Page 3 of Crown of Olympus
I froze, feet rooted to the stone before the arches, a breath trapped in my lungs I couldn’t release. Some small part of me had always suspected, but the concrete knowledge — the admission of his guilt — threatened to unravel my facade.
Persephone had cut short her immortal life to protect the babe she had held for mere hours.
Why?
My hands trembled with grief and fury so profound it cracked the last of my restraint. Darkness spilled from my palms, falling softly to the ground, slithering like inky serpents to Zeus’ feet.
“I was trying to save us all,” he pleaded. “You, child, will be the harbinger of chaos and destruction. Where you go, death will follow. It has been foretold.”
“That statement feels a little redundant,” I hissed, “considering whose blood runs through my veins.” My words dripped with venom, my glare sharp enough to cut.
“Hades knew what would happen should he ever sire children! He never should have let it transpire! You should have been no more than a stain on your mother’s sheets,” he sneered.
Zeus lifted his chin, closed his eyes, and began reciting words so feelingly I knew they were etched into his very soul.
“Beneath the eyes of the sleeping Titan,
Where Selene does not dare tread,
The heir of death shall rise,
And life shall soon be bled.
Kings and kingdoms shall fall,
After the eagle takes its last breath,
Many hands will reach for the crown,
But its bearer must be death.
For a dark and ancient power wakes,
At the breaking of the storm,
Untold chaos in the realms shall reign,
Unless the power of death is borne.”
The words drifted away like smoke on the wind.
Turns out, I didn’t care about thewhyafter all. Onlywho— and ensuring he suffered for it.
“Tartarus,” I breathed, consequences be damned.
The third and final arch hummed. Charon’s wide eyes reflected the shadows swirling in the gate’s centre as the abyss appeared — endlessly black and filled with a despair so poignant you could smell it. The air reeked of singed hair and icy breath. The skin at the back of my neck prickled, and I felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
Stalked.
If I squinted into the darkness, it almost looked like a pair of red eyes stared back.
I turned back to Zeus, ready for this sentencing to end. With a scowl still plastered on my face, I bore witness to his wispy form being pulled into the void. It happened slowly at first, then all at once. Gone in the blink of an eye, his face frozen in abstract horror, a lingering bellow of despair echoing off the Styx’s waters.
The moment he vanished, the realm itself seemed to flinch. The ground beneath my feet trembled, as if the earth had gasped. Then, a pulse of cold, violent energy erupted from the heart of the archway, cracking outward like a thunderclap through every blackened structure.
Up, up, up — into the mortal realm and beyond.
I knew, deep in my bones, that even the tip of Mount Olympus would feel the weight of my verdict.
