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Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

I

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

Elysia rested her forearms on the narrow ledge at the top of the Gateway Arch, admiring the view. The setting sun painted the horizon in hues of gold and peach, while the Mississippi River glimmered below, reflecting the skyscrapers and the shifting sky. She allowed herself to get lost in the subtle hum of life moving on beneath her—cars inching along highways, the occasional call of a seagull, the murmur of tourists enjoying their last moments before closing time.

It had become something of a ritual for her: pausing to absorb the moment fully, capturing a photograph to send back home. “Home” was a complicated notion these days—Britain and its lingering ghosts weighed heavily on her, but so did the ties that kept her anchored. She thought of Andromeda’s kind but not cloying concern, Tonks’ playful encouragement, Luna’s whimsical commentary that always seemed to hit some deeper truth. Elysia’s lips curved into a small, private smile. She adjusted the camera strap around her neck and brought it up to snap a shot.

It was then that her magic stirred, a subtle vibration beneath her breastbone. Like a spider’s web catching the barest hint of movement, her senses alerted her to something unusual. She scanned the observation deck, frowning slightly. A trio of kids—twelve, maybe thirteen—caught her attention. One was a tall, lanky boy with curly hair who seemed skittish, the other a self-assured girl with stormy grey eyes and blond hair pulled back, currently rattling off facts about the Arch’s height and construction. But it was the boy next to her that made Elysia’s magic react with a force that nearly stole her breath: black hair grazing his shoulders, sea-green eyes that carried an intensity she recognised instantly, even from across the platform.

It struck her with the familiarity of a lightning bolt. She recalled the times her magic had twanged like this in the past—an eerie recognition, as though meeting a distant cousin of power. She’d felt it faintly around the Veela at Fleur’s childhood home, stronger around certain gifted wizards who straddled old magics. But this was stronger. More primal. It made her skin prickle, reminding her of the sensation just before she cast a spell of old, forbidden magic during the war. This boy—who was he?

She didn’t have time to dwell. The park ranger’s voice rang out, announcing that they were closing for the day. She watched the trio’s little cluster break apart: the grey-eyed girl and curly-haired boy hurrying to catch the first lift down, leaving the black-haired boy to wait for the next. Elysia didn’t move yet. Instead, she leaned a fraction further over the railing, taking in the kid’s posture, the way he paced a bit, looking around with a quiet nervousness that felt achingly familiar.

So few people remained now. A family, shuffling their children towards the lifts with tired smiles; the ranger, already looking at his watch; an oversized woman wrapped in a loud floral blouse and her Chihuahua, perched at the edge of the deck. Something about that woman was off, though Elysia’s eyes tried to slide past her as if compelled to ignore her presence.

Elysia narrowed her eyes. No. She knew what that felt like: a subtle compulsion. Glamour or Confundus, maybe something else. She breathed deeply, pushing her magic into her eyes. She had learned to do this long ago—to see through illusions, to shrug off enchantments. It was a draining skill, but it had saved her life too many times to count.

As her vision cleared, the world seemed sharper around the edges. She saw the woman flex her arms, rolling up her sleeves with a deliberate slowness. The skin beneath was not human; it shimmered with greenish scales that caught the last rays of the sun. At her feet, the tiny dog shuddered and began to stretch, its frame warping unnaturally. Teeth elongated, eyes glowed.

The family screamed, the ranger stumbled back, fumbling for his radio. The boy with the sea-green eyes jolted into a fighting stance that spoke of experience, and maybe fear. Then she saw his hand move to his pocket, as if to draw something. A weapon?

Elysia sighed softly. Her black hair, streaked with white, swayed as she brought her hand up, fingers wrapping around her wand. The polished aspen wood thrummed beneath her grip, connected so intimately to her very magic since she had united the Hallows. She had hoped for a peaceful sunset and a photograph to share with Luna, Tonks, or Fleur. Instead, fate had other plans. Potter luck, as always.

“Why can I never just have a relaxing visit?” she muttered under her breath, voice dripping with a resigned sort of exasperation.

No, fate would never let her rest. But if there was one thing she knew how to do—better than anyone by now—it was to fight monsters and protect the innocent. The war had taught her that, painfully and thoroughly.

Letting her lips curl into a dangerous little smile, Elysia stepped forward, wand raised, and prepared to face whatever lay beneath the monstrous glamours.

The steel-and-glass confines of the Gateway Arch’s observation deck felt even smaller as the creature swelled in size, warping and stretching until its hodgepodge of monstrous features pressed against the curved ceiling. Where there had been a petite Chihuahua now loomed a thing out of nightmares: the head of a lion roaring with bone-rattling ferocity, the body and cloven hooves of a massive goat pawing at steel flooring that groaned beneath its weight, and a thick, scaly serpent tail lashing behind it. The serpent’s hiss sounded like steam escaping from a cracked pipe, the language too foul and ancient to be worth translating.

Elysia hissed a curse under her breath—this was a Chimaera, but one she never expected to face in the heart of Muggle America, atop a tourist hotspot. Without a moment’s hesitation, she raised her aspen wand and began firing spells. Crimson and gold bolts sparked off the Chimaera’s flanks, each impact rattling the beast’s hide. But here, in this narrow space crowded with terrified bystanders and reinforced steel, she was restricted. She could not unleash her full arsenal without risking everyone, not to mention the structural integrity of the monument. Her spells acted more like stinging barbs, irritating the creature rather than delivering a decisive blow.

She tried a new angle, throwing herself forward into a roll beneath the serpent’s twisting tail. The metal floor bit into her shoulder, but she emerged on the other side, closer to the kid—no, the boy—who now stood protectively in front of the rattled park ranger and a horrified family. In his hand, a bronze sword gleamed faintly in the half-light, its blade oddly at home in the presence of this ancient horror.

“Stay back, kid,” Elysia snapped, flicking her wand at the creature’s flank, sending a bludgeoning hex into its snarling lion mouth. “Even if you know how to use that, you’ll have to get too close.” Her voice was low and urgent, no time to explain. She saw the boy’s wide, sea-green eyes flick to her, shock and confusion written openly on his face. He seemed torn: who was this strange, dark-haired witch hurling odd spells? But the moment passed, and he nodded once, tightening his grip on the sword’s hilt.

Another roar, and the Chimaera lurched sideways. Elysia darted backward, forcing it to turn, trying to keep the beast’s focus on her and away from the huddled civilians behind the boy. She was good at this dance—she had spent too many years in war, learned how to draw the enemy’s attention, how to survive impossible odds. But this creature was fast, more cunning than its bulk suggested. It pivoted with shocking agility, its lion head snapping toward her. Elysia dove low, just as a torrent of flames blasted forth. Heat seared the air above her, singeing stray strands of her black-and-white-streaked hair. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Where there had been polished steel, now there was a molten hole, gaping open to the world outside. So much for structural integrity.

The Chimaera did not press the attack on her. Instead, it whirled to face the boy. Elysia felt a pang of alarm, heart clenching in her chest. He dashed forward, sword raised, and she wanted to warn him again, to tell him that magical monsters and strange magics were not to be engaged lightly. But it was too late. The boy struck for the neck. Sparks flew as his blade met a thick collar that Elysia hadn’t noticed before—some sort of enchanted restraint or armor. He staggered at the recoil, off-balance, and in that terrible beat of time, the serpent tail lashed around with lethal precision.

“No!” Elysia shouted, voice cracking as the tail’s fangs sank deep into the boy’s calf. She tried to hurl a protective spell, but the Chimaera’s bulk blocked her line of fire. All she could do was watch, helpless, as the boy’s sword slipped from his grip and tumbled out of the new opening in the Arch’s wall, a glint of bronze vanishing into the distant shimmer of the Mississippi River.

Elysia’s mind raced, cataloging spells that could help. Most of her offensive repertoire was too devastating to use in such close quarters. She could try a cutting curse, a severing hex, but one wrong angle and she might bring the entire Arch down—or hit the terrified family behind the boy. As the wounded child backed toward the hole, they reached a standoff.

“They don’t make heroes like they used to, eh, son?” The woman’s taunt came from somewhere behind the Chimaera, her mocking laughter scraping Elysia’s nerves. Elysia’s eyes narrowed. That woman—clearly no witch, or at least not any human witch.

Elysia caught the boy’s gaze flickering anxiously back to the family behind him. She recognised the look, the same one she had worn countless times in battle: the weighing of risk, the calculation of sacrifice. The Arch’s opening yawned behind him, the wind shrieking through twisted metal.

“If you are the son of Poseidon, you would not fear water,” the creature’s mistress hissed, words slithering through the air. “Jump, Percy Jackson. Show me that water will not harm you. Jump and retrieve your sword. Prove your bloodline.”

Son of Poseidon? Elysia’s heart hammered. Poseidon. She wasn’t dealing with rogue Death Eaters or lingering Voldemort worshippers. This was something else—Greek myth made flesh and blood. Gods and monsters of old. Her suspicions hardened into certainty. She had encountered strange things in her travels, signs of older powers than those of wizards.

“You have no faith,” the woman sneered at Percy. “You do not trust the gods. I cannot blame you, little coward. Better you die now. The poison is in your heart.”

The boy’s face tightened. Elysia could sense his magic—or whatever power he possessed—flickering like a candle guttered by wind. He was weakening, poison spreading through his veins. She knew that feeling too well: the desperate fight against time, against venom or curse, the body warring with itself. But there was nothing she could do if he stayed cornered.

The Chimaera inhaled, flame simmering in its throat. Elysia’s grip tightened on her wand, ready to conjure another shield. The monster released a great column of fire just as Percy leapt backwards out of the Arch’s wound, disappearing into thin air.

Elysia reacted instantly, conjuring a shimmering barrier of magic before the family, absorbing the scorching flames. The heat pressed against her shield with malicious force, but she held firm. The flames died away, and she saw her chance. Without looking back, she snarled a spell over her shoulder—Bombarda!—sending a concussive blast toward the monstrous pair. The deck shuddered as part of the railing crumpled. She hoped it would at least distract them.

In the sudden confusion, Elysia sprinted forward and dove through the gap Percy had created. Outside, the wind whipped at her clothes and hair, and the river gleamed darkly below. She felt the gut-wrenching drop as gravity claimed her, but Elysia had other options. In midair, she twisted her wand, and her form shrank and shifted, feathers sprouting from her arms, her vision sharpening. A raven now, she spread her wings wide, the sudden lift pulling her into a steady, controlled glide. She circled the area where Percy had vanished, scanning frantically for any sign of life.

A sudden surge of water drew her gaze. Far below, the river churned unnaturally, a pillar of foaming, frothing current rising to meet the falling boy. In a rush of magic and nature entwined, the water caught him as gently as a mother’s arms. She watched, marvelling, as he vanished beneath the surface, yet she could sense it: he was alive, and as he stayed submerged, the poison’s grip eased from him. His essence grew steadier, stronger—recovering in a way no ordinary human could.

Elysia exhaled a breath of relief she didn’t know she’d been holding. The woman’s words had not been mere ravings; there was truth mixed in that madness. The son of Poseidon had returned to his element, and that might be his salvation.

Wheeling lazily, Elysia hovered as a raven, ready to chase after the boy if needed. Above her, the Arch bore fresh scars—molten steel, a gaping wound, the cries of frightened tourists drifting down. She knew she couldn’t tarry long. Sooner or later, the authorities would come, and she needed to ensure those people were safe. But for now, she took in this strange turn of fate: a monstrous ambush, a demigod’s leap of faith, and her own place caught in the crossfire.

Elysia circled high above the milling crowd, her raven’s eyes sharper than a human’s could ever be. From this vantage, the bustling throng looked almost serene, as if only minutes ago something monstrous hadn’t torn through steel and air. But her heart still hammered from the fight in the Arch, and her magic still buzzed, tugging her along after the boy—Percy Jackson—whose presence hummed at her senses like a struck tuning fork.

After about a minute of silent vigil, she spotted him. Percy broke the river’s surface near the shore, no trace of dampness on him, as if the water had parted just for him. He slipped into the crowd, weaving past stunned onlookers and the few reporters who had already arrived, microphones raised like drawn wands. Police cruisers with flashing lights were starting to line the streets, and uniformed officers peppered the area. Elysia followed him from pole to pole, hopping with careful stealth, maintaining her avian guise. She kept to vantage points too high or too dark for casual onlookers to notice, ignoring the camera flashes from down below.

From her vantage point, Elysia saw Percy’s two companions push their way through the surge of onlookers. The moment they spotted Percy, the curly-haired boy launched forward, tackling him in a relieved hug. The girl, standing a bit behind, tried to look stern, folding her arms over her chest, but the tension in her stance and the slight quiver of her lower lip betrayed her relief.

It didn’t take long for the two other kids to reappear. She spotted them first—Annabeth and Grover—huddled near a corner, eyes anxiously scanning the crowds. When they caught sight of Percy, Grover gave a cry that might have passed as a goat’s bleat if he weren’t doing his best to look human. He launched himself at Percy, arms flung wide, tackling him in a hug that made a few bystanders glance over curiously. Annabeth lingered behind, half-hidden by the shadow of a street lamp, her face a careful mask trying to disguise raw relief.

“We thought you’d gone to Hades the hard way!” Grover exclaimed, voice cracking with emotion. He clung to Percy for a second longer before letting go, his eyes glassy but grateful.

Annabeth folded her arms, her storm-grey eyes narrowed. “We can’t leave you alone for five minutes! What happened?” she demanded, voice stern, though the corners of her mouth were trying to lift with relief. She looked like she wanted to shake him and hug him at the same time.

Percy shrugged, offering a sheepish half-smile that did little to hide the confusion and pain he must have felt moments ago. “I sort of fell,” he said, as if describing a mild stumble on uneven pavement rather than a hundred-foot plummet and a near-death encounter with a legendary monster.

“Percy! Two hundred metres!” Annabeth hissed, still keeping her voice low. Yet she moved closer, unable to maintain any real anger now that he was safe. Percy let out a nervous chuckle and beckoned them deeper into the crowd, away from the police and reporters, who were starting to cordon off the Arch.

As they slipped into the press of bodies, Percy began recounting what happened above: the beast that attacked, the fiery column, and the strange magic-wielding woman who fought by his side. Elysia, still in raven form and hopping from lamppost to lamppost, listened intently.

“They might have been a child of Hecate,” the girl said, “It was clearly magic of some kind.” Her tone held a scholar’s curiosity. Elysia felt the girl’s eyes roaming the crowd, and so she fluttered to another pole, staying in sight but not too close. She noticed how Annabeth—if she recalled the name Percy said correctly—peered up at the raven with suspicion; she hurried the boys along. They had other problems to worry about. 

Elysia could hear them discussing her, and her resolve hardened. These children—demigods, if she understood correctly—were wrestling with impossible burdens, being hunted by gods and monsters she had only ever read about in dusty old tomes or heard whispered about in certain European enclaves. Her magic stirred again, that deep thrumming insistence telling her she could not simply leave them. Too many times in her past she had stood alone, facing horrors with no adult, no mentor to lean on. She could not stand by and watch these kids stumble into danger without at least offering a measure of protection. Especially not after that vicious confrontation at the Arch.

It was the same instinct that had guided her throughout the war: the need to ensure the innocent—or at least the well-meaning—got a fair chance. The wizarding world was quiet now; she was free to walk away. But Elysia Potter never turned her back on danger that threatened children, not after all she’d seen and done.

Spotting a quieter spot near the Amtrak station, Elysia glided ahead, careful not to draw too much attention. She waited until the three children drew near a less crowded area, then cast a subtle notice-me-not charm around a small patch of sidewalk. Anyone passing by would simply not register them. Elysia circled down to land behind a cluster of tall bushes. With a shimmer of her magic, she lengthened, bones and feathers shifting until she stood once more as a witch, wand in hand, her black hair—shot through with winter-white streaks—falling around her shoulders.

She stepped out in front of them. Immediately, Annabeth’s hand was swift, producing a bronze knife that gleamed under the streetlights. Percy’s eyes widened, and he grabbed her wrist, trying to lower the weapon. Grover—Elysia recalled his name now—looked ready to bolt, his eyes darting around nervously.

“Easy,” Elysia said, keeping her voice calm and even, hands open at her sides. “I don’t mean you any harm. We can walk and talk, as you seem to be in a hurry.” With a tilt of her head, she gestured toward the train station’s entrance, the warm glow of the interior lights spilling onto the pavement. Without waiting for an answer, she started forward. The trio hovered uncertainly before Percy ushered them along, his posture wary but willing to trust—for now.

“I’m Percy,” he said, catching up to her. “This is Annabeth and Grover.”

Elysia glanced over her shoulder, acknowledging them with a nod. “Elysia,” she offered simply. The name sounded so normal compared to what she had experienced. Mistress of Death, Morrigan—those titles didn’t belong here. She felt only herself, a traveller who knew too much of war and pain, now thrust into a new battlefield.

They slipped onto a nearly empty train heading out of the city. Around a small table, they settled, the children fidgeting: Grover gnawed on a tin can (Elysia filed that away with mild surprise), Annabeth kept her knife close, Percy scanned for threats as if expecting more monsters to burst from the seat cushions. Elysia relaxed slightly into her seat, though her eyes stayed sharp.

“So, what brings you to fight a Chimaera atop the Arch?” she asked finally, breaking the silence. “For once, I feel my own luck wasn’t responsible for that particular piece of madness.”

Percy sighed, shoulders slumping. “Apparently, she was sent by Zeus because he thinks I stole his lightning bolt,” he said with a grimace, “even though I’m on a quest to retrieve it.”

Elysia blinked slowly, processing that. The words rolled around in her mind like marbles, each more fantastical than the last. “He thinks you stole it, yet sent you to get it back... and the gods are real?” Her voice was a careful monotone, as if speaking too loudly might break some fragile new truth.

“Yeah,” said Percy, looking a bit baffled by her confusion. “It’s complicated. The idea was that if I find it and bring it back, maybe Zeus will believe it wasn’t me—or Poseidon—who took it. I guess it’s supposed to be a peace offering. And, uh, yes, the gods are very much real. Olympians, monsters, all of it.” He spread his hands helplessly.

Annabeth cleared her throat, curiosity gleaming in her grey eyes. “You’re not a demigod, are you?”

She let out a weary sigh and then let her forehead thump softly against the table. “So this is what it feels like to get your world turned upside down again,” she murmured, half to herself. “Hogwarts, Horcruxes, Hallows… now this.” She turned her face slightly and regarded the three of them: “All right, I won’t even question it at this point. I’m just a witch…well, maybe not just . Where are you three headed? I’m not leaving you alone with gods and monsters hunting you. I had enough trouble without adults around when I was your age.”

“A witch,” Percy repeated under his breath, awestruck. Grover just kept munching, apparently more fascinated by his tin can than by Elysia’s existence. Annabeth’s eyes, however, were keen and bright, studying Elysia as though she were an intricate puzzle.

“I thought you might have been a child of Hecate,” Annabeth ventured, “But their magic usually feels different. Less… structured than what Percy described. And as far as I know, demigods of Hecate can’t just turn into ravens.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but curiosity crackled in every syllable.

Elysia gave a small snort. “We Wixen—Witches and Wizards—we have our own ways. We pay homage to Lady Magic, though it’s more tradition now than worship. I suppose that puts me somewhat in Hecate’s realm.” She paused, considering them. They were so young, and yet clearly had shouldered burdens that would break ordinary children. Memories of her own youth during the war flickered at the edges of her mind.

Annabeth tried to regain control of the conversation, “We appreciate the help, but we’ll be fine. We’ve made it this far on our quest.”

Elysia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I know what it’s like to face impossible odds as a child, without proper adult support. I’m not leaving you three on your own.” Her voice took on a quiet firmness. “If someone stops us and sees three kids wandering around unsupervised, it will cause problems, right? Better to have an adult around who knows how to handle awkward questions—and monstrous ambushes.”

Annabeth opened her mouth—perhaps to protest—but something in Elysia’s stance, the quiet authority in her voice, made the girl hesitate. Grover’s eyes darted between them, uncertain. Percy, however, seemed relieved, though he tried to hide it behind a small shrug.

“Having an adult who can throw spells like that might come in handy,” he admitted, rubbing at his sore calf. The poison had faded, Elysia could sense that, but the memory of it lingered.

“Well, then,” Elysia said, leaning back. Her wand was tucked discreetly beneath her jacket sleeve, ready if danger struck again. “Let’s figure out your route. Gods, monsters, lightning bolts—sounds like we have an adventure ahead of us. And you’ll have a witch watching your backs.”

The train rattled forward, leaving behind the Arch, the monsters, and the desperate scramble of the evening news crews. 

The rocking motion of the train began to lull the adrenaline from their veins as afternoon gave way to a dusky sky. The Amtrak car was warm and softly lit, its rhythmic clack-clack-clack over the rails a distant whisper of comfort. Beyond the window, broad plains stretched into the distance, telephone poles and sparse clusters of lights drifting by. They had left the chaos of the Arch behind—police sirens, shattered steel, and strange monsters now nothing but an unsettling memory.

Elysia sat next to the window with Percy across from her. Annabeth and Grover had taken the other side of the table, which was still slightly sticky from spilled soda left by previous passengers. The train wasn’t busy at this hour: a few scattered travelers dozed in their seats, a couple of college students whispered and shared headphones up ahead, and a lone conductor passed through occasionally, punching tickets with the resigned efficiency of a man who’d seen it all.

Elysia caught herself studying the three demigods. Not children, really—warriors in miniature, each carrying burdens that no twelve-year-old should. She recognized the look in their eyes: the bone-deep fatigue mixed with defiant resolve. She wondered if her own green eyes had once looked like that at Hogwarts, during those last desperate months of the war.

“So,” she said softly, voice almost lost beneath the hum of the train’s wheels, “I know we’ve established that the Greek gods are real, Zeus is angry, and somehow you three are smack in the middle of it. But what exactly is your plan from here?”

Percy exchanged a glance with Annabeth. He leaned forward, his fingers tapping the table. “We have to reach the Underworld,” he said quietly, as if confessing a secret. “We think the bolt might be in the realm of Hades, in Los Angeles. It’s—well—it’s complicated, but we have until the summer solstice. Otherwise, war breaks out among the gods.”

Elysia took a quiet breath, letting the magnitude of this settle. She’d fought a dark wizard and won a war, had stood between mortals and monsters, even held the Hallows themselves and become Mistress of Death. But walking into the Underworld… that was another kind of madness. “This is all a bit beyond the scope of normal wizarding life,” she said finally, managing a wry smile. “I’ve dealt with deadly curses, sure, but a trip to the land of the dead for a stolen lightning bolt… that’s new.”

Grover bleated softly, adjusting his cap. “You—uh—mentioned you were a witch, right? What’s that like? I mean, obviously you can do magic, but you’re not a demigod. So, do you, like, go to a special school?”

Elysia felt a pang of nostalgia at the question. “I did. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in Scotland. It’s an old castle, filled with secret passages, enchanted staircases, and the best sort of mischief. I learned charms, transfiguration, potions, defense against the dark arts… everything a witch might need.” She paused, studying their faces. Annabeth looked fascinated—no surprise there. Percy seemed curious but also distracted by the farmland rolling by. Grover still had that half-nervous, half-intrigued look on his face.

“Wait,” Annabeth said, “so you were trained? Like we train at camp?”

Elysia nodded. “We have a formal education. But we’re… hidden. The magical world runs parallel to the non-magical one, what you might call the mortal world. We have our own government, shops, schools, traditions. Most regular humans don’t know we exist.”

Percy snorted softly. “Sounds familiar.” He exchanged a knowing glance with Annabeth and Grover. “Demigods live kind of on the edges too. Most mortals don’t see what we see—monsters use something called the Mist to hide, sort of like illusions. I’m guessing your magic works similarly.”

Elysia tilted her head, interest sparking. “The Mist. We have something like that—charms that keep non-magical people from noticing. It seems we’re not so different.”

Annabeth leaned forward, her stormy eyes intense. “You mentioned something about a war. If this is too personal, you don’t have to tell us, but…” She hesitated, then added softly, “You don’t strike me as someone who’s had an easy life.”

Elysia’s fingers tightened around the paper cup. She weighed her words. They didn’t need the full story—not yet. But perhaps a piece of it would help them understand who she was and they deserved something. “I fought in a war not long ago,” she began quietly. “A very evil and cruel wizard tried to dominate both the magical and non-magical worlds. We lost so many—friends, family, mentors. During it… people started calling me ‘The Morrigan.’”

At the name, Annabeth’s eyes widened in recognition. She sucked in a breath, and Elysia watched realisation dawn in her gaze. “The Morrigan,” Annabeth echoed, her voice hushed and reverent, as if tasting the weight of it. “That’s a name from Celtic myth—she’s a war goddess, associated with death and battle.” The girl’s grey eyes flitted over Elysia’s face, taking in her tired posture, the faint lines of grief and determination etched at the corners of her eyes. “For mortals to give you a name like that… it’s not just a nickname, is it? They were naming you after a goddess.”

Percy and Grover exchanged glances, not fully grasping the gravity, but Annabeth did. She understood gods and their domains, how names carried power. Calling a mortal ‘The Morrigan’ meant they saw in Elysia something akin to the divine—terrible, formidable, a symbol of war’s cruel outcome.

Elysia nodded, her jaw tightening. “I never asked for it. It’s a burden, not an honor. I think people needed a figurehead, someone to blame or thank for how it all ended. I just happened to survive.”

A respectful silence fell. Annabeth looked down at her folded hands, then back up at Elysia with something like understanding. Percy stopped tapping, and Grover’s chewing slowed. Even if they couldn’t fully comprehend her past, they felt the weight of it.

After a moment, Percy asked, “Got any tips on surviving impossible quests? We’re kind of in over our heads here.”

Elysia gave a small, rueful smile. “Trust each other,” she said. “Watch each other’s backs and don’t be ashamed to retreat if you must. There’s no use in a hero who dies before completing their task. Knowledge is crucial—learn about your enemies, about yourselves. Don’t underestimate cleverness,” she added, catching Annabeth’s eye, “The strongest foe can be undone by strategy.”

Annabeth’s posture straightened slightly, as if heartened by the recognition of her strengths. Grover nodded along, and Percy’s shoulders relaxed fractionally, as if relieved to have guidance from someone who understood what it was to face overwhelming odds.

Through the window, golden light stretched over fields and rolling hills. The quiet rattling of the train and low murmur of distant conversations set a calm backdrop to their heavy conversation. Here they were—three demigods and a witch—drawn together by fate and threats beyond mortal understanding. Elysia sipped her cold tea, hardly noticing its temperature. She had found a strange camaraderie in these travellers. If fate had placed her here, she would see it through.

They were heading toward the setting sun, toward L.A. and whatever waited beneath it. A goddess’s name pressed upon Elysia’s past, and the current trials of the young demigods pressed upon their future. But at least for now, they had each other and the hope that together, they might navigate the darkness to come.

Elysia sat quietly in her seat as the train sped through the heart of the continent, farmland and forest blurring into painted streaks beyond the window. Late in the evening now, the light had deepened to a burnished gold, and the overhead lamps hummed softly, their glow reflecting on the glass. Across from her, Percy and Grover dozed lightly, lulled by the steady clack of the tracks, while Annabeth pored over a paperback atlas, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Elysia let her gaze drift, not really focusing on the passing scenery. Instead, her thoughts turned inward. The Morrigan. They had named her that once, whispering in the aftermath of battle, when wizards and witches had stood amid charred ruins and fallen allies. At the time, she’d shrugged it off as yet another title she neither wanted nor needed—one more burden laid upon her shoulders by a world desperate for symbols. People had wanted something larger-than-life to explain how a young witch had carried so many impossible burdens to victory.

But now, everything felt different. She was no longer in Britain, no longer sheltered by her half-understood beliefs of what was true and what was legend. Percy’s world, the world of Greek gods and monsters, was as real as the wand in her hand. Gods—true, active gods—existed, wielding power and influence. If that was true, what else might be lurking behind the veils of myth?

If the Olympians were real, what of the countless other pantheons she’d read about in passing or learned of during her travels? The Morrigan wasn’t Greek, she was Celtic—Irish—an ancient deity of battle and prophecy and fate. Was she real too? Did these gods co-exist, each lurking behind the curtain of mortal perception, tied to their own people, their own land, their own magic?

