes. The woman cradled another babe, while two girls hid under the table.
“Do you know how much the Megarian army pays for Gifted soldiers?” the man bellowed. “Marrying you was supposed to bring me fame and fortune! Instead, you’d have me breaking my back all day in the fields and worrying about another mouth to feed!”
The woman remained calm. “The children can help you.”
“That is not the point!” He gestured at the girls. “None of them bear a Mark yet.”
Silence stretched until the woman lifted her gaze. “Then let us make a pact with the South Wind himself. There must be something we can give him.”
The world lurched. Colours swirled, then settled.
A small altar appeared—just a slab of white rock atop a hill. A dozen sheep lay dead around it, their blood soaking the grass.
The husband stood in the middle, his arms and tunic drenched in red. “If this doesn’t work, then we will truly have nothing.”
The woman’s lined face was stone. “It will work. Now go make the prayer, and be sure to describe our fields and our fields only.”
“What if it isn’t enough?”
She laid a hand on her swollen belly. “It will be.”
The image jumped again.
The woman paced before their cottage, her belly stretched tight beneath her loose tunic. Storm clouds churned over shattered hills. Mud drowned the pastures. Uprooted trees lay broken like bones.
The husband stumbled home, swaying on his feet, flushed with wine.
“What have you done?” the wife hissed.
“I did what I needed to. I had to be sure the South Wind would accept our sacrifice in case the sheep and our pasture weren’t enough.”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “The South Wind didn’t destroy just ours. He destroyed all the pastures, including my brother’s fields! They’ll starve!”
“It doesn’t matter.” The husband hiccupped, a grin splitting his weathered face. “None of it matters anymore. We have a Gifted child. Megara will welcome us with open arms!”
The wife grabbed his arm, yanking him inside. “Then we need to leave. Tonight. Before the others realise what you’ve done.”
The white light was blinding. When Alena opened her eyes again, sunlight burned just as fiercely.
She stood on a beach of pristine white sand that shimmered like glass. Turquoise waves lapped gently at her feet, warm and clear. Cliffs loomed in the distance, casting jagged shadows across the shoreline.
The hot air was thick with salt, clinging to her skin and making her layers unbearable. She struggled with her boots, each movement reawakening sharp pain in her ribs. Her right hand was a broken, swollen mess—she dared not look at it, fearing she’d break down.
Instead, she buried her bare feet in the cool, damp sand. Closed her eyes and breathed.
She’d only ever seen the sea in her dreams, and the real thing was the most breathtaking sight she’d ever beheld.
The water stretched to the edge of the world, glittering like scattered gemstones. It felt impossible. Vast. Free.
A breathless laugh escaped her. She knelt at the water’s edge, boots cradled in one arm, and dipped her broken hand into the sea. Salt bit into her wounds, and she winced but didn’t pull away. The lulling sound of the waves was a soothing melody that offered a momentary escape from pain.
Then—another sound. A distant humming.
Alena turned, heart quickening, and followed it up the beach.
The sand grew scorching hot beneath her feet. With a grimace, she shoved on her fur-lined boots without bothering to lace them—a choice she quickly regretted as sand slipped inside, rubbing raw with every step.
The humming grew clearer, resolving into a beautiful lyrical melody that seemed to beckon her towards a cave at the base of the cliffs.
She paused at the entrance, breath caught, pulse thudding in her ears. Inside, the air was cooler, and the song reverberated softly off the stone.
Ahead, a man knelt by a pool of clear water nestled in the rock. No—not a man.
A god.
His skin was a deep bronze, his arm muscles rippling as he filled a jar with water. Black curls crowned his head, damp at the temples. Lined up against the cave wall behind him were dozens of jars, each corked and filled.
He rose, and the humming ceased.
Alena flushed at the sight of his bare chest. His robe—the same clear blue as the summer sky—hung open, revealing the hard lines of his torso and abdomen, secured only by a golden rope at his waist.
The god’s black curls framed a face so striking it hardly seemed real.
The Archer? The Warlord? No. The praefect had mentioned a lesser deity.
