Phoenix’s POV - Over ten years ago

  We weren’t supposed to be near the east hall.

  It was being repainted that weekend—part of some compound maintenance project we were all expected to ignore. But the second Damian found a crate of leftover paint and brushes unattended, he looked at me and Angelina like he’d just uncovered a divine artifact.

  “We should leave something behind,” he said, eyes gleaming.

  Angelina had raised a skeptical brow. “Like what?”

  Damian shrugged. “I dunno. A masterpiece. Something that’ll get painted over in a week, but we’ll always know it was there.”

  That was all it took. We slipped into the hallway after lights out with three jars of paint—green, dark purple, and gold—and brushes of every size. The wall was wide and blank, the lights above flickering just enough to give us privacy.

  Angelina started with a tree, twisting its roots to curl along the baseboards. I painted stars above it, crooked and messy, with thick purple brushstrokes that bled into each other. Damian sketched figures between the two—stick-figure demigods with ridiculous expressions, each one holding exaggerated versions of our weapons.

  “I gave myself a crown,” he said proudly, stepping back.

  “Of course you did,” Angelina muttered, but she was smiling.

  We didn’t talk about battle formations or powers or the burden of what we were supposed to become. That night, in that empty hall, we were just kids with paint-stained fingers and too many ideas.

  Angelina drew a sun that looked suspiciously like a giant, grinning cookie. Damian wrote our names at the bottom in gold, then crossed them out and wrote them again, bigger.

  When we finally snuck back to our dorms, we were covered in splotches of color, breathless with laughter. The mural was probably gone within a few days, painted over by a maintenance crew who never knew what they were covering.

  But I remembered every brushstroke. Every joke. Every second.

  Even now, I could still picture it.

  Phoenix’s POV - Present Day

  The forest broke apart into a wide, battle-scarred clearing—and I stepped into it alone.

  The others had their matches: Damian, Peter, Bay, Zoe. But me? I was here for the monsters.

  They poured from the trees like a flood of teeth and claws, snarling and screeching, their shapes twisting with unnatural angles—some walked on too many legs, some had gaping maws lined with jagged teeth, and others shimmered with oily scales that absorbed the light. Their eyes glowed with a kind of hunger that had nothing to do with food. Just destruction.

  My fingers closed around the handle of my chain sickle, the weight familiar and steady in my hand. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t breathe.

  Instead, I whispered.

  “Calen. Mireya. Solas. Tane…”

  The names came like a litany, pulled from memory and from the stories the dead had whispered to me in dreams. Warriors. Guardians. Broken souls. Lost souls.

  The ground shivered beneath my boots.

  And then it split.

  Bones clawed their way from the dirt—old, sun-bleached skeletons armed with rusted blades and worn shields. Spirits shimmered into being all around me, glowing faintly in the smoky air. Some wore armor from ancient battles, some nothing at all. They didn’t groan or moan like in stories. They stood with purpose. They rose because I asked them to.

  Not because I demanded. Because I honored them.

  “Protect them,” I whispered. “Protect my family.”

  The monsters didn’t hesitate. They surged forward like a wave of nightmares.

  But my army met them.

  Steel rang out against claws. Bone cracked, roars echoed. The air turned sharp with dust and death and the thrum of my magic running through the earth like a heartbeat.

  I spun into the fray, my chain sickle slicing clean through a scaled throat, looping wide to catch another beast by the leg. I yanked hard, pulling it off balance, and a skeletal warrior finished it off with a downward strike.

  They came from every side.

  For every monster we cut down, three more seemed to take its place.

  I could feel the strain. My bones ached. My head rang with the cries of the spirits—their sorrow, their rage, their longing. They weren’t mindless puppets. They had stories, unfinished and echoing in my chest.

  And for a moment, the fear crept in. Not fear of the monsters. But of myself.

  Because this magic had always scared people. It scared me too, once. Skeletons rising at my call. Ghosts answering when I whispered. My power made people uncomfortable. Unnatural, they called it. Dangerous.

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  Maybe it was.

  But today?

  Today I didn’t care.

  Today, I embraced it.

  Because it was time the world saw what a child of Hades could do.

  I dropped to one knee, my breath ragged, sweat dripping into my eyes. A monster charged, and I barely rolled aside in time. My chain sickle wrapped around its arm, and I pulled until I heard it snap.

  I had to focus.

  I thought of Zoe’s wings outstretched against the sky. Of Bay’s steady hand on my shoulder when I was afraid. Of the way Damian never let me sit in silence too long.

  My family.

  I let out a cry—not of fear, but defiance—and slammed my hand to the ground.

  The spirits responded.

  The clearing lit with spectral fire as more dead rose—not just soldiers, but animals, creatures long forgotten, called from the bones buried deep beneath the roots of the forest. My army grew—shining and sharp and relentless.

  The monsters hesitated.

  For the first time, they hesitated.

  I stood, trembling but unbowed, my chain sickle gleaming in the half-light of my summoned dead. The momentum shifted. The monsters stumbled. Fell back.

  We pushed them toward the treeline.

  I became the center of the storm.

  Then I saw him.

  Cole.

  Standing on a ridge beyond the battlefield, his arms crossed, face unreadable. But I could feel it. The cold burn of his attention, like frostbite pressing against my skin.

  Our eyes locked.

  A chill slid through me. Not fear. Something darker. A promise.

  He didn’t move. Just watched.

  He’d come for me eventually.

  But not today.

  Today, I stood.

