Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
ALENA
The throne room was a vast expanse of grandeur.
Painted marble columns soared to a high ceiling, their intricate designs flaunting Megarian opulence.
The pristine white marble floor gleamed, its surface adorned with a breathtaking mosaic of dolphins that seemed to glide along the length of the hall.
Sunlight streaming through tall windows danced across the polished stone, giving the scene an almost ethereal glow.
Alena stood at the threshold, her breath hitching as she took it all in. Another dream of Leukos—but this one was sharper, more vivid than the others.
Almost like a memory.
The beauty of the room clashed with the stern presence of the king seated on his throne. Draped in regal authority, he spoke in low tones with a young Pelagios at his side. Around the dais, Silver Shields and nobles murmured among themselves, their postures rigid and reserved.
Beside her stood a boy with messy black hair—Leukos.
He couldn’t have been more than five or six, his small hands tugging nervously at the collar of his blue tunic.
His fidgeting drew the notice of a Silver Shield with shaggy dark hair, a man unfamiliar to Alena.
With a firm grip, the soldier seized Leukos’ wrist. “Stop that.”
Before Leukos could react, another boy stepped closer. Similar features marked them as kin, but his golden-brown skin contrasted with Leukos’ paleness, and his demeanour was calm. “Just do your best,” he said softly. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
Alena’s breath caught. Galen. It had to be him—the brother Leukos had spoken of so often, the one he was desperate to save.
The brothers were called forward and scuttled down the length of the throne room side by side. The Silver Shield followed close behind, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. At the foot of the dais, the boys bowed deeply.
The king ended his conversation with Pelagios and turned his attention to them. His cold, piercing gaze fixed on his sons, and the chamber fell silent.
“Your Majesty,” the Silver Shield intoned with practised reverence, gesturing to the boys. “Your sons.”
Alena’s heart clenched at the sight. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, their youthful faces a blend of innocence and dread under their father’s scrutiny. Silence pressed down, heavy with expectation.
Among the gathered nobles, a figure shifted, catching Alena’s attention.
A young man, older than the two boys but bearing King Pandion’s sharp features and short brown hair, pushed his way to the front of the crowd.
Megarian armour gleamed on his frame, yet Alena sensed the tension in him as he watched his brothers, though his face remained a careful mask.
Galen was the first to step forward. Despite his youth, he moved with quiet strength, standing tall and resolute.
His hands curled into tight fists at his side. “Father, I have been training every day with Nisos as you requested. My sword and shield skills have improved greatly, and even Pelagios remarked on my strength.”
“It is true, Your Majesty,” Pelagios agreed with a nod. “Galen shows more promise than any recruit I’ve ever—”
“Still no Gift, then?” the king interrupted sharply.
Galen’s proud stance faltered, a flush creeping across his cheeks. He pinched his lips together, as though to suppress the emotions surging within him.
“No,” he mumbled. “Still no Gift.” He stepped back, retreating into himself, his words laden with shame.
Pelagios glanced between the king and the boy, his brow furrowed, but Pandion’s attention had already shifted to his third and youngest son. “And what about you?”
Alena held her breath, despite already knowing what the king and his court thought of the North Wind—of Leukos’ Gift.
Wide-eyed and hesitant, Leukos stepped forward and held out his hands.
Ice-blue magic swirled into existence between his palms. The light coalesced into a delicate sculpture of a horse.
Leukos cradled the icy creation, peeking up at his father from beneath his mop of messy black hair, waiting for approval.
Pandion’s impatient exhale broke the tense quiet.
“Another ice sculpture?” His gaze shifted to the Silver Shield standing behind the boys.
“What exactly are you teaching my son, Nisos? How is he supposed to defend Megara if all he can conjure are toy animals? You think that’ll be enough to stop the Rasennans? Enough to hold a shield wall?”
His voice rose with every word, booming through the vast chamber and making Leukos flinch. His grip faltered, and the delicate sculpture slipped from his hands, shattering against the marble floor with a brittle crack.
Galen winced.
Pandion’s frown turned thunderous. “Get them out of here. They’re wasting my time.”
“Father,” another voice rang out—the eldest son, Aegeus. “They are still young and have much to learn. But with time—”
“We don’t have time!” Pandion roared, silencing the chamber again.
“The Rasennans are tearing through Argos as we speak, and soon we’ll be next.
” His hand sliced through the air in a dismissive gesture towards the door.
“I said out! Don’t waste my time again, Nisos, or you’ll face the consequences. ”
The young boys hesitated, their faces pale and stricken.
The Silver Shield bowed, his expression unreadable. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
He ushered the boys back towards the exit. Alena followed them out with a heavy heart.
Leukos looked close to tears. “He hates us.”
“Don’t say that,” Nisos scolded. “Megara is under threat, and your father needs powerful warriors to defend our kingdom. Come, let’s go back to training—”
“He called us a disgrace,” Leukos retorted, his small fists clenched at his sides. “I prayed to the Sea God. I prayed to him every day this summer and even offered him a whole tuna, but nothing happened.”
Alena’s chest tightened as Leukos’ anguish poured out—the words of a child desperate to understand why he wasn’t enough.
Galen, still silent, placed a protective hand on his brother’s shoulder, though anger flashed across his expression.
Nisos sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And where did you get the tuna from? Did you steal from the kitchens again?”
Leukos clamped his mouth shut, wide eyes darting away in guilt.
Before Nisos could press further, Galen knelt before his younger brother and took his hands in his own.
“The North Wind has already given you a powerful Gift.” His tone was reassuring despite the tension etched across his features.
“Remember what Mother said? You can’t receive another Gift from the Sea God—that’s not how it works. ”
“I wasn’t praying for me,” Leukos admitted, looking down at their joined hands. “I was praying for you.”
Alena’s breath hitched. Even at a young age, Leukos had selflessly wanted to help his brother.
Galen’s grip on his brother’s hands tightened.
For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his face, then his expression hardened.
“Don’t worry, little brother,” he whispered fiercely.
“One day, you and I will be worthy enough for Megara, and Father will rue the day he dismissed us so easily.”
Alena woke in her bed in Tiryns’ palace. Dawn light spilled through the window, yet the dream of Leukos still clung to her.
It had felt real—too real—a glimpse into his childhood she couldn’t explain.
Was it because she’d witnessed the massacre? Had the North Wind left fragments of his memory lodged in her mind? Or was it his magic seeping into her, binding her thoughts to his?
Something stirred at her back. She turned and found Kaixo curled against her, fast asleep.
Since she’d returned, he had refused to speak to her unless necessary. He was still mad at her for leaving. Mad at her for his mother’s death. Mad at her for everything, it seemed. Yet at night, he still sought her reassuring presence.
A soft whimper broke the morning stillness, a keening sound escaping Kaixo’s lips—a common occurrence since San’s death. Alena gathered him closer, stroking his hair until his breathing steadied.
Soon, they would depart Tiryns for the Western Lands. Alena hoped she could find Kaixo a quiet home, far from war and the threat of the legions—somewhere safe for him to grow while she carried out her mission as the Omega.
If she survived it.
Kaixo remained at her side, a quiet solace against the storm gathering ahead. His warmth steady against her brought comfort, and for now, that was enough.
“Better.” Phoebe leaned against the twisted trunk of an ancient olive tree in a secluded corner of the palace gardens.
Her silver eye kept a keen watch on Alena, who summoned the Cyprian’s armour once more.
It came easier now, thanks to Phoebe’s relentless training since the surprise attack on the Twelfth Legion.
A brilliant flare lit the gardens as the mother-of-pearl scales of her armour unfurled, covering her body in a luminous display. At the same time, a vortex of wind swirled around her, lifting loose petals and stray leaves, making them dance in the current.
“That was much faster,” Phoebe noted. “Now, hold it steady. Feel the threads of magic within you. Keep them under control.”
The South Wind’s warm breezes wrapped around Alena’s legs with effortless familiarity, as though they had always belonged to her. But the armour was different—sustaining it was much harder.
Phoebe’s voice snapped her back to the present, cutting through the haze of memory. “Now, feel the Huntress’ magic. Your bonds with the wolves. Start with Apollo, then Otxoa.”
Alena blinked, exhaustion clouding her thoughts. “Who’s Otxoa?”
“The white female—Kaixo named her,” Phoebe replied impatiently. “Focus. Try to summon both.”