Instead of death reuniting her with her lost family, Medusa found herself standing before one of many bronze-framed portraits lining a pristine corridor. Nearly everything was covered in white marble, save for the portraits, vibrant frescoed paintings spanning the high ceiling, and stained glass windows depicting... wars?

  Every window was a shot in time, displaying an evolution of sorts. First, the warriors wielded crudely crafted clubs, then spears, before graduating to finely crafted swords and shields. The final window depicted soldiers, but their armour and weapons had a sleek, minimalistic appearance, and at their feet was a spread of human bones. Then the pattern repeated in other windows, on and on.

  Looking away from the disturbing sight, she returned her focus to the large portrait before her. It bore a painting of a man with a clean-shaven, refined appearance, pin-straight white hair, and a thin obsidian band hovering like an orbit around his forehead. A necklace hung from his neck, holding an opal with a marquise cut. He looked no older than thirty, but his eyes seemed... ageless. Medusa cocked her head, peering deeper into those pitch black depths.

  Shivering as unease crept in, she took in the corridor stretching endlessly from right to left. Is this a stop spot in the afterlife? She moved to hug herself and froze.

  Holding her hands before her face, she frowned at her fingers before blinking at her reflection on the polished marble floor.

  Dark hair, soft green eyes, red lips. This was her adult form.

  Confusion mounting, she attempted to speak. “Hello.” Her voice, light and soft, echoed around her—then someone answered from the void.

  “Medusa?” It was more of a question than a call for attention.

  Turning to her left, she staggered backwards when a pair of massive doors rumbled into sight. The double doors, oaken and as tall as Tartarus’ gate, had intricate carvings of sundials scattered across their surface. Within each carved line, gold dust moved like desert sand disturbed by curling winds. She approached as if possessed, but just as her fingers brushed the shimmering surface, she snatched her hand away and shook her head to clear it.

  Someone dangerous could be waiting on the other side, probably pulling strings or laying traps. She strained her senses and sought aether, but the air around had nothing to harvest.

  “I'm a sitting duck,” she whispered.

  “Medusa, is that you?”

  That voice! Discarding caution, she pushed the doors open and stumbled in, body tense with hope and disbelief. Her gaze zapped across the white hall and snagged an unexpected sight.

  Before a tall throne was a kneeling man with arms pulled back and brass cuffs tethering his wrists to chains stretching from the wall behind. White hair curtained the sides of his face, pooled around his thighs and fanned out like curling roots.

  “Come.”

  The whispered command, like a living thing, slid from one ear to the other before blanketing her mind. She approached in a daze and only came to her senses when she was an arm's length away.

  He was much larger up close, and his exposed torso showed no signs of muscle atrophy. There was also a hum about, like the air around him wasn't as barren.

  She noticed it. The same necklace with the gem she had seen in the portrait. This time, it looked alive, with the black stone flaring as if holding fire in its depths.

  He raised his head then. The man in the portrait stared back, with the same dark band orbiting his head and the same ageless eyes. Then, like a fever dream, his face morphed. First changing to Cuauhua’s, then another from her third life, her fourth, and finally Antonii's face.

  She reeled back. “What…”

  Another ripple, and his face snapped to its original appearance. “First, I apologise on behalf of myself and my people.” His voice was exactly like Antonii’s, and he was speaking English. What was this… this wrongness? “When I created the curse, I didn't know the Monolith would twist it to its creation.”

  Finally finding her voice, Medusa asked the question screaming in her head. “Why did you wear my husband's face? Why are you speaking with his voice!”

  He looked at her, gaze contrite but steady. That look in his eyes, she would recognise it anywhere, but it couldn't be. It made no sense.

  “I swear to answer your questions, but you must hurry and find me.” Unbidden, another image superimposed. He was like those stone titans, still on his knees but with deep cracks zig-zagging across his massive body. A blink and the image was gone.

  Thoroughly shaken, Medusa hugged herself. “W-what’s this?”

  “The one they call Perseus has not given up. He will find me again if you don't hurry.”

  “Again?” Swaying on her feet, Medusa crumbled to her knees. “Could it be… is it possible? Is what I’m thinking possible?” Eyes misting, she reached for his face, but her hand passed through.

  “He must never get his hands on this.” The opal flared as if reacting to his words. “Find me and take it.”

  “I'm dead,” Medusa mumbled, still in a haze of disbelief. It all made sense. Now that she was dead, she was seeing Antonii, but in a different form. “I died today.”

  He shook his head, gaze managing to be firm and apologetic all at once. “The curse will never let you die that easily. What we have is different from ambrosia.”

  Medusa released a bleak laugh. That was what she also assumed until she met Clotho’s sister. There was a knowing in her very bones that that being can kill anything that holds life. And she got me. Not with her snipper, but that twisted sword with the horrifying markings.

