Page 63 of Crown of Olympus
Dust motes danced through the thick, stale air, illuminated only by a dim light source high above — so high I couldn’t tell where it came from.
This was a treasure-filledgraveyard.
A labyrinth within a labyrinth.
I immediately understood how Thallo was lost somewhere in here. But was he the only one? Had Athena already made it out? How many other champions had made it this far, only to lose themselves among the stacks?
A shiver raced down my spine, and I swallowed roughly, wondering how long I’d have to sift through Hermes’ souvenirs to find what he’d taken of mine — what he’d dared to pilfer from my home.
Nothing looked familiar. Nothing tugged on my senses, begging to come home. Not the broken fiddle with its severed strings, nor the golden chalice I’d kicked across the floor. Not even the obsidian bust crafted in the likeness of Hades.
My father’s face silently bore its judgement as fleeting sorrow danced poignantly across my heart. I missed him. I wished he could come back.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled — a weight pressing in. The sensation of being watched. I knew the god of thieves would be keenly aware of all we were doing in his trial. Every choice, every movement, every slip, and every chink in our armour would be analysed.
But was I currently the object of Hermes’ attention — or was someone else marking me as prey?
I moved slowly, each silent step a deliberate decision as I waded through the clutter. I welcomed the potential challenge. The thrill of the hunt.
Let them watch.
Let them plot, and scheme, and wait. It only made the game more interesting, because whoever lurked unseen in the shadows would soon realise the darkness wasn’t their ally. It wasmine.
Minutes bled into hours— or maybe it trickled into seconds. I couldn’t tell anymore. Time wasn’t linear in this trial. It was distorted. Dizzying. And that feeling of being watched still lingered.
If I ever get out of here, how many days will remain before the next trial?
Maybe I’d already missed it, stuck in this forgotten trophy room.
I threw my hands up in exasperation, after what felt like hours later. I’d silently scoured countless piles of junk and still recognised nothing as my own.
The heavy silence began to play tricks on me — my mind conjuring fabricated sounds to fill the uncomfortable void: the disgusting scurry of a mouse, the gentle rustle of fabric, the twang of a bowstring being released, the whistle of an arrow slicing through the air?—
When a silver arrow embedded itself in my left shoulder with athunk, I realised I hadn’t imagined that last sound at all. My body jerked as it struck, barely allowing half a second to register thatI’d just been hit with a fucking arrowbefore the pain began. A searing, jagged agony spread from my shoulder to my fingertips, stealing the breath from my lungs. Every inhale made it burn hotter. Every heartbeat pushed more sweet-scented blood out of the wound.
I tried to move the limb, but it was useless — locked in place by the metal shaft.
Panic flared, but I forced it aside. It had no place on a battlefield. And that’s what Hermes’ final challenge had become. Someone had just attacked me, and I needed to fuckingmove.
Another glint of silver flashed in my periphery. I reacted without conscious thought, ducking forwards just as my attacker sliced through the air at my back. I spun to face them, instinct riding me hard — but not hard enough.
The sharp edge of a dagger swiped past my face, grazing my cheekbone. It was wielded by a dark, well-trained hand. A woman stood before me, her brunette hair swaying between our bodies.
A glimmer of recognition struck as I realised I was bleeding, not because my reactions were too slow, but because she was abnormally fast.
Diana.
Unfortunately, the daughter of Artemis had inherited her mother’s enhanced senses and dexterity — an advantage not easily overcome in close combat.
“So much for sisterhood,” I grunted as she slashed again. My jaw snapped shut, my eyes narrowing to slits.
“You’re no sister of mine, Underworld whore,” Diana seethed in reply.
Treacherous hag.
I was done playing. Who was she to look down on me?I wasn’t just mad — I was pissed.
A black dagger formed in my outstretched palm, meeting her steel with a metallicclangas it blocked her strike to my chest. Surprise flickered across her features, but she twisted again and threw herself forward. Diana’s speed far surpassed mine — worse, I was getting slower with every move, and soon she’d be able to land an incapacitating blow.
