(AGRIOVATHRA BAY – TWO WEEKS LATER - Nihl)

  -?-

  The stake wobbled under my boot. I crouched, pressing it deeper into the rocky soil—fifteen meters from the cave mouth. The wood groaned as it settled. Fifteen stakes total, radiating out from the fissure like a sundial. Yesterday's work, today's early warning system.

  If the aura reaches fifteen meters, you'll have days. Maybe less. Dia's voice in my head, calm and clinical. The word "maybe" was doing a lot of work in that sentence.

  I straightened, brushing grit from my hands. Two weeks of sentinel duty on this cliff, two weeks of watching a sea cave that smelled like rot and old blood—a smell that was getting worse by the hour. Minthe never trained me for this.

  The air shifted. Salt spray stung my face. The gulls' cries cut off mid-shriek. The rhythmic crash of waves changed pitch—deeper, slower, like the bay itself was holding its breath.

  My hand tightened on my spear.

  The fissure exhaled. Cold air rolled out, clinging to my skin like wet cloth. The stench hit—deep caves, old blood, something that made my molars ache. Purple-black staining crept along the stone edges, pulsing softly. A bruise spreading under skin.

  I glanced down. My boot was touching the fifteen-meter stake. The aura had just broken threshold.

  A pressure slammed into my chest—not wind, not physical force. Something else. Something that knew I was there. The Mouth wasn't waking up. It was looking at me.

  My throat went dry. I forced words out through clenched teeth. "Well. This is a step up from chasing centaur foals."

  The joke didn't land. Couldn't even convince myself.

  The fissure pulsed again—darker, hungrier.

  Finnik's voice cut through the rising panic. "You're too weak for the Northern missions, boy. Stay here. Stay safe." Two years. Two years of "staying safe" doing nothing jobs in the south. Hunting game, pickpocketing merchants, waiting for Finnik to come back and tell us we were strong enough. He never did.

  And now I was standing at the edge of a gods-damned Labyrinthos with a broke goddess and a Pyraei brawler as my only backup. Finnik was right. I wasn't strong enough for this. But there was no one else.

  I stepped back—one pace, then another. Withdrawing, not running. There was a difference. One looked professional, the other looked like panic. My hands were shaking. I clenched them into fists and turned toward the villa.

  -?-

  The journey back was a blur of salt-pine and baked clay. By the time I pushed through the villa gate, the sun was setting, the courtyard glowing orange and gold. Peaceful. A lie.

  Dia was perched on the marble bench, honey-dark hair catching the light, her knuckles bone-white where she gripped a clay cup. Lena paced near the fountain, all coiled energy and restless movement. She stopped the instant I entered, ember eyes locking onto mine.

  Her gaze dropped to my hands. She was checking for claws.

  The scar on her cheek—faint, a pale line against her skin—caught the light. My fault. Seven years ago. Beast skin I couldn't control. Finnik had to beat me unconscious before I killed her.

  "There's no greater shame than leaving a scar on a woman." He forbade me from ever using beast skin again. I obeyed.

  Lena never blamed me. Never even mentioned it. But she still touched that scar when she was worried, and I still checked my hands every morning to make sure they were human.

  "Nihl!" Dia's voice was soft, relieved. "You're back. We felt... a tremor. We didn't know if—"

  "Took you long enough." Lena cut her off, two quick strides closing the distance. She crowded into my space, scanning me head to toe. "Spit it out. What did you find?"

  Their expectation pressed down like a physical weight.

  I forced a smug smile. "Calm down, Pyraei Cat." Keep it light. Keep it together.

  Lena's eyes narrowed—irritation at the nickname, then grudging acknowledgment. She knew me too well. This didn't fool her.

  "The cliff's radiating." I kept my voice steady, professional. "Sickening pull. Danger aura at fifteen meters. It's forming—I'm certain now." I scratched my chin, buying time. "Should Dia send a letter to Thessaly, or do we go ourselves?"

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Great report, Nihl. Very professional. "It's scary" really captures the tactical situation.

  "Fifteen meters?" Lena's voice dropped, all humor gone. "That's not a bad feeling. That's a presence." Her hand went to her cheek, rubbing the scar absently. Old habit. Old pain.

  Dia set down her cup with a soft clink. "A danger aura that potent..." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly small. "It matches the scouts' silence. It must be forming. An active one." A pause. Her voice quieted. "A letter to Thessaly is proper procedure. But the bureaucracy... weeks."

  Lena snorted. "Means it could bloom any day. Screw the letter. Let's go ourselves. Right to the Forum. If they see you, Dia, they'll know it's serious."

  Yeah, let's just waltz into the seat of the gods and say "Hey, we think there's a scary cave." That'll go well.

  I sat at the wooden table, projecting calm I didn't feel. "Let's be sure first. Showing up empty-handed is bad for business. But showing up with a confirmed Labyrinthos? That's premium service." And keeps us from looking like paranoid rookies.

  Lena let out a half-groan, half-growl. "Are you kidding? If your sense is screaming that loud, it's not a cracked geode down there!"

  Dia placed a calming hand on Lena's arm. "Nihl's caution is wise. To be mocked would undermine everything we're building." She looked between us, measuring. "But Lena is right—the risk is immense." A breath, a decision. "A brief reconnaissance. Cautious. Together. We go now." Her eyes held mine. "Does that work for both of you?"

