Chapter 60
CHAPTER SIXTY
ALENA
The sky had turned nearly black, heavy with storm clouds and smoke.
Rain lashed at Alena, plastering her hair to her face, though the Cyprian’s armour kept her warm.
Ash swirled on the wind, stinging her eyes and burning her throat.
Ahead, Nik snatched up a shield from a fallen Achaean and vanished in a blur, quickly swallowed by the darkness.
Though it was still morning, the sun was gone, smothered from sight.
Alena pressed forward, heart hammering, Apollo and Otxoa close at her heels. She thrust out her hand, summoning the South Wind’s Gift, but nothing happened.
Panic shot through her. She whirled towards Leukos, who guarded the rear. “I can’t control the wind.”
Leukos glanced up, face grim, rain streaming down his brow. “The Thunder rules the skies now. Your Gift can’t break his hold—not on his lands. If I hadn’t made the pact with the North Wind, my magic would be faltering, too.”
He closed the gap between them, seizing her hand.
The North Wind’s magic flared from him in a cold, spectral light, pushing back the dark.
Frost spread across his skin, breath misting in the wet air, while shards of ice spun outwards—circling them in a glittering barricade that hissed and split against anything that drew too near.
Through the haze, Rasennan shields flashed closer. Screams cut through the din. Thunder cracked overhead, shattering the sky, the sound rolling across the grassy rivershore.
A soldier broke through the ice, sword raised high. He swung—but the blade clashed against Alena’s armour and passed straight through, as if she were made of smoke. It sliced back into him instead, opening his side.
He crumpled with a strangled groan, and the wolves tore his throat out in the next beat.
Alena didn’t stop. Her limbs screamed, breath came ragged, but still she pushed on, Leukos at her back. Katell was coming, and there was no stopping her until they reached the circle of stones.
She clung to the White Mare’s words as if they were the only thing keeping her upright. If they could just reach the cliff, her sister could be saved. The Makhai would vanish. Victory might finally be within reach.
Her boots slid in the muck—mud and blood churning together beneath her feet. Rain lashed in sharp, slanting spits, blurring the battlefield into a shifting haze. Her lungs burned, but she refused to slow.
Which way?
Her gaze swept the chaos, searching for the cliff and standing stones, but the battlefield lay drowned in smears of grey.
Then—a flicker of red.
Between two fallen bodies, a fox stood poised, its coat burning like a flame in the haze, golden eyes fixed on her—unblinking, knowing.
“The fox!” She seized Leukos’ arm. “Follow the fox!”
Leukos turned, shock flickering across his face as recognition struck—the Mother Goddess’ messenger.
A breath later, the fox vanished into the fray. None of the soldiers even glanced at it. Alena gave chase, lungs burning. Mud gave way to damp grass, and the cliffside loomed ahead, its path winding upwards, beckoning her on.
Together, they climbed, pursuing the fox, trying to draw Katell towards the standing stones—bait dangling on a hook.
Where was she? Was the Makhai following, too? Alena didn’t dare look back. There was no time.
Soldiers swarmed the trail in pursuit. Nik carved through them, steel flashing as he darted past. Leukos followed, raising walls of ice that exploded from the ground, slowing their advance. Still, the enemy pressed on.
A sudden flash of lightning revealed the dark cliff towering over the churning Rodanos.
At its base, a Rasennan officer stepped into view—pale blonde hair, fitted breastplate, red cloak: a legate.
Black shadows writhed around her as she pressed a hand to the rock, forcing an opening.
From the darkness, soldiers poured in a torrent, dozens upon dozens, faceless and armed.
But the figure above froze Alena’s blood.
High on a ledge, a man stood wreathed in lightning—tall, broad-shouldered, bare chest and arms alive with pulsing veins of white-hot energy. For a moment, he resembled Volcos—until his eyes blazed with stormfire and he drew a fork of lightning straight from his chest.
Taranis.
Awe and terror clashed inside her. Relief of discovering the Western god fighting against the Rasennans was eclipsed an instant later by dread.
He was going to strike, and they were too close.
“Watch out!” she screamed.
Leukos reacted instantly, slamming his palms to the ground. A curved wall of ice erupted before them—just as the bolt struck.
The world cracked open.
Lightning slammed into the Rasennan soldiers below and burst in a deafening, blinding shockwave. It danced across Leukos’ shield, sizzling and snapping before dissipating into steam. Soldiers screamed. Some were flung aside, others crumpled behind shattered shields.
The blonde legate’s face twisted in horror. Then she vanished, stepping backwards into the stone, swallowed whole by shadow.
Alena spun towards the ledge, but Taranis was gone.
Nik darted into view, having avoided the strike, though his arms were cut, and blood dripped down his shield arm. His wheezing breath told her what the wounds confirmed: at least one rib was broken from when the Makhai had thrown him.
“Nik, we need to bandage—”
“There’s no time,” he cut in, raising his sword. “She was right behind—” He broke off, shield snapping up and shoving Alena back a step.
Fire shrieked across the trail, a writhing torrent of heat and light, smashing against Leukos’ ice wall. It didn’t crack—it evaporated, hissing away in a heartbeat.
“Move!” Leukos bellowed, staggering upright and gripping Alena’s arm.
Katell emerged from the steam, her black stare fixed on Alena with silent purpose.
Alena bolted up the trail. Rain poured in sheets, turning the path into treacherous sludge. Apollo and Otxoa sprinted ahead, coats plastered by the storm, glancing back every so often to check on her.
In the distance, the fox reappeared, its red coat a beacon in the storm. It padded through the ancient ring of stones and vanished.
Massive monoliths loomed against a lightning-cracked sky, and Alena’s pace faltered.
That was it. Beyond that circle, the Huntress’ Gift would leave her. No wolves. No power. Whatever hold the Rasennans had on Katell would vanish with it.
Apollo and Otxoa lingered at the edge of the stones, and her chest tightened. She couldn’t take them with her.
“Go!” she shouted, voice raw.
The wolves hesitated, ears flicking, muscles taut.
“Go! Save yourselves!”
Apollo whined low, but they obeyed, slipping into the underbrush—away from the trail, the Rasennan blades, and the danger clawing at their heels.
Nik reached the circle first, darting between the tallest stones. His Gift vanished, and he stumbled.
Leukos slowed beside her, unsheathing his sword. Even through smoke and rain, his unwavering determination anchored her.
He stepped closer, rain streaking down his raven-black hair. In that moment, he looked every bit the tragic hero—a man on the brink of something final.
Without a word, he pulled her close, his breath ragged against her ear.
“Are you ready?” he whispered.
Alena’s fingers curled against the worn leather of his breastplate. Their foreheads pressed together, slick with rain. She nodded, though it felt hollow. How could she ever be ready to fight her sister?
He kissed her fiercely, lips cold from the storm yet sparking warmth in her chest. Not a promise, but a reminder: We’re still here. Still fighting.
He pulled away, resolve blazing in his eyes. “We live to fight another day.”
Her heart clenched. Tears mixed with rain. “We live to fight another day,” she echoed.
Together, they stepped into the circle.
The change was instant.
Magic vanished from Alena, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her knees buckled. The Cyprian’s armour disintegrated into mist, leaving only her soaked tunic, chain mail, arm guards, and greaves—and the pounding of her heart.
The South Wind’s Gift was gone. The Huntress’ magic, too. No whisper of wind, no bond with the wolves.
Even the sounds of battle dulled.
Leukos caught her arm, and their bond hummed through the touch, as if even ancient magic couldn’t sever soulmates. It was enough to steady her.
“Your eyes,” he said softly, offering the faintest smile, “they’re not shimmering anymore.”
Alena opened her mouth to answer—then froze.
Katell appeared at the top of the trail, her stride unbroken. The Makhai followed behind, silent and monstrous.
Alena’s breath hitched. She, Leukos, and Nik backed to the far edge of the circle, blades raised, hearts pounding.
The plan had to work. They were following the White Mare’s counsel. It had to—
Katell stepped into the circle without hesitation. The moment she crossed inside, the Makhai vanished—snuffed out in an instant.
Alena sobbed in relief. “Stars be praised.” Her chest flooded with a sharp, staggering joy. “It worked.” She turned towards the river, where rising waters surged over the exposed path, washing away Rasennan soldiers. “Leukos, it worked—”
But Leukos wasn’t beside her anymore.
He was circling.
Sword drawn, he edged around the standing stones, closing in on Katell, who stood motionless.
“Kat!” Alena called, pulse pounding. “It’s me—Alena! We’ve cut you off from the magic. You’re free now!”
Nothing.
Katell didn’t stir. Didn’t even blink.
Dread clawed through Alena. “What’s happening? Why isn’t she herself again?”
Nik raised his sword, his gaze never leaving Katell. “In Tiryns, the effects of Laran’s Tears lingered for days. Without her healing, her mind will stay warped.”
“If she’s a demigoddess,” Leukos countered, circling wider, “then her healing isn’t a Gift—it’s in her blood. It should help her fight whatever has taken hold of her. Alena, keep talking. You have to reach her.”
Katell unsheathed her blade in a single smooth motion, gaze sliding to Leukos.