The thought sent a shiver through Elysia’s spine. She had grown up believing in a concealed world, yes, but one that was ultimately built on the foundations of magic and human will. Even the darkest magics or the oldest forest spirits were still touched by mortal spellcraft and mortal fear. But gods were something else—ancient and primordial, part of the very fabric of the world’s mythic history. If Zeus and Poseidon walked in secret, then who was to say the Morrigan herself did not watch from the mists of Britain, crow-eyed and clever, judging all who dared take up arms?

She recalled how people had started using the name “The Morrigan” for her, how uneasy it made her feel. She had feared it reduced her to a symbol: a goddess of war and death made flesh. An exaggeration, she’d thought. Hyperbole. But maybe the universe had a cruel sense of irony. Perhaps, by surviving the impossible, by facing horrors and bringing down the darkest wizard of her age, she had caught the notice of something older and more powerful than she could have imagined.

What if that name had weight beyond human whispers and fear? In the Celtic tales, the Morrigan chose heroes, guided or doomed them. She was not gentle, but she was significant, a force tied to destiny and mortality. If Elysia had been touched by anything that ancient, that primordial, what did it mean for her path now?

She drew in a slow breath and exhaled silently, careful not to disturb Annabeth’s reading or Percy’s and Grover’s rest. She considered her wand, resting loosely in her sleeve. She’d always thought her magic stemmed from her bloodline, her training, her bond with the Deathly Hallows now fused into her essence. But what if magic itself was connected to these pantheons, these gods and goddesses of old, each weaving a tapestry of power and fate? If Greek gods were real, then maybe the Celtic gods were too. Maybe, in some distant corner of existence, a trio of war-goddesses—the Morrigan—knew her name.

The idea unsettled her and yet filled her with a strange, cautious hope. She had fought a war in ignorance of these truths, relying only on her courage, her allies, her grit. If gods walked the earth, if they influenced mortal lives, then perhaps her struggles were not hers alone. Maybe she wasn’t just a freak circumstance, a chosen champion thrust into battle by chance. Maybe there was a pattern to it all, something that connected her with these demigods and their quest. Maybe fate, or the gods, had guided her right into their path for a reason.

She would not worship these beings—her heart still belonged to the memory of friends and family, to the world she fought to save, and to the quiet bond she had with magic itself—but she could acknowledge their existence. She could admit that the world was far wider and stranger than she’d dared believe. And if the Morrigan watched her from some ethereal plane, if that name had meant more than a hollow title, then Elysia would make sure she honoured it in her own way, by protecting those who could not protect themselves, by fighting bravely and wisely, and by ensuring these three children did not face impossible odds alone.

She flexed her fingers, feeling the subtle hum of her magic. She would walk this new path with open eyes. She was Elysia—a witch, a traveller, a survivor of war. The Morrigan’s namesake, or perhaps the Morrigan’s chosen, if destiny was playing games. Whoever she was, whatever the truth behind that name, she would face it head-on, as she had everything else.