  Lena threw her hands up. "Fine! But if something with too many teeth jumps out, we're putting it down. And I'm taking a tooth as a souvenir."

  I winked. "Deal. But if you scream, I'm laughing."

  A flicker of amusement crossed her face. "The day I run from an overgrown cave slug is the day you learn to style your hair."

  Dia watched us, tension easing from her shoulders, a relieved smile appearing. "Then it's settled. I'll gather poultices and wards. Nihl, ensure your gear is ready. Lena..." A pointed look. "Try not to burn down the villa while you 'warm up.'"

  Lena was already halfway to the armory, calling over her shoulder. "No promises!"

  The courtyard fell quiet. Two hours to probable death. At least the weather's nice.

  Dia pressed small packets into my hands, her fingers shaking slightly—she hid it by adjusting the wrapping. "For emergencies. Don't be reckless." A pause. "Please."

  That last word didn't sound like an order. It sounded like a prayer.

  I thought about what she told us two weeks ago, that first night in the villa. How Ganymede replaced her. How Zeus didn't even ask—just brought in a Trojan prince to serve nectar because he was "prettier." How Hera, her own mother, didn't stop it. "I need to prove I'm more than a cupbearer. That I can build something. Lead something. Be something."

  She'd looked so small in that oversized villa—a goddess playing pretend at guild master with two broke brigands as her only retainers.

  "Are you ready?" she asked now, honey-dark eyes searching mine.

  As ready as I'll ever be. But she needed us to say yes. Needed to believe this desperate gamble meant something.

  "Yes, Lady Hebe. We'll return soon." I glanced at Lena's back, already at the gate. "Right, Lena?" I looked over my shoulder. "Wait for our return, Dia!"

  Lena scoffed, adjusting her leather armor with practiced ease, a wolfish grin flashing. "We'll be back before you finish fretting. Probably with a new trophy."

  Dia's soft chuckle didn't quite reach her eyes. "Come back." An order. A plea.

  She watched from the gate, hands clasped tight, as we left.

  Lena nudged past me on the path. "You heard her. Let's move, slowpoke."

  -?-

  The journey was swift—an hour of wary silence as twilight bled across the bay. Our footsteps fell into the old watchful cadence Finnik drilled into us. Light on the ball of the foot, eyes scanning, ears open.

  The air grew thick, heavy. The cheerful sounds of twilight—crickets, distant gulls, wind in the grass—faded and died.

  We crested the final hill. The Mouth waited.

  The tide was out. Purple-stained stone glistened, slick with kelp and something darker. A treacherous pathway down. The groaning grew louder—a deep vibration that traveled through my boots, up my legs, settling in my chest. Less like stone. More like a heartbeat.

  "You hear that, Lee?" I forced a grin. "It's already complaining about the property taxes."

  Lena crouched at the edge, eyes narrowed on the entrance. "It's... breathing."

  I opened my mouth to crack another joke. The words died.

  The world wrenched—the cliff face screamed, stone splitting, reality tearing. Where there was a sea cave, now stood a tower. Obsidian and bone, its peak lost in swirling clouds of bruised purple and sickly green. A true Labyrinthos.

  My vision swam. A low hum pressed against my skin—not sound, something deeper. Psychic. My teeth ached, my chest tightened. Despair washed over me—not metaphorical. Real. Physical.

  Hope dissolved, ambition turned to ash in my mouth. This wasn't a dungeon. It was a monument to futility.

  "By Finnik's filthy scarf..." Lena stumbled back, sharp gasp tearing from her throat. "What is this?"

  My hands were trembling. I forced them still. "Note to self," I whispered, the grin I wore felt like a mask, "next time, charge triple."

  The groaning became a chorus. Faint wails echoed from the stones themselves. We'd crossed a threshold. We were challengers now.

  "That's a Labyrinthos." I heard Dia's academic tone coming out of my mouth. Borrowed confidence.

  Lena tore her gaze away, shock hardening into hunter's focus. "One entrance. One way in, one way out." She stepped closer, heat shimmering around her hands. "A kill box. A god's bad mood with a mortgage." She looked at me, reckless fire tempered to something sharper. "The lesson's over. Do we stick to the plan? Or... see what's on the other side?"

  The smart play was retreat. But the pull was undeniable.

  I laughed—the sound came out thin, hollow. "Is the Pyraei cat curious? Wants a little adventure?" I crossed my arms, hiding the tremor.

  "Curious?" She took a purposeful stride toward the arch, then paused, all playfulness gone. Pure steel. "We do this smart. Finnik's rules. Stick together. Watch each other's backs. The moment we're in over our heads, we fall back. No heroics. Understood?"

  She didn't wait for an answer. A deep breath—steam escaped her lips, the air around her knuckles shimmering with heat. Then, with a low roar that echoed off twisted stone, Promethean Flame engulfed her fists. Defiant fire in the gathering gloom. She wasn't holding back.

  A final glance, eyes holding mine. "You coming or not, slowpoke?"

  Lena of the Pyraei stepped across the threshold. The gloom swallowed her.

  I was alone.

  The Tower of Despair loomed, its wailing chorus a siren's call. My heart hammered against my ribs. My grip tightened on my spear.

  "Yeah, yeah, we get it. You're spooky," I muttered. Time to go.

  "Always jumping in! Wait for me, Lena!"

  This chapter was rewritten in February 2026 for better prose and flow. Enjoy!