Chapter 40 #2
Alena closed her eyes, searching for the threads of magic linking her to Apollo. The Cyprian’s power churned in her core, consuming her energy and focus, leaving little room for anything else. The winds around her wavered, dwindling to a soft breeze.
“You’re losing it,” Phoebe observed.
“I—” Sweat dripped down Alena’s temples. Her limbs trembled as she struggled to maintain the armour, her breath shallow and uneven.
But the Cyprian’s magic slipped from her control and unravelled in a flash of light. The luminous scales vanished like shattered glass, and the wind died in an instant, leaving the courtyard still and silent.
Alena collapsed backwards onto the grass, her body sagging as if a great weight had been lifted. She gasped for air, chest heaving, vision swimming from the strain.
Phoebe stepped forward, arms crossed. “I saw you summon the armour and wield gusts strong enough to flatten the enemy—while also controlling the Huntress’ pack. You can do better than this.”
Alena groaned in frustration. “I know,” she muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. “But I was in the midst of battle. I didn’t even realise what I was doing until… I was doing it.”
She hadn’t focused on the magic surging within her when they’d attacked the Twelfth Legion in the dead of night.
Pelagios, Nik, and Theo had led the troops to the Maiden’s barrier, forcing the Twelfth to meet them—only for Danaos and Despoina to drop Alena, Leukos, and Phoebe in the centre of the camp, where the Huntress’ hounds unleashed chaos.
She’d been acting on pure instinct. “I didn’t realise how draining the Cyprian’s armour was. ”
“The adrenaline helped you sustain your Gifts. But that’s exactly why you need to keep training,” Phoebe explained, impatience edging her tone. “You can’t afford to be drained of magic in battle, or you’ll be dead. Think about your pretty boy, and what happened when he overdid it.”
Alena winced, recalling how the North Wind’s magic had consumed Leukos. She’d barely managed to help him dispel it in time. Even now, she had no real idea how she’d done it. And no one seemed to have any answers for her except, You’re the Omega.
Phoebe extended a hand and hauled Alena to her feet. “Summon the Cyprian’s armour again and hold it as long as you can. Keep doing it every day, and it’ll become second nature. Most Gifted need years to summon an immortal weapon or armour for more than a few moments. You don’t have that luxury.”
The rebels were preparing to return to the camp by the lake in the coming days. Danaos and Despoina had already transported supplies with their magic and planned to ferry as many groups of soldiers as possible.
News of the Twelfth Legion’s defeat had spread quickly, and Theo expected an attack on the Western Lands in retaliation. The Emperor now knew the rebels were in Tiryns, and it would take time for them to join Volcos.
Time was against them, and as much as Alena wanted to aid their Western allies, the aftermath of the siege demanded their focus. Over a thousand Rasennan soldiers had surrendered—an eclectic mix from across the Great Sea, most more interested in coin than loyalty to the Empire.
Leukos had given them a choice: join the Tirynthian army or labour in the newly expanded fields. Tiryns, long plagued by scarce resources, now had three times its territory after the Maiden’s barrier widened. Fields needed planting before the spring ended, and the task was urgent.
Pelagios and Nik were tasked with vetting the new recruits, many of them Achaeans who’d enlisted in the imperial legions after their homeland’s conquest, lured by the promise of steady pay.
“What about your mother’s torc?” Phoebe tossed a waterskin from her spot beneath the olive tree, snapping Alena out of her thoughts. “Any progress?”
Alena caught it against her chest, nearly fumbling with her tired hands. She raised it to her lips and drank in greedy gulps, the cool water spilling down her chin. Every muscle in her body ached from the morning’s drills.
She remembered slipping it on once in the mountains, late at night, half on a whim. When nothing happened, she’d felt foolish—wearing a necklace that was never meant for her. Phoebe had later advised her to channel magic through it, but the torc had remained inert.
“No, nothing,” she said between breaths, lowering the skin. “I wore it and tried focusing my magic the way you taught me, but it didn’t react at all.”
It was her mother’s Gift from the White Mare, not hers. Yet the thought gnawed at her—perhaps the failure wasn’t in the torc at all; perhaps she was too weak to claim it.
Phoebe tilted her head, idly spinning a dagger between her fingers. “Hmm… Well, maybe once you reach the Western Lands, you can ask the druids who serve the White Mare about it. They might know more.”
Alena ground her teeth. She would do no such thing—not after those same druids had called her a demon and tried to kill her in the hillfort of the Green Mountains. Better to keep far from them altogether.