The train continued west, carrying them toward gods and monsters, toward mysteries that needed solving. Elysia watched the fading light, her eyes distant, and wondered if somewhere, in worlds unseen, a dark-feathered goddess looked on and nodded in approval. And she can’t help but let her mind wander back to when they started to call her The Morrigan.

~~~~

The scent of ash and ozone clung to the night air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood. Elysia stood amid the wreckage of what had once been a peaceful wizarding village. Broken timbers and shattered glass crunched beneath her boots as she took a shaky step forward, wand still clenched in her hand. Hours ago, these quaint lanes had echoed with children’s laughter and the soft hum of everyday magic. Now the only sounds were distant sobs, anguished murmurs, and the crackle of stubborn flames devouring the last of a half-collapsed roof.

She tried to slow her breathing, tried to calm the trembling in her wand arm. Her magical reserves felt thin, strained by the onslaught of curses she had cast and deflected. She’d conjured spectral ravens—dark illusions that darted between enemy ranks, sowing confusion. She’d hurled searing hexes hot as dragonfire, blasted apart conjured barricades, and raised shimmering shields that held back torrents of deadly green light. In the final moments, when the enemy had surged forward, bolstered by fearsome curses and monstrous conjurations, she had tapped into spells older and harsher than she ever dreamed she’d use.

She had done it because she couldn’t afford not to. They were outnumbered. The Death Eaters had chosen this small community for a reason—easy prey to prove their dominance, to send a message of terror. Elysia and a handful of Aurors and Order members had arrived just in time to prevent a massacre from becoming total annihilation. Yet, for all her efforts, too many innocents still lay motionless on the ground. She forced herself not to look too closely at the broken forms at her feet, fearful that it might break her flimsy hold on her emotions.

A sob drew her attention. Near a smoking doorframe, Andromeda Tonks knelt beside an injured man, wand tip glowing faintly as she murmured healing spells. Elysia caught Andromeda’s eye. There was a heaviness there—sadness, weariness, and quiet pride that Elysia had come through alive. Elysia wanted to go to her, to gather her surrogate mother figure into a hug and say something comforting, but she found she could not move. Her legs felt anchored to the ground by the gravity of what had just transpired.

Closer by, an Auror groaned as he tried to stand on a broken ankle, collapsing back to his knees in pain. Several other survivors were helping him, transfiguring wood scraps into makeshift splints. Someone else was conjuring blankets from frayed bits of cloth, trying to warm a shivering, bloodied young witch. The Muggle-repelling charms were holding strong—no non-magical eyes would witness this horror—but that only meant the wizarding community had to bear the burden alone.

“Did you see her?” a voice whispered behind her, rasping and choked. Elysia’s shoulders tensed, uncertain whether to turn around. “She fought them off, Merlin’s beard, she fought them all off…”

Another voice joined in. “I saw her levitating above the cobblestones—those illusions, those crows of darkness—Merlin help me, it was terrifying.”

Elysia closed her eyes for a moment. She hadn’t meant to terrify her own allies. She was just trying to save them, to end the battle before more lives were lost. She remembered the moment when, cornered by three Death Eaters chanting their curses in grim unison, she had raised her wand and cast a spell that caused black silhouettes of giant ravens to burst into being. They had screeched and dived, breaking the enemy’s concentration, and in the confusion, she had struck them down. It was brutal, it was desperate, but it had worked. Victory and survival outweighed guilt—at least that’s what she kept telling herself.

A young Auror, perhaps no older than Tonks had been during her training days, finally caught her eye. He was crouched over the body of a comrade, staring at Elysia as though she were made of glass and flame. The man’s face was streaked with tears and dust. “You stopped them,” he breathed, his voice cracking. “They were unstoppable, so many, so relentless—but you… you were like a spirit of war, something ancient and unforgiving.”

Elysia’s throat tightened. She opened her mouth to respond, to tell him that everyone here had been brave, that she was no legend—just a witch who refused to die that night. But before she could speak, an older wizard approached, leaning heavily on a snapped broom handle. His robes were charred, and one half of his face was smeared with soot and blood. Pain etched deep lines around his eyes, yet he spoke with a kind of hushed awe that made Elysia’s skin prickle.

“She’s like the Morrigan,” the man said, voice trembling. “A crow of battle, a harbinger of doom for the enemy, a protector of her folk.” He looked to the others, as if daring them to contradict him. “I saw her. I swear I saw dark wings spreading behind her back. The Morrigan. She has come to fight our war.”

The Morrigan. Elysia knew the name—a Celtic war goddess, a figure who decided the fates of warriors. She had read the myths in old, borrowed books during quiet evenings at Grimmauld Place. The Morrigan was said to hover over battlefields, taking the form of a crow, choosing who would live and who would die. It was not a name given lightly. That her allies—her own people—would look at her through the haze of their pain and ascribe that name to her made something inside Elysia go cold.

She wanted to shout, **No, I’m just Elysia!** But the words tangled in her throat. She wanted to say: **I’m only human. I’m scared, too.** She wanted to confess that without the fury and desperation that had gripped her soul—without the memory of Sirius’s death fueling her every hex—she might have failed. She wanted them to understand that being forced to use dark, bloodthirsty spells haunted her just as much as the corpses around them.

But words failed her. Around her, the survivors took up the whisper as if reciting a prayer against the darkness still lingering in the night. “The Morrigan,” they said, some with hope, some with fear, some with hollow reverence. They didn’t know what else to believe, how else to explain the raw, destructive power she had unleashed. They needed a myth made flesh to make sense of their salvation and their losses.

A sharp gust of wind swept through the ruined street, stirring ash and embers, making cloaks billow and sparks whirl like infernal fireflies. In that moment, Elysia looked up at the night sky, where no stars dared show themselves through the lingering smoke. She imagined a dark-winged shape silhouetted against the moon, watching, judging. The Morrigan was not known for comfort or mercy—just as Elysia had offered no mercy to those who threatened her people.

Taking a shaky breath, she turned away from the murmuring crowd. Behind her, someone began to sob quietly. Another tried to cast a repairing spell on a collapsed wall. A hush fell, pierced occasionally by the crackle of fires and the distant groans of the injured. Elysia stepped into the shadows, trying to shrug off the mantle they had placed on her shoulders. How could she be a goddess of war? She was only a witch who had fought too hard and bled too much, a young woman thrust into a role no one should have to bear.

Yet the name clung to her like smoke, drifting behind her footsteps, following her as she left that ruined street in search of survivors to help, wounds to mend, or at least a moment’s respite. She knew it would not be the last time she heard it whispered. The Morrigan, they had called her, and so the world began to bind her to that legend, whether she willed it or not.

~

Their makeshift base was a tired old cottage hidden beneath layers of protective enchantments. A row of overgrown hedges and a patch of wildflowers swayed in the moonlight just outside the windows. Inside, the place smelled faintly of medicinal herbs and conjured broth. Tension clung to every surface; here, hushed voices debated strategies, while the wounded breathed in ragged gasps behind closed doors. The survivors from the ravaged village had been brought in quietly, Apparating or passing through carefully-guarded Floo connections, scattered on conjured cots and patched sofas. Healers moved slowly between them, distributing pain potions and applying salves, whispering comfort where they could.

Elysia had slipped away as soon as the initial triage began. She’d rinsed the filth from her skin in a small, stone sink tucked behind the kitchen—a furtive attempt to wash away the blood that had dried under her fingernails and in the creases of her knuckles. She had scrubbed until her hands were raw, until the water swirling down the drain ran clear. She hadn’t bothered with her own injuries, not beyond tearing a strip of cloth from her ruined robes and tying it around a gash on her forearm. She did not want fuss or pity. She did not want anyone looking at her with that strange mix of fear and awe again. She wanted—needed—to be alone.

She slipped into the attic, a cramped space accessible by a creaky set of fold-down stairs. The walls were half-insulated and covered with old newspaper clippings and peeling wallpaper. Moonlight seeped through a tiny, dusty window, illuminating old trunks and heaps of linens. Elysia settled on an overturned crate, leaning back against a beam, her head throbbing and her body aching. Her wand rested loosely in her left hand, still warm, still humming faintly as though remembering the fury and desperate magic it had unleashed hours before.

Her eyes drifted shut. The Morrigan. They’d called her that as if it explained everything they’d witnessed. She wondered if the name had spread further by now, whispered through hallways, carried on hushed conversations in the rooms below. She tried to steady her breathing, to tell herself she didn’t care. But she couldn’t ignore the knot in her chest, the feeling that something irreplaceable had slipped away the moment they’d given her that name.

A soft rustle of cloth and the creak of the attic steps alerted her that she was no longer alone. Elysia stiffened, wand hand tensing, until she caught the scent of calming herbs and faint lavender perfume. Andromeda Tonks. Her presence was gentler, warmer, than almost anyone else’s these days. Still, Elysia kept her eyes closed, as if by doing so she could pretend to be invisible.

She heard Andromeda’s careful footfalls, the hush of her robes brushing old floorboards. Andromeda approached slowly, placing something down—likely bandages, a potion, and a tin of healing salve. The older witch said nothing at first, as if giving Elysia a chance to speak.

When Elysia opened her eyes, Andromeda stood a few paces away, a lantern in her hand turned low so as not to startle. Her dark eyes were full of understanding, and something like maternal sternness. She’d scrubbed the grime from her face since the battle, but the shadows under her eyes told of her exhaustion. They all wore the war’s truth on their faces, Elysia no exception.

“You’re hurt,” Andromeda said softly after a long moment. She didn’t phrase it as a question—she knew Elysia well enough by now. Her gaze flicked to the bloodstained cloth around Elysia’s forearm, the torn robes, the bruises darkening along her jaw and collarbone. “You should have come down to let us fix you up. We have enough Healers now; the wounded are being cared for.”

“I’m fine,” Elysia managed, though her voice was scratchy, and her head pounded behind her eyes. She cradled her wand and refused to meet Andromeda’s gaze, focusing instead on a spiderweb glistening in the corner. “Others need it more. I don’t want to cause more trouble.”

Andromeda knelt down, setting the lantern on the floor. The golden glow cast her face in gentle lines. “Elysia,” she said, voice warm but firm, “it’s not trouble to care for you. It never has been.” She reached out, took Elysia’s free hand, and gently turned it over. Elysia winced as the movement tugged at sore muscles. “What you did tonight saved lives, but you can’t carry this alone.”

Elysia’s throat tightened. She wanted to push Andromeda’s hand away, to vanish into the shadows where no one would see her pain or the weight of that dreadful name. Yet she didn’t move. She let Andromeda press a cool cloth against a cut on her cheek. She had spent so long being strong, being what others needed—The Morrigan now, apparently—she had nearly forgotten what it felt like to be tended to with quiet concern.

“They’re calling me The Morrigan,” Elysia whispered, the name tasting bitter on her tongue. “As if I’m some goddess of war, come to deliver judgment. I—I never wanted that.”

Andromeda paused, her hand hovering near Elysia’s forehead. “No one who loves you sees it that way,” she said gently. “They don’t know how else to explain what they witnessed. In the chaos, people look for symbols, for myths to make sense of the senseless.” She brushed a strand of Elysia’s hair back behind her ear. “But I know who you are. You’re Elysia. You’re the girl who became a warrior because she had to, not because she wanted to.”

Elysia swallowed hard. The kindness in Andromeda’s voice threatened to unravel the tight coil of emotion lodged in her chest. “I used spells tonight I never thought I’d use. I couldn’t hold back. And now they give me the name of a goddess known for choosing who lives and who dies.” Her voice hitched. “I’m afraid that if I keep doing this… I won’t know who I am anymore.”

Andromeda gently tugged on the makeshift bandage around Elysia’s arm, making a quiet, sympathetic sound at the angry wound beneath. She pulled out her wand and began a slow, careful healing charm, the magic a soft, steady hum. “You are who you choose to be, no matter what others call you,” she said. “Yes, you wield terrible power. Yes, you’ve done things to survive and protect others that break your heart. But I know you. You’re not cruel. You’re not a monster. You’re a good person caught in something far bigger than you.”

Elysia blinked as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She stared at the floorboards as Andromeda’s magic numbed the pain, knitted the torn flesh. The steady warmth of healing magic and the gentle presence of the older witch lulled some of the tension from her muscles. “I’m so tired,” Elysia admitted in a shaky whisper. “Of fighting, of killing, of carrying everyone’s hopes.”

Andromeda nodded, her own voice thick with empathy. “I know, my dear. We’re all tired. But we go on, not because we want to, but because we must. And while you might be called The Morrigan, remember that a name doesn’t define you. It might reflect how people see you in one terrible moment, but it can’t capture your soul.”

As Andromeda finished healing the wound, she began to quietly clean the grime from Elysia’s skin with a damp cloth, dabbing at dried blood on her neck and jaw. With each gentle stroke, some of the weight lifted from Elysia’s shoulders. In that silent attic space, where only moonlight and a distant owl’s hoot intruded, Elysia let herself accept the comfort offered to her. She let herself be human, hurt, and frightened, rather than the unstoppable force everyone imagined.

Andromeda looked up, meeting Elysia’s eyes. “We’ll get through this. You have me, Nymphadora, your friends who truly know you. And when this war is over, those who called you The Morrigan may come to see your kindness as well as your courage.”

Elysia managed a nod, her throat too tight for words. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of vulnerability. If a single person could see past the monstrous myths and titles, if Andromeda could still see the frightened but determined witch beneath the soot and scars, then perhaps there was hope that she hadn’t lost herself after all.

She would endure. For those she’d saved, for those still relying on her, and for the parts of herself that she refused to surrender to the war’s fury. And as Andromeda’s quiet ministrations continued, Elysia finally let a tear slip free, grateful no one else was here to witness it, grateful that at least one person understood that The Morrigan was just a name—and Elysia was so much more than that.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

II

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The next afternoon, the Amtrak slowed into Denver’s Union Station with a sigh of brakes and a gentle lurch. According to Percy, they had seven days left before the summer solstice—that looming deadline that hovered over their quest like a storm cloud. Elysia, Percy, Annabeth, and Grover stepped onto the platform into crisp, sunlit mountain air. The midday hustle surrounded them: suited businesspeople hurrying to meetings, tourists craning their necks at the station’s ornate architecture, and a street musician strumming a gentle tune on an acoustic guitar.

Elysia took a moment to draw in a deep breath, feeling that familiar mix of curiosity and trepidation. She’d been to many cities during her travels, but there was something different about Denver. Maybe it was the sense of urgency in their mission, or maybe it was her new companions—two demigods and their satyr guide on a quest blessed and cursed by gods who truly walked the Earth.

During their walk, a question had come up that startled Elysia: Annabeth wanted to contact Chiron. Not Chiron, a code name or something symbolic, but the Chiron—the legendary trainer of heroes. That the Greek myths were real she had begun to accept, but this was something else. She’d had some run-ins with centaurs during the war, but they were very different from what Annabeth described. To her surprise, Percy and Grover seemed equally astonished that she had known centaurs at all.

“You’ve actually met centaurs?” Percy asked, eyebrows arched.

Elysia nodded. “Yes, in Britain. They’re reclusive and proud. They don’t get involved in human affairs often, but they’re skilled astronomers and archers. I’m guessing your Chiron isn’t quite like ours.”

Annabeth gave a short laugh. “That’s putting it mildly. Chiron’s… well, he’s a legend. The trainer of heroes. He’s been at Camp Half-Blood since it was created.”

They wandered through downtown for about half an hour, wending their way through a maze of broad avenues, glassy high-rises, and the occasional street performer. Percy commented that seven days wouldn’t be enough if they kept getting sidetracked, and Grover fretted about monsters lurking behind every parked car. Elysia cast a subtle charm against the weather. The spell took the edge off the weather, earning her grateful looks from the three kids.

They walked until the crowds thinned and the gleam of new construction gave way to older, sleepier streets. Eventually, Annabeth spotted what she wanted: an out-of-the-way self-service car wash squatting behind an auto repair shop and a tired-looking diner. The spray-nozzle stalls opened onto a back alley rather than the main street, promising relative privacy. The place smelled faintly of soap and wet concrete. It wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t as if they needed fancy—they just needed water and a rainbow.

They chose the stall farthest from the main road, where the only witnesses would be a line of scuffed dumpsters and a squawking crow perched on a utility pole. Elysia glanced around as they entered. They were three adolescents—plus one young-looking witch—lurking near a car wash with no car in sight. She half-expected a cop to appear, doughnut in hand, to question them. A discreet notice-me-not charm flitted through her mind, just in case.

Annabeth dug into her pocket. “Does anyone have some change?” she asked, holding out her hand. Without hesitation, Elysia pulled out her purse and dropped a few coins into Annabeth’s palm. 

“What exactly are we doing?” Elysia asked, brow furrowing. “Should I be ready to cast something?”

Grover shook his head, adjusting his cap. “Nah, we’re not calling on Hecate’s children or anything. This is Iris Messaging. It’s how we talk to people back at camp.”

“Iris... as in the goddess of the rainbow?” Elysia tilted her head, interested. She was growing more accustomed to these revelations of divine magic. Still, an ancient goddess delivering messages through rainbows was something else entirely.

Annabeth rolled a shoulder. “Yeah, basically you make a rainbow with running water and sunlight, throw in a golden drachma, say a prayer to Iris, and bam—long-distance call. Hopefully, we can reach Chiron and get some advice.”

Elysia nodded slowly, impressed. “Divine FaceTime. Understood.” She stepped back, careful not to interfere. She had her own magic, but she wasn’t sure if her spells would tangle with this divine method. Best let the demigods handle their business.

Annabeth fed a few of Elysia’s coins into the machine. The spray gun whirred, then spat out a fine mist. Adjusting the angle carefully, Annabeth used the nozzle like a paintbrush, painting a shimmering arc of water in the sunlight. Tiny droplets refracted into a faint rainbow. With a quick motion, Annabeth produced a golden drachma from her pocket—an ancient-looking coin etched with Greek lettering.

“O Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow,” Annabeth said softly, voice steady, “accept my offering.” She tossed the drachma through the glittering arc. It vanished as though swallowed by the light.

Elysia felt a subtle shift in the air, a quiet hush as if the world was holding its breath. The rainbow intensified, shimmering, then began to coalesce into a window of misty colour. Instead of fading away, it deepened, revealing shapes and shadows that gradually sharpened into a scene: wooden cabins, strawberry fields, a big house… Camp Half-Blood, if she had to guess.

They waited, expecting Chiron, but the face that appeared was a teenage boy with sandy hair, and a kind yet tired expression, but something about it struck Elysia as off. He smiled wearily. “Annabeth, Percy! Thank the gods! Are you guys okay?,” he said. His voice carried clearly, as though he stood only a few feet away rather than thousands of miles across the country.

Annabeth stammers her response, trying to straighten her t-shirt. “We’re…uh…fine”

As the demigods conversed, Elysia stepped aside. They clearly knew this Luke and needed to figure out what was going on back at camp. It wasn’t her place to interrupt. Instead, she let her senses expand, feeling something tugging at her magic. There was a gentle ripple in the magical currents around her, as if the wards she carried against detection were nudging her.

Instinct led her to look skyward, scanning the empty blue. At first, she saw nothing. Then, a small white shape appeared, growing larger with each wingbeat. A swell of relief and delight rose in her chest. It was Hedwig, her snowy white owl. Elysia’s oldest friend soared down, utterly out of place in the Colorado sunshine but magnificent all the same.

Hedwig swept over the car wash’s metal roof and settled gently onto Elysia’s extended arm. The owl hooted softly, affectionately. Tied to her leg were a couple of letters, their parchment crisp and neat. No doubt these were from friends and family, those precious ties she maintained back in Britain and beyond. Even here, thousands of miles away, her connections endured.

Elysia stroked Hedwig’s soft feathers, smiling to herself. The demigods were talking with Luke—urgent questions passing back and forth through the Iris message, their tones ranging from frustration to worry. She could sense their tension, their confusion about whatever was happening at camp. But for a moment, Elysia allowed herself to feel anchored. The world was large and complicated, full of gods, monsters, demigods, and dangerous quests. Yet here was Hedwig, a small piece of home. Proof that no matter how far you travelled, you carried your past and your friendships with you.

Gently untying the letters, Elysia placed them in her bag. She would read them later when they had a quieter moment. For now, she stood guard at the periphery of this makeshift rainbow portal, owl perched contentedly on her arm, watching Percy and Annabeth try to glean what news they could from Luke. The journey would only grow more dangerous, more surreal—but at least they weren’t alone. And in Elysia’s world, that made all the difference.

With the golden rainbow shimmer reflecting off the wet concrete, Percy talked tensely with Luke’s image, his voice hushed but urgent. Elysia caught fragments of the conversation: “Camp problems,” “Zeus’s bolt”—enough to sense mounting worry on both ends. Annabeth, meanwhile, had stepped away to confront a battered sedan blasting tinny pop music from its open windows, Grover at her side, trying to keep her from picking a fight with the driver.

Elysia took the opportunity to retreat a little further into the shadows of the car wash bay, letting the spray from Annabeth’s earlier efforts drip quietly behind her. Hedwig perched calmly on her arm, an anchor in this strange moment. The snowy owl shifted her weight, talons gentle against Elysia’s sleeve, as if waiting patiently. Through the subtle bond they shared—a connection forged in childhood hardship and countless flights under midnight skies—Elysia felt Hedwig’s calm, inquisitive presence. Words weren’t needed; Hedwig spoke in soft huffs of breath, the tilt of her head, the press of her warm body against Elysia’s arm, and the subtle ripple of understanding that passed between them.

“I’m sorry, girl,” Elysia said quietly. She raised her free hand to lightly stroke Hedwig’s snowy feathers. “We’ve been dragged into another situation. Apparently, there are prophecies in play... I can’t just do nothing.”

A soft flutter of Hedwig’s wings: the owl’s way of asking what comes next. Elysia could almost feel her familiar’s patience and acceptance, a gentle reassurance that said: You do what you must; I will follow.

“I know,” Elysia continued, lowering her voice so that it was no more than a soft murmur amid the distant hum of the city. “Nym would say it’s my ‘saving people thing’ again. She’d probably roll her eyes and grin at me for rushing headlong into danger.” A quiet huff escaped her at the thought of Nymphadora—vibrant, loving, never shy about speaking her mind. Across the ocean, Nym and the others who mattered to her were probably going about their lives, trusting Elysia to be safe, or at least careful. Elysia wished she could reassure them in return.

Hedwig’s head turned slightly, golden eyes fixed on Elysia’s face. Concern, comfort, confidence—it all blended into one feeling. There was no judgment in those eyes, only a patient acceptance that had seen Elysia through lonely nights and desperate battles. That memory, the countless times Hedwig had been her only companion in the cold dormitories or the endless forests, came rushing back. They had survived war together, learned to live in the aftermath, and then taken to wandering the world in search of understanding and peace. If Hedwig questioned these new entanglements, it was only to remind Elysia to be true to herself.

“I didn’t have any adults when I was their age,” Elysia said, pressing her forehead lightly against the owl’s downy chest. Hedwig’s soft feathers brushed her skin, and Elysia felt an old sadness stirring under her ribs. “I had mentors, yes, but they were always at arm’s length, never fully answering my questions, never letting me just be a child. I had to stand on my own far too soon. Now, I look at these three—Percy, Annabeth, Grover—and I see the weight on their shoulders. They remind me of… well, me, a long time ago.”

Hedwig’s feathers rustled in a way that conveyed quiet understanding. She was listening, as always. Elysia could almost sense the owl’s memories layering over her own: long hours spent in cramped compartments, bitter winter nights beneath spell-woven wards, flights across dark horizons as the world shifted from peace to war and back again. In each memory, Hedwig had played a part—silent, watchful, never judging.

“I can’t stand aside,” Elysia said softly. “They have a quest that will only get more dangerous. Monsters and gods and ancient grudges… It’s nothing like the war we faced, but it might be just as dire for them. If I can help—guide them, protect them—maybe they’ll come through with fewer scars.”

In the next stall, Annabeth’s voice rose for a moment—she must have convinced the driver to turn down the volume, or at least give them a wide berth. Grover’s anxious bleat reached Elysia’s ears before drifting away again. Percy’s quiet voice continued his conversation with Luke, tension coiling like a spring in each syllable.

Hedwig flexed her wings, then settled again, blinking slowly. Elysia could feel the owl’s presence like a warm lamp in a darkened room: steady, unwavering. Hedwig had been with her through times of horror and times of healing. Now, as the world expanded again—gods real, prophecies calling, children thrown into epic struggles—Hedwig stood by her side without hesitation. That alone gave Elysia comfort.

“Thank you,” she whispered, stroking the owl’s head. She spoke not just to Hedwig, but to everything the owl represented: home, history, friendship. “I know I’m dragging us into danger again, but I promise I’ll do my best to keep all of us safe.” A faint laugh escaped her, bitter and gentle all at once. “I always say that, don’t I?”

Hedwig’s answering motion—a light nudge, a quiet chirring noise—felt like agreement. Yes, Elysia always promised safety. And though life rarely allowed absolute guarantees, Hedwig knew that Elysia would keep trying, over and over, no matter how impossible it seemed.

A gust of warm air drifted through the car wash, carrying the scent of soap and dust. Behind Elysia, Percy’s tone sharpened as he questioned Luke, and she caught snatches of names and warnings. Whatever counsel they received would shape their path onward. So many uncertainties lay ahead. But Elysia felt calmer now, grounded. She wasn’t alone. She had her magic, her courage, her experiences, and this steadfast owl who had never abandoned her.

Taking a slow, steadying breath, Elysia tilted her head to peer around the corner. Soon, Annabeth and Grover would return, and Percy would step away from that shimmering rainbow call, all of them carrying new worries. Elysia would be ready for them—ready to stand between them and whatever harm lay ahead.

“We’ll figure it out,” she told Hedwig quietly, the owl’s large eyes reflecting her own resolve. “We always do.”

As the Iris message faded, Elysia stepped back into view of the three kids. Percy looked grim, Annabeth’s brow was furrowed, and Grover chewed anxiously at the edge of a tin can. Whatever they’d learned from Luke at Camp Half-Blood, it hadn’t brought clarity—only more questions. The tension crackled in the warm Denver air.

The three demigods turned to face Elysia as she stepped back over. Percy’s mouth dropped open. Annabeth started forward, curiosity shining through her worry, and even Grover paused mid-crunch, eyes wide.

“Is… that an owl?” Percy asked, voice hushed as if he feared startling the majestic bird.

“Of course it’s an owl,” Annabeth murmured, but her tone betrayed just as much surprise. She leaned in a fraction. “A snowy owl… that’s not native to here. How—”

Elysia offered a small smile, smoothing her fingers over Hedwig’s soft plumage. She could feel the questions brimming behind their eyes, but she had no time to explain Hedwig’s origins or the bond they shared. “Yes, Hedwig. My… companion,” she said simply. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

Grover cleared his throat. “She’s beautiful,” he managed, awkward but sincere. Hedwig blinked slowly, acknowledging their stares with calm indifference. Owl and witch, bound by trust and memory, formed a quiet tableau of solidarity. It was another subtle reminder that Elysia’s world was wider and stranger than the demigods had imagined.

With the tension still heavy between them, and Luke’s ominous hints lingering, they decided to move on. Following Annabeth’s lead, they slipped out of the self-service car wash stall and wandered a short distance through Denver’s quieter backstreets. Hedwig took wing again, ghosting above them to find a discreet vantage point. Eventually, they came across a chrome-plated diner, a relic of another era. The sight of its neon sign flickering in the midday sun offered a promise of food and momentary respite.

They slipped into a booth. Cleaning charms had improved their appearance, but the three young demigods still looked travel-worn—tousled hair, slightly rumpled clothes. Elysia looked more put-together, and so the waitress naturally focused on her as if she were the responsible adult among a group of scruffy teens. Elysia caught the woman’s wary eye.

“Well?” the waitress asked, not unkindly, but with an edge of skepticism.

“We want to order,” Elysia said, producing a sleek black bank card. That gesture alone made the waitress relax slightly. Money tended to ease suspicion. The demigods exchanged relieved glances—maybe they’d have a quiet meal and a moment to plan.

But fate had other plans. Just as their guard lowered, a deep rumble made the windows rattle. Silence fell over the diner. Heads turned toward the street, and Elysia followed their gaze. Outside, a motorcycle the size of a baby elephant pulled up to the curb. Its red headlight glared like an angry eye, and flames danced along its gas tank. Elysia’s stomach tightened at the sight of the shotgun holsters and the eerie leather seat. Something about that leather…

The door swung open. He stepped inside: a hulking man with a red muscle shirt, black jeans, a leather duster, and a hunting knife strapped to his thigh. Scarred cheeks, oily black crew cut, red wraparound shades—he looked like violence incarnate. Every instinct in Elysia screamed. The aura around him crackled with divine power, heavy and oppressive. She recognised the flavour of it now, a savage, warlike energy that stoked dark impulses. Next to her, Percy stiffened. Grover’s fingers tightened around what remained of his tin can. Annabeth’s eyes narrowed warily.

A hot, dry wind swirled through the diner, and suddenly everyone inside stood up as one—glazed eyes, blank faces, as if caught in a trance. Elysia’s lip curled in revulsion. The man had bent these Muggles’ minds without a word, without a wand. He radiated a presence that turned free will to dust. She had seen mind control spells before, but never like this: effortless, casual enslavement of human minds.

He waved dismissively, and the people sat again, resuming their chatter as if nothing had happened. The waitress blinked, confused, as if someone had rewound her memory. The stench of divine manipulation churned Elysia’s stomach. It was wrong on every level. The god—if that’s what he was—had perverted their free will in an instant, leaving only the demigods and Elysia untouched. She could feel his gaze through those red shades as he slid into the booth, crowding Annabeth against the window without so much as a courtesy.

“It’s on me,” he said, and Elysia’s muscles tensed. The waitress wavered, her eyes unfocused.

“Are you still here?” the biker growled. With a single pointed finger, he sent the waitress marching stiffly toward the kitchen, robbed of her own agency.

Elysia’s heart hammered. Her magic coiled within her, responding to the assault on her sense of justice. She fought the urge to reach for her wand—any violent reaction here would put the kids in danger. But what could she do? This was divine power, raw and brutal. The aura of rage and bitterness he radiated pricked at the corners of her mind, beckoning her to lose her temper, to lash out. She clenched her teeth, resisting the urge with every ounce of will she possessed.

Across from her, Percy glowered, his knuckles going white against the tabletop. Annabeth’s eyes narrowed, and Grover shrank back, trying to disappear behind his menu. Hedwig wasn’t inside the diner—thank Merlin—but Elysia wished the owl were here to remind her to stay calm, stay focused. If he truly was who she suspected—the god of war—then a careless move would be catastrophic.

Elysia forced herself to breathe evenly. She’d survived a war waged by a dark wizard. She’d faced unspeakable curses and held her ground. She would not let Ares break her now, nor would she let him drag the demigods down into a fight they couldn’t win.

Yet as she steeled herself, she knew this encounter would shape their journey forward. The tension crackled in the silence left by the vanished waitress, and the scent of divine aggression hung heavily in the air. They might be trapped in the booth with a god who could crush them like insects. Elysia set her jaw, determined to keep control of herself—and to do whatever she could to protect these three children who reminded her so painfully of the girl she once was.

Ares settled into the booth with a casual arrogance that set Elysia’s teeth on edge. He leaned forward, elbows braced on the tabletop, his massive shoulders forcing Annabeth closer to the windowpane. His presence made the diner’s patterned Formica feel like a battleground—one where the lines were drawn and blood was imminent.

Across from him, Percy seethed with barely contained anger. Elysia could feel the tension radiating from the boy in waves. Ares was goading him without a single overt taunt, just by existing. Divine power laced the air like hot wires, stirring old resentments, kindling frustrations. Elysia recognised this tactic: subtle goading, the predator circling its prey, waiting for a misstep. She’d seen Death Eaters do something similar, but never so effortlessly. This was beyond human malice. This was the cruelty of a god who thrived on conflict.

Elysia’s wand lay hidden within her sleeve, warm against her wrist. She didn’t dare reveal it openly—Muggle witnesses or not, this was a god of war, and a poorly timed spell might unleash chaos. Still, her fingertips flexed, ready to snap the wand into her hand at a moment’s notice. She had begun battles from worse positions before, outnumbered and surrounded. If it came to a fight, she would defend these children as fiercely as she had once defended her own world. Her heart pounded. She would not bow to fear.

The waitress returned, balancing four plates of greasy diner fare—burgers, fries, soda, and some kind of grilled cheese. Her motions were stiff, her eyes glassy. Elysia caught the slightest tremor in the woman’s hands. Ares had done this: twisted her will, reshaped her memory. Elysia bit back her disgust as the waitress placed the meals in front of them with mechanical politeness, then drifted away, seemingly unseeing.

The three kids picked at their food. Percy swallowed hard, his knuckles white on the edge of the table. Annabeth took tiny bites, shooting the occasional calculating glance at Ares. Grover half-heartedly nibbled a fry, ears twitching beneath his cap. Elysia sipped water from a chipped mug, her stomach a knot of tension. It felt wrong to just eat under this creature’s scrutiny, but hunger and fatigue weighed on them all. Even a few bites might help them think clearer. She had learned that much from her own campaigns—take strength where you can.

Ares observed them, silent for a time, letting the heat of his aura boil their emotions. Percy’s anger was still the easiest target, and Elysia could almost see the invisible claws trying to dig into the boy’s psyche. The god seemed to enjoy the struggle, like a cat savouring the panic of a cornered mouse.

Then, as if some inner curiosity flared, Ares’s crimson-tinted gaze shifted. He turned his head slowly toward Elysia, behind those wraparound shades. His focus settled on her like a scorching brand. She met it head-on, controlling her breathing, refusing to flinch. Magic tingled along her nerve endings, the hallows bonded to her soul stirring beneath her calm exterior. If he pressed too hard, he would find she was no passive mortal.

For an instant, Elysia’s surroundings melted away. It was as if Ares stared not at her current self, but at the history etched into her bones. She felt him probing, not gently, but like a hunter tearing through brush, looking for prey. He sought the truth of her past—her war, her victories and failures, the darkness she had wielded and the horrors she had survived.

Elysia’s teeth clenched, her jaw tight. He could see it, couldn’t he? The battles she had fought, the foes she had vanquished, the innocent blood spilt despite her best efforts. He smelled the echoes of curses that had once scorched the air around her, sensed the violence of a war fought in secret and shadow. There was a part of her that was intimately acquainted with death, a part that understood what it meant to stand alone at the edge of oblivion. She wished he could not see it, but gods were not so easily denied.

A slow, unsettling grin spread across Ares’s face. It was the smile of a creature who found something terribly amusing—some grim secret he’d pried free. His lips parted, revealing teeth that looked too white, too predatory. The grin said: I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. There was a triumphant cruelty in it, as if he’d just discovered a new weapon, a card to play against her. It made Elysia’s skin crawl.

She refused to look away, meeting his gaze, silent and defiant. If he intended to use her past against her, he would find her no easy victim. She’d faced a madman who considered himself a lord of death. She had become, in the eyes of her own people, something like a war-goddess herself. Did this brute think he could make her cower with a single knowing smile?

The tension escalated, invisible but electric. Percy’s knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists. Grover swallowed hard, and Annabeth shifted, as though trying to position herself between Percy and Ares. The diner’s patrons continued their mild chatter, all oblivious. But Elysia knew: they were standing on a razor’s edge, one wrong word away from disaster.

Ares didn’t speak. He let that grin linger, as if savouring her discomfort. Elysia’s muscles tensed, wand hand ready. She had started wars from worse positions, after all. Let the god try his tricks. She had chosen to stand with these demigods, and she would not be frightened off by a bully who just happened to carry divine power. She’d fought monsters, tyrants, undead horrors—she’d fight this too, if she had to.

But gods, she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Ares leaned back in the booth, his grin fading into an expression of calculated boredom. His presence still pressed on them like a storm front, heavy and charged. He tapped a finger against the table’s chipped laminate top, each tap echoing in Elysia’s ears like a slow countdown. The other customers continued their oblivious chatter, completely unaffected by the divine tension that crackled in the air.

“So,” the war god drawled, eyeing Percy before flicking a glance at Annabeth and Grover, and finally resting again on Elysia. He seemed to relish their discomfort. “I got a little errand I need running. A shield I left behind—very valuable, mind you—at an old water park about a mile west of here. Ugly place. You do me a favour and get it back, maybe I’ll give you something you want. Answers. A ride west in a sweet ride I’ve got parked not too far away. And maybe,” he paused, voice thick with cruel satisfaction, “I can tell you something about your mother, kid.”

Percy’s jaw tensed. Elysia watched his reaction carefully, catching the flicker of hurt and longing in his eyes. This was no casual bait. Ares knew exactly what strings to pull. The mention of Percy’s mother—taken or gone, Elysia didn’t know all the details—cut through the boy’s anger, leaving something raw and wounded. She felt a pang of sympathy. She would’ve done anything if Andromeda were in danger. If some self-styled god had dangled information about a loved one’s fate in front of her, she’d have taken the bait in a heartbeat.

Annabeth narrowed her eyes. “Why can’t you get it yourself?” she demanded, but her voice lacked its usual steadiness. Clearly, the tension was wearing on her. Grover said nothing, chewing his lip anxiously, as if the mere presence of Ares left a rancid taste in his mouth.

Ares shrugged, making the booth’s vinyl squeak. “Because I don’t feel like it,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “Because I’m a busy guy, got other places to be. Or maybe,” he leaned forward with a predatory twist to his mouth, “I just like seeing you squirm.” He sighed, feigning disappointment. “Hey, do it or don’t. No sweat off my back. But if you want a safe ride, want to know what happened to your dear old mum, and maybe some info that’ll get you closer to what you’re after, you’ll do it.”

The words hung there, and Percy looked at his friends. Annabeth’s face was set in a mask of calculation. Grover’s ears twitched under his cap, and his fingers drummed nervously against the table. They were young—too young, really, for this level of high-stakes manipulation—and Ares was enjoying it far too much. Elysia’s stomach churned at the sight.

Percy swallowed, and his eyes finally turned toward Elysia. She felt the weight of that gaze—the plea for guidance, the uncertainty. She was older, more experienced, and though they had only known each other a short time, Percy must have sensed something steady in her. Elysia inhaled slowly, keeping her face calm. She met his gaze, giving a slow, deliberate nod.

Her gesture said what words couldn’t in front of the war god. She understood. The things one did for family, the risks taken for those you couldn’t bear to lose. She would do it herself if Andromeda were in danger. This boy’s mother mattered to him, and Elysia wouldn’t stand in the way. She would help him, as she had decided from the beginning—to shield them, to stand by them.

Percy turned back toward Ares, shoulders squaring slightly. He had seen what he needed in Elysia’s nod. Even if it was a trap, even if it was dangerous, they wouldn’t walk away without trying. The silence stretched a moment longer, charged with the knowledge that they were accepting a devil’s bargain. Elysia shifted subtly, making sure her wand arm was free, her mind already planning how to get them through this next trial. They weren’t helpless children, not while she drew breath.

Finally, Percy spoke, his voice quieter now, but firm. “All right,” he said, voice steadying. “We’ll get your shield.”

~~

The sun hung low in the sky, a smouldering ember casting streaks of gold and crimson across the rugged peaks of the Rocky Mountains by the time the group stumbled upon the waterpark. The dying light bathed the scene in an eerie glow, accentuating the desolation before them. Once, this place might have echoed with the laughter of children and the joyful splashes of summer days, but now it stood as a hollow shell, a decaying skeleton of its former glory, consumed by time and neglect. The faded sign above the rusting gates proclaimed “WATERLAND,” though time or vandalism had rendered it a mockery of itself. With several letters missing, it now read “WAT R A D,” as if mocking its own abandonment. The main gate was padlocked and wrapped with barbed wire, the sharp edges gleaming faintly in the fading light. Behind the gate, the twisted remains of dry waterslides loomed like the skeletal ribs of a massive, long-dead beast, their once-smooth surfaces now streaked with grime and peeling paint. Tubes and pipes coiled in chaotic patterns, leading to empty, cracked pools. Torn tickets and faded advertisements fluttered like lost ghosts across the tarmac, carried by the faint breeze.

“If Ares brings his girlfriend here for a date,” Percy muttered, staring up at the barbed wire, “I’d hate to see what she looks like.”

Annabeth turned to him with a glare, her tone sharp. “Percy, be more respectful.”

Elysia, who had been examining the barbed wire with her usual blend of curiosity and caution, let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, isn’t it Aphrodite? If the myths I know are right.” Her voice carried a wry edge, her words hinting at the strangeness of walking through legends brought to life.

Without waiting for a response, Elysia flicked her wrist, and her wand sprang from its holster. The sleek, polished wood caught the last rays of sunlight, glinting with an almost otherworldly sheen. With a quick, practised motion, she cast an “Alohomora,” the incantation whispered with quiet authority. The padlock clicked open with a sharp metallic snap, and the barbed wire—which had seemed so menacing a moment ago—fell limp, as though cowed by the simple spell. The gate creaked open, its hinges groaning in protest, and they stepped into the eerie silence of the park.

“That was amazing,” Percy breathed, his sea-green eyes wide with awe. “You’re like, an actual wizard.”

“Witch,” Elysia corrected with a small smile, slipping her wand back into its holster with practised ease.

Annabeth’s analytical gaze lingered on the wand, her brow furrowing in concentration. “I’ve read about wands in mythology,” she murmured, half to herself. “They’re tools of immense focus and power. But to see one in action…” She trailed off, her fingers itching as though she wanted to take notes on the spot. Finally, she shook her head, as though filing away the observation for later analysis.

Grover, meanwhile, gave an impressed bleat. His eyes darted between the gate and Elysia. “Do you always carry that thing around? It’s like magic on command. That’s really cool.”

Elysia chuckled softly, her expression tinged with warmth. “It’s second nature by now,” she admitted, her hand brushing against her wand holster. “But let’s keep moving. Magic’s no substitute for caution.”

As they stepped through the gates, Percy glanced back at the now-limp barbed wire with renewed respect. “Remind me to never play hide-and-seek with you,” he muttered, earning a smirk from Elysia as they pressed onward. She decided it was best not to mention her invisibility cloak—some things were better left as surprises.

Inside, the decay clung to every crevice of the abandoned park, its oppressive presence sinking into the air like a heavy fog. The waterslides, once alive with vibrant hues of blue, green, and yellow, now sagged in muted pastels, their surfaces marred by streaks of grime, peeling paint, and years of weathering. The air was thick with the metallic tang of rust, mingled with the damp, musty scent of long-evaporated water, a ghostly reminder of what once filled the pools. The pools gaped beneath them like vast, empty graves, their cracked and weathered basins strewn with brittle leaves, shards of broken glass, and stray wrappers that skittered across the ground with every whisper of the breeze. Shadows stretched long and jagged, clawing like skeletal fingers over the derelict rides, while the distant hum of a highway droned softly, an eerie counterpoint to the otherwise haunting silence.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Grover murmured, his voice low and barely above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might awaken something lurking in the ruins.

Annabeth’s sharp gaze darted around, methodically scanning every corner and shadow for potential threats or clues. Her calculating expression softened slightly when she spotted an old gift shop tucked under the sagging remnants of a towering slide. “Look,” she said, her tone brisk as she gestured toward the dilapidated building. “There might be something useful inside.”

The group headed toward the shop, the door protesting with a long, drawn-out creak as they stepped over the threshold. The air inside was thick and stagnant, laden with the choking scent of mildew and ancient dust, clinging to every surface like an unwelcome guest. A fine layer of grime coated every surface, and the shelves were packed haphazardly with faded merchandise: souvenir T-shirts, cheap plastic toys, and tarnished keychains emblazoned with “WATERLAND” in bold letters. The demigods dispersed quickly, their hands darting through the dusty racks, rifling through faded T-shirts and weathered merchandise in search of anything to replace their travel-worn clothes. Annabeth flipped through a rack of oversized shirts, while Grover eyed a pair of sneakers skeptically.

Percy emerged triumphant, holding a small hairband he’d found buried under a pile of faded hats. With a satisfied grin, he secured his unruly hair into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. “Finally,” he muttered, adjusting it and shaking his head slightly. “I’ve been fighting without one ever since the Furies snapped my last one.”

Elysia leaned against the edge of a display counter, watching him with a faint, amused smile. For a brief moment, the tense urgency of their quest faded into the background, replaced by the mundane relief of small victories. It was a fleeting moment of normalcy that felt almost alien against the backdrop of their harrowing journey, a brief reprieve that seemed almost too fragile to last.

But the reprieve didn’t last. Once the group had changed into fresher clothes, they regrouped near the door, their expressions shifting back to determination. The shield they sought could be anywhere in the sprawling remains of the park, and every second spent searching brought them closer to danger. As they stepped back outside, the encroaching shadows seemed darker, thicker, as though the park itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come. The air hung heavy, charged with an almost tangible tension that prickled at the edges of their awareness.

After several minutes of searching, they stumbled upon what might have once been the park’s centrepiece attraction: the “Thrill Ride O’ Love.” The name was painted in peeling letters above a garish tunnel entrance, accompanied by the bold claim: “THIS IS NOT YOUR PARENTS’ TUNNEL OF LOVE!” The tunnel’s entrance yawned dark and foreboding, its gaudy pink paint streaked with grime, giving it a grotesque, almost mocking appearance in the dimming light.

In front of the tunnel lay a massive, empty pool, its bowl-like shape stretching at least fifty meters across and dipping steeply enough to give the impression of a giant’s abandoned plaything. The cracked concrete was littered with brittle leaves, scraps of debris, and faint streaks of rust-coloured stains. Around the rim of the pool, a dozen bronze statues of Cupid stood vigil. Their wings, once outstretched in a gesture of grace, now seemed rigid and accusatory. Bows drawn, they appeared ready to loose arrows at any intruder foolish enough to approach.

Grover crept cautiously toward the edge of the pool, his hooves making soft clicks against the tarmac that seemed unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. His nose wrinkled, and he cast a wary glance around before speaking. “Guys, look,” he said, his voice tight with unease as he pointed downward.

At the bottom of the pool, marooned like a forgotten relic, was a garish pink-and-white two-seater boat. Its once-cheerful canopy, adorned with faded hearts, drooped sadly, the fabric torn and mottled with age. In the left seat, glinting ominously in the faint light, sat Ares’s shield. The polished bronze seemed untouched by time, gleaming like a predator’s eye amidst the decay. It felt out of place here, a bright beacon of danger in the gloom.

Percy narrowed his eyes, his sea-green gaze scanning the scene with suspicion. “This is too easy,” he said, his tone edged with doubt. “So we just walk down there and get it?”

Annabeth knelt by one of the Cupid statues, her sharp gaze zeroing in on its base. Her fingers brushed over the weathered metal, tracing a faint inscription. “There’s a Greek letter carved here,” she said, her voice thoughtful as she tilted her head to examine it closer. “Eta. I wonder …”

Elysia stepped forward, her expression marked by both curiosity and caution. She studied the statue and the letter, her mind flicking between its significance and the runes she often used in her own magic. “Isn’t Cupid supposed to be Aphrodite’s child or something?” she asked, her tone a mix of half-curiosity and half-resignation. “Though I guess that isn’t the strangest thing if we’re assuming the myths are all true.”

The demigods shivered slightly, exchanging uneasy glances. The implications of gods as family—and the complications that might bring—were thoughts they clearly preferred to avoid.

Percy straightened, his posture firming as determination hardened his features. “Okay,” he said, drawing in a deep breath. “I’m going down there.”

“I’ll go with you,” Grover offered immediately, though his voice wavered, betraying his nerves.

“No,” Percy said firmly, shaking his head. “I want you to stay up top with the flying shoes. You’re the Red Baron, remember? I’ll be counting on you for backup, in case something goes wrong.”

Grover puffed up his chest slightly, but his worried expression remained. “Sure. But what could go wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Percy admitted, his eyes flicking back to the shield glinting ominously below. “Just a feeling.” He turned to Annabeth, who had stood up from examining the statue. “Come with me—”

“Are you kidding?” Annabeth’s face flushed a deep red, and she looked at Percy as though he’d just suggested something utterly preposterous. “Me, go with you to the … the ‘Thrill Ride of Love’? How embarrassing is that? What if somebody saw me?”

Percy’s face turned just as red, and he shot back, “Who’s going to see you?”

Elysia, standing nearby with barely concealed amusement, bit her lip to keep from laughing. The tension between the two was palpable, but it carried a youthful innocence that momentarily lightened the grim atmosphere.

Annabeth muttered something about boys always messing things up, but despite her protests, she followed Percy as he started down the side of the pool. Grover watched anxiously from above, his fingers fidgeting nervously with his reed pipes.

Elysia’s eyes sparkled with quiet mirth, but beneath her calm demeanor, her senses remained sharp, her wand at the ready. Years of hard-won experience had taught her to trust her instincts, and every nerve in her body told her that this wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

The pool loomed below, vast and unwelcoming, its eerie stillness broken only by the faint whispers of the breeze. The shield glinted like a spider’s web catching the sun, its polished surface a clear invitation—and a warning. The air felt heavier here, charged with a tension that prickled at the edge of Elysia’s awareness. Whatever awaited them at the bottom, one thing was certain: this was far from easy.

The descent into the pool had been tense, but now, standing before the garish pink-and-white boat, the sense of unease intensified. The boat’s canopy sagged under years of neglect, its faded hearts mocking the grim reality of the situation. Ares’s shield rested on one of the seats, polished to a gleaming bronze that seemed to defy the decay around it. Next to it, a lady’s silk scarf shimmered in the dim light, its delicate pink fabric untouched by time.

Percy wrinkled his nose, trying to imagine Ares and Aphrodite—two gods—lounging here in this dilapidated, junked-out amusement park ride. “Why here?” he muttered under his breath. Then his eyes flicked to the mirrors lining the pool’s rim.

Everywhere he looked, his reflection stared back. Elysia frowned as she followed his gaze. The mirrors reflected them from every angle, a disorienting maze of images.

Annabeth groaned as if realizing the answer. “Of course,” she said, her voice dry. “Ares and Aphrodite could sit here and admire their two favorite people in the world.” She pointed to the reflections. “Themselves.”

Percy reached for the scarf, its perfume wafting upward in a dreamy, intoxicating blend of roses and something wilder, unnameable. He smiled faintly, his fingers brushing the silk. The moment stretched, as if the scent had caught him in its spell.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Annabeth snapped, snatching the scarf from his grasp and stuffing it into her pocket. “Stay away from that love magic.”

Percy blinked, the dazed look clearing. “What? I was just…” He shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s grab the shield and go.”

He stepped forward and seized the shield by its edge. The polished bronze felt unnaturally warm to the touch, and the moment his fingers closed around it, Elysia’s senses went haywire. Her instincts screamed a warning, her body already moving into a defensive stance.

“Wait,” Annabeth said sharply, her eyes scanning the boat.

“Too late,” Elysia muttered grimly.

Annabeth pointed to the side of the boat. “There’s another Greek letter carved here. Eta. This is a trap.”

Before anyone could react, the grinding of gears erupted around them, deafening in its intensity. It was as if the entire pool had transformed into a giant machine.

“Guys!” Grover yelled from above, his voice taut with panic.

Around the rim of the pool, the bronze Cupids came to life. Their wings flexed with mechanical precision, and their bowstrings pulled taut, aiming not at the intruders but at each other. Arrows fired, silky bronze cables trailing behind them, crisscrossing over the pool and embedding themselves in the walls. Within seconds, the cables began weaving together, forming a shimmering golden net that grew thicker with each strand.

“We have to get out,” Percy shouted, his voice rising in urgency.

“Duh!” Annabeth snapped, her usual poise cracking under the pressure. They scrambled toward the slope of the pool, but climbing out proved far harder than descending. The smooth, angled surface worked against them, each step a fight against gravity.

Above them, Grover hovered in his flying sneakers, desperately pulling at the net. The golden strands resisted him, tightening and twisting with a sentient determination. Every time he managed to tear a thread, three more snapped into place, knitting themselves stronger and tighter.

Elysia fired off a barrage of spells, her wand moving in precise arcs. Blasting curses and stunning charms flew toward the statues, but each spell fizzled against an unseen force. Her cutting curse, meant to sever the net, ricocheted harmlessly off the strands and carved a deep gouge into the concrete floor instead, drawing a startled bleat from Grover.

“It’s enchanted,” she hissed, frustration sharpening her tone. “Whatever divine power is in this… it’s blocking everything I throw at it.”

Suddenly, a series of loud clicks echoed through the air. The Cupids’ heads popped open, revealing tiny video cameras mounted on mechanical arms. Spotlights flared to life, flooding the pool with a harsh, white-hot glow. The glare was blinding, disorienting.

A loudspeaker crackled, then boomed: “Live to Olympus in one minute… fifty-nine seconds… fifty-eight…”

Annabeth’s face contorted with frustration. “Hephaestus,” she spat, her tone venomous. “It’s one of his traps! He must have set it to catch Ares and Aphrodite. Now we’re about to be broadcast live to Olympus… looking like total fools!”

They almost reached the rim when another trap sprang to life. The mirrors lining the edge of the pool slid open like hidden doors, and a flood of tiny metallic spiders poured out. Their legs clicked against the steel, a sound like nails on a chalkboard that filled the air with an eerie, mechanical rhythm.

Annabeth screamed, her voice raw with terror. She froze, her wide eyes fixed on the swarm as it poured toward them. Percy cursed in Greek, grabbing her arm and half-dragging her back toward the boat as the spiders closed in. The ground seemed to writhe beneath them, the swarm’s sheer numbers overwhelming.

“Spiders,” Annabeth stammered, her voice breaking. “Sp… sp… aaaah!”

Elysia’s hands trembled as she tightened her grip on her wand. Her own memories of spiders, both magical and mundane, sent a shiver down her spine. She gritted her teeth, forcing the fear aside as she aimed another curse at the encroaching swarm. The spell blasted a small cluster apart, but it barely made a dent in the advancing tide.

“Thirty… twenty-nine,” the loudspeaker taunted, the countdown relentless.

The spiders began spitting strands of metallic thread, wrapping them around Percy and Annabeth’s legs in a sticky, unyielding web. Percy kicked one spider off Annabeth’s leg, only for another to latch onto his own, its pincers slicing through his shoe and grazing his skin. He yelped, shaking it off with a furious kick.

Above them, Grover hovered helplessly, his hands clawing at the net as he bleated in frustration. “It won’t budge!” he yelled. “I can’t get you out!”

The swarm closed in, the countdown ticking mercilessly toward zero. Elysia darted a glance at Grover, her mind racing as the mechanical spiders surged forward, their skittering legs creating a horrifying cacophony that reverberated off the cold, unforgiving concrete walls. The metallic clinking, like nails on a chalkboard, sent chills down her spine, and the sheer number of them made the air feel thick with impending doom. Annabeth and Percy were locked in a frantic battle, their feet lashing out at the relentless swarm. The spiders’ golden pincers gleamed in the harsh light, snapping with precision as they closed in, forcing the pair to retreat toward the garish pink-and-white boat. The once-cheerful ride, with its faded hearts and sagging canopy, now seemed like a cruel joke amidst the chaos. The countdown blared through the loudspeakers, each number a hammer-blow of urgency that seemed to mock their desperation. The metallic voice rang out with unrelenting precision, its cold monotone amplifying the tension in the air.

“We need to think of something, fast,” Elysia said, her voice sharp with command. Her wand cut through the air in tight, precise arcs, each movement releasing bursts of shimmering defensive spells. The spells exploded against the swarm in brilliant flashes of light, knocking back some spiders but failing to halt their inexorable advance. The creatures seemed almost immune to her efforts, their mechanical bodies shrugging off the magic like rain on steel. The spiders’ golden threads, gleaming like liquid fire, constantly regenerated with cruel efficiency, binding Percy and Annabeth even as they tore them away.

Hovering nearby, Grover’s flying sneakers sputtered with exertion as he darted back and forth, his hands wringing together in frantic desperation. His wide, panicked eyes darted between the control booth and the ever-encroaching spiders, clearly torn between helping and staying out of their lethal range. “I don’t know what else to try! The net won’t budge, and the spiders just keep coming!”

“Think, think!” Percy muttered under his breath, forcing himself to focus despite the chaos. His gaze darted around, taking in every detail. The tunnel of love—its entrance below the shimmering net—was crawling with spiders. Escape seemed impossible, but it was their only shot. His eyes snagged on the massive water pipes behind the mirrors, where the spiders had first emerged. Following the line upward, he spotted it: a glass-windowed booth nestled next to one of the bronze Cupids.

“Grover!” Percy shouted, pointing to the booth. “Get in there! Find the on switch!”

Grover hesitated. “But—”

“Do it!” Percy snapped. His voice carried a desperate urgency that sent Grover soaring toward the control booth. Meanwhile, the spiders swarmed over the boat’s prow, their pincers snapping hungrily. Annabeth’s screams rang out, piercing and raw.

Grover slammed into the booth, frantically clawing at the debris-covered controls. “Come on, come on!” he muttered, slamming buttons with increasing desperation.

“Fifteen… fourteen…” the loudspeaker droned.

“It’s not working!” Grover shouted, looking back helplessly.

Elysia’s wand snapped upward with decisive precision. “Aguamenti!” she commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos. A powerful jet of water burst from the tip, arching through the air before crashing into the swarm of spiders clinging to the boat. The force of the spray sent several of them skittering backward, their sparking limbs scrabbling for purchase on the slick surface. The deluge sent several skittering away, their mechanical bodies sparking as they hit the rising puddles below.

Percy’s jaw clenched as he focused inward, drawing on the power deep within. He closed his eyes and thought of waves, of rushing rivers, of the ocean’s relentless pull. Somewhere in the distance, he felt the faint pulse of water trapped in the pipes. His gut twisted as he reached for it, willing it toward them with every ounce of his will.

“Five… four…”

The rumble began as a low, ominous growl, vibrating through the ground beneath their feet like the first whispers of an earthquake. Then, with a deafening roar, water erupted from the pipes in a violent torrent, surging into the pool with unstoppable force. The sheer volume of it was overwhelming, transforming the once-dry concrete basin into a churning cauldron of chaos. The flood swept through the pool, carrying the spiders with it like leaves in a storm. Their metallic limbs flailed helplessly as they were tossed about, sparks flying from their bodies as water short-circuited their intricate mechanisms. Some smashed against the concrete walls with sickening force, their bodies shattering into fragments that scattered across the now-flooded ground. The wave lifted the boat, spinning it in wild circles. Percy grabbed Annabeth, his hands firm but urgent, and hauled her into the seat beside him. Water swirled violently around the boat, sloshing over the sides as he fumbled with the seatbelt, his fingers slick with moisture and shaking with adrenaline.

The boat’s canopy buckled under the force of the water, but it held. Percy and Annabeth clung to each other as the tidal wave propelled them toward the tunnel of love’s entrance, the pool now a churning whirlpool of debris and shattered spiders.

Above, Grover hovered, his sneakers sputtering as the flood sprayed him. Elysia sprinted along the edge of the pool, her wand casting sharp bursts of light to disorient any remaining spiders. She kept her magic restrained, knowing the cameras were still rolling.

The boat careened toward the exit, propelled by the force of the floodwaters, but the locked gate loomed ahead like a final obstacle. The metal bars glinted menacingly in the dim light, their unyielding presence a stark reminder of the dangers still ahead.

“Jump!” Percy yelled, unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling Annabeth with him.

They leapt, their bodies arching through the air with more height than seemed possible. Grover swooped down, catching them mid-fall, but the added weight dragged him downward. The three of them plummeted toward the ground, the speed threatening to overwhelm his struggling wings.

“Arresto Momentum!” Elysia’s voice cut through the chaos. A shimmering wave of magic enveloped them, slowing their descent until they landed with a gentle thud on the concrete.

Elysia rushed to their side, her wand already weaving through the air in a series of intricate, deliberate movements. Warm, golden light pulsed rhythmically from the tip, washing over their battered forms as she cast a series of rapid healing charms. The light seeped into their scrapes and bruises, knitting the skin together with gentle efficiency and soothing the rawness left by the fray. “Are you two all right?” she asked, her voice taut with concern.

Annabeth nodded shakily, her face pale but resolute. Percy, still catching his breath, managed a weak grin. “Thanks,” he said. He hefted Ares’s shield onto his arm, its bronze surface gleaming despite the chaos. He turned to the still-dripping ride behind them, his expression darkening.

In the distance, at the entrance pool, the bronze Cupids’ cameras remained locked on them, their unblinking lenses gleaming with an unsettling intensity. Spotlights blazed down from above, cutting through the lingering mist and illuminating every detail of the chaotic aftermath for Olympus to witness. Percy scowled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Show’s over!” he yelled. “Thank you! Goodnight!”

With a faint whir, the Cupids’ heads swiveled back to their original positions. The spotlights shut off, plunging the park into shadow once more. The only sound was the gentle trickle of water into the exit pool.

Percy turned back to the others, his grip tightening on the shield. “We need to have a little talk with Ares.”

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

III

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The war god was waiting for them in the diner parking lot.

“Good, you didn’t die. I was starting to worry about your competence,” Ares sneered, leaning casually against his monstrous motorcycle. The bike rumbled faintly, as if alive, its growl vibrating through the air. The headlight glared red, casting an ominous glow across the cracked pavement, like a predator’s eye daring anyone to challenge it. The scent of hot metal and ozone seemed to cling to the war god, mingling with the faint trace of oil that hung in the humid night air.

Elysia’s grip on her wand tightened, her instincts screaming at her to be ready. The oppressive weight of Ares’ divine aura pressed against her senses like a physical force, making her stomach churn. It wasn’t fear exactly—she’d faced down her fair share of monsters and dark wizards—but there was something primal and deeply unsettling about standing in the presence of a god who embodied conflict.

“You knew it was a trap,” Percy said, his voice steady but laced with a sharp edge. He fixed Ares with a hard look that spoke volumes of his barely contained anger.

Ares smirked, a wicked grin stretching across his rugged face. “Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV.”

Elysia’s jaw tightened, her mind flashing back to the many times she had taunted Death Eaters during the war. She knew exactly how Percy’s friends must feel, watching someone they care about talk back to a being who could crush them with a flick of their wrist. Her heart pounded, though her expression remained composed, a habit born from years of battle.

“I hope the ratings were good,” Percy snapped, shoving the shield at Ares with more force than necessary. “You’re a jerk.”

Annabeth and Grover both sucked in sharp breaths, while Elysia tensed. The atmosphere seemed to grow heavier, and she prepared herself for the explosion of anger she expected to follow.

Ares caught the shield effortlessly, spinning it through the air like it weighed nothing, as if it were a toy instead of a formidable piece of weaponry. As it spun, the shield morphed, reshaping itself into a sleek, bulletproof vest that he slung over his shoulder with casual ease. “Good doing business with you, cousin,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery, as if they’d just exchanged pleasantries over coffee.

He pointed across the street to an eighteen-wheeler parked under the dim yellow glow of a streetlight. The truck’s massive bulk cast long shadows, and its worn paint made it look like it had seen better days. The side bore a sign that read, “Kindness International: Humane Zoo Transport. Warning: Live Wild Animals,” in reverse-printed white on black.

“That’s your ride,” Ares said, his voice tinged with amusement. “It’ll take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Percy muttered, his tone dripping with disbelief.

Ares snapped his fingers, and the back door of the truck unlatched with a metallic clang. “Free ride west, punk. Stop complaining. And here’s a little something for doing the job.”

He slung a blue nylon hip bag off his handlebars and tossed it to Percy. Percy caught it, unzipping it to reveal fresh clothes for all of them, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double-Stuffed Oreos.

“Thank you, Lord Ares,” Grover interjected quickly before Percy could respond. His tone was rushed but respectful, and he shot Percy a warning look.

Percy huffed but obediently slung the bag over his shoulder. His eyes drifted back to the diner, catching sight of the waitress who had served them earlier. She was gesturing nervously toward them, her face pale with worry, as if she feared what Ares might do.

“You owe me one more thing,” Percy said, his voice low and filled with barely restrained anger.

Ares tilted his head, his sunglasses glinting as fire flickered behind the lenses. “You sure you can handle the news?” He kick-started his motorcycle, the roar cutting through the night like a thunderclap. “She’s not dead.”

Percy stiffened. “What?”

“I mean, she was taken away from the Minotaur before she could die,” Ares said, his voice almost casual. “Turned into a shower of gold, right? That’s metamorphosis. Not death. She’s being kept.”

“Kept? Why?” Percy demanded, his fists clenching.

Ares grinned, his teeth flashing like a predator’s. “You need to study war, punk. Hostages. You take somebody to control somebody else.”

“Nobody’s controlling me,” Percy shot back, though his voice faltered slightly. His confidence wavered, and Elysia’s sharp gaze caught the faint flicker of doubt in his expression.

Ares laughed, the sound dark and menacing. “Oh yeah? See you around, kid.”

Percy’s lips curled into a defiant grin. “You’re pretty smug for a guy who runs from Cupid statues.”

The air grew hotter, a sudden wind ruffling Percy’s hair as Ares’ aura flared with fury. Behind his sunglasses, the fire intensified, blazing like molten lava. “We’ll meet again, Percy Jackson. Next time, it’ll be a fight.”

The war god revved his Harley, the engine’s roar deafening, then tore out of the parking lot in a blur of black and red, disappearing into the night.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the streetlight above.

“That was not smart, Percy,” Annabeth murmured, her voice trembling slightly as the tension ebbed.

Percy shrugged, though his shoulders remained stiff. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get onto that truck. Might as well use the lift.”

Elysia lingered for a moment, her wand still clutched tightly in her hand. Her heart was pounding, a combination of adrenaline and the oppressive presence of Ares still lingering in the air. She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax.

“Right,” she said finally, her voice steadier than she felt. She followed the others toward the truck, casting one last glance over her shoulder at the diner, the faint outline of the waitress still visible in the window. The guilt in her eyes mirrored Elysia’s own thoughts. There was always a cost when gods were involved.

The first thing that hit Elysia was the smell—a nauseating mix of urine, spoiled food, and the sour tang of unwashed fur. It clawed at her senses, making her gag before she could raise her wand. With a soft “Lumos,” a ball of light formed at the tip of her wand, casting the trailer in a pale glow. The scene before her made her heart ache.

Three miserable-looking animals occupied the cramped space: a zebra, a male albino lion, and a weary-looking antelope. The animals’ conditions spoke of neglect and cruelty. Their cages were far too small, forcing them to hunch and shuffle in discomfort. Their eyes darted around wildly, the whites showing as they flinched at every movement.

The lion paced restlessly in his cage, his pink eyes glaring at a pile of turnips that had been dumped in his enclosure as if mocking his carnivorous nature. His ribs jutted out through his white fur, and flies buzzed relentlessly around his ears. His fur, once majestic, was dull and patchy, and the soiled blankets beneath him reeked of decay. He panted in the sweltering heat, his long tail lashing irritably against the bars.

The zebra stood trembling in its pen, its once-beautiful mane tangled with gum and dirt. It sidestepped nervously, as if trying to escape the walls that hemmed it in. Next to it, the antelope’s pitiful figure was even more heart-wrenching. A silver birthday balloon bobbed mockingly from its horn, reading “OVER THE HILL!” in gaudy, cheerful letters. The balloon’s string tugged at the antelope’s head with every movement, making the animal flinch as if even this small burden were too much.

“This is kindness?” Grover yelled, his voice quaking with rage and despair. “Humane zoo transport?” He clenched his fists, his reed pipes jangling at his side as he turned toward the door. “I swear, if I find those truckers—”

The truck engine roared to life, sending the trailer lurching violently forward. Grover stumbled, and they all scrambled to steady themselves, dropping into a huddle on the floor atop mildewed feed sacks. The trailer’s movement amplified the oppressive heat and foul smell.

Elysia, grim-faced, moved quickly. She raised her wand again and cast a series of spells in rapid succession. A cooling charm eased the stifling heat, and a cleansing charm dulled the worst of the stench. Finally, she wove a protective ward that sent the flies buzzing angrily to the edges of the trailer, unable to reach the animals. The air became marginally more bearable, though the underlying misery remained.

“We need to free them,” Annabeth said, her voice low but fierce. Her gray eyes glinted with determination as she gripped her knife.

Elysia shook her head regretfully. “I would love to, but doing so while the truck’s moving isn’t a good idea. We could end up hurting them more than helping.”

“But we can still do something,” Percy said, uncapping Riptide. The celestial bronze blade glinted in the faint light as he used it to carefully switch the animals’ food and pour some of their water into bowls. “They shouldn’t have to put up with this any longer than they already have.”

“I know some spells,” Elysia said apologetically, “but most of them are for magical creatures. This… this is just plain cruelty.” Her voice trembled with restrained anger.

Grover knelt by the antelope’s cage, bleating softly to calm it. The animal’s trembling eased slightly as it responded to his soothing tones. Annabeth used her knife to cut the string of the balloon from the antelope’s horn, tossing the offensive thing aside. She glanced at the zebra’s matted mane, her hands itching to remove the gum, but the jolting trailer made the task too dangerous.

“Grover, promise them we’ll help in the morning,” Annabeth said softly. “We’ll do more once we’re stopped.”

Grover nodded, bleating his reassurance to the animals. Their eyes remained wary, but their trembling lessened. The group settled in for the night, exhaustion weighing them down. Elysia leaned back against the trailer wall, her wand still clutched in her hand as if she might need it at any moment.

Annabeth and Percy shared a pack of Oreos, their voices low in conversation.

“I’m sorry I freaked out at the waterpark,” Annabeth said suddenly, her tone tinged with embarrassment. “Spiders… anyway, thank you for helping.”

Percy grinned faintly. “We’re a team, remember? Besides, Grover did the fancy flying, and Elysia did the magic.”

From his corner, Grover mumbled sleepily, “I was pretty amazing, wasn’t I?”

Annabeth and Percy laughed, while Elysia allowed herself a small smile. The camaraderie between the group warmed her, a brief reprieve from the harshness of their journey.

Elysia leaned against the trailer wall letting Annabeth and Percy’s conversation wash over her, as her fingers brushed the worn edges of the letters Hedwig had delivered earlier. The sight of the familiar parchment brought a wave of comfort, grounding her amidst the chaos of the journey. She pulled out the first envelope, its elegant script unmistakably Fleur’s.

~

Dearest Elysia,

Victoire has decided she wants to be a dragon tamer this week. We blame her godmother entirely, as she’s convinced that her “Auntie Elysia” wrestles dragons every other Tuesday. Attached, you will find her latest masterpiece, a crayon rendering of you battling what she assures us is a Ukrainian Ironbelly. I’ve framed another for our wall, but this one is for you to keep.

Life here has been busy but beautiful. Nymphadora insists on teaching Victoire stealth techniques, which has resulted in many… “missing” biscuits and more than one mysteriously vanished wand. We caught her sneaking chocolate out of the pantry last night—she’d used her mother’s cloak and claimed it was “an infiltration mission.”

You’re always in our thoughts, Elysia. We hope your travels bring you as much joy as they do adventure. Victoire misses her godmother terribly, and we all look forward to the day you’ll visit again. Until then, stay safe and know you’re loved more than words can express.

With love,
Fleur, Nymphadora, and Victoire

P.S. Nymphadora insists I tell you she’s perfected a new prank spell. She promises to demonstrate when you return. You’ve been warned.

~

Elysia’s lips curled into a soft smile as she unfolded the crayon drawing tucked inside. The chaotic swirls of colour—a mix of red, green, and gold—depicted a vaguely humanoid figure standing triumphantly atop a dragon’s back. She carefully set it aside, reaching for the next letter. Andromeda’s familiar, meticulous handwriting greeted her.

~

Dear Elysia,

I trust this letter finds you in one piece, though I’ve no doubt you’ve managed to get yourself tangled in something extraordinary yet again. I suppose that’s just who you are.

Managing the affairs of House Potter and House Black continues to be a challenge, but one I undertake with pride. Your legacy deserves nothing less than the utmost care.

I have also begun experimenting with a new healing technique involving enchanted salves and phoenix tears. The results have been promising, and I’ve included a small vial for you to use if the need arises. I know how dangerous your journeys can be, and it brings me peace to think you have another layer of protection.

On a more personal note, I’ve taken up gardening again. It’s a quiet joy, a small rebellion against the chaos the world so often brings. I recently planted an entire row of moonflowers, and they’re flourishing beautifully.

Take care of yourself, my dear. The world may ask much of you, but remember that it’s perfectly fine to rest. Your family is always here for you.

Write back when you can. I’ll try not to pester, but you know how I worry.

Fondly,
Andromeda

P.S. Don’t forget to eat something other than trail rations. I’ve heard Fleur’s baking is excellent; perhaps you should remind her to send a care package.

~

Elysia chuckled softly at the postscript, her heart swelling at Andromeda’s quiet care. She set the letter down and unfolded the next one, the parchment scented faintly of jasmine—a signature of Daphne Greengrass.

~

Elysia,

If we didn’t know better, we’d say you were avoiding us. Do you know how difficult it is to keep tabs on someone who seems to vanish into thin air? Tracey is still convinced you’re up to something thrilling and dangerous, and I can’t say I disagree.

We’ve been keeping ourselves busy, though it’s dull without you around to stir up trouble. Tracey’s started experimenting with new potion combinations, and I’ve been working on enchanting some… interesting jewellery. Nothing as dramatic as your adventures, I’m sure, but we’re managing.

Things have been rather uneventful here, though we did visit an exotic greenhouse recently and thought of you. I’ve enclosed a pressed moon lily—it’s said to bring luck to travellers. Not that you need it, of course; your knack for surviving the impossible is legendary.

When you’re back, we expect a full recounting of everything you’ve been up to—don’t spare us the details. In the meantime, take care of yourself. You’re too stubborn to let anything stop you, but… well, it doesn’t hurt to be reminded now and then.

Yours,
Daphne & Tracey

P.S. If you’re planning to duel any dark lords or dragons, do let me know first. I’d like to prepare appropriately dramatic condolences.

~

Elysia laughed aloud, tucking the moon lily carefully into her bag. Daphne’s dry humour never failed to lift her spirits. Finally, she opened the last letter, its envelope slightly wrinkled from its journey. Luna’s ethereal handwriting danced across the page.

~

Dear Elysia,

The stars told me you’d be reading this soon. They’ve been whispering of paths crossing and ancient hands guiding your steps. It’s quite exciting, isn’t it?

The world is full of strange wonders, but even so, I can’t help but think of you as one of the most fascinating mysteries. Astoria and I were delighted to receive your last letter, even if it was brief. She’s been itching to ask if you’ve encountered any fantastical creatures on your journey. If you have, please share—we’ve been compiling a new journal of rare and unusual beings, and your insights would be invaluable.

I hope you’ve found something wonderful on your travels, even if it isn’t what you were looking for. Sometimes, the best discoveries come from the unexpected. Have you seen any moon frogs lately? They’re especially vibrant this time of year.

We are off to the Caribbean next, and Astoria can hardly contain her excitement about exploring the underwater caves. She’s been reading up on their formations and insists they might hold secrets no one has yet uncovered. As for me, I’m eager to immerse myself in the region’s unique flora—there’s something so magical about plants that thrive in such vibrant, sunlit lands. I’ll be sure to send you notes on anything remarkable we discover.

Don’t forget to look at the stars when you can. They have a way of grounding you, even when everything feels uncertain. Stay safe, and come visit as soon as you’re able.

With all our fondness,
Luna & Astoria

P.S. Don’t forget to look up at the moon tonight. She’s been keeping an eye on you.

~

Elysia sighed, folding the last letter with care. Her friends’ words wrapped around her like a warm embrace, a reminder that even amidst the chaos, she was never truly alone. For now, that was enough. With that thought, she let herself drift into sleep and the memory of being asked to be Victorie’s godmother.

