Page 77 of Thorn & Ash

Yes, this was worth it. The certainty of it surprised him. Power had been his goal for so long… It seemed like an impossible ambition to let go of, and yet, he knew what it felt like to be separated from Prue, to have a dark presence come between them.

He would never risk that again. Never.

“Tell me,” Prue said suddenly. “What is Erebos? You said you’d never heard of it, but…”

Cyrus sucked in a breath. “I did some research after you mentioned it. There was a village created… in my absence. Someone organized a city of demons and mortals while I was in the Realm of Gaia with you. They did it behind my back, and when I returned, I knew nothing of this new civilization.”

He could almost feel the confusion rippling off her. “But why? To what end?”

Cyrus shook his head. “I don’t know.” His thoughts were already in turmoil, but they continued spinning with the idea that there was a cluster of his people living in this village and suffering.

Who would want to create something like that? Who would organize a village only to abandon it?

Silence fell between them, and Cyrus had to focus on something else. Unless he wanted Tartarus to prey on his fears.

“This place toys with your mortal senses,” he explained in a low voice. “You have to trust your immortal senses.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I know. I’ll help you.” Cyrus found himself smiling again. Prue had only just found out she was the daughter of a goddess. Her skills were untrained.

But Cyrus had been practicing his magic for eons. Even if he had very little power left, he knew how to use it. Already, he could sense the dampness, the cold familiarity of these caves. They were different from the ones above; these were deeper. A gaping abyss waiting to devour him. Each step brought a suffocating darkness, a blinding shroud of inky blackness that could utterly devour him.

That was what Tartarus did. It consumed its victims from the inside out.

Cyrus focused on the chill, the coldness that his magic recognized. It was easy to be swept up in the empty nothingness that surrounded him, so instead, he focused on what else he knew. The ground against his feet crackled with each step, the stones and pebbles reminding him that there was something real and tangible to be felt here. Not just fear and uncertainty.

“Search for that place within you that houses your magic,” Cyrus said as he did the same. “Find the light inside you. Allow it to illuminate your surroundings.”

Prue tensed beside him, and he knew she was focusing, her thoughts intent on her task. After she huffed an exhale, she said glumly, “Nothing is happening.”

“You have to dig deeper. This isn’t just your witch magic you’re conjuring. This is the power of the Triple Goddess. You have it in your blood.”

Prue sucked in another breath, her grip on his hand tightening. Cyrus closed his eyes and dug deep within his reserve of magic until he found the gold light of soul magic.

How much of his immortality was left? He had used so much of this magic already…

But he didn’t have a choice. It was his only weapon down here.

Light gleamed in the darkness, burning against Cyrus’s eyes. He winced against the intensity of it, expecting the gold glow of his soul magic.

But this light was white. Ethereal. Divine.

And it was coming straight from Prue’s chest. Her eyes were still crammed shut in concentration. The glow spread to her arms and hands until her entire body was alight with power.

“Gods above,” Cyrus murmured, awestruck by the angelic presence of his wife.

She truly was a goddess.

Prue’s eyes flew open as she looked at him, her shocked gaze taking in the glow before her. Her face split into a wide smile.

“Hold on to it,” Cyrus warned. “The magic here will try to fight back.”

“I’ll try.” Prue scanned their surroundings, squinting against the brightness of the light.

“What do you sense?” Cyrus asked. He conjured his feeble soul magic and felt the glow burn within him.

Something thrummed just ahead of them. Cyrus stilled, his eyes drawn to that dark corner of the cave. The air churned with power, a warm current that washed over him with a familiar smell. Something ancient and powerful.

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