  Feeling hollow, Medusa stared at her empty hands and gave voice to the nagging suspicion in her mind. “You're him, aren't you?”

  She was too much of a coward to meet his eyes. From the moment she opened her heart to Antonii and accepted his affection, there had always been a strangeness about him. And he had felt much older than her, when that shouldn't be the case.

  Though it hurt her heart to speak it, she had to ask. “Did you manipulate me to love you?” She thought back to how persistently he pursued her, certain she would accept him; that calm, solidness as if he knew the future and simply humoured her whenever she pushed for her way.

  “Would you not speak?” She bit her lower lip, forcing it not to tremble. “Did you know you would die that night? Did you let all that happen to trigger something in me?” Even as she asked the questions, fierce rejection pummelled logic until denial won.

  So pathetic. Even now, excuses sprouted. He must have had a reason; surely it wasn’t all an act. No way he would do that to her. He didn't use me. Please, no.

  They'd go back to how they were before; they could have another baby. They could even get Rico from Demeter if she frees him. But how? She avoided his eyes as she took in the chains.

  “Medusa, you have to listen to me.” There was a hint of desperation in his voice. “There is no time.”

  She wasn't listening. Rising to her feet, she walked around him, taking care not to step on his hair. Glowing runes were etched across the length of the chains like a warning, but it didn't matter. She'd find a way to break them, and they'd be together. The singular thought drummed loudly in her head, silencing all else.

  “You're not listening to me.”

  “Of course I am,” Medusa said with a bitter smile. Antonii was alive… or was his name Antonii?

  “What's your name?” She gave the chains a closer observation.

  “That is not of importance right now.” His tone grew fatigued, just like Antonii’s whenever he loses patience with her stubbornness.

  Medusa’s hand paused over the chain, suddenly hurt. “Are you not… are you not happy to see me?”

  He sighed and turned away. “That’s beyond the point.”

  Rage, sudden and red hot, lashed through her. “Beyond the point?” She marched around him, uncaring that she trampled his hair.

  “So, you're like them? You used me?” Even though her mouth spoke the words, her heart and head refused to believe it. “Was your love false?”

  “My time is already up, May.” Something shifted in his eyes, but he averted his gaze before she could make sense of it. “If you hold a shred of feelings for me, you’ll do the merciful thing in the end.”

  Her heart twisted painfully as she stared at his bowed head. What was this defeat before her eyes?

  Ignoring every feeling but desperation, she tried to grab the chain, but, as with his body, her hand passed right through.

  Throat burning with the urge to wail, she tried again and again. Knowing the result but still trying. Her face crumpled.

  “COME ON!”

  “I promised to answer your questions if you find me, didn’t I?” His tone turned cajoling like he was speaking to some… some wilful little girl. “Just find me, okay?” His voice faded as his image flickered. “Please, find me, May.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Medusa blinked, and he was gone. The urge to throw things in blind fury erupted, but there was nothing here. Silence weighed down as his plea lit a fire of urgency in her.

  I must find him. She began pacing and paused. He said she wasn't dead yet. Can I rouse myself to consciousness?

  She struck her cheek but felt nothing. Slammed into the wall. The same result. Screamed to be let out, but her voice returned in echoes of no effect. Burning with restless energy, she lay on her back and glared at the high ceiling. It was also frescoed, but this time depicting a single massive rock in the middle of an expansive canyon.

  Just when her curiosity was piqued, she felt it. Someone was touching her hand, trying to pry it open? But that was strange. Her hand was open, so why—

  “I’m not sure this is smart, Akrivi.” That was Lonian’s voice!

  Medusa sprang to her feet.

  “I’ll be quick with it, I promise.” More tugging of her arm. “What’s this? How’s her fist this tightly shut?” Akrivi asked, voice hushed but tinged with incredulity.

  Her environment suddenly dimmed, shifting to grey. She found she couldn't move, no matter how fiercely she urged her body to.

  “What’s that animal at her side?”

  “I think it’s called a Rico,” Akrivi answered. “She kept yelling for it when they took her away.”

  Rico is with me? The revelation stoked her determination.

  Grey shifted to black as burning agony welcomed her return to consciousness. There was a flaring pattern to the pain, first starting at a point just below her heart, then flowing outward before ebbing like tidewater. Again and again. She gritted her teeth.

  I'm lying on my back; something warm and small is pressing against my left arm.

  Another pulse of pain raked through her nerves. A groan escaped.

  The fingers that had been trying to pry her fist open withdrew. “By the gods, she’s awake!”

  She vaguely recalled drawing out the return stone when she sensed her end was near. Like a dying dog, the longing to hide her final moments had been overwhelming. So Akrivi wished to retrieve the stone? He’d have to sever her arm to do that; she pulled it into her dimension.