~~~

Elysia stepped into the warm embrace of the small cottage, the soft glow of firelight illuminating the cosy space. The scent of lavender and fresh bread hung in the air, a stark contrast to the cold wind she’d left behind outside. Nymphadora Tonks—or just Dora, as she insisted Elysia call her—beamed at her from the kitchen, her bubblegum-pink hair slightly frazzled but her eyes alight with joy.

“You’re finally here!” Dora exclaimed, setting down a tray of tea and biscuits to envelop Elysia in a tight hug. “We thought you’d gotten yourself lost in one of your tombs.”

“I nearly did,” Elysia quipped, her lips curling into a wry smile. “But nothing short of being trapped under a mountain was going to keep me from meeting your little one.” She held up a small, intricately carved box and a delicate bundle wrapped in silk. “I brought gifts.”

From the sitting room, Fleur’s melodic voice called out. “You shouldn’t have, Elysia. Come, sit. You must be exhausted from your journey.”

Elysia followed Dora into the sitting room, where Fleur sat in a plush armchair, her radiant beauty undimmed by the loose braid framing her face and the faint tiredness beneath her eyes. In her arms was a small bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket. Fleur smiled warmly as Elysia approached, her silvery-blue eyes sparkling with pride.

“This is Victoire,” Fleur said, her voice tender as she adjusted the blanket to reveal the tiny face within. “Our little victory.”

Elysia’s breath caught. Victoire’s rosy cheeks and tuft of pale blonde hair were almost too perfect, her tiny hands curling reflexively as if she already held the world in her grasp. Her soft, rhythmic breathing seemed to lull the entire room into a tranquil reverie. “She’s beautiful,” Elysia murmured, feeling a pang of something she couldn’t quite name—a mix of awe, love, and the faint ache of longing.

Fleur motioned for her to sit, and Elysia settled on the couch, placing the gifts carefully on the table. “The box is enchanted,” she explained, gesturing to the carved wooden chest. “It’s from a market in Tunisia. It’ll keep anything you place inside preserved—perfect for keepsakes.”

Dora reached for the bundle of silk, unwrapping it to reveal a soft, handwoven blanket embroidered with constellations. The threads shimmered faintly in the firelight, as if reflecting the night sky. “And this is made from enchanted threads. It’s warm in the cold and cool in the heat. Also stain-proof, which I’m sure will come in handy.”

“Oh, Elysia,” Fleur said, her voice thick with emotion. “These are wonderful. Merci. You always bring such thoughtfulness with you.”

Dora grinned, placing the blanket gently over Victoire. “You’ve outdone yourself again, as always.”

Elysia waved her hand dismissively, though her cheeks flushed slightly. “It’s nothing. Just a couple of things I thought might be useful.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the crackling fire filling the air as they admired Victoire, who gave a soft coo, her tiny hand flexing as if grasping at the world around her. Dora and Fleur exchanged a glance, one of those silent conversations only shared by people deeply in sync. Then Dora cleared her throat, sitting down beside Elysia with an unusual seriousness in her eyes.

“There’s something we wanted to ask you,” Dora began, her tone warm but firm.

Elysia raised an eyebrow, already on edge. “All right. What is it?”

Fleur leaned forward slightly, her expression soft but earnest. “We want you to be Victoire’s godmother.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before Elysia’s eyes widened. “What?” she said, almost too sharply. “No. No, I’m not… I’m not suited for that. You can’t possibly mean me.”

Dora placed a hand on Elysia’s arm, her grip both steadying and affectionate. “Of course we mean you, sister. Who else could it possibly be?”

The word “sister” struck a chord deep within Elysia, stirring something tender yet painful. Dora had always called her that, but in moments like these, it carried an added weight. It reminded her of Sirius, the man who had once been her own godfather. Sirius had been everything a godparent should be—fierce, loyal, and unconditionally loving. He had been her rock in her darkest moments, her guiding light when the world felt impossibly dark. How could she ever live up to that example? The thought sent a wave of doubt crashing over her.

“Anyone else,” Elysia replied, her voice unsteady. She stood, pacing a few steps before turning back to face them. “I’m not exactly a beacon of stability, am I? I’m halfway around the world most of the time, diving headfirst into dangerous situations. What if something happens to me? What kind of example would I be?”

Fleur’s gaze never wavered, her tone calm but firm. “A brilliant one. You’re strong, resourceful, and loyal. You have faced things most people would never dare to, and you have always come through. That is exactly the kind of example we want for our daughter.”

Dora nodded, her expression softening with affection. “Elysia, you’ve always been there for us. You’ve been there for me. You’re family. And Victoire deserves to have someone like you in her life. Someone who knows what it means to fight for what’s right and to love fiercely.”

Elysia shook her head, the weight of their words pressing heavily on her chest. She looked down at Victoire, who gurgled softly in Fleur’s arms, her tiny hand reaching toward Elysia as if sensing her hesitation. Sirius’s voice echoed in her mind, urging her to step up when others needed her most. But what if she failed? What if she couldn’t be half the godparent Sirius had been to her?

“I… I don’t know. What if I mess it up?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Fleur’s expression softened further, and she reached out, taking Elysia’s hand in hers. “Then we will be here to help you. But we know you won’t. You have so much love to give, even if you don’t always see it in yourself.”

“She’s already enchanted by you,” Dora added with a laugh, her voice filled with warmth. “You can’t say no to that face, can you?”

Elysia sighed, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite her lingering doubts. She glanced back at Victoire, who seemed to study her with wide, curious eyes. The tiny hand flexed again, reaching toward her, and Elysia felt her resolve waver. Could she really say no?

“You two really don’t give me much choice, do you?” she asked, her voice soft but tinged with reluctant amusement.

“Not at all,” Dora said cheerfully, her grin widening.

“Then I guess I’m her godmother,” Elysia said, her voice steadier now, though the weight of the responsibility still loomed large in her mind.

Fleur’s eyes glistened with tears as she leaned forward to kiss Elysia’s cheek. “Merci, Elysia. It means so much to us.”

Dora grinned, pulling Elysia into a tight hug that radiated warmth and acceptance. “You’ll be brilliant. We know it.”

As Elysia sat back down, holding Victoire’s tiny hand in hers, she felt an unfamiliar warmth bloom in her chest. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they were right. And as Victoire’s fingers curled around hers, Elysia felt a flicker of hope—a quiet reassurance that perhaps she could rise to the challenge after all.

Elysia lingered in the quiet moments after the decision had been made, her mind racing despite the warmth of the firelight and the comfort of the tiny hand curled around hers. Victoire’s soft coos seemed to pull her back to the present, grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. The weight of the promise she had just made settled on her shoulders, heavy yet reassuring, like a familiar cloak.