He studied her in silence, amber eyes shimmering with a thousand stars, piercing straight into her soul. The world around her seemed to fade, made small beneath that gaze. Her knees weakened.
Then a frown touched his otherwise flawless face. “Who are you?”
The question hit Alena like a splash of cold water. Between that and the weight of his stare, heat flared in her cheeks.
She fumbled for words. “I’m… I’m the Omega?” Her voice wavered as she gauged the god’s reaction. When he showed none, she cleared her throat and tried again, firmer this time. “I’m the Omega.”
His amber gaze flicked to the golden Mark on her hand. “Oh?” His tone was flat. “What happened to the other one?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned away.
Alena’s stomach sank. Mortals might be beneath a god’s notice, but the casual dismissal still stung.
She hurried after him, scrambling for anything that might hold his attention.
He stacked the full jar beside the others, then placed his hands on his hips, admiring the lineup like a smug artist surveying his masterpiece.
“Umm…” Alena tugged at the end of her braid. “I guess the previous Omega died. I mean… they must have, since I’m here now. So… yes. I suppose that means they failed.”
An awkward laugh slipped out. By the Moon, she sounded like a confused chicken.
The god continued his work, swiping an empty jar from the stack and returning to the pool.
“Shame,” he said without a trace of sympathy.
His gaze slid back to her mangled hand and dishevelled state.
A faint curl of distaste twisted his lips.
“The last Omega I met was a beauty.” His eyes flicked up.
“And more eloquent. An Achaean queen from some distant kingdom, south of Kemet.”
Alena flushed. The words stung more than she cared to admit, but she forced herself upright.
“Andromeda?” she asked. She was the only queen Alena knew from that far south.
A legend among the Achaeans, famed for slaying the monster sent by the Sea God to punish her people.
She had flown to Achaea on a winged horse stolen from a visiting prince, defeated more monsters along the way, and eventually married the prince to rule Argos.
He nodded and set the jar down with deliberate care. “Very well, Omega.” His tone was edged with mockery. “Who have you met so far?”
“What do you mean?”
He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Who else has Gifted you?” He enunciated each word slowly, as if speaking to a child.
Alena clenched her jaw but kept her tone cool. “The Huntress.”
She said it with pride, hoping the name of one of the Twelve would knock some smugness off his face. She even kicked off her boots, relishing the cool stone beneath her feet.
But when she glanced back, the god had raised a single unimpressed eyebrow.
“That’s it?” he asked, dry as dust. “Well, it’s no wonder you’re in that state.”
Alena narrowed her eyes. Phoebe had warned her that not all gods would be as helpful as the Huntress, but she hadn’t expected outright disdain.
“I also met the Grey-Eyed Maiden,” she added shortly, brushing damp hair from her face. The cave’s cool air kissed her skin, a small relief from the furnace outside. “But she couldn’t Gift me.”
That got his attention.
He stilled. Slowly, his gaze slid back to her. “Why not?”
“She said her magic was weakening.”
A flicker of unease cracked his perfect mask. Then he scoffed and turned away. “Impossible.”
Alena clicked her tongue and followed, the slap of her bare feet echoing off the cave walls.
“The Rasennan Emperor has been attacking her temples. Her followers are being hunted across Achaea. Maybe if you spent less time collecting jars on this beach and more time paying attention to the mortal world, you’d understand how bad things really are. ”
The god froze.
Outside, the waves crashed harder, swelling like war drums. The air thickened. Pressure dropped. Alena’s ears popped.
Her injured hand flared with new pain as raw magic pressed against her, coiling through the cave like a predator tasting blood.
The hairs on her arms rose. Her breath caught.
“I can’t go yet,” the god snapped.
When he turned, Alena almost stumbled back. His amber eyes blazed with ethereal fire, his beauty sharpened into something terrifying. She had to remember—petulant or not—he was still a god.
The wind howled without warning, swirling through the cave like a cyclone. Sand exploded, stinging her skin. Alena winced and shielded her face, hair whipping around her.
“I am the South Wind,” he boomed, his voice shaking the cave and her bones alike. “I am the storm that breaks the summer heat. Every year, my winds ravage fields and thrash the seas.”