  Zoe’s POV - Present Day

  We were back in the heart of the battle. Helena stood in front of me, torn between the sister I knew and the weapon Cole had turned her into. I had tried words, even my presence to reach her—but it wasn’t enough. Not this time.

  So I did the only thing I had left.

  The moment her hands collided with mine, I dropped my defenses—not physically, but mentally.

  I let the magic flood inward.

  Her mind was chaos.

  Dark, tangled brambles of pain and fear knotted over the memories I knew—sharp spikes wrapped around laughter, around warmth. I could feel the way Cole had buried them. Twisted them. Warped Helena’s love into something cold and jagged.

  But I knew how to look.

  I pushed through the noise, searching, searching—until I found it.

  The first time she healed me.

  We were both younger, maybe twelve and six. I’d fallen during training, hard. Blood streaked down my leg and I was crying—not from the pain, but from the humiliation. The instructors were shouting, but Helena was suddenly there. Kneeling beside me. Whispering so no one else could hear.

  “You’re okay,” she had said, voice steady as her hand glowed against my skin. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”

  I latched onto it. Pulled it forward.

  Helena jerked back physically, and the connection wavered. Her eyes locked on mine, wild and gleaming.

  Then she snarled, “You’re not my sister anymore.”

  The words hit like a slap. “I protect who deserves it.”

  I stumbled, reeling from both her voice and the sharp shove that followed—mental and physical. Her vines rose again, curling around my feet, but I shook them off with a beat of my wings.

  My voice cracked. “Then remember who you used to protect.”

  She flinched.

  I dove in again—deeper this time.

  And I found it.

  A memory like a heartbeat, steady and unwavering.

  A young me, barely five, standing frozen in a training field as a monster puppet went off course and charged me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

  And then—Helena.

  Throwing herself in front of me.

  Arms spread wide.

  Whispering through clenched teeth as she stood her ground: “Over my dead body.”

  I dragged that memory forward, forcing it into the light. I poured everything into it—love, safety, trust.

  She gasped.

  Her hands trembled.

  A tear slipped down her cheek.

  But then—Cole’s grip.

  I felt it yank through her like a cold tide. Her back straightened. Her eyes hardened.

  But not all the way.

  There was a crack now. A sliver of light breaking through the shadow.

  And I wasn’t letting go.

  Helena screamed.

  Her magic surged outward, raw and furious. Vines exploded from the earth, thorns twisting in unnatural spirals. A shockwave of green energy erupted around her, laced with power and pain. It slammed into me like a wall, hurling me backward.

  I hit the ground hard. My wings bent awkwardly, breath knocked from my lungs. Blood bloomed warm across my shoulder, a vine having raked across it mid-flight. My vision swam, but I forced myself up to my knees.

  I couldn’t stop. Not now.

  Another memory.

  I pushed into the connection again, this time finding one of my favorites—the night we snuck out of the dorms and climbed onto the roof of the compound. I was scared of falling, but Helena never let go of my hand. We sat together under the stars, and she braided flowers into my hair while telling me the myths behind each constellation. That night, she promised she’d always be there to catch me.

  I shoved it to the front of her mind with every ounce of strength I had left.

  Helena froze.

  Her hands dropped. The vines recoiled.

  She swayed where she stood, eyes wide and wet.

  And then she dropped to her knees, shoulders shaking.

  Her voice was a whisper.

  “Zoe?”

  I staggered forward, heart hammering in my chest. I knelt in front of her and reached out slowly, hands trembling.

  “Come back to me, Lena,” I breathed. “Please.”

  Helena was sobbing now, head buried in her hands. Her voice cracked with every breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  I wrapped my arms around her without hesitation, holding her tightly against me.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered. “You’re okay. You came back. That’s what matters.”

  She clung to me like she was afraid I’d vanish if she let go. I closed my eyes and slipped into her mind one last time—not to push, not to force—but to heal.

  I moved carefully through the wreckage Cole had left behind. I pulled apart the darkest knots of fear, lifted the false memories he had buried under guilt and shame. Some, I took out completely. Others I reshaped until they were hers again—not his.

  And when I finished, she was herself.

  Whole.

  The battlefield raged around us. I could still hear steel clashing, monsters snarling, our friends fighting to survive. But there, in that moment, we had something the others didn’t yet.

  Hope.

  Helena pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. Her gaze was clearer now, though still rimmed with tears.

  “Zoe,” she said, voice rough but strong. “Cole. He’s anchoring the others. His presence is reinforcing the control. As long as he’s close, it’ll be harder for them to break free.”

  My breath caught.

  “Go to him,” she said. “You’re the only one who might be able to stop this.”

  I stared at her, not wanting to move, not ready to leave her side.

  But she gave me a nod, firm and steady.

  “I’ll help the others,” she promised. “I’ll free Hector next.”

  I didn’t move right away. I just stared at her, overwhelmed by the weight of it all. I had just gotten her back. After everything—after days of missing her, and the chaos of this battle—I didn’t want to let go.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, my voice small. “How are you going to reach him?”

  Helena gave me a watery smile and winked. “I may not be able to restore his memories like you can, but I have my ways. Hector always did have a soft spot for me.”

  Despite everything, I let out a shaky laugh.

  “I can do this,” she said gently. “But only if you go.”

  I rose slowly, tears slipping down my cheeks. She stood with me.

  We didn’t say anything for a second. We didn’t have to.

  Then she hugged me again, fierce and fast.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  “Always.”

  And with that, we parted.

  She turned back toward the battlefield.

  And I turned toward Cole.