“So, godmother,” Dora teased with a grin as she settled back into her chair, her hair shifting hues with her mood, a subtle pastel pink now. “How does it feel knowing you’ve officially joined the ranks of the doting and overprotective?”

Elysia laughed softly, though there was a nervous edge to the sound. “Daunting, if I’m honest,” she admitted, running a hand through her dark hair streaked with hints of white. “But… it feels right. I just hope I can live up to what you both expect of me.”

Fleur’s expression turned gentle, her silvery-blue eyes shimmering in the firelight. Her voice was soothing, like a lullaby. “You’ve already proven yourself to us a hundred times over. Just be yourself, Elysia. That is more than enough.”

Dora leaned forward, her mischievous grin widening. “And if you’re ever in doubt, just remember Sirius. He’d probably tell you to break the rules and spoil her rotten. Isn’t that what godparents are for?”

Elysia’s smile faltered for a moment as memories of Sirius filled her mind. His infectious laugh, the way he’d sweep her up into a hug like she was the most important person in the world, the way he’d always been there for her, no matter what. He had been her anchor in the stormy sea of her childhood, her guide through the darkest moments of her life. “He would say that,” she admitted softly, her voice thick with emotion. “And he’d mean every word of it.”

Victoire’s tiny fingers tightened around hers, as if sensing the shift in her mood. Elysia’s heart swelled at the gesture, a bittersweet ache spreading through her chest. She leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead, her voice trembling as she whispered, “I’ll do my best, Victoire. I promise.”

Fleur reached out, her touch light but steady as she placed a reassuring hand on Elysia’s arm. “We have no doubt you will. And you won’t be alone in this. We’re family, after all.”

“Family,” Elysia echoed, the word wrapping around her like a protective cloak. For someone who had spent so much of her life feeling adrift, the notion of being part of something so solid, so unwavering, was both comforting and overwhelming. It stirred a quiet longing she hadn’t even realised was there, a desire to be needed and to belong.

“Speaking of family,” Dora said, her tone lightening as she leaned back with a mischievous smile. “I’m holding you to your promise to babysit. Fleur and I are overdue for a night out, and I’ve already told everyone that Auntie Elysia is more than capable of wrangling a little one.”

Elysia raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Wrangling? Is that what you’re calling it? I’ve faced down curses, hexes, and tomb raiders, but I have a feeling babysitting Victoire might be my toughest challenge yet.”

The three women laughed, the sound filling the cosy cottage with a sense of warmth and connection. It was a moment Elysia knew she would carry with her, a beacon of light in a world that could often feel dark and uncertain. The laughter was soothing, like a balm on the wounds she didn’t often acknowledge.

As the evening wore on, they shared stories and plans. Elysia found herself relaxing, the doubts that had plagued her earlier beginning to ebb away. She wasn’t Sirius—she knew that. But perhaps she didn’t need to be. Perhaps she could forge her own path as a godparent, one rooted in her own experiences and strengths.

When the time came for her to leave, Elysia stood at the door, her cloak draped over her shoulders and her wand tucked securely in her sleeve. The cool night air seeped in through the open door, carrying with it the scent of lavender and dew. Dora and Fleur stood beside her, Victoire cradled in Fleur’s arms, her tiny face serene in the soft light.

“Thank you,” Elysia said, her voice quiet but heartfelt. “For trusting me with this. It means more than I can say.”

Fleur smiled, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “It is we who are thankful, Elysia. You are part of our family, now and always.”

Dora pulled her into one last hug, her voice filled with affection as she whispered, “Take care, sister. And don’t forget to visit more often. We’ll miss you.”

Elysia nodded, a lump forming in her throat as she stepped out into the cool night air. She paused just beyond the garden gate, turning back for one last look at the cottage. Its warm glow seemed to reach out to her, a reminder of the love and connection waiting within. For a moment, she allowed herself to linger in that warmth, her heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and resolve.

As she walked away, the soft glow of the windows fading into the distance, Elysia felt a renewed sense of purpose. She might not have all the answers, but she would do everything in her power to be the kind of godmother Victoire deserved. She would be present, she would be strong, and she would love fiercely, just as Sirius had loved her.

