The fire crackled softly in the center of the courtyard, casting dancing shadows across the stone. It was my first night at the compound.

  I remember sitting on the outer edge of the circle, arms wrapped around my knees, watching them. The others. The demigods. My siblings in everything but name.

  They were laughing, loud and real, voices echoing through the trees. Damian was telling some story about getting caught sneaking extra bread from the kitchen, and everyone was leaning in—smiling, snorting, groaning like they’d heard it a thousand times but still loved every second.

  I didn’t laugh.

  I just watched.

  I was too small, too quiet, too… wrong. I didn’t belong. Not yet.

  But then Helena noticed me.

  She left the circle, just stood up and walked right over like it was the easiest thing in the world. She sat beside me, knees brushing mine, and didn’t say anything. Just gave me a piece of chocolate from her pocket and offered a quiet, knowing smile.

  A moment later, Damian jogged over and handed me a stick with a marshmallow already skewered. “You look like you could use this,” he said. “Rule one of the compound: firelight makes everything better.”

  Then Xandor sat on my other side. He didn’t speak. Just handed me a blanket and looked back at the fire.

  Slowly, one by one, the others shifted, opening space in the circle.

  Not demanding. Not forced. Just… welcoming.

  They made room for me without needing a reason.

  And that night, as Damian burned his marshmallow and Ella nearly knocked over the logs while trying to toast hers, I laughed.

  Really laughed.

  It felt strange and warm and terrifying.

  But for the first time since arriving, I didn’t feel like I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t.

  For the first time, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I could belong.

  The gates to Olympus reopened with a sound like thunder laced with song.

  Every head turned. Every heart paused.

  For a breath, I thought—please let it be her. Please let Zoe have changed her mind. Please let her have chosen us. Chosen me.

  But it wasn’t her.

  It was Cassie.

  She stepped through the gates like she belonged there. Like she had never left. And as her face came into focus, the memories that had been flickering in the background rushed forward.

  We remembered everything.

  All at once.

  Cassie.

  Not Zoe. Not the girl we had fought beside the past fifteen years.

  Cassie—our oldest, our leader, our sister. The one who made sure we all had water after training. Who helped Helena braid her hair before a big match and stayed up late with Stephen when the flames under his skin wouldn’t let him sleep. She was the one who dragged me out of the rain the first time I collapsed from exhaustion—who told me I didn’t have to carry everything alone. She had been our constant, even if we didn’t remember it until now.

  She stepped toward us slowly, her expression soft, cautious, maybe even a little nervous. But there was no doubt in her eyes. Only recognition.

  And it hit us like a wave.

  Bay gasped first, her hand flying to her chest. Ella stumbled back a step. Stephen covered his mouth like he might be sick. Phoenix blinked fast, like she was trying to will the memories into place faster than her heart could keep up.

  Damian whispered, “Cassie?” like her name was a prayer.

  And I—

  I stared.

  Because I remembered her.

  All the nights she checked on us. The way she raced down the halls and still stopped to ask if we were okay. The way she trained beside Helena, held Stephen’s fire in check, challenged me to be better—not just stronger.

  And then she was gone.

  Gone so long we forgot her.

  Except we didn’t. Not really.

  Zoe had taken those memories from us. She must have. Not out of cruelty—but to protect something sacred. To protect Cassie from questions, from pain, from being dragged into something before the time was right. To protect us from confusion, from fear. Maybe even from the guilt of forgetting someone who had always put us first.

  Before Zoe walked through the gates, she told us she was going to get the true twelfth demigod. She said we would remember once she was gone—and she was right.

  But seeing Cassie now, all the weight of that missing time settled into my chest.

  I walked forward slowly, and Cassie met my eyes. There was no accusation there. Only the ache of reunion.

  And I knew.

  This was the beginning of something we had lost.

  And were just now starting to find again.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Helena was the first to move. She crossed the space between them and pulled Cassie into a fierce hug without a word, like her body remembered before her voice did. Cassie clung to her, breath catching, and that was all it took.