  “I should inform Nestor—”

  “Not yet,” Akrivi cut in. “Let's be sure. May, can you hear me?”

  With great effort, she blinked her eyes open and took in the familiar ceiling of the infirmary. So, I didn't die after all.

  Akrivi’s face came into focus. “Soft hands, do you know how lucky you are?” He beamed as if he were unaware of her status as a murderer. “If the goddess hadn't—”

  “Please…” Her voice came out raspy. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Help me up.”

  As they moved her, she took in her body's condition. Her entire torso was bandaged and neatly clipped, her aether reserve was near empty, and for some reason, she couldn’t pull aether from her pores.

  “I heard they embedded needles in the wound when it wouldn't heal,” Lonian said. He was leaning on the wall to her left, beefy arms folded across his broad chest. “Something about stemming poison.”

  “Ah.” So they’re calling it poison. It was more like a gas that corrupted all it touched, and now some of that wrongness has found its way into her body. Marvellous luck you've got, Medusa.

  Retrieving the beaded band from her dimension, she rolled it on. The pain dulled significantly.

  “I’ve been wondering.” Akrivi’s brow bunched as he settled at the foot of her bed. “Are you… Are you cursed? Is that what made you kill?” There was empathy in his eyes. “I've never gotten the feeling that you're a killer. Could the screecher be wrong?” Perhaps he was comparing their situation and foolishly making excuses for her. How naive. If her stone gaze were to return suddenly, he'd be dead in a blink.

  Instead of answering, Medusa turned her focus to Rico. Why was he still asleep? What did Demeter do to you?

  “I believe the goddess thinks so, too,” Akrivi continued, tone unsure. "That's why you’re not held prisoner… I think.”

  Medusa continued observing Rico. He had barely grown since Demeter took him, but his patterns were darker, and he appeared healthy at least.

  Silence stretched.

  “You can’t leave, soft hands. Give me the return stone.”

  She lifted her eyes. “Why should I?”

  “Why?” He asked, aghast. “Things have escalated. The boy who did this to you also killed Hoxha and Moschos before vanishing. Their backers are holding Demeter responsible, demanding a life for a life. There are even whispers of a possible hearing with Zeus. ZEUS! But you were there; you can testify about what happened.”

  Medusa mutely stared at him. None of that mattered. All of Cosmolith could burn right now, but her focus would remain the same. I will find Antonii, and we'll find a way to escape this hell.

  “Are you even listening?”

  She observed her hands. At least the disguise still held. But her body was wrecked; it’d be impossible to find Antonii in this state. Lifting her eyes once more, her focus danced between the boys. Maybe…

  “How long was I unconscious?”

  “A day,” Lonian answered.

  “I see.”

  Gingerly lifting Rico, she raised him to her face and smiled when he yawned. Eyes misting for the second time today, she swept a hand down his sleek fur.

  “I found him,” she murmured in English before hugging him to her chest and shutting her eyes. “He’s alive, and he did not deceive me. No way.”

  “Something isn't right,” Lonian’s tone grew wary. “We should call Nestor.”

  Making her decision, she met Akrivi's eyes. “Please, help me.” She let a tear slip, and then more followed. “I promise to come back after I find him.”

  “Find who?” Lonian turned to Akrivi, clearly confused. “Is she talking about that map?”

  “You're right about my curse.” She dropped her gaze and crushed the rising feeling of shame. Deceiving them was necessary. “It made me do things… things beyond my control. You asked why I'm so determined to find that person. It’s because he can help me.”

  Curiosity shone in Akrivi’s eyes. There's no way he wouldn't be interested; he was cursed, too. “How? Curses have no cure.”

  “I do not seek a cure but control.” She sniffed and swiped at her tears with an arm. “Please, help me. You can hold this debt over my head in the future. I will pay back however I can.”

  More tears flowed as she pleaded with her eyes. Time was running out. Since she was out for a day, Perseus may have even gotten to—she gave her head a fierce shake.

  Lonian looked between them, sighed and produced a neat strip of black cloth. “Wipe your tears.”

  Medusa looked from the cloth to his face before tentatively taking it. “Thank you.” She offered a subtle bow.

  Hurry and decide already!

  “Akrivi told me one of your parents is a deity.”

  Her eyes flew to the Akrivi. He shrugged; not a hint of remorse on his face.

  “I don't understand.”

  “We'll help you. But,” Lonian raised a finger, “promise to show up for the hearing if there is one. Lives are at stake.”

  “Of course,” Medusa said, even though she intended to do the exact opposite. “You don't know what you've done for me. Really. Thank you, Lonian. Akrivi.”

  “It’s nothing.” Lonian waved away her words. “Akrivi mentioned rain nymphs.”

