Call
CYRUS
The atmosphere in the caves was a mixture of wrath and despair.
Half of the witches were thirsty for vengeance, eager to dive into battle for retribution of their fallen goddess.
The others were mournful, uttering prayers and performing séances in an attempt to communicate with Lilith from beyond the veil.
Marina had shifted to her serpent form almost immediately upon arrival.
Several other witches had followed suit, including the other Gorgon sister.
Cyrus leaned against the cavern wall, watching the serpents glide across the ground.
He got the sense that the witches were more comfortable in their snake forms, and perhaps more detached from their emotions.
He couldn’t blame them. If something ever happened to Evander…
He shook his head. He couldn’t go down that path.
Because it was very likely to come true, given Evander’s bargain with the Wild Spirits.
Once he was mortal, Evander could easily die. Cyrus wasn’t even sure if Evander would survive the transition.
A hard lump formed in his throat. Cyrus had spent much of his life putting distance between himself and his brothers, mostly to avoid conflict. Many of them had been conniving and power-hungry—much like himself—and he knew that getting close to them would only expose his weaknesses.
But the brothers he was most wary of were dead now. Only Romanos and Evander remained.
And Cyrus couldn’t stomach the thought of losing either of them.
“I’m ready,” Prue said, appearing by Cyrus’s side and jerking him from his dismal thoughts. His wife shouldered a small pack, her expression grim but determined.
Cyrus nodded. Neither of them had bothered trying to convince the other to remain behind. Cyrus knew her well enough by now. She would not hide from a fight.
And Prue understood how much blame and responsibility Cyrus felt over the situation. The Titans had sought negotiations with him. Clearly, they wanted some hold on the Underworld.
Their attack on the Gorgons was Cyrus’s fault. He had incited this by making a mockery of them. He had pretended to negotiate as a ruse to get Prue and Mona out.
Now, the Titans were seeking retribution.
This was bigger than just his realm now. The entire Realm of Gaia was at stake. The witch clans. The mortals. Everyone on this plane of existence was in jeopardy because of his actions.
He’d made the wrong call, infiltrating the Titans’ hideout like that. Now Lagos was dead, and more would follow.
He should never have left without ensuring the Titans were all dead. He should have made a frontal assault when he’d had the chance.
“I’ve already spoken with Farah,” Cyrus said. “She and the other witches won’t be far behind.” The fire witches had taken the death of the Gorgon quite personally. It hadn’t been their fight before, but it certainly was now.
Prue’s eyes shifted to the white snake curling in on itself in the corner of the cave. Marina, even in her serpent form, hadn’t moved much. Cyrus sensed she was grieving—that even in her animal form, she couldn’t escape it.
“What about Marina and Romanos?” Prue asked softly.
“We can’t wait for them.” Cyrus’s voice was solemn. “The Titans will keep killing people until I face them.”
“I know.” Prue squeezed his hand. “I just wish we had more numbers on our side.”
Cyrus had considered traveling to the Underworld and gathering armies. But there wasn’t time for that now. Besides, how could he allow more blood to be spilled on his account?
He needed to try to face the Titans in earnest this time. If they had started creating unholy creatures, then it wouldn’t be long before the entire realm was overrun with them.
“You didn’t think you could leave without me, did you?” asked a voice.
Prue and Cyrus turned to find Mona, also carrying a small sack, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
Prue’s lips flattened as if she had, in fact, hoped to sneak out without Mona noticing. “Evander’s still not back?”
“No,” Mona said tightly, her eyes dimming. “But I can’t stand by and do nothing. I wasn’t close to Lilith, so it doesn’t feel right to share in the witches’ grief right now. But I can do something. You and I are goddesses now, Prue. We have enough power to fight.”
Cyrus’s stomach knotted at her words. Yes, Prue and Mona were powerful.
But the Titans were even more so. They had felled far stronger deities than the two sisters.
He thought of Prue and the gash in the side of her head that had only barely finished healing. There was a scar there, and her ear would not grow back. She was forever altered from the torture they had inflicted on her.
The idea of the Titans causing his wife even more pain made Cyrus want to roar, to smash through walls and burn down buildings. He couldn’t stand it.
Prue nudged his arm. “Do you have the map?” Her voice was gentle, and he wondered if she only asked because she knew his thoughts were spiraling.
Regardless of her motives, he welcomed the distraction.
Clearing his throat, he checked his pockets for the folded map Farah had given him.
“It’s here.” He glanced at Mona. “Do you remember the way through the Voiceless Jungle?” When Mona nodded, he said, “Good. If you can get us through there, I think I can navigate our way to the Thanassian Empire.”
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Prue asked, her eyes softening.
Something warmed in Cyrus’s chest as he looked at her. “Yes, it has.”
The last time they had been in the Thanassian Empire, they had been reluctantly traveling together to close the gates of the Underworld. In the small village of Faidon, they had finally admitted their love to one another, sealing their bond in a heated night of passion.
He would never forget that night.
Cyrus let out a steady breath. “All right. Let’s go.”
The three of them made their way to the exit, pausing occasionally to bid farewell to some witches along the way. When they reached the cavern entrance, they found Farah and four other witches waiting, each of them dressed in copper armor.
Cyrus straightened at the sight of them, his brows knitting together. “Farah, what’s going on?”
“The four of us are prepared to fight alongside you,” Farah announced, lifting her chin. Her amber eyes gleamed with fierce intensity, and she looked every bit the warrior Cyrus knew her to be.
“I thought your coven would follow after us,” Cyrus said.
“I thought so, too,” Farah said. “But we decided we simply cannot wait. Not all of my sisters are able to fight. And I will not ask them to in their time of grief. Wren will head the coven in my absence and prepare those for battle if and when they are ready. But for now, the five of us cannot stand by and do nothing. I’m sure you share the same sentiment. ”
Slowly, Cyrus nodded. His heart stirred at the sight of these women, bravely willing to step into battle. “Farah, you will likely die. You all will. I need you to understand that.”
“Death has already struck our people,” said the witch next to Farah. Cyrus vaguely recalled her name was Nadia. “It will strike again whether we are prepared for it or not. We want to act now, while we still have the choice to do so.”
The other witches murmured their agreement, squaring their shoulders with defiance blazing in their eyes. Cyrus gazed at each of them, admiring their fearlessness. There was no hesitation on any of their faces. They were ready, even if it meant facing death.
He inclined his head as a sign of respect. “Then, I am proud to consider you my allies in this battle.”
Farah offered a small smile.
“And I will be grateful to have a navigator who knows these lands better than I do,” Cyrus added in a mutter.
Farah chuckled. “I’m sure you are. Come. We’ll lead the way.”
After exchanging glances with Prue and Mona, Cyrus followed the armored witches through the tunnel that would lead them out into the desert.
Cyrus had to admire the witches’ finesse.
Even in their battle armor, they still glided gracefully through the desert, their steps far more lithe and nimble than his, Prue’s, and Mona’s.
The witches were patient and often paused to allow the three of them to catch up.
The wind bit at Cyrus’s face and stung his eyes, burning his skin with the incessant grains of sand that seemed forever embedded in his flesh.
Gods, he hated the desert. This miserable terrain only made him yearn for his home in the Underworld. Even with the enchantment partially broken from the destruction of Pandora’s box, the Underworld was still preferable to this.
At long last, they reached the ruins of Sodara, and the witches stopped, removing parts of their armor and sitting on chunks of concrete and debris to rest. Cyrus was somewhat mollified to see the witches panting and covered in sweat—proof that the trek had been grueling for them as well, even if they hadn’t shown it.
They passed around waterskins and rested in silence, all of them too fatigued to speak. Cyrus squinted in the distance, knowing the Voiceless Jungle was close by.
He was both eager to end the journey, and dreading what he would find on the other side.
“We can’t be the only ones who have noticed,” Mona said softly, still breathing heavily.
“Surely other witches, other deities, have realized the Titans are dabbling in powers that could destroy the realm.” She glanced at her sister.
“Surely we can’t be the only ones seeking to end this?
” Her voice sounded hopeful and uncertain at the same time.
“You forget that our sister has done an exceptional job at destroying two of the three realms,” Prue said in a dry voice after taking a long gulp of water.
“Whatever gods remain are busy picking up the pieces of their lives. Whoever might be able to help us is either dead or too afraid to show their face.”