  One by one, the others followed.

  Ella and Leander. Phoenix and Bay. Stephen, trembling. Damian—always the first to smile, even when tears were slipping down his cheeks. They wrapped their arms around her, layered and overlapping, like they were trying to make up for every year they’d forgotten.

  I hung back.

  Not because I didn’t remember. But because the ache of Zoe’s absence still pressed against my ribs, sharp and unrelenting.

  She had gone through those gates.

  And this wasn’t her.

  Even if I was grateful Cassie was home, part of me still waited for the one who’d left.

  Cassie laughed with the others as she stepped further into our circle, the sound bright and unburdened. “I’ve waited a long time to see you all again,” she said, her voice catching slightly as she looked at each of us.

  But the gates hadn’t closed.

  I turned toward them, and that’s when I saw it.

  Cassie met my eyes from across the group and smiled—soft, knowing. Then she turned back toward the gates, her expression shifting with quiet purpose.

  My breath caught.

  Zoe walked through the gate and closed it behind her with quiet finality. The light that had once haloed her was gone. No divine shimmer trailed her steps. No glow clung to her skin. Her midnight blue dress was simple now, dusty from the journey, her hair pulled back in a loose braid that had half-fallen apart. But her eyes—gods, her eyes were clear.

  There was no goddess in her posture. No throne in her voice. Just Zoe.

  The same girl who used to stand beside me under the stars.

  The same girl who once laughed too hard at Damian’s jokes, who stitched the torn strap of my gear before a sparring match, who always carried too much in silence and never asked for help.

  This was the Zoe I knew.

  The one I had been waiting for.

  The group of demigods erupted again, voices overlapping in disbelief and joy. They had Cassie—and now Zoe. The two sisters, both returned, both remembered. There was laughter, a chorus of names and gasps and questions that didn’t need answers.

  Helena reached them first, tackling both Cassie and Zoe into a tight, tangled hug. Her face was streaked with tears, her hands trembling as she held them close. She had been closest to them both—first to Cassie, then to Zoe—and now she had them in her arms again.

  Hector came next, clapping Zoe on the back with a grin that almost broke into tears. “Told you,” he said gruffly. “I told you she’d come back.”

  The others gathered around in a wave of motion and sound, arms and hands and tears all at once.

  I didn’t move.

  I just watched her—Zoe—as she smiled, as her shoulders relaxed, as the sunlight caught in her hair and made her look more real than she ever had as a goddess. The joy in her face hit me like a punch and a prayer all at once.

  And for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

  Her gaze locked onto mine.

  Everything else melted away—the laughter, the voices, the crowd of friends gathered around her. It was just the two of us, standing still in a world that kept moving.

  She took a step toward me. Then another.

  Slow, steady, sure.

  And I couldn’t look away.

  When I stood before the gods in the throne room, I told them the truth. I told them I belonged on Earth.

  Some didn’t understand. They blinked at me like I had spoken a language they had never bothered to learn. Why would a goddess choose a world of bruises and dust and fleeting things?

  Hermes had looked heartbroken. I felt the weight of his disappointment like a thread pulled tight—but beneath it, I saw something else. Understanding. He nodded, just once.

  Hecate pulled me into an embrace that hummed with quiet pride. She whispered nothing, but I heard everything in the way she held me.

  Hestia just smiled. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

  And now I was here.

  With all twelve of them—my friends, my family. The ones who raised me without ever knowing who I was.

  I wasn’t a demigod.

  But I wasn’t a goddess anymore either.

  I was just Zoe.

  And I was exactly where I wanted to be.

  Damian crashed into me from the side, pulling me into a hug that nearly lifted me off the ground. “You came back,” he said, voice full of light. “I knew you would.”

  I laughed into his shoulder.

  Then I looked up.

  And I saw him.

  Xandor stood apart from the group, watching. Always watching.

