Chapter 6
Aletheia's POV
Aurora was stepping out from the shadows of the colonnade. She wore a white and gold dress today—I recognized it as one that had been made for me. Now it fit her perfectly.
She wanted me to see it. Wanted me to know that everything I'd once had was now hers.
"Aletheia." She called out, making her voice sound sweet and concerned. She walked closer, making sure to pass near the golden laurel tree. "I heard Grandmother negotiated your release. That must have been such a relief." She paused, letting sympathy drip into her voice. "Though I'm so sorry you had to suffer so much. If I'd known what was happening, I would have asked Father to—"
"Let me out sooner?" I tilted my head slightly. "Interesting. You didn't seem concerned about asking him anything ten years ago."
Her smile faltered. "I had just returned then, everything was so confusing—"
"You knew enough to let everyone accuse me of breaking the Chalice."
The words landed like a slap.
Before she could respond, I turned and walked away.
She and her words weren't worth my attention.
None of it mattered.
I'd already taken a few steps toward Rhea's sanctuary.
"I'm marrying Ares!" Aurora's voice rang out behind me, sharp and loud.
I stopped walking.
"Father has already arranged it. The ceremony will be in a week." Her voice continued, each word like a carefully chosen weapon. "Your former fiancé chose me. He said he's grateful the mistake was corrected before he bound himself to... well. To someone unworthy."
I stood there for a moment, my back to her.
Ares. The one who'd once promised to protect me. The one who hadn't said a word when I was sent to Cocytus.
I glanced back over my shoulder.
Aurora's face wore an expectant expression. She was waiting. Waiting to see me break. Waiting to see my composure shatter.
I wouldn't let her see any weakness.
"Congratulations," I said. My voice was flat, carrying no emotion.
Then I turned back and kept walking.
I didn't stop until I'd disappeared from her sight.
She was marrying Ares.
I waited for something to stir deep inside. Pain. Jealousy. Anger. Anything.
But there was nothing.
Ares Ironblood. The war god who'd once looked at me with anticipation, who'd told me my star would shine after the Ordeal. The one who'd turned away the moment my blood ran red.
He was marrying Aurora now.
I should care. Some part of me knew I should care.
But I didn't.
The girl who'd loved him had died in Cocytus. Frozen, broken, forgotten.
What was left of me felt nothing.
It doesn't matter, I told myself again. None of it matters.
Over the next few days, I visited Rhea's sanctuary every day.
The first day, Grandmother was awake for a few hours. We talked, she told stories, sometimes we just sat quietly, hand in hand.
The second day, she was only awake for two hours. Her voice was weaker, her eyes harder to focus.
The third day, one hour. She slept most of the time, occasionally waking to grip my hand, as if confirming I was still there.
The fourth day, she only opened her eyes for a few minutes. Looked at me, smiled, then sank back into sleep.
The fifth day, she didn't wake at all.
I sat beside her throne, watching her chest rise and fall slowly. The silver light barrier in the sanctuary grew brighter, like a veil covering her, sealing her off from the outside world.
This was it. Deep sleep. Could be decades. Could be centuries.
I kissed her forehead one last time. Her skin was cold, like marble.
"Grandmother," I whispered, "when you wake, I'll be doing well. I promise."
I stood up and turned to leave the sanctuary. There were no tears in my eyes. Just an empty calm.
As I walked out the door, the silver light barrier closed completely, sealing the entire sanctuary. No one could enter. No one could disturb her sleep.
I stood outside the door, gripping the golden token in my pocket.
It was time.
I returned to my small courtyard. There was almost nothing in the room worth taking. Ten years of Underworld servitude had left me with nothing, and no one had given me anything after I returned to the mountain.
Only those folded prison rags, lying quietly in the corner.
I looked at them for a long time, but finally left them there.
Let them rot with this place.
I carry with me the token my grandmother gave me and the rusted blade hidden in my sleeve. One will lead me to freedom. The other will end everything when freedom proves worse than captivity.
