The world didn’t magically heal after Cole fell.

  Monsters still roam, darkness still rises in forgotten corners. The gods didn’t descend to fix what had been broken, and no great wave of peace swept over the land. But the fear that once ruled the world had cracked. And from those cracks, something new began to grow.

  We didn’t win peace—we earned the chance to fight for it. Together.

  We’re not always in the same place. The thirteen of us go where we’re needed. Sometimes I go weeks without seeing Ella or Phoenix. Sometimes Damian vanishes for days, chasing whispers of a threat in some far-off canyon. But when it matters, we come together.

  We always come together.

  Stephen built a compound. Not a fortress. A home. Tucked in a valley surrounded by trees that feel older than war. It has enough rooms for each of us. A kitchen where Cassie burns toast every morning. A long table that always has too many chairs—and somehow, not enough.

  There’s a fire always burning in the hearth. A library that keeps growing. A training ring in the back where Leander and Bay spar at sunrise.

  Helena and Hector live there full-time. They’ve built something quiet and unshakable together. Something steady. Helena has cultivated a massive garden behind the compound—flowers, herbs, trees that bloom in every season. She grows what she needs to heal, and she never turns anyone away. Hector runs the forge just beyond the edge of the trees. He crafts more than just weapons—tools, charms, intricate pieces of art that serve both purpose and beauty. They don’t say much about what they’ve built. They don’t have to.

  Cassie… she belongs. The moment she returned, she slipped into the rhythm of our lives like a note we’d all been missing. She teases Damian the loudest, spars with Ella, reads beside Stephen, and dances with no one when the mood strikes. Lately, though, she’s been spending more time with Peter.

  They’re both quiet in their own ways—thoughtful, strategic. I’ve seen them bent over maps together, tracking monster patterns and movement, tracing red lines between recent sightings like they’re solving a puzzle only the two of them can see. But their conversations always end in something softer. A shared smile. A brush of hands. They sit beside each other at meals now, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And sometimes, when she laughs at something only he said, I wonder if she even realizes how often she’s looking his way.

  I’m not sure what they are.

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  But I hope it becomes something.

  Phoenix and Bay are nearly inseparable now. Best friends in every sense. They’re always traveling together—usually with Ella and Leander not far behind. The four of them move like a unit: sharp, fast, and fiercely loyal. Bay keeps watch over Phoenix like the tide guards the shore, and Phoenix, in her quiet way, always makes sure Bay’s feet never drift too far from solid ground.

  Ella and Leander are still the heartbeat of our group—the twins whose bond no storm has ever managed to shake. They balance each other like the sun and moon. Ella is fire and motion, Leander calm and steady. Together, they’re unstoppable. They’ve become the anchor of any team they’re part of, and wherever they go, it’s with Phoenix and Bay flanking them like shadows—loyal, fierce, and always ready. The four of them are more than a squad. They’re a force.

  Angelina is healing. Slowly. Carefully. After years under Cole’s control, her mind still feels fragile sometimes, but she’s learning how to trust herself again. Damian helps with that—more than he probably realizes. He stays close without crowding, listens without fixing. They spend long evenings talking by the fire, and sometimes I catch her smiling when she thinks no one’s looking. I don’t ask. But I hope.

  Damian is still our spark. The first to make someone laugh when the weight gets too heavy. He travels more than most, drawn to rumors of lost magic or strange disturbances, but he always circles back to us like gravity. He’s not just a fighter—he’s a connector. A bridge between broken pieces. I know he feels the emotions of the world more deeply than anyone else. But he carries it with grace, with fire, and with that crooked smile that says he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

  And Xandor…

  He’s still the wind at my back. Still the starlight in my silence. He flies beside me when we patrol the skies, the current shifting gently around us like it knows our rhythm. He waits for me when I land, his presence steady and calm, always close but never crowding. Sometimes we speak, sometimes we don’t. But the silence with him is never empty—it’s full of all the things we’ve survived together. He says little, but he never has to. I know what he feels in the way he watches me, in the way his hand lingers on mine just a second longer than necessary. With Xandor, I don’t have to be a goddess or a soldier. I just get to be me.

  We’re still together—Zandor and me. Through every new mission, every scar, every moment of peace we dare to steal. His kiss still feels like the first time: grounding and electric, like wind threading through firelight. It’s never rushed. Never claimed. Just offered—quiet and steady. And when his lips meet mine, I remember why I came back.

  Because he is my home.

  I still see my parents.

  Not in the way I once did. But I feel them in dreams. My mother in the shadows between stars—always watching, always waiting, her presence a quiet strength that wraps around me when the night is still. My father in the wind that carries my voice home, like a whisper through the trees or a breeze against my cheek, reminding me that I am never truly alone. Their love lives in the spaces between waking and sleep, in the echoes of magic and memory. And in those moments, I know they are proud.

  I’m not a goddess.

  I’m the girl who fell from Olympus and landed in a family.

  The girl who chose Earth.

  Because this is where I belong.

  With them.

  With us.