  I didn’t hesitate.

  I started walking toward him.

  The others must have noticed, because the crowd gently parted as I passed through, their smiles softening as they stepped aside. I caught a glimpse of Helena and Hector just beyond them, their fingers intertwined—steady and unspoken.

  But my eyes didn’t stray for long.

  They stayed on him.

  He hadn’t moved. He just stood there, watching me like I might disappear again.

  I walked straight to him, each step heavy with everything we hadn’t said. My heart was pounding, but for once, I didn’t try to hide it.

  “Hey,” I said softly.

  His voice cracked. “You came back.”

  I smiled. “Of course I did.”

  I had left Olympus. I had turned my back on a throne. But this… this was where I wanted to be.

  With him.

  So I did what I’d wanted to do for far too long.

  I kissed him.

  His breath caught against mine, and for a heartbeat the world fell still. The wind softened, the noise around us faded into nothing, and there was only the press of his lips and the closeness of everything we’d been holding back. His hands found my waist like they remembered the shape of me, and I melted into him like I’d never been anywhere else.

  It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t dramatic.

  It was real.

  It was home.

  Not Olympus. Not marble halls and golden thrones.

  This—his breath against mine, the way his hands held me like I was something steady and sacred, the way my heart beat in time with the wind around us—this was the place I had always been meant to return to.

  No title. No prophecy.

  Just love. Just choice.

  Just us.

  When we pulled apart, his forehead rested gently against mine. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to.

  Everything I wanted to say was already there between us—finally.

  A cheer erupted behind us. Then a whistle. Then a whoop that could only have come from Damian.

  “Oh come on,” he called out, “we’ve been waiting years for that!”

  I laughed into the kiss, warmth blooming in my chest.

  Cassie’s voice rang out next, teasing and light. “About time. Thought I’d have to push you two together myself.”

  Xandor chuckled against my lips and kissed me again—quieter this time, slower.

  It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t goddess-like.

  It was real.

  I broke the kiss slowly, breathless and smiling. Then I turned, looking back at the others—at all of them, every single one of the twelve demigods I’d fought beside, laughed with, grown up around. My family.

  Then I looked back at him.

  “Follow me,” I whispered.

  Xandor blinked, caught off guard. “Where?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Instead, I spread my wings.

  The golden feathers stretched wide behind me, catching the late sun as I pushed off the ground with a single powerful beat. The sky welcomed me like an old friend, and I rose high, higher, until I disappeared into the nearest cloud, hidden from their eyes.

  A moment later, I felt the air shift.

  Xandor followed.

  Held aloft by the wind itself, he soared after me, the breeze folding beneath his feet, his eyes locked on mine even as we left the world below.

  Just the two of us.

  He reached me in the soft silence of the clouds, breath steady, his wind-woven footing barely making a sound. We hovered there, the world below hidden beneath us, wrapped in light and mist.

  He drifted closer, one hand reaching for mine. Our fingers laced together effortlessly, like the sky had been waiting for this too.

  I looked up at him, and he was already watching me—like he always had. Like he never stopped.

  I didn’t say anything.

  Neither did he.

  He leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to pull away.

  I didn’t.

  His mouth met mine again, deeper this time. Not a reunion, but a promise—a quiet vow made not with words but with warmth. His arms slipped around my waist, pulling me closer until there was nothing between us but breath and sky. I felt his heartbeat against my chest, strong and sure, like it was syncing with mine. The wind swirled gently around us, lifting my hair, brushing his curls, holding us steady in a world that had once tried to pull us apart. And in that moment, I wasn’t thinking of anything but him. Just the feel of his lips, the way his fingers curled against my spine, and the truth I’d known for so long: this—he—was where I belonged.

  It was the kind of kiss that rooted you to a person, even when nothing else held you to the world.

  My wings beat once, gently, as we turned in the sky.

  And for a little while, there was no war, no prophecy, no gods watching.

  Only the sky.

  And us.