From the Dawn Estate to the Olympus Heaven's Gate, I'd need to pass through the central divine plaza. It was heavily guarded, but the golden token should let me through.
I just needed to choose the right moment.
I began planning my route. Avoiding main roads.
Grandmother had given me freedom.
Now I would use it.
I took one last look at the Dawn Temple.
The place that had once been my home now stood in eternal daylight, its golden radiance glaring and false. I'd run through those corridors, played in those gardens, dreamed of being loved in those rooms.
Twenty years of memories, now nothing but ashes.
I didn't hate it. Hatred requires emotion, and I had none left.
I just... didn't belong there anymore.
Maybe I never had.
Then I turned and walked toward the Heaven's Gate.
Without looking back.
Without lingering.
The gates of Olympus loomed ahead, carved from white marble that seemed to drink in the eternal daylight. I could see the boundary shimmering in the distance—that thin veil separating the divine realm from the mortal world. Three more steps. Two.
"Aletheia."
The voice stopped me cold. Not because I recognized it—I did—but because I'd hoped never to hear it again.
I didn't turn around. "That's not my name anymore."
Heavy footsteps approached from behind. The sound of armor, the weight of someone who'd spent years learning to move like a weapon. Ares.
"I heard you were released." His voice was closer now, maybe ten feet away. "Orion mentioned it when he returned from the river."
Of course he did. My so-called brother probably couldn't wait to spread the news that the family's shame had returned.
"And?" My gaze remained fixed on the gates. "Did you come to congratulate me on surviving?"
Silence. Then footsteps again, circling around to block my path.
I finally looked up.
Ten years. It had been ten years since I'd last seen the War God up close. He looked different—harder, somehow. There were new scars on his face, cutting across his bronze skin like pale lightning. His crimson cloak was battle-worn, the edges singed. He'd been fighting. Winning, probably. That's what he did.
But his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—they were the same. And right now, they were fixed on me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"You look—" He stopped, his gaze traveling down my frame. I watched his face shift as he took in the white hair, the visible scars on my arms, the way I held myself like something broken and badly mended.
"Like shit?" I supplied. "Like a corpse? Like someone who spent ten years being tortured in a frozen hell?" I tilted my head. "Pick whichever description makes you feel better about what you did."
His jaw tightened. "I didn't know it would be that bad."
"You didn't ask."
"I—" He reached for something at his waist, and I instinctively stepped back. Ares had watched and done nothing.
"I'm not going to hurt you." His voice was quieter now, almost gentle. It made my skin crawl. "I brought you something."
He held out a small crystal vial. Even from a distance, I could see the liquid inside glowing with a soft golden light. Tears of Asclepius. The healing elixir from the Medical God's temple. Rare. Precious. Powerful enough to mend almost any wound.
"I went to Asclepius's temple myself," Ares continued when I didn't move. "Demanded he give me his strongest medicine. This can heal—"
"No."
He blinked. "What?"
"I said no." I looked at the vial, then back at his face. "Ten years ago, you stood on that star altar and watched them strip my name away. You watched them shatter my constellation. You stood there while Hera sentenced me to a hundred years of torture, and you said nothing." My voice was flat, empty of everything except truth. "You gave up the right to give me anything the moment you chose your reputation over basic decency."
"Aletheia—"
"That. Is. Not. My. Name." Each word came out sharp as broken glass. "I'm the Nameless now, remember? You made sure of that when you didn't speak up. When you let them take everything because you were too worried about what it would mean for you to be engaged to a mortal."
Something flickered across his face. Guilt, maybe. Or anger at being called out. I didn't care which.
"This isn't about the past," he said, still holding out the vial. "This is about helping you now. You're hurt. You're clearly in pain. Just take it."
"Why?" The question came out harsher than I intended. "Why now? Why do you suddenly care about my pain?"