  Medusa scowled at Akrivi. “Do you tell him everything?”

  He shrugged. “Nearly.”

  “Hyades would be easy for me to handle.” Lonian gestured at Akrivi, who tossed him a return stone.

  “Why?” Her gaze jumped between the boys. Akrivi looked away, appearing on the brink of laughter.

  “Why would it be easy for you?” She scowled. “Are you a deity?” The last thing she needed was some unknown deity hanging around her.

  “I'm a eunuch,” Lonian answered before Akrivi burst into laughter.

  If the large boy was offended, it didn’t show. “You wish to speak with this person? Would it be brief?”

  I don't know. “Yes,” she said instead.

  “Good.” Lonian nodded. “If we leave now, we may be done with this before nightfall.”

  ***

  Medusa gritted her teeth as the rushing wind battered her face and snatched at her short hair. Akrivi had taken the lead, with Lonian coming up in the rear to deal with most of the hyades. He wielded a large broad sword that he swung with terrifying ease, smoothly felling hyades that appeared in their true form—tree-like torsos, wooden faces and twisting limbs made of sharpened roots.

  She had placed Rico in her dimension before they used the return stones, and now she clung to Akrivi like a baby spider monkey as they raced through the dead land.

  Though most of the hyades came from behind, some left the hoard, rushing over in a grotesque fusion of heaving bosoms and smoking snapping fangs. Akrivi dealt with each one with his dual swords while she clung to him like a crab. And it was excruciating. The more his movements jostled her body, the more blood leaked from her wounds. She was losing too much blood, and the bead grew hotter around her wrist, something that had never happened before.

  To combat her rising dizziness, she talked. “Who is Lonian?”

  He laughed. “What do you mean by ‘who's Lonian’? He's a Seiraphon monk and our friend.”

  He sliced a hyades that flung herself at them, effectively silencing her piercing shriek.

  “You know what I mean. Why do you tell him nearly everything?”

  “We have similar goals. And he’s Hermes’ contender,” he casually added. “Hermes has been kind to me.”

  “Oh…” Medusa’s brow climbed up. How unexpected. A monk having an impossibly wealthy god as a backer.

  “And Demeter is my backer.”

  “Huh?” That was even more unexpected.

  “Do you see why you must return to give a testimony?” His voice was tight with worry.

  The implication hung heavy in the air. They may demand his life.

  “Athena must have had a hand in—”

  Akrivi stumbled to a stop so fast that pain exploded in her chest. She squeezed her wrist as her eyes watered.

  “Athena? Wise and merciful Athena?” Without looking, he slashed at an approaching nymph as he strained his neck to look at her. “Are you serious?”

  Medusa groaned, realising she had spoken out loud. “Please, keep going,” she managed to wheeze out. Ahead was a dense cluster of trees resembling an oasis. They were almost there; she could sense it.

  He reluctantly resumed his run. “Did that boy mention Athena?”

  Perseus didn’t have to. That sword—whatever it has now become—was Athena’s gift to her precious prodigy. And even if she hadn't called the kill, it would be refreshing to see winds of suspicion blow in her direction for once.

  “He’s one of Athena’s chosen blood carriers.” Demeter should at least be able to figure that out. In her first life, Perseus being one of Athena's flying monkeys was never a hidden thing.

  They noticed it then. The hyades were no longer swarming. Lonian flashed over. Face serious, he nodded ahead. “Is that the place?”

  “Yes,” both she and Akrivi answered at once.

  When they reached the thicket boundary, Akrivi let her down. Even without taking a step, she sensed it. There was a barrier here, a strong one judging from the massive waves of aether roiling around.

  “How curious.” Lonian stretched a hand, but his open palm stopped mid-air as if encountering an invisible wall.

  “It’s like a massive aether inductor,” Akrivi said, awestruck. “This is the reason everywhere is barren of aether. Do you see?” His voice grew louder with excitement. “It’s holding it all in. Magnificent! If I can just—” He did a double-take when he looked at her. “By the gods, soft hands.”

  “What?” Why was he staring? She looked down and blinked in stupor.

  Well, that’s a lot of blood, she thought detachedly. And why was it so dark? She touched the bleeding spot and rubbed her fingers. Yep, almost black. Her skin was ghostly white, and the bones of her fingers stood out unnaturally. Dizziness struck like a thunderclap.

  “Tears shouldn't have swayed me," Lonian muttered before pulling out his return stone. “Let’s head back.”

  “No.” Her voice came out slurred. “I need to speak…”

  “That’s enough.” Lonian had just reached for her when the space between them rippled.

  A feminine hand pushed out, grabbed Medusa by the neck of her tunic and pulled her through the barrier.

  Those who picked Demeter: