Lifting her eyes from the device, a spontaneous smile touched Ellia’s lips at the sight of Mimi.

  The girl sat perched in one of the throne chairs once reserved for an arch-hierophant, her legs dangling well above the floor, swinging idly like a child on a dock. The casual joy of it felt almost irreverent in a place like this.

  Almost.

  Because beneath the warmth crept something colder.

  Awe. Reverence. And a thin, unwelcome thread of fear.

  Ellia hated that part most. Not because she doubted the gods existed — that lie was impossible now. The Olympians were alive, marching armies across the world, turning their spears not only on the Forgotten, but on each other. The Triarchy ruled through fire and iron. The Tetra answered with tides, cunning, and grace. Creation and annihilation walked side by side, and mortals were crushed between them.

  What frightened her wasn’t their power.

  It was how little they cared.

  The chamber itself was a monument to that truth. A dozen pillars stood in a perfect circle around the central dais, their crowns split into opposing halves of arching stone. Each pair reached toward the other, meeting at a single keystone — a union held together by balance alone.

  Nestled within these majestic archways were vibrant frescoes of the Olympians, their omnipotent gazes fixed upon the mortal men and women in worship beneath them. Above these primeval architects of humanity, the ceiling unfurled like an artist's canvas, a painted semi-dome that swelled with the echoing voices of the devout, their hymns of homage reverberating in the cavernous expanse though no longer present to chant.

  Ellia had always thought it looked like an eye.

  Clouds rimmed the dome in heavy strokes of gold leaf — the sclera.

  Silver structures representing Olympus rose inward like a city of impossible symmetry — the iris.

  And at the center burned a sun of layered gold, bound by intersecting ovals — the pupil.

  Watching.

  Judging.

  Waiting.

  Time had gnawed at the mural. Color flaked. Gold dulled. But some wounds were deliberate.

  Zeus, Ares, and Athena — the Triarchs — stared outward with hollow sockets where their eyes had once been. Blades had gouged them out during the opening days of the civil war, a defiant act by mortals who believed that blinding gods might make them listen.

  It hadn’t.

  Ellia’s gaze lingered on the wounded murals a moment longer—on gods carved into stone and paint, their stories fractured, their authority frozen mid-judgment. Faith here had hardened into architecture. Belief into ruin.

  Then her eyes drifted down.

  Not to stone.

  To movement.

  Mimi.

  The girl remained perched on the arch-hierophant’s throne, legs swinging freely, heels never quite touching the floor. A living thing in a room built to immortalize the dead. She hummed softly to herself, unaware—or uncaring—of the weight pressing in from every wall.

  The contrast struck Ellia harder than any desecrated fresco ever could.

  This wasn’t innocence preserved in pigment.

  This was innocence breathing.

  The murals spoke of gods at war, of schisms carved into history, of divinity calcified into sides and symbols. But Mimi—thirteen years old, blessed by the Twins themselves—was proof that the world hadn’t finished choosing yet.

  That something new still had permission to exist.

  Apollo and Artemis were enemies of Olympus now. Traitors, if the Triarchy’s banners were to be believed. And yet here their mark lingered—not in conquest, not in ruin—but in a child who swung her legs and smiled like tomorrow was still negotiable.

  Ellia felt something loosen in her chest.

  Then purity spoke.

  “Hey!” Mimi chirped, feet still swinging. “I was thinking. It’s about time I got a mask too!”

  “Don’t worry, little bird,” Ellia said, her voice warm but measured. “You only earned your feather last night. And I’ve got something special in mind for you.”

  “REALLY?”

  Mimi’s legs froze mid-swing. She leaned forward, hands gripping the leather cushion on either side of her thighs, eyes wide with barely contained glee. She nearly pitched herself off the throne.

  “Special how?”

  Ellia smiled. Just a little. “You’ll see.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “But I want to know.”

  “Patience, little one. You’ll see soon. ”

  Mimi crossed her arms, huffing. “Fine. But I’m not little. I’m almost as tall as you—and still growing.”

  Ellia shook her head, a quiet exhale slipping free. No filter. No instinct for station.

  "You need to watch how you speak to me,” she said—not unkindly, but firmly. “You can't be undermining my position. I want you to be candid, but If you speak to me as an equal before you earn the title, even when it's just the two of us, it might slip in front of others. We can't afford a slip like that. Especially today."

  "Candid? Especially today? As in, in front of the prisoners?” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “You get them to squeal?”

  Ellia pinched her eyes. "Candid means truthful and straightforward."

  “Oh.” Mimi grinned. “I’m very good at that.”

  “We know,” Ellia said dryly. “Sometimes to a fault.”

  “Thank you. So—what’s up with the prisoners?”

  Ellia’s mouth curved despite herself. “They’re not prisoners anymore. More like… reluctant business partners. Even if they don’t realize it yet.”

  Mimi’s eyes widened. “Wait—really?”

  “They’re all Tetra,” Ellia added. “Even the one in blue.”

  “No way.” Mimi bounced once on her heels. “That’s good, right? You could probably get them to give us some good shit for helping them. The Tetra are the good guys. Like us. Right?”

  Ellia sighed. “Language. And yes. At least… I hope so.”