Phoebe slipped the dagger back into her belt. “That’s enough for today.”
Alena blinked at her, then glanced up at the sky. The sun was still high, its light pooling across the garden stones. “We’re stopping already?”
Phoebe shrugged. “I’ve got other things to take care of.”
Alena tossed back the waterskin with a sigh. It was almost impossible to get a straight answer from the . Over the past few days, she’d disappeared multiple times to visit Tiryns’ temples without ever explaining why, leaving Alena guessing.
Phoebe departed, and Alena sheathed her blade while checking on Kaixo through her bond with Apollo. The wolf, as always, stayed close to the boy. She sensed them both in the front courtyard near the monumental fountain, where Nik and Leukos were training.
Hunger gnawed at her, so she stopped by the kitchens for a quick bite before heading to her room. After washing up, she changed into a simple green chiton and went to find Kaixo.
The palace buzzed with renewed energy as she made her way to the front courtyard. Servants hurried past with lightness in their steps, and guards exchanged easy smiles. Tiryns felt alive again, the oppressive weight of despair lifted since the siege had been broken and the Twelfth Legion defeated.
Alena couldn’t help but smile at the transformation. The people were hopeful now, whispering of a brighter future.
In the courtyard, beyond the towering marble fountains of the Sea God and the Maiden, Leukos was training with Kaixo by the palace walls, both wielding wooden practice blades.
The sun lit his chiselled arms, throwing his movements into sharp relief.
He swung the stick in a fluid series of slashes and parries, every strike controlled, every turn precise.
Alena couldn’t help but be mesmerised—the way his tunic clung to his frame revealed the hard lines of a warrior’s build, a body forged by years of relentless training.
At his side, Kaixo tried to mirror Leukos’ fluid strikes, brow furrowed in concentration. In the shade, Apollo dozed with his head pillowed on his paws, while Nik lounged against a column, chewing an apple and tossing out jibes that drew the occasional glare from Leukos.
“Morning.” Alena approached, offering a warm smile. Kaixo’s frown deepened, his eyes flicking briefly to hers before returning to his practice. “You’re getting better, Kaixo.”
He only shrugged before turning his back on her without a word.
Leukos shot him a pointed look, and Kaixo muttered, “I enjoy training.”
Alena nodded, swallowing the sting of his indifference. When she opened her mouth to say more, he darted off to Nik, eager to show off his progress.
She turned her attention to Leukos instead, her tone softening. “And you? Your training?” She’d watched him from a distance, pushing himself in every spare moment, relentless in his effort to reclaim mastery of his Gift.
He held up the wooden blade in answer. “I haven’t lost control with objects in days.”
“That’s good,” Alena said, her relief genuine. Training was helping him improve, just as the North Wind had promised. “We should try—”
“Not yet.” Leukos lowered his blade, tightening his grip. “When I’m ready, I’ll let you know.”
Alena hesitated, stifling the urge to press further.
Her thoughts drifted to her dream the night before. Leukos’ young voice still echoed in her ears, and the simmering rage on Galen’s face had been impossible to shake.
They’re wasting my time. King Pandion’s cruel dismissal reverberated in her memory, making her wince. She couldn’t imagine growing up with a father who’d made her feel unworthy of his attention.
Damocles had been stern—quick to correct Katell and her when they strayed—but never unkind.
He’d tended to their wounds when they were hurt, soothed their fears during restless nights, and sacrificed without hesitation.
He always gave them the freshest food, saving the wilted vegetables and mouldy cheese for himself.
The contrast with Pandion struck her sharply. Leukos had never known hunger the way she and Katell had, but he’d been starved of a father’s warmth.
At least his mother and brothers had loved him as he deserved—until the massacre tore them away, leaving him to face the world alone.
No, not alone. He still had friends—Pelagios, Theo, even Nik—people who stood by him. And he had her.
A warmth spread through her chest. She would stay even if he pulled away, afraid of what his unruly Gift might do. She would stand by his side, whether or not he wanted her there.
He’d spent too long alone, carrying his pain in silence. And after witnessing the Megarian massacre—and her dream—Alena couldn’t bear the thought of him isolating himself again. Never again.
She loved him. She was sure of it now, even if she hadn’t found a moment to tell him, let alone speak it aloud.
“Has Phoebe left?” Kaixo asked, catching them both off guard.
“Not yet,” came a voice behind them.
Alena turned, startled, to find the leading a chestnut horse into the courtyard, its back laden with weapons and saddlebags.