And somewhere, in the quiet recesses of her heart, she hoped that Sirius would be proud.

~~~

Elysia jolted awake, the sudden stillness of the truck unsettling after the constant vibrations of the road. Her senses screamed danger even before she registered Grover’s frantic movements.

“The truck’s stopped,” Grover whispered urgently, shaking Percy’s shoulder. “We think they’re coming to check on the animals.”

Elysia quickly assessed the situation as Percy groggily stirred. “Hide,” Annabeth hissed, already slipping on her Yankees cap and vanishing from sight. Grover and Percy scrambled to bury themselves under the turnip feed sacks in the corner. Elysia flicked her wand, and a shimmering cloak materialised around her shoulders. She flipped the hood up, the fabric turning her invisible as it settled over her form.

The trailer doors creaked open with a groan, letting in a blinding flood of sunlight and the oppressive heat of the desert. Two truckers clambered up, their heavy boots thudding against the metal floor.

“Man!” one of them said, waving a hand in front of his nose. “I wish I hauled appliances instead of this stink.” He carried a jug of water, sloshing it carelessly as he moved toward the cages.

“You hot, big boy?” he asked the lion mockingly, then tipped the remaining water over the creature’s head. The lion roared, shaking its massive mane in indignation, but the cage prevented it from doing more than pacing furiously.

Percy’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. Grover’s grip on his arm tightened, a silent plea to stay hidden.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the man muttered dismissively, tossing the antelope a squashed Happy Meal bag. The poor creature flinched as the greasy paper landed near its hooves. The trucker smirked, then turned to the zebra.

“How ya doin’, Stripes?” he sneered. “Least we’ll be getting rid of you this stop. You like magic shows? You’re gonna love this one. They’re gonna saw you in half!”

A sharp knock from outside distracted the trucker. He grunted and climbed out, leaving the trailer doors ajar. Annabeth slipped back inside, her invisibility dissipating as she removed her cap. At the same moment, Elysia lowered the shimmering hood of her cloak, her form becoming visible as the enchantment faded. She scanned the cages with sharp eyes, her wand still held at the ready.

“This transport can’t be legal,” Annabeth muttered, her gray eyes narrowing as they swept over the miserable animals.

“No kidding,” Grover replied, his tone grim. He tensed suddenly, his ears twitching. “The lion says these guys are animal smugglers.”

Elysia’s voice was low and tight. “That doesn’t surprise me. I’ve dealt with dragon smugglers in the Amazon.” Her words drew startled looks from Percy and Grover, but she didn’t elaborate, her focus fixed firmly on the cages.

Percy uncapped Riptide, the celestial bronze blade glinting in the sunlight streaming through the door. He slashed the lock off the zebra’s cage with practised ease. The animal burst out, whinnying in gratitude as it turned and bowed low.

Grover raised his hands and murmured something in a melodic, ancient tongue, a blessing for the zebra. The creature leaped out of the trailer, its hooves clattering against the ramp as it bolted down the boulevard, drawing the truckers’ attention.

“Now would be a good time to go,” Annabeth said, her voice taut with urgency.

“Quick!” Grover urged. “The other animals!”

Percy moved swiftly, cutting the locks on the antelope and the lion’s cages. Grover blessed them both, his words flowing with an innate magic that seemed to calm the terrified creatures. The antelope hesitated only a moment before bounding out, its movements graceful even in panic. The lion followed, its powerful strides carrying it into the streets with a deafening roar.

The group stumbled out of the trailer into the blazing afternoon sun, their hearts racing. They ducked behind a cluster of bushes, putting as much distance as they could between themselves, the crowd, and the truck. Thankfully, the spectacle of wild animals loose in the city had drawn all attention away from them.

They made their way down the strip, coming to a sudden stop in front of the Lotus Hotel and Casino. The entrance was a huge neon flower, the petals lighting up and opening in an almost hypnotic rhythm. The glittering chrome doors were wide open, spilling out air-conditioning that carried a cloying mix of sticky flowers and honey, sweet but faintly suffocating. Despite the inviting atmosphere, no one seemed to be entering or leaving.

A doorman, clad in an immaculately pressed suit with a pin of the neon lotus on his lapel, noticed their hesitation and wandered over. His smile was polished and practised, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not safe to be out here in the heat like this,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Why don’t you kids come inside where it’s safer?”

Elysia’s frown deepened as her instincts flared. The doorman’s overly courteous tone, the surreal atmosphere of the hotel, and the tingling sensation at the back of her mind all screamed that something was off. The magic in the air was palpable, pressing against her thoughts like a gentle but insistent whisper. She opened her mouth to warn the others, but Percy, Annabeth, and Grover had already taken the bait and were walking inside.

Grumbling under her breath about her “saving people thing,” Elysia pulled her wand closer to her side and followed them through the shimmering chrome doors.

The lobby was unlike anything she had ever seen—a chaotic blend of decadence and excess. The entire space was a colossal game room, buzzing with energy and sound. A massive indoor waterslide twisted around a glass elevator that shot straight up at least forty floors. A glowing climbing wall loomed in the corner, its surface pulsing with neon lights. Overhead, an indoor bungee-jumping bridge spanned the lobby, while rows of virtual-reality pods hummed nearby, their screens casting eerie blue light. Hundreds of video games lined the walls, each with screens the size of widescreen TVs, flashing vivid colours and enticing animations. Everywhere she looked, waitresses carried trays laden with every type of food imaginable—burgers, pizza, cotton candy, even delicacies she couldn’t name.

“Hey!” A chipper bellhop appeared seemingly out of nowhere, his uniform crisp and his expression almost unnervingly cheerful. “Welcome to the Lotus Casino. Here’s your room key.”

Percy stammered, “Um, but …”

“No, no,” the bellhop said with a laugh, waving away any objections. “The bill’s taken care of. No extra charges, no tips. Just go on up to the top floor, room 4001. If you need anything, like extra bubbles for the hot tub, or skeet targets for the shooting range, or whatever, just call the front desk. Here are your LotusCash cards. They work in the restaurants and on all the games and rides.”

He handed each of them a green plastic card embossed with a glowing lotus design and walked off before they could ask any further questions.

The group hesitated but eventually took the elevator to the top floor. When the doors opened, the sight that greeted them was almost surreal. The suite was opulent to the point of absurdity. Four separate bedrooms branched off from a central living space, complete with a bar stocked with candy, sodas, and chips. A hotline to room service sat prominently on the counter. Fluffy towels were piled high near a hot tub on the balcony, which overlooked the glittering Strip and the sprawling desert beyond. Water beds with feather pillows occupied each room, and a massive big-screen TV with satellite and high-speed Internet dominated the living area.

“Oh, goodness,” Annabeth breathed, her gray eyes wide with astonishment. “This place is…”

“Sweet,” Grover said, his voice tinged with awe. “Absolutely sweet.”

“Weird,” Elysia interjected, her frown deepening. Her sharp gaze swept over the suite, noting the faint shimmer of magic lingering in the air. “Let’s shower, rest up, and get out of here.”

The kids nodded, too entranced by the luxuries to argue. Elysia guided them to gather extra clothes from the suite’s wardrobes, which somehow offered perfectly fitted options for each of them. While the others showered and changed, Elysia remained in the main room, her wand gripped tightly in her hand. The gnawing unease in her chest refused to subside.

As the kids settled down to rest, exhaustion finally catching up to them, Elysia began her investigation. Her wand moved in intricate patterns as she cast a series of detection spells. The tip of her wand glowed faintly, revealing subtle wards and enchantments woven into the walls and furniture. The magic wasn’t overtly harmful but carried a deceptive undertone, designed to lull its targets into complacency. Her heart sank as the truth began to dawn on her.

This wasn’t just a hotel. The magic woven into its foundation was ancient and cunning, designed to ensnare and enthral. The longer they stayed, the harder it would be to leave.

Her sense of urgency grew as she turned to check on the kids, only to find their beds empty. Panic flared in her chest until her eyes landed on a hastily scrawled note on the bedside table:

We’re going to check out the arcade! Be back soon.

Elysia’s blood ran cold. She crumpled the note in her hand, her pulse pounding in her ears. The thought of the kids wandering deeper into this cursed place set every alarm bell in her mind screaming. Whatever this casino truly was, it was no place for children—or anyone—to be left unwatched.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing her wand. “This saving people thing is going to be the death of me.”

She slipped her hood back up, the shimmering cloak enveloping her as she moved swiftly toward the elevator. The unsettling hum of the casino’s magic pressed against her senses, but she pushed it aside. She had to find the kids—and fast.

Elysia moved swiftly through the dazzling chaos of the Lotus Casino, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. The shimmering fabric of her cloak flowed silently around her, rendering her invisible as she slipped through the throngs of entranced patrons. The cacophony of blaring arcade sounds, flashing lights, and bubbling laughter gnawed at her already frayed nerves, but she forced herself to focus. The oppressive enchantment in the air weighed heavily on her senses, as though the very walls whispered for her to stay. Somewhere in this labyrinth of excess and illusion, the kids were lost—and with each passing second, the stakes grew higher.

Her first glimpse of hope came when she spotted Percy near a row of oversized pinball machines. Unlike the hypnotised players around him, his stance was tense, his head turning sharply as if searching for something. A flicker of determination crossed his face, a look that cut through the cloying enchantment like a blade. Lowering her hood, Elysia let the shimmering material fall back, her form appearing as she approached.

“Percy!” she called softly, her voice cutting through the sensory overload of flashing lights and mechanical beeps. The sound seemed to anchor him, and he turned sharply, his sea-green eyes widening with relief when he saw her.

“Elysia! You’re here!” he exclaimed, rushing toward her. There was a frantic edge to his voice, the kind of urgency that came with realising how close you’d come to losing yourself. “This place… it’s messing with my head. I almost forgot why we came in. Annabeth and Grover, they’re still here. I’ve been looking for them, but this place is a maze.”

Elysia nodded, her expression grim but steady. “This whole place is designed to trap people,” she said, her wand at the ready as her sharp gaze darted around. The oppressive hum of the casino’s magic pressed against her senses, but she pushed it aside. “We need to find them and get out now. How long have you been awake?”

“Not long,” Percy admitted, his voice laced with frustration. “Something about this arcade game snapped me out of it. There was this guy using weird words, and it just… clicked. I remembered what we were supposed to be doing.”

“Good,” Elysia said with a firm nod. “Stick close to me. Let’s find the others before this place tries to pull you back in.”

They made their way deeper into the casino, weaving through a labyrinth of virtual reality setups and opulent lounges that seemed to stretch on forever. The air grew heavier with enchantment, each step feeling like wading through invisible currents. The overwhelming glow of neon lights seemed to pulse in time with the hypnotic music, amplifying the allure of every corner.

Finally, they spotted Annabeth seated in front of a massive, curved screen, her face illuminated by the ethereal glow of an architectural simulation game. Her eyes were fixed on the display, a mixture of focus and awe on her face as her fingers danced over the controls, crafting impossibly intricate structures with fluid precision. The buildings on the screen shimmered with an almost lifelike quality, their elegant designs evolving with every move she made.

“Annabeth!” Percy called, his voice sharp and urgent as he rushed toward her. She didn’t flinch, her gaze locked on the digital city she was meticulously designing. Each keystroke seemed to draw her further into the illusion, her features softened by a faint, dreamlike smile.

Elysia stepped forward with determination, placing a firm hand on Annabeth’s shoulder. “Annabeth, it’s time to go,” she said, her tone cutting through the haze of the casino’s enchantment like a blade.

Annabeth blinked, her fingers hovering uncertainly above the controls. Her expression softened into something almost wistful. “Just a little longer,” she murmured, her voice distant. “I’m so close to perfecting this design. It’s beautiful…”

“Annabeth,” Elysia said more firmly, crouching to meet her eye level. “This isn’t real. It’s a trap. We need to leave, now.”

Percy moved beside her, his voice gentler but no less urgent. “Annabeth, please. We’ve got to find Grover and get out of here before it’s too late.”

Annabeth’s hands faltered, her grip on the controls loosening. Her gray eyes flickered with hesitation, darting between Percy and Elysia. The pull of the game seemed to waver as realisation slowly dawned. She exhaled shakily, withdrawing her hands from the controls as though they had burned her. “You’re right,” she said softly, her voice tinged with regret. “Let’s go.”

The three of them pressed on, navigating the endless maze of dazzling games and indulgent distractions. It felt as though the casino itself was alive, its shifting layout designed to confuse and delay. Every corridor seemed to lead to another room more opulent than the last, the enchantment thrumming like a heartbeat, urging them to stay. The flickering lights and enticing aromas worked in tandem, a subtle assault on their senses.

Eventually, they stumbled upon Grover in a luxurious lounge area. He was seated at a round table piled high with plates of steaming food, surrounded by a cheering crowd of patrons. His enchanted LotusCash card glowed faintly beside him, its eerie light reflected in his wide, enthralled eyes. The scent of roasted meats and sugary confections wafted through the air, nearly overwhelming.

“Grover!” Percy called, striding forward and grabbing his arm. “Snap out of it, man!”

Grover blinked, his chewing slowing as Percy’s voice broke through the haze. “What?” he mumbled, still half-dazed. Then, with a weak smile, he gestured to the table. “Oh, hey, guys. You have to try these nachos. They’re… they’re…” His voice trailed off, confusion replacing his earlier excitement. His brow furrowed as realisation crept in. “Wait. What’s going on?”

“This place is a trap,” Elysia said, stepping forward to help Percy haul Grover to his feet. Her wand flicked subtly, casting a minor enchantment to dissipate the lingering haze around him. “We need to leave. Now.”

Grover’s eyes darted around, panic blooming on his face as the fog fully lifted. “How long have we been here?” he asked, his voice rising with alarm.

Elysia’s stomach sank. She hadn’t wanted to think about that question, but as they hurried toward the exit, a clock mounted on the wall caught her eye. Her heart dropped as the numbers came into focus.

“Two days,” she said grimly, her voice heavy with dread. “We’ve been here for two days.”

The kids froze, their faces pale and stricken as the weight of her words sank in. Percy’s hand tightened around Riptide, his knuckles whitening as his jaw clenched in determination. “Then we’ve already lost too much time,” he said, his tone steady despite the storm in his eyes. “Let’s move.”

Elysia nodded, gripping her wand tightly as they quickened their pace. The enchantment of the casino seemed to thicken, the air itself resisting their departure with an almost sentient malice. The neon glow dimmed and flickered, as if the building itself was reluctant to let them go. But together, they pushed through, their resolve unyielding. They would escape before any more of their precious time slipped away.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

IV

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The sun beat down mercilessly on the Greyhound bus as it sped through the desolate Mojave Desert, the golden expanse stretching endlessly in every direction. Inside, the air was thick with tension, the unease of shared dread palpable among the group. Elysia leaned against the window, the warm glass pressing against her temple as she stared out at the barren landscape. The rhythmic hum of the bus's engine did little to soothe her churning thoughts. The world outside seemed too still, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in her mind.

“Two whole days,” Annabeth said quietly, her voice trembling slightly as she stared at the newspaper in her lap. The bold date blazed across the page, glaring proof that time had slipped through their fingers. “We were in there for two whole days.”

Elysia turned from the window, her sharp gaze landing on Annabeth. The girl’s knuckles were white as she gripped the paper, her grey eyes wide and clouded with horror. The revelation struck like a thunderclap, but Elysia forced herself to remain calm, her features schooled into a mask of composure. She couldn’t let them see how rattled she truly was; they needed her to be steady.

Grover tried to lighten the oppressive mood, gnawing on a tin can with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Look on the bright side,” he said through a mouthful of metal, his voice strained. “We could’ve been in there for five days and had only one left to complete the quest.”

Percy grimaced, leaning back in his seat. “Or we could’ve missed the deadline altogether.”

The bus fell silent at that thought. Even Grover’s chewing stilled, the weight of Percy’s words settling over them like a heavy fog. Elysia glanced between the three, her heart aching at the sight of their young faces etched with worry. They were just kids, thrust into a conflict far beyond their years, and yet they bore the burden with a resilience that both astounded and unsettled her. The weight of responsibility should never have fallen on their shoulders.

As the bus rumbled on, they shuffled in their seats, taking turns to rest. The muffled sounds of the tyres on the road filled the quiet until Percy’s voice broke through, hesitant and uncertain. He began recounting his latest dream, his words halting as he struggled to piece together the fragmented memories. Elysia leaned forward slightly, her wand hidden but ready in the folds of her cloak, her senses attuned to every nuance of his story.

He described a throne room shrouded in shadows, an invisible voice giving commands, and a pit that radiated malice so profound it seemed to seep into the very air. His words sent a chill down Elysia’s spine, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. The kids didn’t need her fears compounding their own.

“The servant called the monster something other than ‘my lord,’” Percy said, his brow furrowed deeply. “Some special name or title…”

“The Silent One?” Annabeth suggested, her voice cautious and tinged with hesitation. “The Rich One? Both of those are nicknames for Hades.”

Percy shook his head slowly, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “Maybe … but neither feels quite right. The voice from the pit… it didn’t feel like a god’s voice.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened briefly, a flicker of recognition crossing her face before she quickly masked it. Percy caught the momentary lapse, his eyes narrowing. “What?” he asked, his tone sharper now.

“Oh… nothing,” Annabeth said, her tone unconvincing. “It has to be Hades. Maybe he sent this thief, this invisible person, to get the master bolt, and something went wrong—”

“Like what?” Percy pressed, his gaze unwavering.

Annabeth hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. “I… I don’t know. But if he stole Zeus’s symbol of power from Olympus and the gods were hunting him, a lot of things could go wrong. So the thief had to hide the bolt, or maybe they lost it. Anyway, they failed to bring it to Hades. That’s what the voice said in your dream, right? The thief failed. That would explain why the Furies were searching for us on the bus. Maybe they thought we had the bolt.”

Elysia’s eyes narrowed, her mind racing. The pieces didn’t fit together neatly, and her instincts screamed that something larger was at play. There was a pattern here, threads connecting these events to something much darker, but she couldn’t yet see the full picture. She remained silent, letting the kids work through their theories.

“But if I already had the bolt,” Percy said, his voice tinged with frustration, “why would I be travelling to the Underworld?”

“To threaten Hades,” Grover suggested, his voice unusually grim. “To bribe or blackmail him into giving your mom back.”

Percy let out a dry laugh. “You have evil thoughts for a goat.”

“Why, thank you,” Grover said, managing a faint smile.

“But the thing in the pit said it was waiting for two items,” Percy continued, his tone growing more urgent. “If the master bolt is one, what’s the other?”

Grover shook his head, clearly mystified. Annabeth’s expression grew tense, her eyes flicking to Percy as if she could will him not to ask the question hovering on his lips.

“You have an idea what might be in that pit, don’t you?” Percy asked, his voice low and insistent. “I mean, if it isn’t Hades?”

Annabeth’s lips tightened into a thin line, her shoulders stiffening. “Percy… let’s not talk about it. Because if it isn’t Hades… No. It has to be Hades.”

The tension hung heavy between them as the bus sped on, the weight of unspoken fears pressing down on them all. Elysia kept her gaze on the desert outside, her thoughts spiralling. The voice Percy described, the malice in the pit. She’d encountered dark forces before, and this one had the same insidious pull, the same sense of something ancient and unrelenting. Her grip on her wand tightened instinctively.

“The answer is in the Underworld,” Annabeth said, breaking the silence. Her voice was firm but tinged with desperation. “You saw spirits of the dead, Percy. There’s only one place that could be. We’re doing the right thing.”

Elysia turned to Annabeth, noting the girl’s clenched fists and the tight set of her jaw. The young demigod was trying to sound confident, but Elysia could see the cracks in her façade. Annabeth was scared, and rightly so. They were heading into the unknown, facing powers far beyond their understanding.

As Annabeth began outlining strategies for their arrival in the Underworld, her voice steady but hurried, Elysia’s thoughts wandered. What could be waiting for them in that pit? And why had the gods allowed things to escalate to this point, leaving three twelve-year-olds to shoulder the burden of preventing a divine war?

The looming California state line sign jolted her back to the present. The journey was nearing its next critical juncture, and Elysia’s resolve hardened. Whatever lay ahead, she would see it through. For the kids, for the fragile balance they were risking everything to protect, and for the questions that needed answers—no matter how terrifying those answers might be.

The sun was dipping low, painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink as the bus finally dropped them off near the beach in Santa Monica. The air carried a briny tang, mingled with the faintly sour stench of city pollution. The beach itself stretched out before them like a scene from a postcard, though the reality was grittier than the glossy depictions in films. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries piercing the evening air, and the waves rolled in with a steady rhythm, whispering against the shore.

“Hopefully I’ll be back soon,” Percy said, offering a reassuring smile as they stood at the edge of the sand. His gaze lingered on the water, his expression a mix of determination and apprehension.

“We’ll get some food while we wait,” Elysia said, brushing a strand of dark hair streaked with white away from her face. She adjusted her cloak, its edges lightly dusted with sand from the trek.

“Don’t take too long,” Annabeth warned, her voice laced with a mixture of concern and mock sternness. “Or we’ll be forced to come in after you.”

Percy’s grin widened, the teasing breaking some of the tension. With a quick nod, he stepped forward, the cool waves lapping at his sneakers before he waded deeper into the sea. Within moments, he was gone, disappearing beneath the surface as though he belonged to it.

Elysia watched the spot where Percy had vanished, her fingers instinctively brushing against the hidden wand tucked into her sleeve. She turned to Annabeth and Grover, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s find somewhere to eat. Waiting on an empty stomach will only make us more anxious.”

They walked away from the beach, heading toward a cluster of small shops and cafes nestled along the main road. Neon signs flickered to life as twilight deepened, casting colourful reflections on the pavement. The salty breeze mixed with the enticing aromas of grilled seafood, baked goods, and freshly brewed coffee wafting from nearby eateries.

“There,” Elysia said, nodding toward a cosy-looking cafe tucked between a surf shop and a souvenir stand. The warm light spilling out of its windows beckoned like a sanctuary. Inside, the decor was beachy but inviting, with weathered wooden tables and nautical-themed accents. A chalkboard menu hung above the counter, listing simple but hearty options.

The three of them slid into a booth near the back, away from the larger groups of customers. Annabeth grabbed a menu, her grey eyes scanning it with the focus of someone strategising a battle plan. Grover leaned back, his cap tilted forward to hide the tiny nubs of his horns, his gaze darting nervously around the room as he sniffed the air.

Elysia flagged down a waiter, her tone polite but firm as she ordered water for the table while they decided on food. The waiter handed them menus, casting a curious glance at Grover before moving on. Elysia’s sharp look followed him until he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Relax,” Annabeth said, smirking. “You’re as tense as Grover.”

Elysia shrugged, letting out a soft laugh. “Force of habit. You’d be surprised how many places I’ve walked into only to find they’re fronts for something far less pleasant.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Illegal potions, for one,” Elysia replied dryly, earning a startled laugh from Grover and a sceptical look from Annabeth. “Long story. Let’s just say it pays to stay alert.”

They placed their orders—clam chowder for Annabeth, a plate of fried calamari for Grover, and a simple sandwich for Elysia. When the waiter returned with their drinks, Elysia pulled out her sleek black Gringotts bank card to pay.

Elysia slid her sleek black Gringotts bank card across the table to the waiter. Annabeth glanced at it, curiosity flickering in her grey eyes. “That’s an unusual card,” she said casually.

Elysia smiled faintly. “It’s one of the perks of being a witch. Goblins are excellent at managing international currency exchange.” The waiter seemed to hesitate for a moment before swiping the card and returning with their receipt.

The food arrived shortly after, and the trio dug in. The warmth of the meal and the relative calm of the cafe helped ease some of the tension that had been building since their journey began. Annabeth pulled out her notebook, jotting down notes and sketching ideas for their next steps.

“Do you think Percy will be okay?” Grover asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. His voice was soft but edged with worry.

Elysia paused mid-bite, her gaze thoughtful. “He’s stronger than he realises,” she said finally. “And he’s resourceful. But we’ll be ready if he needs us.” Her tone was firm, leaving no room for doubt.

Annabeth nodded, her expression resolute. “He’ll be fine. Percy always manages to pull through, even when things look impossible.”

They finished their meal in relative quiet, the weight of the quest never far from their minds. Elysia glanced at her watch, noting the time with a slight frown. Percy had been gone longer than she’d expected.

Just as she opened her mouth to suggest heading back, the bell above the cafe’s entrance jingled, and Percy walked in, his expression both relieved and contemplative. He slid into the empty seat across from Elysia, the faint scent of saltwater clinging to him.

Elysia immediately pushed the extra plate of food she’d ordered across the table, the sandwich still warm from the kitchen. “Figured you’d be hungry,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact but tinged with concern.

Percy blinked in surprise before breaking into a small, grateful smile. “Thanks,” he said, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly with the first mouthful.

Annabeth leaned forward, her grey eyes sharp with curiosity. “So? What happened? Did you get any answers?”

Grover’s ears twitched beneath his cap as he watched Percy intently, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of the napkin in front of him.

Percy swallowed his bite and sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “I talked to a messenger from my father’s court,” he began, his voice low but steady. “Let’s just say it was… informative.”

Elysia’s brow furrowed as she studied his face. There was a weight in his words, a gravity that hadn’t been there before. “Informative how?” she prompted gently, not wanting to push too hard but needing to understand what he’d learned.

When Percy sat down, he told them what had happened, and carefully pulled out the pearls, their soft green glow casting faint, eerie light across the table.

The luminescence lit up Percy’s face, revealing a mix of excitement and apprehension. “These,” Percy began, holding one up for them to see, “are from my father. They’re a way out of the Underworld if we need it. But there are only three.”

Elysia’s brow furrowed as her sharp gaze flicked between the pearls and Percy’s tense expression. It didn’t take long for her to recognise the hesitation in his voice and the worried glance he cast in her direction. She could see the concern etched on his face—he was thinking about her, about the fact that there weren’t enough pearls for all of them.

“Don’t worry about me,” Elysia said, her tone brisk as she waved a dismissive hand. Her lips curved into a small, wry smile. “Remind me later to tell you about my cloak. Let’s just say I have my own ways of getting out of tricky situations.”

Percy’s shoulders eased slightly, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. Annabeth, sitting across from him, shifted her focus from the pearls to Elysia, her grey eyes alight with curiosity. Grover, meanwhile, seemed visibly relieved, his fingers gently brushing over the edge of the table as he muttered a quiet prayer of thanks to the gods.

Elysia gave Percy a reassuring nod before turning her attention to the logistics of their next move. She paid for more tickets to take the bus into West Hollywood, her sleek black Gringotts card catching Annabeth’s eye. The younger girl’s curiosity was palpable as her gaze lingered on the unusual card, but Elysia offered no immediate explanation, her mind already focused on their journey ahead.

Once on the bus, Percy handed the driver the Underworld address slip they’d taken from Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium, but the driver frowned and shook his head, clearly unfamiliar with anything called DOA Recording Studios. The driver’s eyes lingered on the group for a moment, scepticism flickering across his face. However, Elysia’s calm demeanour and composed presence seemed to put his concerns to rest, and he gestured for them to take their seats.

The bus rolled through the city streets, the fading twilight painting the skyline in shades of gold and crimson. As they neared their stop, the tension among the group was almost tangible. They disembarked near the area where DOA Studios should have been, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. Despite their efforts, nobody they asked seemed to know where the studio was. Even Elysia’s attempts at using directional spells proved futile, the magic swirling aimlessly as though the location itself defied detection.

As they turned a corner, Percy froze abruptly in front of an appliance store window, his expression tightening with a mix of shock and anger. The flickering televisions inside were playing an interview that immediately captured his attention. On the screen, a man sat in a cramped apartment, surrounded by a poker game in progress. A young blonde woman perched beside him, patting his hand with mock sympathy that felt as staged as the fake tear glistening on his cheek.

‘Honest, Ms. Walters, if it wasn’t for Sugar here, my grief counsellor, I’d be a wreck,’ the man said, his voice trembling theatrically. ‘My stepson took everything I cared about. My wife… my Camaro… I… I’m sorry. I have trouble talking about it.’

‘There you have it, America,’ the interviewer said dramatically, turning to the camera. ‘A man torn apart. An adolescent boy with serious issues. Let me show you, again, the last known photo of this troubled young fugitive, taken a week ago in Denver.’

The screen cut to a grainy image of the four of them standing outside the Colorado diner, clearly mid-conversation with Ares.

‘Who are the other children in this photo?’ Barbara Walters asked, her voice laced with exaggerated drama. ‘Who is the woman or man with them? Is Percy Jackson a delinquent, a terrorist, or perhaps the brainwashed victim of a frightening new cult? When we come back, we chat with a leading child psychologist. Stay tuned, America.’

Percy’s fists clenched at his sides, his entire body stiffening as his breathing grew shallow and uneven. The tension rolled off him in waves, his vibrant green eyes darkening with a storm of anger, humiliation, and barely contained hurt. He seemed frozen, barely registering Grover’s desperate tugging on his arm to pull him away from the display.

Elysia’s gaze flicked between the television screen and Percy. Her chest tightened as she took in his reaction. The way his shoulders hunched inward, as though trying to make himself smaller, struck a painful chord. She recognised the signs all too well—the defensive posture, the internalised shame—and the memories hit her with an almost physical force. She saw herself, years ago, curled into corners and trying to disappear as her relatives’ cutting words and accusing glares piled on her like stones.

Her hand twitched toward her wand, the familiar instinct to lash out with magic surging in her veins. The urge to curse the television, to obliterate the smug face of the man exploiting Percy’s pain for public consumption, burned brightly. But she forced herself to stop, exhaling slowly through her nose, her grip on her wand white-knuckled.

“Percy,” she said quietly, stepping closer to him, her voice firm but soothing. “This is exactly what they want. Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

Percy didn’t respond immediately. His jaw worked as though he were chewing over her words, his fists gradually unclenching. Finally, he nodded stiffly, his movements mechanical as he allowed Grover to guide him away from the display. Annabeth fell into step beside him, her expression stormy as she muttered under her breath about the ridiculousness of the media.

Elysia lingered for a moment longer, her eyes narrowing at the screen, the pit of anger in her stomach slow to dissipate. The humiliation Percy felt, the unjust accusations, the weight of being misunderstood—they all echoed too closely to her own experiences. But she pushed the emotions aside, turning on her heel to follow the group. Her cloak billowed slightly in the cooling evening breeze, the fabric shimmering faintly under the streetlights. Her grip on her wand remained tight, a silent promise to herself. Percy might face more injustices, but she would ensure he didn’t face them alone.

As they kept walking, Elysia’s spell guided them to a store a few blocks away.

‘Crusty’s Waterbed Palace?’ Grover translated for Percy and Annabeth.

“I feel like we need to go in,” Percy said, staring at the shop front. His voice was hesitant, but there was an unshakable pull in his expression, as if something beyond his understanding urged him forward.

Annabeth looked at him closely, her eyes narrowing in scrutiny. Her analytical mind was already piecing together the puzzle.

“Maybe you’ve got strong sight,” she finally said. “The Fates are leading you to the places you need to be.”

“If they could be a little more clear, that’d be great,” Percy deadpanned, earning a smirk from Elysia. Annabeth, however, shook her head, her expression serious, almost reverent.

“The Fates are never clear. Come on then, let’s check this place out.” She set her shoulders with the determination of someone preparing for battle and led the way in.

“Welcome!” A voice boomed the moment they stepped inside, echoing unnaturally in the enclosed space.

They all jumped.

Standing in the corner, like he’d been lying in wait, was a man—or something resembling one. His towering figure stretched at least seven feet tall, his frame broad and imposing. His skin was an eerie shade of gray, leathery and unnatural, as though carved from stone and worn down over centuries. His thick-lidded eyes exuded an unsettling coldness, and his smile—if it could even be called that—was a thin, reptilian twist that sent shivers down Elysia’s spine.

He moved towards them with an exaggerated casualness, his gait slow but deliberate. Despite the sluggish movements, Elysia’s instincts screamed that this being could strike with deadly precision if he chose to.

His attire added to the surrealism of the scene. A suit that looked like it belonged in a 1970s fever dream adorned his hulking figure. The silk paisley shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing a gleaming, hairless expanse of skin. The lapels on his velvet jacket were absurdly wide, flaring like wings. Around his neck hung an absurd number of gold chains that glinted in the dim light, catching Elysia’s eye with each movement.

“I’m Crusty,” he said, flashing a tartar-yellow smile that made Percy visibly flinch.

“Sorry to barge in,” Percy said cautiously. “We were just browsing.”

“Of course, of course,” Crusty replied smoothly. His massive hand landed on Percy’s shoulder, guiding him deeper into the showroom with a grip that brooked no argument. “Say, you want to look at a waterbed?”

Elysia’s fingers twitched around her wand, her sharp mind calculating every movement Crusty made. A curse hovered at the edge of her tongue, but she held it back, her sharp eyes darting between him and Percy. She couldn’t risk escalating until she had a better understanding of the threat.

The showroom was a dizzying display of garish excess. Waterbeds filled the space, each one more ostentatious than the last. Some had ornate frames carved from dark wood, others were draped in colourful satin sheets, and still others featured bizarre embellishments like neon lights or built-in sound systems. The sizes ranged from queen to “emperor-of-the-universe” dimensions. Despite the open space, the dim lighting and oppressive atmosphere made the room feel stiflingly claustrophobic.

“This is my most popular model,” Crusty said, spreading his hands wide as he gestured to a particularly tacky bed. It was covered with black satin sheets, the headboard adorned with built-in lava lamps that cast an unsettling glow. The mattress undulated like quivering oil-flavored Jell-O.

“Million-hand massage,” Crusty said, his grin widening to reveal teeth that were too sharp. “Go on, try it out. Shoot, take a nap. I don’t care. No business today, anyway.”

“Um,” Percy said, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t think…”

“Million-hand massage!” Grover cried, his goat-like enthusiasm getting the better of him as he dove onto the bed. “Oh, you guys! This is cool.”

Crusty stroked his leathery chin, his cold eyes gleaming with a predatory light. “Hmm. Almost, almost.”

“Almost what?” Percy asked, his suspicion deepening.

Crusty’s gaze shifted to Annabeth, his smile widening unnaturally. “Do me a favour and try this one over here, honey. Might fit.”

"But what—?" Annabeth began, her voice tense with confusion, but Crusty’s massive hand clamped down on her shoulder, the roughness of his grip making her flinch. He guided her with unsettling ease toward the Safari Deluxe model bed. The frame, carved from teak wood, was adorned with meticulously detailed lions whose eyes seemed to gleam menacingly in the dim light. The leopard-print comforter draped over it was garish and clashed horribly with the dark, oppressive atmosphere of the room.

Annabeth instinctively hesitated, her hand inching toward her dagger. But Crusty’s expression darkened, and his grip tightened painfully. His predatory smile twisted into something far more sinister as he pushed her forward with brute force, his intent unmistakable.

The instant he turned aggressive, Elysia reacted without hesitation. Her wand snapped upward in a fluid, practised motion, and her voice cut through the air like a blade: "Sectumsempra!"

The curse tore forward, a streak of dark magic slicing through the space between them. It struck with ruthless precision, severing the thick arm that had been guiding Percy. The limb fell with a sickening thud, and golden ichor—thick and gleaming—sprayed into the air. Crusty let out a guttural roar, his grip on Percy instantly breaking. Percy wasted no time, dropping into a roll and scrambling clear of the giant, his eyes wide with both shock and gratitude.

Crusty stumbled back, clutching the ragged stump where his arm had been. His reptilian grin contorted into a grotesque snarl, exposing jagged, yellowed teeth. Fury radiated from his massive frame, the low lighting casting monstrous shadows across his grey, leathery skin. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, the golden ichor slowly ebbing from the wound without bleeding.

Elysia stood her ground, her wand steady in her hand, eyes cold and calculating. There was no fear in her gaze, only the ruthless precision of a duelist who had survived far worse. With a smooth, deliberate flick of her wrist, she cast again: "Percutio!"

A thin, spear-like bolt of pure white light shot from the tip of her wand, cutting through the air with deadly speed. It pierced straight through Crusty's massive chest, the impact making a sharp, cracking sound as it tore through flesh and bone. Golden ichor erupted from the wound, spraying in a wide arc as Crusty let out a strangled roar, his reptilian features twisting in shock and agony.