  “But you swear all the—”

  Ellia cut her off with a look. “I swear selectively. You swear recreationally. There’s a difference.” Her tone sharpened just a notch. “We deal with powers that don’t forgive mistakes. Or mouths that run ahead of brains.” Ellia gave her that I’m talking about you look before proceeding. “They’re not merciful, Mimi. They're soulless bastards.”

  Mimi grinned. “Okay, MOM.”

  She hopped off the throne before Ellia could respond, boots hitting stone with a soft thud.

  The dais she stood upon sat higher than the rest of the sanctum, offset to one side—three thrones aligned at its center, with the far-right seat being the one Mimi had claimed without asking. Behind them, three of the twelve columns anchored into the raised stone, and beyond that, a walled recess where priests, priestesses, hierophants and oracles had once prepared their rites and sacraments.

  Mimi skipped down the three steps to the pew level and crossed the sanctum with quick, unguarded strides. She stopped at the altar and placed both palms on its stained marble surface, fingers splayed.

  Ellia followed, boots echoing down the central aisle.

  They stopped opposite one another at the altar.

  Mimi’s long black hair drank in the low light of the chamber, swallowing it whole. Ellia’s sun-bleached curls caught what little illumination remained, reflecting it back in pale contrast. Stone and breath. Shadow and glow.

  The air between them tightened.

  When their eyes met, Ellia felt it again—that strange pull, like opposing poles dragged too close. In each iris, a pinprick of light stirred. One burned with a molten orange flare, restless and fierce. The other gleamed white, edged faintly with blue—cool, vast, patient.

  Before Ellia could speak, Mimi reached across the altar and took her hands.

  And the world shifted.

  “Check this out.” Mimi closed her eyes as she spoke. “Shut your eyes.”

  Ellia hesitated only a heartbeat before obeying. “Alright. Now what?”

  “Wait.”

  Ten seconds passed.

  “Eh-hmmm,” Ellia cleared her throat—

  —and then she felt it.

  A pulse.

  Not pain. Not pressure. More like a flick against the inside of her skull. As the sensation lingered, it shifted—warming, spreading—like someone exhaling gently against a single, hidden corner of her mind.

  Focus on it. DON’T open your eyes.

  What the f—

  Language, Captain.

  Ellia froze.

  There was no sound. No voice. Yet words filled her awareness.

  Not spoken.

  Not written.

  Imparted.

  They carried the texture of thought—her own thoughts—except for one unmistakable difference.

  The tone.

  It was Mimi.

  She cautiously pushed back along the strange current.

  You’re in my head?

  …I guess?

  You guess?

  I didn’t mean to talk like this. I just wanted to show you something.

  Show me what?

  Give me a second and I will show you.

  SHOW ME WHAT—

  Patience, Captain. Stay calm.

  Patience? Stay calm? You—you are freaking talking inside my head.

  Do you have any idea how messed up this is? I don’t even know what’s in here.

  SHHH. I can’t think over your thinking— just… relax. I don’t know what I’m doing either. And it’s not like I can see your thoughts. All I see are mine. And whatever you send my way.

  Ellia paused.

  You’re not… in my head?

  The pressure eased slightly.

  No. I don’t think so.

  Then what is this? Shared thoughts?

  …Yeah. I think so. Something like that.

  How did you even find out you could do this?

  It’s how I talk to our bonded. Just usually through pictures. Images. Imagery. Whatever.

  Ellia exhaled slowly, grounding herself.

  Alright. Not possession. Not intrusion.

  Information transfer?

  She consciously tried thinking privately.

  By the Twelve… are we psychic now?

  Can you hear this?

  She let the thought trail.

  Nothing.

  No response.

  Did you hear any of that?

  Any of what?

  Ellia almost laughed in relief.

  Never mind.

  This was insane—but controlled insanity. Mimi wasn’t reading her mind. Ellia had to intend the connection?

  Intent.

  That was the key.

  Ellia’s thoughts sharpened—not with fear, but calculation.

  If intent governed the link, then this wasn’t chaos. It was a tool.

  How far could it reach— was it limited to touch, or could it span meters, or even kilometers? Was it limited to one mind at a time—or many? Could the bond leap from Mimi to the Raven… and then outward again? If so this was perfect it was silent communication. No intercepts. No jamming. No Triarch ears hiding in the wire. Orders altered mid-operation. Warnings passed without signal. A flock moving as one body, one will.

  It wasn’t magic.

  It was superiority.

  Ellia reined the thought in hard. Later. Test it later.

  Right now, she needed to understand what Mimi was showing her—before the opportunity vanished.

  She hovered on the edge of the mental space again, testing it, when Mimi’s voice snapped back into her awareness—bright, excited.

  Found it! Don’t ask what. Just do what I say.

  Ellia braced herself waiting for a command as pressure built behind her eyes.

  Focus on it. It’s feels like something is trying to press into your head

  She did as Mimi said.

  At first, there was nothing. Just darkness.

  Then—

  A light. The point of pressure became a light.

  Distant. Small. Like a single house burning Prax lamps on a far shoreline.

  As she concentrated, the pull returned—stronger this time. At first it felt like magnetism between her and Mimi.

  Then the sensation changed.

  Her awareness moved towards the distant light.

  Or the light moved toward her?

  She couldn’t tell which it was until.

  The distance collapsed.

  And suddenly—

  Color.

  Heat.

  Scent.

  Sound.

  Taste.

  All of it crashed into her at once.

  Ellia’s breath caught as she found herself slammed into a state of—

  FALLING!