Her smile faltered. “Are you going somewhere?”
Before Phoebe could answer, Kaixo darted past Alena and threw his arms around the ’s waist, clutching her tightly. His wooden blade clattered to the ground, forgotten.
“Yes.” Phoebe rested a hand on Kaixo’s shoulder. “I told him I was leaving this morning while you were still asleep. I had only planned to stay until the siege was dealt with, and now…”
“Leaving?” Alena repeated in disbelief. “What do you mean, you’re leaving?”
Phoebe offered a cryptic smile and a wink. “I have my own mission. Things I need to handle—for the Maiden.”
Alena stepped closer, her heart racing as the news sank in. “But… what about my training? What about the Western Lands? I thought you were coming with us.”
Phoebe scoffed, brushing off her concern. “I told you, didn’t I? Just keep practising with the Cyprian’s armour until you can sustain it long enough for battle. After the way you tore through the Twelfth Legion, I’d say you’re more than capable.”
Alena glanced at Leukos. He pressed his lips into a tight line—he hadn’t known about the ’s sudden departure either.
“Phoebe…” A spike of panic rose in Alena’s throat. “I can’t do this without you.”
“Of course you can.” Phoebe disentangled herself from Kaixo and gave him the reins to her horse before patting Alena’s shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think. Trust yourself.”
Nik appeared, wrapping an arm around Kaixo and drawing him close. Leukos joined them, offering his wooden sword to Kaixo, whose expression lacked its usual spark of excitement.
Phoebe shot a sidelong glance at the two men. “Don’t let alliances and battles distract you,” she told Alena. “Remember, you’re the Omega—you have a mission to accomplish.”
The words settled over Alena like a storm cloud. Kill the Emperor.
She frowned. “I know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Good.” Phoebe nodded. “Because there’s also the matter of your sister. We received word this morning that the First Legion has deserted Dodona.”
Alena froze. Deserted Dodona? How? Why? Leukos, who’d heard the exchange, gave her a tight nod of confirmation.
“We don’t know what’s become of the slaves,” Phoebe pressed on, “but they’re gone, too.”
Her stomach churned at the thought of what might’ve happened to the Freefolk. Had Katell helped them escape? Or had she betrayed them further?
Phoebe’s grip tightened on her shoulder, forcing Alena to meet her shimmering eye. “The legion left the camp in three groups, each headed in a separate direction. Your sister has either realised who she allied herself with and taken action against them, or she’s still with them.”
Alena’s pulse quickened, dread clawing at her insides. “Why are you telling me this?”
Phoebe’s expression turned solemn. “Because there’s a war coming. And your sister might be on the opposing side, across the battlefield, ready to take you down—”
Alena jerked back, out of Phoebe’s grasp. “Katell wouldn’t—”
“Alena!” Phoebe snapped, her voice cutting through the courtyard’s quiet hum. “You need to face the truth. If your sister went to Dodona and stayed with the legions, she’s beyond saving.”
Alena opened her mouth, but no words came. Katell had changed—she couldn’t deny it. Her sister had chosen the Rasennans and Dorias over her, shunning family and loyalty. But to think Katell would ever raise a weapon against her?
Her gaze flicked to Leukos, searching for reassurance. Instead, his dark eyes softened with quiet sorrow. He didn’t say it, but his silence betrayed his thoughts. He, too, feared Katell might one day stand on the battlefield as their enemy.
“I know how hard it is to lose a family member, a sister… but you can’t falter,” Phoebe said. “Your task as the Omega takes precedence. You must always remember what your true goal is—and once the Emperor is defeated, the rest of the Empire will fall.”
Leukos clenched his jaw, a tell Alena recognised as him biting back words he wanted to hurl. “It’s not that simple. Any one of his legates could take control—”
“No.” Phoebe’s tone was final. “The Rasennans grew because they accumulated the most power, the most magic. Strip that away, and they still have a formidable army, yes, but the odds are in our favour.”
The words rattled Alena. “Strip that away? How?”
Phoebe’s frown deepened. “Did you not understand the Maiden’s words?”
Alena searched her memory, thoughts spinning.
The surrounding courtyard seemed to fade, the world narrowing to Phoebe’s unyielding stare.
The Maiden’s words, once dismissed as cryptic nonsense, surfaced in her mind.
“The realms of gods and mortals will be separated once more, as they should be,” she said aloud.
Phoebe’s nod came with a grim finality. “That means no more immortals meddling in human affairs, no more pacts, and no more Gifts. Magic would forever disappear from our world.”