The force of the spell staggered him, his colossal frame teetering as if the very core of his being had been shattered. His jagged teeth bared in a grimace of fury, but the light within him flickered violently. The golden ichor that pulsed faintly beneath his leathery skin began to dim, spreading like cracks in brittle stone.

For a heartbeat, Crusty seemed suspended in place, his eyes bulging with shock and something dangerously close to fear. The golden ichor beneath his skin flickered like a dying ember. His grotesque body swayed, massive and unsteady, before a guttural, stone-grinding growl escaped his throat.

Then he collapsed.

The giant’s body hit the ground with an earth-shaking thud, but it didn’t remain solid for long. His monstrous form began to crumble, breaking apart into swirling golden dust. The shimmering particles hung in the air for a moment, catching the dim light as they drifted and spiralled like the last remnants of a dying star. Slowly, the dust settled, coating the ground in an eerie, glimmering sheen—a haunting, silent end to his existence.

The room fell into an oppressive silence, broken only by the faint vibration of the nearby waterbeds. Elysia lowered her wand slowly, her breathing controlled but sharp, though her heart still hammered in her chest. Her eyes swept the room, scanning every shadow, every flicker of movement, her mind running through potential threats like a checklist. The acrid smell of singed upholstery mixed with the faint metallic tang of magic hung in the air, a grim reminder of how quickly things had escalated. For a brief moment, her thoughts flickered back to past encounters—moments when vigilance had meant the difference between life and death. She drew in a steadying breath, forcing her nerves to settle, even as every muscle in her body remained taut, ready to spring into action again if needed. Every muscle in her body remained taut, her instincts refusing to relax despite the apparent end of the danger.

“You guys okay?” she asked, her voice low and steady, though the undercurrent of tension was unmistakable.

Percy nodded, brushing off the remnants of golden dust clinging to his shirt, his hands trembling slightly despite his efforts to appear calm. “Yeah. Thanks for that. He was… uh, not friendly,” he said, his voice uneven. There was an attempt at humour in his tone, but the forced chuckle that followed didn’t quite mask the lingering fear in his wide eyes. His shoulders were still tense, and he avoided meeting anyone’s gaze for too long, clearly shaken by how close the encounter had been.

“Not friendly, is putting it mildly,” Annabeth muttered, stepping back from the tacky bed she had been pushed toward. Her grey eyes lingered on Elysia, a blend of gratitude and curiosity sparking in their depths. “Those spells… they were incredibly quick.”

Elysia offered a curt nod, tucking her wand back into its holster on her wrist with a practised motion. “Practice,” she said simply, her tone betraying nothing of the countless battles and trials that had honed her reflexes to this sharp edge.

Grover, still sprawled on the vibrating bed, looked up with wide eyes, his expression caught between admiration and disbelief. “That was… intense.”

“Grover,” Elysia said dryly, her sharp tone cutting through his daze, “get up before you become the next victim of poor taste.”

Grover scrambled off the bed, muttering an apology, and the group quickly regrouped near the entrance. The lingering tension in the air was palpable, but Elysia’s firm presence seemed to ground them.

The group quickly regrouped near the entrance, their steps cautious but deliberate, each movement betraying the unease still clinging to them. Percy’s shoulders were hunched, his gaze darting back toward the pile of golden dust as though expecting Crusty to reassemble at any moment. Annabeth’s face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stole glances at the tacky waterbeds, the tension in her frame clear as she clutched her knife tightly. Grover’s hooves clattered softly on the floor, his usual jitteriness amplified as he nervously adjusted his backpack, his eyes flicking between the group and the entrance.

Elysia, standing at the forefront, was a stark contrast. Her posture was straight, her wand still gripped loosely in her hand, though her knuckles betrayed the residual tension with their faint whiteness. Her sharp gaze swept the room one last time, lingering briefly on every shadow and corner, ensuring there were no lingering threats. The oppressive atmosphere pressed against them, heavy and suffocating, but her steady presence seemed to anchor the group. Even as her heart hammered in her chest, her expression remained calm and authoritative, projecting a fragile sense of security that the others clung to.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “I don’t trust that this place doesn’t have more surprises.” The lingering tension in the air was almost tangible, but Elysia’s unwavering presence seemed to ground them, her calm authority instilling a fragile sense of security.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said firmly, her sharp gaze darting one last time around the room. “I don’t trust that this place doesn’t have more surprises.”

They didn’t argue, filing out of the shop with hurried steps. The oppressive atmosphere of the showroom dissolved as they stepped out into the crisp night air, and the contrast was almost overwhelming. The fresh breeze brushed against their faces, a welcome reprieve that carried the faint, briny scent of saltwater drifting in from the nearby ocean. The muted hum of the city around them was a sharp reminder that they had returned to the world of the living—a world that suddenly felt far more grounded and safe compared to the eerie confines of Crusty’s Waterbed Palace.

Percy inhaled deeply, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he exhaled, though his eyes remained wary, darting toward the storefront as if expecting Crusty’s towering figure to reappear. Annabeth rolled her shoulders, attempting to ease the tension that had turned her muscles stiff. Her grey eyes scanned the street, lingering briefly on the neon signs and headlights of passing cars, her expression a mixture of relief and residual caution. Grover’s foot tapped lightly against the pavement, his usual nervous energy heightened as he clutched his backpack closer, his eyes flickering between the group and the street ahead.

Elysia, however, remained the picture of vigilance. Her sharp gaze swept their surroundings, cataloguing every shadow and movement, the tension in her body refusing to fade entirely. The soft glow of the streetlights reflected off her features, which were set in a calm yet commanding expression. Her wand, now tucked securely into its wrist holster, seemed almost to pulse faintly with the echo of the magic she’d wielded moments before. Even as she breathed in the cooler air, her instincts stayed on high alert, a practised readiness born from years of hard-earned experience.

The world outside felt safer—the normalcy of the city’s sounds and sights gradually easing the oppressive weight they had carried from the store—but the memory of Crusty’s predatory grin and the haunting shimmer of golden ichor was not so easily dismissed.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” Elysia said dryly, breaking the silence as she adjusted her cloak, the humour in her voice doing little to mask her lingering wariness. “Let’s not make this a habit.”

The faint attempt at levity earned her a small, half-smile from Percy and a chuckle from Grover, though Annabeth’s expression remained pensive.

As they turned to leave, Grover’s eyes caught something fluttering against the breeze. He hurried over to a nearby lamppost and grabbed a bright orange flyer.

“Hey, look at this,” Grover said, holding it up. The paper was garish, the text almost glowing in the light.

“DOA Recording Studios?” Annabeth read aloud, her brows furrowing. “Offering commissions for heroes’ souls…”

“There’s a map,” Grover pointed out, flipping the flyer to reveal a crude but unmistakable diagram leading to their next destination.

Elysia leaned in, her gaze narrowing as she studied the flyer. “Convenient,” she muttered, the edge in her voice betraying her unease. She folded her arms and glanced at the group. “Let’s move. This place is already starting to wear on my nerves.”

With the flyer in hand, they set off into the night, the neon-lit streets stretching ahead as they braced themselves for whatever awaited them next.

~~

“Oh yeah,” Percy said after they’d turned the block. “This is definitely the place.”

They stood in the shadows of Valencia Boulevard, looking up at gold letters etched in black marble: DOA Recording Studios .

Underneath, stencilled on the glass doors: No Solicitors. No Loitering. No Living.

Percy turned to his friends. “Okay. You remember the plan.”

“The plan,” Grover gulped. “Yeah. I love the plan.”

Annabeth said, “What happens if the plan doesn’t work?”

“Don’t think negative,” Percy said.

“Right,” she said. “We’re entering the Land of the Dead, and I shouldn’t think negative.”

Percy took the pearls out of his pocket, the three milky spheres the Nereid had given him. Elysia’s sharp green eyes fixed on the pearls, a frown tugging at her lips. They seemed too delicate, too unassuming for something so vital. Her instincts warred with her logical mind. Mystical objects like these often came with conditions or risks, she thought. Still, the faint, almost ethereal glow of the pearls made her hesitate. They radiated a power she couldn’t fully decipher, and despite her doubts, she hoped they would be enough. Their faint glow reflected on his hand, making his grip tighten slightly as if reassuring himself they were real.

Annabeth put her hand on his shoulder, her grey eyes steady. “I’m sorry, Percy. You’re right. We’ll make it. It’ll be fine.”

She gave Grover a nudge.

“Oh, right!” he chimed in, forcing an unconvincing smile. “We got this far. We’ll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem.”

Percy looked at them both, and a wave of gratitude softened his features. He slipped the pearls back in his pocket. “Let’s whup some Underworld butt.”

It was almost midnight, but the lobby was brightly lit and bustling. Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel grey, and pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeletal fingers reaching toward the ceiling. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was occupied. People sat on couches, stood against walls, or leaned near windows, waiting for something. Yet no one moved or spoke. The air was thick with stillness, broken only by the occasional shuffle of ghostly feet.

Behind the security desk sat a guard on a raised podium. He was tall, elegant, and intimidating. His dark skin contrasted sharply with his bleached-blond hair, shaved in a military cut. He wore tortoiseshell sunglasses and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose pinned to his lapel added a stark touch against the silver name tag etched with one word: Charon .

Percy stepped forward, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. “We want to go to the Underworld.”

Charon’s mouth twitched. “Well, that’s refreshing.” Elysia’s sharp gaze remained fixed on him, her instincts flaring. There was something unnervingly casual about his demeanour, as though he found their request amusing rather than unusual.

“It is?” Annabeth asked, her brows furrowing.

“Straightforward and honest. No screaming. No ‘There must be a mistake, Mr. Charon.’” His gaze swept over the group and paused on Elysia. His eyes widened slightly behind the shades, a flicker of recognition breaking his cool demeanour.

“Well, I did not expect to meet you like this.”

Elysia tensed immediately, her hand flexing as though ready to draw her wand. The Elder Wand, secured in its holster, pulsed faintly with anticipation. “And why is that?” she asked, her voice cold and measured.

Charon’s hands rose placatingly. “No need for hostility,” he said smoothly. “And why would I ever expect to see The Morrigan coming through here?”

The name struck Elysia like a physical blow, stirring a storm of emotions she barely managed to suppress. Her hand flexed, her fingers brushing the handle of her wand as if seeking comfort in its familiar weight. The Elder Wand seemed to hum faintly in response, as though sensing her turmoil.

Elysia’s mind raced. The name wasn’t just a title—it carried the weight of her darkest choices and the reputation she had earned through fire and blood. To hear it spoken here, in a place so entwined with death, made her chest tighten. Did he know everything? Could he see the marks the war had left on her soul?

Her expression didn’t falter, but her voice came out colder than she intended. “And why would I not be here?” she countered, her tone sharp enough to cut.

Charon’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, defiance. Fitting. It seems even legends find their way to me eventually.”

“I take it these three are with you, then?” Charon continued, his tone polite but laced with something unreadable.

Elysia exhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax. “They are,” she said curtly.

Charon inclined his head and stood, his movements fluid. He scooped up their payment with a single elegant motion and gestured for them to follow. “Come along.”

They pushed through the crowd of waiting spirits, who stirred like a restless wind. Ghostly hands brushed their clothes, and faint whispers scratched at their ears, their words indistinct but filled with longing. Elysia’s grip on her wand tightened as the spirits reached for them, a faint shimmer of magic sparking in the air as her protective instincts flared.

Charon shoved the spirits back, muttering under his breath. “Freeloaders.” His voice carried a sharp edge of disdain.

He led them to the elevator, its doors already open and crammed with spectral figures clutching green boarding passes. Charon grabbed two spirits trying to sneak in with them and shoved them unceremoniously back into the lobby. Elysia’s sharp eyes tracked the movement, noting the effortless strength in Charon’s actions and the resigned expressions of the spirits. This wasn’t just bureaucracy; it was control, unyielding and absolute. A part of her bristled at the sight—it reminded her too much of systems built to crush and contain. Still, it confirmed what she already suspected about the Underworld: everything here followed strict rules, and stepping outside them had consequences that even the dead feared. She filed the observation away, her grip tightening on her wand as the elevator doors slid shut.

“Right,” he announced to the waiting room. “No one gets any ideas while I’m gone. And if anyone moves the dial off my easy-listening station again, I’ll make sure you’re here for another thousand years. Understand?”

The spirits collectively shrank back, their pale forms fading slightly in response.

He slid a key card into the elevator panel, and the doors closed with a metallic hiss. The floor jolted, and they began to descend.

The ride down was oppressive. The temperature dropped, and the air grew heavier with each passing second. The faint hum of the Muzak—a warped version of an old rock ballad—only added to the unease.

Annabeth broke the silence. “What happens to the spirits waiting in the lobby?”

Charon smirked, his sunglasses reflecting the dim light. “Nothing.”

“For how long?”

“Forever. Or until I’m feeling generous.”

“Oh,” Annabeth said softly, her voice tinged with unease.

“Nobody ever said death was fair,” Charon added. He leaned against the elevator wall, eyeing them like a predator assessing prey. “Wait until it’s your turn. You’ll die soon enough, where you’re going.”

Percy straightened, his expression defiant. “We’ll get out alive.”

Charon chuckled darkly, his gaze lingering on Elysia before sweeping over the rest of them. The weight of his stare sent a chill down her spine, like icy fingers tracing her thoughts. She felt as if he were peeling back layers of her composure, searching for something hidden. The sensation triggered an old instinct to defend, to shield herself—not just physically but emotionally. Her grip tightened on her wand, the Elder Wand humming faintly in its holster, as if responding to her unease. Elysia forced herself to remain still, her expression carefully neutral, but inside, her vigilance sharpened. Whatever Charon thought he saw, she wouldn’t let it become a weapon in his hands.

“Maybe you will,” he murmured. “But this place always takes something.”

The elevator shuddered as it slowed, the walls creaking ominously. Elysia’s wand hand remained steady, but her heart hammered in her chest. Whatever lay beyond those doors, she knew their journey was about to become far more perilous.

They were hit by a sudden, dizzying sensation. They weren’t descending anymore; instead, they were moving forward. The air thickened, turning misty and oppressive. Around them, the spirits began to change shape. Their modern clothes shimmered and flickered, morphing into drab, grey hooded robes. The floor of the elevator swayed beneath their feet like a ship on restless waters.

Elysia blinked hard, trying to clear her vision. When she opened her eyes, Charon’s creamy Italian suit had vanished. In its place was a long, flowing black robe that clung to his gaunt frame. His tortoiseshell sunglasses were gone, revealing empty sockets where his eyes should have been. The voids were not just black—they were the essence of night itself, swirling with despair, death, and an ancient, chilling emptiness that made her stomach lurch.

Charon’s transformation was more than visual; it was visceral. One moment, he seemed faint, almost ephemeral, as if he might fade into the mist. The next, he was overwhelming, enormous, as though the entire barge was filled with him alone. He stretched and condensed in the dim light of his lantern, his form twisting like smoke against the ink-black backdrop of the Styx. He was not just a figure but a force—a walking fragment of the night sky, carved out and tethered to the mortal realm.

“Interesting,” Charon boomed and whispered simultaneously, his voice reverberating through the barge and the marrow of their bones. “I was not sure…”

Elysia’s hand twitched toward her wand, though she knew there was little it could do against such a being. Her grip tightened around its polished wood, and she drew a slow breath to steady herself. Her eyes scanned Charon, noting the way his skin flickered—one moment opaque, the next transparent, exposing the gleaming white of his skull beneath. She felt the Elder Wand hum faintly in its holster, as though resonating with the sheer density of death magic in the air.

The floor beneath them heaved, and Grover groaned, clutching his stomach. “I think I’m getting seasick…” he muttered, his face pale as goat’s milk.

Elysia blinked again, and the elevator was gone. They stood on the deck of a wooden barge, its planks damp and warped with age. Charon was at the helm, poling them forward with a long, gnarled staff. Around them, the River Styx churned and frothed, its oily black surface swirling with bones, dead fish, and other objects too grotesque to name. Among the detritus floated the remnants of human lives—plastic dolls with hollow eyes, crushed carnations, and diplomas with soggy, gilt edges.

“The River Styx,” Annabeth murmured, her voice hushed with awe. “It’s so…”

“Polluted,” Charon interjected, his tone dripping with disdain. “For thousands of years, you humans have been tossing in your refuse—hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me.”

Percy frowned, leaning cautiously over the edge of the barge to peer into the water. He recoiled as a skeletal hand brushed the surface, clawing upward before sinking back into the depths. Annabeth grabbed his wrist, pulling him back with a sharp, “Don’t.”

Elysia’s frown deepened as the barge continued its journey. The oppressive air pressing against her chest felt hauntingly familiar. It was the same weight she’d felt in the Department of Mysteries, standing before the Veil of Death. Her gaze darted to the children, noting how the pall of the Styx seemed to sap their strength. Percy’s shoulders hunched, Annabeth’s usually sharp eyes seemed dulled, and Grover clung to the railing, trembling. Yet the magic of the river didn’t touch her in the same way. She felt its pull, its whispers brushing against her mind, but it couldn’t seep into her. She wondered if it was because of the Hallows bonded to her or the unyielding darkness she had already faced in her life.

The shoreline of the Underworld loomed into view, its jagged rocks and black volcanic sand stretching ominously toward the horizon. The air here was thick with greenish gloom, the faint glow casting eerie shadows against the high stone wall that lined the coast. It stretched in both directions as far as the eye could see, a grim reminder that there was no easy way back. Somewhere in the distance, a low, bone-chilling howl echoed off the stone—the sound of a great beast.

“Old Three-Face is hungry,” Charon said with a skeletal grin, his teeth gleaming in the ghostly light. “Bad luck for you, godlings.”

The barge scraped against the black sand with a grating hiss, the sound making Elysia’s wand arm twitch reflexively. Spirits began to disembark in silence, their movements slow and deliberate. A woman holding a little girl’s hand. An elderly couple hobbling arm in arm. A boy no older than Percy, his grey robe hanging loosely on his thin frame. The dead shuffled onward, their faces blank and resigned, vanishing into the gloom beyond the shoreline.

Elysia’s breath caught as she watched them. There was no resistance, no struggle, only acceptance—a submission she found both haunting and infuriating. She wanted to reach out, to do something, but her rational mind reminded her that this was the natural order, as cruel as it seemed.

Charon turned to the group, his hollow eyes lingering on each of them in turn before settling on Elysia. “End of the line,” he said, his voice reverberating like a funeral bell. “For now.”

Elysia met his gaze, her own green eyes burning with a resolve that refused to falter. She stepped forward, her boots crunching against the volcanic sand, and gestured for the others to follow. The journey into the depths of the Underworld had only just begun, but the weight of what lay ahead pressed heavily on her shoulders. Still, she squared them and moved forward.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

V

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

Charon left them on the black volcanic sand shoreline as they followed the spirits up a well-worn path. The air hung heavy with the scent of ash and something else—something cold and unyielding, like the finality of a locked door. The oppressive weight of the Underworld seemed to press down on them with each step they took, wrapping around Elysia like an icy cloak.

Elysia wasn’t sure what she had expected. The scene before her reminded her of the worst chaos she’d seen in her world. It was like someone had smashed together Heathrow’s security queue and the M25 on a Friday evening—crowded, slow-moving, and distinctly miserable. The atmosphere was thick with desperation, and the spirits shuffled forward as if driven by some unseen force, their movements both automatic and hauntingly reluctant.

Under a huge black archway that read, “You Are Now Entering Erebus,” three separate entrances loomed. Each had a pass-through metal detector with security cameras perched ominously on top. Beyond these gates stood toll booths, each manned by black-robed ghouls who bore an unsettling resemblance to Charon. Their bony hands flickered in and out of view as they sorted through ethereal boarding passes, their skeletal motions almost hypnotic against the eerie green glow of the mist.

The howling of some hungry animal echoed through the gloom, a sound so deep it vibrated in their chests. Elysia felt a shiver run up her spine, her wand hand twitching instinctively, but the source of the sound remained unseen. Yet she knew, in the way one knows they are being watched, that Cerberus, the three-headed guardian of the Underworld, was nearby. She could feel his immense presence, an oppressive weight in the air that seemed to thrum with barely restrained power, like a storm on the verge of breaking.

The spirits queued in three lines. Two were marked “Attendant On Duty,” crawling forward at a sluggish pace, while the third, labelled “EZ Death,” moved briskly. The dead shuffled through this line without hesitation, their forms flickering like broken projections, their gazes fixed ahead in a resigned stupor.

“What do you figure?” Percy asked Annabeth, his voice subdued by the eerie atmosphere.

“The fast line must go straight to the Asphodel Fields,” she replied, her grey eyes scanning the scene. “No contest. They don’t want to risk judgment from the court because it might go against them.”

“Court?” Elysia’s brow furrowed as she glanced at Annabeth, her tone sharp with curiosity.

“Yeah,” Annabeth confirmed. “Three judges. They switch around who sits on the bench. King Minos, Thomas Jefferson, Shakespeare—people like that. Sometimes they look at a life and decide that person needs a special reward—the Fields of Elysium. Sometimes they decide on punishment. But most people, well, they just lived. Nothing special, good or bad. So they go to the Asphodel Fields.”

“And do what?” Percy asked, his expression tightening.

Grover chimed in with a sigh, “Imagine standing in a wheat field in Kansas. Forever.”

“Sounds fun,” Percy muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Also harsh.”

“Not as harsh as that,” Grover said, gesturing toward a scene at one of the security desks. His voice grew quieter, tinged with unease.

A couple of black-robed ghouls had pulled aside one spirit and were frisking him with skeletal hands. The man’s face flickered faintly into view, his features twisted in panic, and Percy squinted.

“Is that…?” Grover began.

“That preacher who made the news,” Percy said, his brow furrowing. “The one who raised millions for orphanages and spent it all on his mansion. Died in a police chase?”

“Bingo,” Grover confirmed, his goat legs shifting uneasily. “Special punishment from Hades, no doubt. The really bad people get his personal attention as soon as they arrive.”

Elysia’s grip on her wand tightened, her thoughts flickering to the Death Eaters she had faced. She hoped—no, she needed to believe—that they were receiving a similar fate. The memory of Sirius’s voice floated to the surface of her mind: “There are some things that even death doesn’t let you escape.”

“He’s a preacher,” Percy said. “Believed in a different hell. How does that work?”

Grover shrugged. “Who says he’s seeing this place the way we are? Humans see what they want to see. You’re stubborn—er, persistent, that way.”

The three kids turned to Elysia, expecting her insight.

“Nope,” Elysia said, her tone dry. “Pretty sure I’m seeing what you’re seeing. Though it might be because I’m a witch or…” She trailed off with a shrug, unwilling to finish the thought.

Annabeth frowned, clearly wanting to press for more information but letting it go in favour of focusing on the task ahead. Her analytical mind seemed to itch for answers, but the weight of their mission tempered her curiosity.

They moved closer to the gates, the howling now so loud it shook the ground beneath their feet. The vibrations resonated through Elysia’s bones, and she had to fight the urge to look over her shoulder. The oppressive presence of Cerberus felt closer, a looming shadow just beyond the edges of her vision.

Then, about fifty feet in front of them, the green mist shimmered, and an enormous shadowy figure materialised. It was half-transparent, blending seamlessly with the gloom around it. Only its massive eyes, glowing like embers, and gleaming teeth seemed solid.

“He’s a Rottweiler,” Percy said softly, though the awe in his voice was unmistakable.

Elysia’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Bigger than Fluffy,” she murmured, her tone light but her wand hand steady.

The kids turned to her, incredulous.

“First year at Hogwarts,” she explained. “Had to get past a Cerberus. Much smaller than this one, though.” She pulled a small flute from her pocket, its polished surface glinting faintly in the green light. “Let’s see if the old methods work.”

She began to play a soft, lilting tune, the notes weaving through the heavy air. The massive creature tilted one head, then another, its ears perking up. Slowly, Cerberus lay down, his enormous tail thumping against the ground in a way that sent tremors through the earth. His eyes began to droop as the melody soothed him, and soon he was nodding off.

“Move,” Percy urged, his voice low but firm. Annabeth and Grover hesitated only a moment before stepping carefully past the slumbering beast, Elysia close behind, her wand still drawn just in case.

They had barely crossed the threshold when the metal detectors screamed, their alarms piercing the stillness. “Unauthorized possessions! Magic detected!” the automated voice blared.

Cerberus’s eyes snapped open, and his heads shot up, barking loud enough to rattle their bones. The ghouls at the security desks scrambled into action, shouting and pointing.

“Run!” Percy yelled.

They burst through the EZ Death gate, setting off even more alarms. Red lights flashed as they sprinted down a narrow corridor, the sound of heavy footsteps and bellowed orders echoing behind them.

A few frantic minutes later, they ducked into the hollow trunk of an immense black tree. The air inside was damp and smelled faintly of decay, the rot seeming to cling to their clothes and skin. Elysia pressed her back against the rough bark, her wand still in hand, the wood vibrating faintly as though sensing her tension. Her breathing was ragged but measured, a lifetime of practice keeping panic at bay even as her heart raced.

Outside, the distant howls of Cerberus echoed, layered with the bellowing voices of security ghouls. The shouts grew fainter with every passing second, but the oppressive weight of the Underworld remained. For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint rustling of the tree’s rotting leaves and their own laboured breaths.

“Well,” Elysia said dryly, her voice cutting through the tense quiet, “that went about as well as I expected.” She glanced at the others, her lips twitching into a brief, wry smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The Fields of Asphodel stretched out before them like an endless, dreary plain. The landscape was shrouded in a heavy, unrelenting grey that seemed to seep into everything. Even the air felt thick and suffocating, laden with the weight of countless lives that had passed into obscurity. Elysia’s steps faltered for a moment, her hand brushing against the warm, reassuring weight of the Resurrection Stone beneath her clothes, hanging from the necklace she always wore. It was a small comfort in a place that offered none.

“The dead aren’t scary,” Percy murmured, his voice low and almost reverent. His eyes scanned the wandering spirits, his face etched with quiet sorrow. “They’re just… sad.”

Elysia nodded silently, her own thoughts tangled in the solemn atmosphere. The spirits moved with a listless energy, their forms flickering like weak candle flames, their eyes hollow and lost. It wasn’t fear they evoked but a profound sense of pity—and a chilling reminder of what awaited everyone in the end.

They followed the line of new arrivals snaking from the main gates toward a black-tented pavilion. Above its entrance, a banner fluttered weakly in the stagnant air, reading: Judgements for Elysium and Eternal Damnation. Welcome, Newly Deceased!

How incredibly cheerful, Elysia thought, her mouth tightening into a grim line.

From the back of the tent, two much smaller lines emerged. One led left, where spirits flanked by ghouls marched toward the Fields of Punishment. Even from this distance, the Fields glowed with a hellish light, rivers of lava cutting jagged paths through the cracked wasteland. The air above the area shimmered with heat, and the screams of the tormented carried faintly on the wind. Elysia’s gaze lingered for a moment on the far-off hill where an ant-sized figure struggled to push a boulder to the summit, only for it to roll back down again.

“Lovely place,” she muttered under her breath.

The line to the right was more welcoming. It wound down into a small, verdant valley surrounded by walls, a stark contrast to the desolation surrounding it. Beyond a security gate lay a gated community of pristine beauty: Roman villas, medieval castles, Victorian mansions, all nestled among silver and gold flowers. Laughter floated on the breeze, mingling with the tantalising smell of barbecue.

At the valley’s centre, a glittering blue lake sparkled under an ethereal light, its surface dotted with three small islands that looked like paradise incarnate.

“That’s what it’s all about,” Annabeth said, her voice soft with awe. “That’s the place for heroes. Elysium.”

Elysia’s gaze shifted to the demigods. Their faces were etched with longing, and the sight struck her like a blow. Children their age shouldn’t have to contemplate their eternal resting place. The weight of their responsibilities, their sacrifices, was written in every line of their expressions, and it hurt to see.

They moved away from the judgment pavilion, delving deeper into the Asphodel Fields. With each step, the oppressive atmosphere deepened. The dull grey seemed to leach the vibrancy from their clothes, the colours fading as though drained by the unyielding monotony of the landscape. The spirits thinned out, their murmurings growing quieter until only a few aimless figures remained, drifting like shadows.

After what felt like miles of walking, a shrill screech tore through the silence, freezing them in their tracks. Looming on the horizon was a massive palace of obsidian, its spires clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The air around it seemed to ripple with an unnatural chill, and the stench of rot and decay grew overpowering.

Above the parapets, three dark, batlike figures circled, their piercing cries echoing across the desolate plain.

“I suppose it’s too late to turn back,” Grover said wistfully, his voice trembling.

“We’ll be okay,” Percy said, though his voice wavered. He glanced at Annabeth and Grover, trying to muster confidence for their sake.

“Maybe we should check out some other places first,” Grover suggested, his eyes darting toward the distant Elysium. “You know, just to be thorough.”

“Come on, goat boy,” Annabeth said, grabbing his arm. Grover yelped as his sneakers sprouted wings and shot forward, dragging him away from her grasp. He landed flat on his back, his legs kicking helplessly.

“Grover!” Annabeth scolded. “Stop messing around!”

“But I didn’t—” Grover’s words were cut off as the shoes began flapping furiously, dragging him downhill.

“Untie the shoes!” Annabeth shouted, but Grover flailed, unable to reach the laces. He skidded faster, the enchanted footwear pulling him with relentless force.

“Maia!” he yelled desperately. “Nine-one-one! Help!”

Percy lunged to grab him, but Grover slipped through his fingers. Elysia raised her wand, casting a slowing charm, Arresto Momentum , which briefly reduced his speed. But whatever magic powered the shoes fought back, and Grover accelerated again, careening between the legs of irritated spirits.

The slope steepened, and the air grew colder. The smell hit them like a physical blow—a putrid mix of rot, decay, and something ancient, a malevolence that seeped into their bones.

They burst into a vast cavern, and Elysia’s heart lurched. At its centre yawned a chasm, an abyss so dark it seemed to devour the faint light around it. The swirling void exuded an unnatural pull, a silent hunger that made her knees weak.

Grover slid toward the edge, his terrified eyes locking onto theirs. Elysia’s wand snapped up again, her voice ringing out, “ Incarcerous! ” Ropes of light shot from her wand, wrapping around Grover and pulling him to a halt before he got close to the edge.

The pit pulsed, as if aware of their presence, and Elysia’s stomach churned. Whatever lay below was worse than anything she’d faced before. Worse than death itself.

Percy and Annabeth quickly rushed to Grover, dragging him further back from the precipice and helping him kick off the cursed shoes. The effort left all three of them gasping for breath. Percy collapsed onto the obsidian gravel, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing.

Grover’s hands were bleeding, his eyes wide and filled with fear. His slit-pupilled gaze reflected his terror as his goat instincts overpowered his human veneer. “I don’t know how…” he panted, his voice trembling. “I didn’t…”

“Wait,” Percy said, holding up a hand, his voice sharp with alarm.

In the background, a deep whisper rose from the pit—a voice ancient and full of malice, laced with the kind of magic that felt like claws raking against their very souls. It wasn’t just sound; it was an oppressive weight that pressed against their minds, making their thoughts sluggish and their fear sharper.

Annabeth’s face paled visibly. Her grey eyes darted toward the pit, filled with a mix of dread and intellectual curiosity she couldn’t seem to suppress. “Percy, this place…” she started, her voice shaky, her analytical mind struggling to process the overwhelming aura.

Elysia stepped forward, putting herself between the kids and the edge of the pit. Her wand snapped into her hand as if summoned by instinct, and she began casting a rapid series of protection spells, each word leaving her lips like a prayer spoken in haste. The air around them shimmered faintly as layers of magical wards formed a translucent barrier, glowing faintly silver. The magic didn’t feel like enough—not against this.

“We need to go!” she said, her voice sharp and urgent. Despite her commanding tone, there was a flicker of tension in her posture. The magic rising from the pit pressed against her like a physical weight, making each breath harder than the last. Her heart pounded in her chest as she felt the malice emanating from below—it was like nothing she’d encountered before. Not even the darkest spells or most cursed artefacts from her past compared to this.

The whispering grew louder, transforming into an evil, muttering chant that seemed to vibrate through the air, through their bones, and into the ground beneath their feet. The pit—Tartarus. The entrance to Tartarus. Elysia’s mind reeled as the name came unbidden. It wasn’t just calling to them; it was pulling at them, a dark tide beckoning them to step closer, to fall.

The first of her wards buckled under the immense pressure, shattering into a thousand motes of light that dissolved into the air. Elysia gritted her teeth, immediately replacing it with another, her wand moving in a series of complex, almost frantic gestures. “Protego Maxima! Repello Inimicum!” she chanted, her voice trembling slightly as she reinforced the barrier. Each spell felt like trying to hold back a tidal wave with a net.

Annabeth and Percy exchanged a look of sheer panic as they pulled Grover to his feet, their movements frantic and jerky. They turned and ran, their legs heavy as if weighed down by unseen chains, their breaths ragged and desperate. Behind them, the wind picked up, cold and biting. It pulled at their clothes and hair, as though the pit itself was trying to drag them back into its maw.

Elysia lingered a moment longer, her wand pointed at the pit. A flicker of defiance flashed in her emerald eyes, but even she knew there was no spell she could cast that would stop whatever malevolence lurked below. The second ward buckled, and she felt the magical backlash hit her like a physical blow, forcing her to take a step back. Her cloak snapped around her as she spun on her heel, running after the others, her wand still moving as she cast ward after ward to buy them time.

The magic from the pit felt alive, sentient, and angry. It clawed at her spells, tearing through them with terrifying ease. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she struggled to keep the barriers intact, even for a few seconds. The effort was draining, and she could feel her magical reserves depleting faster than she’d like. “Keep moving!” she shouted, her voice strained but determined. “Don’t look back!”

They finally reached the top of the tunnel, bursting out into the Fields of Asphodel once more. The air was still here, the oppressive atmosphere lessened but not gone. The ghostly whispers of the dead seemed almost a relief after the malevolent chanting from the pit. They collapsed into a grove of black poplar trees, their bodies trembling from exhaustion and fear.

“What was that?” Grover asked, his voice barely a whisper. His hands shook as he clutched his knees, his entire body trembling.

“One of Hades’ pets?” Percy’s voice was laced with a shaky attempt at humor, but it fell flat.

Elysia’s jaw tightened, and her grip on her wand didn’t loosen. “I bloody hope not,” she muttered, her tone sharp. “Hagrid’s got a warped sense of ‘pets,’ but this…” She trailed off, her gaze turning back toward the direction of the pit. “This was something else entirely. The magic coming off it… It’s ancient, primal. Malice so concentrated it’s almost alive.”

Annabeth’s face was pale but determined. Her mind worked furiously, piecing together fragments of mythology and facts. She looked at Percy and Grover, then at Elysia. “That wasn’t just any pit,” she said quietly. “It was Tartarus. The heart of it.”

Elysia looked at Annabeth sharply, the weight of the name settling over them like a dark cloud. She didn’t say it, but the confirmation didn’t surprise her. She’d felt it in her bones, in the way her magic seemed to recoil from the energy radiating from the abyss.

Percy nodded slowly, his expression grim. “Whatever it is, we’re staying far away from it.”

“Agreed,” Elysia said. She looked at each of them in turn, her gaze steady despite the tension in her shoulders. “But we can’t let this shake us. We have to keep moving.”

The others nodded, their faces pale but resolute. Together, they picked themselves up, their steps shaky but determined as they pressed on toward the looming dark palace of Hades in the distance. Every step felt heavier than the last, but none of them dared to look back at the chasm that had nearly claimed them. It lingered in their minds, though, a shadow that would not easily fade.

The oppressive atmosphere thickened as they neared the fortress. High above, the Furies circled like ominous sentinels, their leathery wings blending into the shadows that draped the parapets. Their shrill cries echoed faintly, a chilling reminder of the ever-watchful eyes of the Underworld.

The walls of the palace came into clearer focus, towering and foreboding. They glistened like polished black ice, their surfaces reflecting the dim, otherworldly glow emanating from the cavern ceiling far above. The fortress seemed to defy the natural laws of architecture, the angles too sharp, the spires too jagged, and the weight of its sheer presence pressing heavily on the soul. This was not a structure meant to inspire awe or admiration—it was designed to dominate, to remind all who approached of their insignificance in the face of eternity.

As they approached, the gates of the palace loomed into view. Towering bronze monstrosities, they gleamed with a dark, burnished sheen that made them look both ancient and indestructible. At first glance, the gates appeared to be adorned with abstract patterns. But as they drew closer, the details resolved into something far more haunting.

Elysia’s breath hitched. The gates were etched with scenes of death, each carving a frozen moment of despair and finality. Ancient depictions intertwined seamlessly with modern horrors, telling a story that spanned millennia.

She stepped closer, her eyes tracing the grotesque beauty of the engravings. There were scenes of battlefields from forgotten wars: armies clashing with swords and shields, their faces twisted in agony and rage. Above them, vultures circled, wings spread wide. Further down, modern horrors were rendered with disturbing precision—an atomic mushroom cloud blooming over a desolate cityscape, skeletal soldiers collapsed in mustard-filled trenches, children with hollow eyes and empty bowls standing in line under a blazing, merciless sun.

Each image seemed to shimmer faintly, as though the metal itself breathed with the weight of the stories it bore. The depictions looked as ancient as the gates themselves, but Elysia couldn’t shake the feeling that these were not merely records of the past. Were they prophecies? Moments carved into existence long before they unfolded?

Her chest tightened. This wasn’t merely the home of a god. This was a monument to endings. Every death, every tragedy, no matter the era or distance, was commemorated here. There was no escaping the stark truth that everything, eventually, passed through these gates.

As they moved forward, the dim light caught on a specific section of the gates, and Elysia froze. Her companions’ footsteps faltered as they noticed her sudden stillness, but she didn’t hear them. Her eyes were locked on a scene etched into the bronze.

It depicted a woman standing resolute in a field torn asunder by battle. Her cloak billowed dramatically, as though caught in an eternal wind. Perched on her shoulder was a fierce-looking owl, its wings partially spread, as if preparing to take flight. In the woman’s hand was a wand—but not just any wand. Elysia knew it instantly, a shiver running down her spine. The Elder Wand, its distinctive shape unmistakable.

The woman’s opponent stood opposite her, and though his face was partially obscured, the slitted eyes and serpentine features left no doubt as to his identity. Voldemort. The dark figure exuded malice even in the static depiction, his twisted wand raised and pointed at the woman. The field between them was a wasteland, littered with debris and scorched earth, the very air seemingly charged with the energy of their duel.

Elysia’s hands trembled. Her wand, usually steady, felt suddenly heavy in her grip. She could almost feel the crackle of magic from the engraving, as if the scene was alive, waiting to burst into motion. The image wasn’t just a record of the past. It was too vivid, too precise. And the woman—

Her chest ached as realisation dawned. The woman in the engraving was her. The stance, the cloak, the defiant tilt of her head—it was all unmistakably hers. The owl, the wand, the battlefield. She felt a rush of emotions: confusion, anger, fear, and an overwhelming sense of inevitability.

Her mind raced as she took in the detail. Why was this here? Why was she here? It felt like a cruel twist of fate that her image would be immortalised on the gates of the Underworld, locked in battle with a man whose very existence had defined her own survival. The war she thought she’d left behind was etched into this timeless place, as if to mock her attempts to move on.

“Elysia,” Annabeth’s voice cut through the fog of her thoughts. “Are you all right?”

Elysia tore her gaze from the gates, her green eyes meeting Annabeth’s concerned gray ones. She nodded stiffly, though her heart was racing. “I… I’m fine,” she said, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her unease. She looked back at the gate, but the image seemed less vivid now, almost as if it were retreating into the bronze itself.

“What is it?” Percy asked, stepping closer. His tone was cautious, wary of the intensity on her face.

“Nothing,” Elysia lied, forcing her expression into something neutral. “Just… just more stories of death. Let’s keep moving.”

Her companions hesitated but ultimately nodded, following her lead as they continued toward the gates. Elysia kept her eyes forward, her grip on her wand tightening with every step. The weight of the image lingered in her mind, pressing down on her like a storm cloud. The gates of Hades were a place of endings, but for her, they also seemed to hold the threads of something terrifyingly personal—and inescapable.

Inside the courtyard, Elysia’s gaze was drawn to a garden that could only belong in the Underworld. It spread out like a surreal tapestry of colour and danger, its eerie beauty both captivating and unsettling. Brightly coloured mushrooms clustered together in patches, their vibrant hues screaming “danger” even without touching them. Some were bioluminescent, their faint glows pulsing rhythmically like warning beacons in the dim light. Poisonous shrubs stretched upward with spindly, skeletal branches that seemed to shiver without any breeze, their leaves glinting like shards of obsidian.

Strange, luminescent plants sprouted between the mushrooms, casting a flickering, unnatural light over the garden. Their twisted forms seemed almost alive, their edges shimmering as if trying to draw in the unwary. Instead of flowers, it was jewels that caught the eye—piles of rubies as large as fists, clusters of diamonds sharp as jagged shards of ice. The gems glistened with a hypnotic allure, their surfaces gleaming as though whispering promises of wealth and power. Yet there was something predatory about the way they seemed to pull her gaze, as if they might spring to life and consume anyone foolish enough to reach for them.

In the centre of this otherworldly garden stood an orchard of pomegranate trees. The sight of them was arresting. The trees’ dark, gnarled branches twisted together like grasping fingers, their bark streaked with silvery veins that pulsed faintly as though alive. The blooms were startling—bright orange and almost neon in the oppressive gloom—a defiant burst of colour amidst the morbid landscape. Heavy fruits hung from the branches, their rich red skins glistening like droplets of blood in the dim light. The tart scent of pomegranates filled the air, sharp and intoxicating, swirling around her and tugging at her senses. It felt almost alive, like a siren song urging her to step closer, to pluck one of the forbidden fruits.

Elysia clenched her fists and took a deliberate step back, forcing herself to look away. Her mind whirled with the mythological implications. “The garden of Persephone,” Annabeth whispered, her voice tight and low. “Keep walking.” Her grey eyes darted nervously to the pomegranate trees, then back to the path ahead.

Percy’s grip on Grover’s arm tightened as he guided the satyr onwards, his expression wary but resolute. Grover stumbled slightly, his eyes flicking back toward the garden as though unable to help himself, but Percy pulled him forward.

Elysia’s steps felt heavier as they ascended the black steps that led away from the garden. Each step seemed to absorb the faint light around them, leaving them in an ever-deepening shadow. Towering columns framed their path, their surfaces so polished they reflected distorted images of the group as they passed. The portico stretched ahead, an architectural masterpiece designed to intimidate, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into the darkness above.

As they crossed the threshold into the house of Hades, the oppressive atmosphere shifted slightly, the weight of the air pressing against their skin like a physical force. The entry hall stretched out before them, its polished bronze floor gleaming like molten metal. Flickering torchlight cast wavering shadows that danced along the walls, which were lined with skeletal guards standing at attention. Each one seemed to have been plucked from a different era. Ancient Greek hoplites in full armour stood beside British redcoats, who flanked modern soldiers clad in tattered camouflage bearing faded flags. Their hollow eye sockets seemed to track the group as they passed, the eerie sensation making the hairs on the back of Elysia’s neck stand on end.

“Do they ever move?” Grover whispered nervously, his voice barely audible over the faint crackle of the torches.

“Let’s not find out,” Annabeth replied, her tone clipped but trembling slightly.

The massive bronze doors at the end of the hall loomed closer with every step. They were guarded by two skeletal U.S. Marines, their grinning skulls unnerving in the flickering light. One held a bayonet-tipped rifle, the other a ceremonial sword. The weapons looked polished and deadly, ready to strike despite their owners’ lifeless state.

“You know,” Grover muttered, his voice tinged with forced levity, “I bet Hades doesn’t have trouble with door-to-door salesmen.”

Percy let out a nervous chuckle, though his eyes remained fixed on the doors. As they reached them, an electrifying sensation pressed against Elysia’s magical senses. Her gaze flicked toward Percy’s backpack, which he had been adjusting more frequently, as if it had grown heavier.

Before anyone could speak, the bronze doors groaned open, the sound echoing through the cavernous hall like a thunderclap. A hot wind swept past them, carrying the scent of decay and something far older—a mix of charred wood, dried blood, and the acrid tang of sulphur. It was a smell that seemed to seep into their very bones, awakening an ancient, primal fear. The skeletal guards stepped aside with a mechanical precision, their empty grins seeming to widen unnaturally as though they held secrets the living could neither fathom nor endure.

“Well,” Percy said, his voice strained but attempting confidence, “I guess that means ‘entrez.’”

Annabeth glanced at him, her grey eyes sharp but wary. “Just stay together,” she said, stepping forward with an air of determination that belied the tremor in her voice.

Elysia took one last look at the skeletal guards before following, her wand steady in her hand. The weight of the palace seemed to settle over her shoulders, an oppressive reminder of where they were. Whatever lay beyond those doors, she knew it would test them—and herself—in ways they couldn’t yet imagine.

They stepped inside, and the throne room stretched before them—a vast expanse of glittering black obsidian, every surface polished to a mirror-like shine. The air was frigid, the kind of cold that seeped into their bones, numbing every movement. Flickering torches lined the walls, their flames casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to dance ominously across the floor. The ceiling rose impossibly high, lost in a haze of darkness that pressed down on them like a physical weight. At the far end of the room stood two thrones, elevated on a dais that seemed carved from the very darkness itself.

One throne was a monstrous creation of fused bone, the stark white shapes twisting together unnaturally, as though the skeletal remains had been forced into servitude even after death. The other throne shimmered with an unsettling brilliance, made entirely of silver, catching the faint light and reflecting it like moonlight on still water.

Lounging on the bone throne was Hades himself. His presence was overwhelming, an aura that demanded reverence and radiated power. He towered above mortal height, his frame easily reaching over three meters, with alabaster skin that seemed untouched by sunlight. His jet-black hair flowed in thick waves over his shoulders, framing a face carved with sharp, angular features. His eyes were fathomless voids, swallowing any courage that dared confront them. Draped in robes that shimmered like liquid shadow, he wore a twisted crown of gold, an ominous reminder of his sovereignty over the dead.

“You are brave to come here, Son of Poseidon,” Hades said, his voice resonating through the room like a distant avalanche, “even with The Morrigan behind you. After what you have done to me, very brave indeed. Or perhaps you are simply very foolish.”

Elysia’s breath hitched at the name. The Morrigan. Tto hear it from Hades himself… it was different. The weight of his voice imbued the title with an ancient gravity that she hadn’t fully understood until now. Her heart pounded, a mix of dread and curiosity. Why did he call her that? How did he know?

Percy stepped forward, his movements stiff, as if he were pushing against an invisible force. Hades’s aura pressed heavily on all of them, but Percy’s resolve didn’t falter. “Lord and Uncle, I come with two requests,” he said, his voice steady but strained.

Hades leaned forward slightly, the shadows around him twisting and writhing in response. Faces appeared in the folds of his robes—faces of torment, their silent screams etched in eternal agony. “Only two requests?” Hades said, his tone calm but laced with disdain. “Arrogant child. As if you have not already taken enough. Speak, then. It amuses me to let you believe you have a chance.”

Percy swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the second throne. It was empty, its silver surface gleaming coldly. “Lord Hades,” he began carefully, “look, sir, there can’t be a war among the gods. It would be… bad.”

“Really bad,” Grover added unhelpfully, his voice barely above a squeak.

Hades’s gaze didn’t waver. “Return Zeus’s master bolt to me. Please, sir. Let me carry it to Olympus.”

The faintest smile curled at the edges of Hades’s lips. “You dare speak of peace after what you have done?” His voice was calm, almost patient, but it carried an edge sharp enough to cut through stone. “You have the audacity to stand here and feign innocence?.”

Percy glanced back at his friends, confusion mirrored in their faces. “Um… Uncle,” he said cautiously. “You keep saying ‘after what you’ve done.’ What exactly have I done?”

The throne room trembled slightly, but Hades did not lash out. Instead, he regarded Percy with an unnerving stillness. “Do you think I want war, godling?” he asked, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Do you believe I have anything to gain from it?”

Elysia felt the oppressive aura of death intensify, its tendrils reaching for her, testing her resolve. The Resurrection Stone around her neck pulsed faintly, responding to the swirling energy in the room. Instinctively, her magic surged outward, a protective barrier that crackled invisibly around her. To her surprise, Hades’s gaze shifted to her, his dark eyes narrowing as if he could see the threads of her magic weaving through the air.

For a moment, his aura seemed to shift, the crushing weight lessening slightly as if he was acknowledging her presence. There was something in his look—a flicker of recognition, perhaps even respect—that sent a chill down her spine. She held her ground, her magic bristling around her like a second skin, but her heart pounded in her chest. What did he see in her?

“You are the Lord of the Dead,” Percy said, his tone careful and measured. “A war would expand your kingdom, right?”

“A typical thing for my brothers to say!” Hades spat. “Do you think I need more subjects? Did you not see the sprawl of the Asphodel Fields?”

“Well…” Percy began, but Hades cut him off.

“Have you any idea how much my kingdom has swollen in this past century alone, how many subdivisions I’ve had to open?” His voice rose, though his demeanour remained steady, each word weighted with control. “More security ghouls, traffic problems at the judgment pavilion, double overtime for the staff! I used to be a rich god, Percy Jackson. I control all the precious metals under the earth. But my expenses! Problems everywhere, and I’ve got to handle all of them personally. The commute time alone from the palace to the gates is enough to drive me insane! And the dead just keep arriving. No, godling. I need no help getting subjects! I did not ask for this war.”

Elysia’s voice cut through the tirade, soft but firm. “Death never asks for war,” she said, the words heavy with meaning, as though pulled from the very essence of her magic. Her response wasn’t calculated but guided, the words forming in her mind like a whisper from an unseen force. As she spoke, the air around her seemed to hum faintly, her magic swirling outward in a protective cocoon. The energy shimmered subtly, brushing against the oppressive weight of Hades’s aura and holding it at bay. For a moment, it was as if her magic had a will of its own, pushing back against the suffocating darkness.

Hades paused mid-speech, his burning gaze snapping to her. The swirling faces in his robes slowed, their silent agony muted as if even they were listening. His dark eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the overwhelming pressure in the room eased slightly. The oppressive aura receded just enough for her to draw a steady breath. His gaze bore into her, deep and inscrutable, and she felt as though he was peering into her very soul. Recognition flickered across his expression, subtle yet undeniable, as if he saw something familiar in her.

Her magic pulsed again, an instinctive response to his scrutiny. It swirled more visibly now, faint traces of light threading through the air like ethereal veins, holding its ground against the Lord of the Dead’s overwhelming presence. Elysia didn’t falter, though her heart pounded in her chest. What did he see in her? Was it the Resurrection Stone, warm and heavy against her chest, or something deeper—something tied to the legacy she carried?

“No,” Hades said finally, his voice quieter but no less intense. “We do not, do we? But we are always the first blamed or the ones left standing.”

The acknowledgement in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. His words resonated with a truth that struck at the core of her being. As his focus shifted back to Percy, the room seemed to breathe again, the tension loosening its grip ever so slightly. Elysia exhaled slowly, her magic still coiled protectively around her. Whatever Hades had seen, it had stayed his wrath for now. But the unspoken understanding lingered, a thread of connection between the Lord of the Dead and the witch who bore death’s shadow.

“Your father may fool Zeus, boy, but I am not so stupid. I see his plan.”

“His plan?” Percy asked, his voice taut with confusion and anger.

Hades leaned forward, his robes shifting to reveal faintly glowing faces of torment stitched into the fabric. “You were the thief on the winter solstice,” he said, his steady voice cutting through the cold air like a blade. “Your father thought to keep you his little secret. He directed you into the throne room on Olympus. You took the master bolt and my helm. Had I not sent my Fury to discover you at Yancy Academy, Poseidon might have succeeded in hiding his scheme to start a war. But now you have been forced into the open. You will be exposed as Poseidon’s thief, and I will have my helm back.”

“But . . .” Annabeth’s voice wavered as she spoke, her eyes darting between Percy and Hades. Her mind was clearly racing, trying to piece the puzzle together. “Lord Hades, your helm of darkness is missing, too?”

Hades snapped his gaze to her. “Do not play innocent with me, girl. You and the satyr have been helping this hero—coming here to threaten me in Poseidon’s name, no doubt—to bring me an ultimatum. Does Poseidon think I can be blackmailed into supporting him?”

“No!” Percy’s protest burst out. “Poseidon didn’t—I didn’t—”

“I have said nothing of the helm’s disappearance,” Hades interrupted, his voice rising with anger but also tainted with a weariness, “because I had no illusions that anyone on Olympus would offer me the slightest justice, the slightest help. I can ill afford for word to get out that my most powerful weapon of fear is missing. So I searched for you myself, and when it was clear you were coming to me to deliver your threat, I did not try to stop you.”

“You didn’t try to stop us? But—” Percy began.

“Return my helm now, or I will stop death,” Hades spoke, his voice echoing with the quiet certainty of death. “That is my counterproposal. I will open the earth and have the dead pour back into the world. I will make your lands a nightmare. And you, Percy Jackson—your skeleton will lead my army out of Hades.”

The skeletal soldiers surrounding them moved in unison, their weapons gleaming as they stepped forward in eerie synchronicity. The air grew colder, and the oppressive weight of Hades’s power pressed down on them like a physical force. Despite the calm deliberation in his voice, there was a strain to Hades’s words, a tightly controlled fury that made the room feel as though it could shatter under the tension at any moment.

Elysia’s magic surged in response, her instincts kicking in as she felt the malice of Hades’s power suffocating the room. Her fingers tightened around her wand, and a faint glow began to emanate from her, a shimmering ripple of her protective magic pushing back against the encroaching darkness. The Resurrection Stone around her neck felt heavier, as though it, too, was reacting to the Lord of the Dead’s overwhelming presence. She couldn’t shake the thought that Hades wasn’t just angry—he was burdened, his immense power bending under the weight of something unseen.

At that point, a sensible person would have been terrified, but Elysia could tell that Percy was cut from the same stubborn cloth as her. Instead of shrinking back, he squared his shoulders, his expression offended rather than fearful.

“You’re as bad as Zeus,” Percy said, his tone sharp. “You think I stole from you? That’s why you sent the Furies after me?”

“Of course,” Hades replied, his voice laced with disdain.

“And the other monsters?” Percy pressed.

Hades curled his lip. “I had nothing to do with them. I wanted no quick death for you—I wanted you brought before me alive so you might face every torture in the Fields of Punishment. Why do you think I let you enter my kingdom so easily?”

“Easily?” Percy echoed incredulously.

“Return my property!” Hades roared.

“But I don’t have your helm. I came for the master bolt,” Percy said, his voice rising with frustration.

“Which you already possess!” Hades shouted, his voice echoing through the throne room. “You came here with it, little fool, thinking you could threaten me!”

“But I didn’t!” Percy protested, his confusion evident. “I—”

“Open your pack, then,” Hades commanded, his tone filled with malicious certainty.

Percy hesitated, tension rippling through his posture. He slung the backpack off his shoulder and unzipped it. The sound of the zipper seemed unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. Inside, resting amidst his belongings, was a two-foot-long metal cylinder, spiked on both ends, humming with a menacing energy.

“Percy,” Annabeth whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief. “How—”

“I—I don’t know,” Percy stammered, his face a mix of shock and horror. “I don’t understand.”

Hades’s expression darkened further, a sinister smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “You heroes are always the same,” he sneered. “Your pride makes you foolish, thinking you could bring such a weapon before me. I did not ask for Zeus’s master bolt, but since it is here, you will yield it to me. I am sure it will make an excellent bargaining tool. And now . . . my helm. Where is it?”

Percy stood frozen, his thoughts and emotions colliding in a whirlwind of confusion and realisation. Annabeth’s sharp gaze darted between the bolt, Hades, and Percy, her mind clearly racing to piece together the implications. Elysia’s heart pounded as her magic pulsed in response to the rising tension, swirling protectively around her and her companions. She could feel the weight of Hades’s gaze on her, a palpable force that seemed to dig deeper into her very being.

And then, in that charged silence, Percy’s face shifted as understanding dawned. He had been played. They all had.

“Lord Hades, wait,” Percy said, his voice tight with urgency. “This is all a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Hades roared, his voice reverberating through the obsidian throne room. The skeletal soldiers surrounding them stood taller, their weapons gleaming ominously in the flickering torchlight. Above, the sound of leathery wings filled the air as the three Furies swooped down, their talons gripping the back of their master’s throne like living gargoyles.

“There is no mistake,” Hades said, his tone now cold and calculated. His pale fingers twitched as he summoned a sphere of golden fire, the light illuminating the sharp, angular planes of his face. With a flick of his wrist, the fire exploded on the steps below his throne, and a figure appeared within the blaze. It was a woman, her features strikingly similar to Percy’s—the same defiant set of the jaw, the same piercing eyes. Her form shimmered like a mirage, encased in an aura of heat and light that made it impossible to touch her.

“Mom!” Percy’s voice cracked as he stepped forward, his hand reaching out instinctively, only to pull back from the searing heat.

Hades leaned back in his throne, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Yes,” he drawled. “I took her. I knew, Percy Jackson, that you would come to bargain with me eventually. Return my helm, and perhaps I will let her go. She is not dead, you know. Not yet. But if you displease me, that will change.”

Elysia’s gaze flickered between Percy and the shimmering form of his mother. Her heart clenched at the anguish etched on his face. She reached for her wand instinctively, her magic swirling faintly around her fingers as she considered their options. The Resurrection Stone nestled against her chest felt heavy, as if it too sensed the weight of the moment.

Percy’s hand moved toward his pocket, his fingers brushing against the pearls given to him by the Nereid.

“Ah, the pearls,” Hades said, his voice cutting through Percy’s thoughts like a blade. Percy froze as the god’s dark gaze pinned him in place. “Yes, my brother and his little tricks. Bring them forth, Percy Jackson.”

Percy’s hand moved involuntarily, and he pulled the pearls from his pocket. Their faint, otherworldly glow seemed fragile in the oppressive darkness of the throne room.

“Only three,” Hades mused, his voice dripping with mockery. “What a shame. You do realise each only protects a single person. Try to take your mother, then, little godling. And which of your friends will you leave behind to spend eternity with me? Go on. Choose. Or give me the backpack and accept my terms.”

Hades’s calm demeanour masked an undercurrent of strain, which Elysia’s keen eyes did not miss. She noticed the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the armrests of his throne just a fraction too tightly. He was focused, determined, but there was something else beneath the surface—a subtle hint of desperation.

Percy looked at Annabeth and Grover. Their faces were grim, their breaths shallow. The weight of the decision hung in the air like a storm cloud.

“We were tricked,” Percy said, his voice trembling with anger. “Set up.”

“Yes, but why?” Annabeth asked, her mind racing. “And the voice in the pit—”

“I don’t know yet,” Percy said. “But I intend to ask.”

“Decide, boy!” Hades bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber.

Grover stepped forward, placing a trembling hand on Percy’s shoulder. “You can’t give him the bolt,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes.

“I know that,” Percy replied.

“Leave me here,” Grover said, his tone resolute. “Use the third pearl on your mom.”

“No!” Percy snapped.

“I’m a satyr,” Grover argued. “We don’t have souls like humans do. He can torture me until I die, but he won’t get me forever. I’ll just be reincarnated as a flower or something. It’s the best way.”

“No.” Annabeth stepped forward, drawing her bronze knife. “You two go on. Grover, you have to protect Percy. You have to get your searcher’s license and start your quest for Pan. Get his mom out of here. I’ll cover you. I plan to go down fighting.”

“No way,” Grover protested. “I’m staying behind.”

“Think again, goat boy,” Annabeth shot back.

“Stop it, both of you!” Percy shouted, his voice cracking. His friends’ willingness to sacrifice themselves was both heartbreaking and infuriating.

Elysia watched the argument with a heavy heart. The bond between these three was something rare and precious. She felt an ache in her chest, knowing the pain Percy was enduring. Her own magic pulsed faintly, an almost subconscious offer of reassurance. But she already knew her part in this.

“I know what to do,” Percy said finally, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his eyes. “Take these.”

He handed a pearl to each of them. Annabeth’s mouth opened in protest, but Percy cut her off with a look. He turned to his mother, his expression filled with anguish.

“I’m sorry,” Percy said, his voice breaking. “I’ll be back. I’ll find a way.”

The smug satisfaction on Hades’s face faltered. His dark eyes narrowed. “Godling…?”

“I’ll find your helm, Uncle,” Percy said firmly. “I’ll return it.”

“Do not defy me—”

“And it wouldn’t hurt to play with Cerberus once in a while,” Percy added, his tone defiant. 

“Percy Jackson, you will not—” Hades began, but Percy shouted, “Now, guys!”

They smashed the pearls at their feet. For a terrifying moment, nothing happened. Hades roared, “Destroy them!”

The skeletal army surged forward, weapons gleaming. The Furies launched themselves from the throne, their flaming whips cracking through the air. But before the attack could reach them, the pearl fragments at their feet exploded in a burst of green light and a gust of fresh sea wind.

Encased in shimmering, milky white spheres, Annabeth, Grover, and Percy began to float off the ground. Spears and bullets sparked harmlessly against the magical barriers as they ascended. Hades’s enraged yell shook the fortress, the very air vibrating with his fury.

Elysia did not rise with them. Her heart raced, but her face remained calm, even as Hades turned his searing gaze upon her. The magic swirling around her seemed to ripple in response, forming an unseen shield that made even the Furies hesitate. Her cloak of invisibility, a legacy imbued with magic strong enough to elude even Death’s gaze, seemed to stir around her shoulders, shimmering faintly as though ready to act.

“You remain,” Hades said, his voice low and measured. There was no mockery now, only curiosity and a faint strain, as though even he wasn’t certain what to make of her presence. His intense focus seemed heavier now, a weight pressing on the air between them, but it stopped just short of overwhelming her.

“I do,” Elysia replied, her wand steady in her hand, her magic pulsing in quiet defiance. “But don’t think for a moment I’m trapped here. You know as well as I do—your realm cannot hold me.” Her voice was calm, but her words carried the steel of certainty, as if her magic itself whispered reassurance to her.

Hades’s dark eyes flickered, a shadow of something unspoken passing over his expression. His gaze lingered on her cloak, recognition flashing in his eyes. Slowly, he inclined his head, a gesture of acknowledgement laced with reluctant respect. The strain in his presence seemed to ease, as though he were letting go of some immense tension.

“Perhaps not,” he said, his tone calm but still carrying the weight of his power. “But tread carefully, child of magic. Even you cannot walk the paths of death unscathed.” His voice softened, almost resigned, and he sank back into his throne with a deliberate motion. The shadows around him folded closer like a second mantle, enveloping him as though to shield him from further exertion. With a wave of his hand, the skeletal guards and the Furies stepped back, their hostility dimming as they moved away.

“The Morrigan,” Hades said suddenly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. The name sent a jolt through Elysia, her magic rippling as though responding to the invocation. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she met his gaze.

“Why do you call me that? Why did Charon seem to recognise something about me?” she asked, her voice steady but edged with curiosity and unease. “That title is a creation of the wizarding world. They don’t know the gods are real.”

Hades’s faint smile returned, colder now but no less piercing. “The title may have found its way into mortal mouths, but it was no mortal invention. The Morrigan is not a name lightly given, child. It was earned, by magic and by fate. Do you think your kind’s stories exist in isolation? You tread paths older than you know.”

Elysia’s grip tightened on her wand as his words settled over her like a weight. Her cloak stirred, its shimmering folds brushing against her arms as if to remind her of its protection.

“Perhaps,” she said carefully. “But whatever you see in me, Lord Hades, I make my own path.”

Hades inclined his head again, the faintest glimmer of approval flickering in his dark eyes. “A wise choice; the Phantom Queen has always made her own fate,” he murmured, his tone calm but threaded with an enigmatic strain, as though he were weighing some deeper truth. His gaze lingered on her cloak for a heartbeat longer, a trace of understanding passing across his expression before he leaned back into his throne fully. His movements were deliberate, and as he settled, it seemed as if a heavy burden eased from his shoulders. The aura of power that had pressed so heavily against the room lightened, though it did not entirely dissipate.

With a languid wave of his hand, Hades dismissed the remaining guards entirely. Their skeletal forms dissolved into the shadows, melting into the obsidian walls as though they had never been. Even the Furies, their fiery whips extinguished, retreated into the dim recesses of the throne room, their leathery wings silent in their departure. The room grew still, the oppressive tension giving way to an uneasy calm, leaving only the flicker of torchlight to illuminate the polished expanse of black stone.

As the tension in the room eased, Elysia turned, her cloak trailing behind her like a whisper of night. She could feel Hades’s gaze lingering, not as a threat but as a presence—a promise of recognition and perhaps an unspoken challenge.

“We’ll meet again,” she said, her voice calm but firm, her resolve shining through the weight of the moment.

Hades’s lips curved into a faint, humourless smile. “Undoubtedly,” he replied, his tone no longer sharp but layered with a complex mixture of acknowledgement and weariness. His gaze remained on her as she moved toward the exit, his presence still lingering like a shadow in her wake as she prepared to make her own way out of his realm.

The air outside the throne room felt lighter but no less foreboding. Elysia paused for a moment, drawing her cloak closer around her. The shimmering fabric seemed to hum with latent energy, its magic a quiet reassurance against the lingering aura of death that surrounded her. She cast one last glance back at the towering doors, their dark surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. Wrapping the cloak tightly around herself, she took a steadying breath and closed her eyes. The ancient magic of the cloak seemed to guide her, aligning with her will as she turned on the spot and vanished with a sharp crack, the oppressive gloom of the Underworld giving way to the surface above. The chill of the underworld dissipated, replaced by the faint warmth of the mortal world as she appeared, her heart pounding but her resolve unbroken.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

VI

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

Elysia materialised near the Santa Monica beach, the familiar sensation of the mortal world's air brushing against her as she remained cloaked in invisibility. The shimmering folds of her magical cloak wrapped her completely, making her presence imperceptible. She cast a swift guidance spell, a soft glow from her wand pointing her in the direction of the kids.

Hedwig swooped down from the dusky sky, her wings outstretched as she landed on Elysia’s shoulder. The cloak’s enchantment extended to the owl, rendering them both unseen. Hedwig, however, wasn’t pleased—she batted the back of Elysia’s head with her wing in a clear display of frustration. Elysia winced, muttering, “I’m fine, Hedwig. Stop fussing.” The owl let out an indignant hoot, her sharp amber eyes glinting in silent admonishment.

As she moved closer, her steps light and deliberate on the sand, the sight ahead made her stomach knot. The three kids stood facing Ares, the God of War, whose presence was impossible to ignore. His broad frame, clad in biker leathers that seemed to radiate an unnatural heat, was a stark contrast to the cool ocean breeze. His aura was oppressive, a violent crimson energy that rippled and flared like an uncontained wildfire.

“Of course, it’s him,” Elysia muttered under her breath. “It just had to be Ares.” Everything she’d seen of him so far confirmed her assessment: a brute who solved problems with fists, swords, and overwhelming force. Subtlety wasn’t in his vocabulary.

She stayed back, observing the scene unfold. Percy stood at the forefront, his posture tense but defiant. She could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, but his eyes were sharp, unwavering. Ares towered over him, sneering, his sunglasses reflecting the flickering light of the bonfire-like energy that seemed to emanate from him.

Ares raised his hand, summoning a massive boar from the ether. The creature materialized with a guttural roar, its tusks gleaming and its hide bristling with dark, smoke-like tendrils. Percy, to his credit, didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped aside with deliberate ease, his sword gleaming as he slashed through the beast with one fluid motion. The boar dissolved under a dark wave of energy, its form swallowed by shadows that vanished into the night.

“Are you going to fight me now?” Percy demanded, his voice steady, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed the effort it took to hold his ground. “Or are you going to hide behind another pet pig?”

Elysia groaned quietly, pressing her palm to her forehead. She couldn’t help but hate how much Percy’s taunt echoed the very sort of thing she would’ve said in his position. It was unnerving to see herself reflected in his defiance—reckless, brave, and unyielding.

Ares’ face turned an alarming shade of purple, his rage palpable. Flames flickered along the edges of his sunglasses, casting an eerie glow over his face. “Watch it, kid. I could turn you into—”

“A cockroach,” Percy interrupted with a smirk, his tone almost mocking. “Or a tapeworm. Yeah, I’m sure. That’d save you the fight, wouldn’t it? How interesting, the God of War, running from a battle.”

The flames on Ares’ glasses flared higher, and his sneer widened into something almost feral. “Oh man, you are really asking to be smashed into a grease spot.”

Percy stood firm, his grip on Riptide tightening. “If I lose, turn me into anything you want. Take the bolt. But if I win,” he paused, his voice growing stronger, “the Helm and the bolt are mine, and you have to go away, cousin-mine.”

Ares’ sneer deepened, his gaze flicking briefly to Annabeth and Grover before returning to Percy. “You’ve got guts, kid. Stupid guts, but guts all the same.” His voice dripped with disdain, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his tone. “Fine. Let’s see if you’re as tough as you talk.”

From her concealed position, Elysia tensed, readying herself to intervene if needed. Her wand hummed faintly in her hand, its connection to her magic alive and attuned to her emotions. She had no intention of letting Ares kill Percy—or any of them, for that matter—no matter how dire the situation became.

The confrontation had the air of an inevitable storm, and Elysia could feel the crackling tension in the air as Percy prepared to face the God of War. Her grip on her wand tightened, her magic coiling and ready, her gaze fixed on the unfolding clash with a mix of dread and determination.

Elysia dropped the hood of her cloak, stepping up silently behind Annabeth and Grover. Her wand hummed faintly in her hand, its connection to her magic alive and attuned to her emotions. She had no intention of letting Ares harm Percy—or any of them, for that matter—but she could feel the resolve emanating from Percy, a defiance that burned as fiercely as the sun. He needed to do this, and Elysia respected that. Still, her magic coiled within her, ready to act the moment she deemed it necessary.

The confrontation unfolded with the tension of a brewing storm. The air seemed to crackle as Percy stood his ground against the God of War, his confidence unwavering despite the impossible odds. Elysia’s gaze flickered between Percy and Ares, her thoughts a mix of admiration for Percy’s bravery and a nagging unease at the sheer power radiating from his opponent.

Ares swung the baseball bat off his shoulder. “How would you like to get smashed: classic or modern?”

Percy brandished his sword. “That’s cool, dead boy. Classic it is," Ares sneered.

With a sinister grin, the baseball bat shifted into a massive, two-handed sword, the hilt crowned with a silver skull clutching a ruby in its jaw. The weapon’s blade glinted menacingly in the sunlight.

“Percy,” Annabeth warned, her voice tight. “He’s a god.”

“And I’m a demigod,” Percy shot back, his smile sharp. “If anything, he should be terrified.”

“Just...” Annabeth sighed, shaking her head at his audacity. “Be careful. Know that I stand behind you.”

“The satyrs,” Grover added, nodding. “We stand with you too.”

Elysia’s voice cut through the tension, calm and measured. “If it gets too much, there is no shame in stepping back. I can fight him in your place.”

Percy shook his head, determination flashing in his eyes. “I’ve got this. But thanks. Stay back from the water.”

The three of them retreated further up the beach, far enough to avoid the immediate clash but close enough for Elysia to intervene if necessary. Her wand remained steady in her hand, its tip glowing faintly with latent magic.

Ares approached with a swagger, his black leather duster trailing behind him. His sword seemed to ripple with heat, its edge glinting like molten fire. “You all done saying goodbye?” he sneered. “I’ve been fighting for eternity, kid. My strength is unlimited, and I cannot die. What have you got?”

Percy backed into the surf, the waves lapping at his ankles as he held his ground. Ares advanced, his blade slashing down with lethal intent. But Percy wasn’t there. The water surged beneath him, lifting him into the air, and he catapulted over the god, slashing downward as he descended. Ares twisted, deflecting the strike with a flick of his sword.

“Not bad,” Ares growled, a grin spreading across his face. “Not bad at all.”

Elysia’s heart pounded as the duel intensified. The clash of blades echoed over the beach, each strike sending sparks flying. Percy fought valiantly, but Ares’s skill and strength were overwhelming. The god pressed forward, forcing Percy onto dry land, his strikes relentless. Each time Percy tried to edge back toward the water, Ares outmanoeuvred him, keeping him pinned.

“Admit it, kid,” Ares taunted. “You got no hope. I’m just toying with you.”

Percy’s movements slowed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Ares’s blade nicked his sleeve, drawing a thin line of blood. Elysia’s grip on her wand tightened. She could feel her magic surging, begging to be unleashed.

“Percy!” Annabeth yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Cops!”

“There, officer! See?” someone in the distance shouted.

A gruff voice replied, “That’s a kid… what the heck?”

“That guy’s armed,” another said. “Call for backup.”

Elysia groaned as she saw the flashing lights and the arrival of non-magicals complicating the situation.

A police voice on a megaphone said, “Drop the guns! Set them on the ground. Now!”

Elysia frowned slightly as she looked between the people clearly fighting with swords and the cops.

“It’s the mist, changing what they see,” Annabeth explained, her voice strained.

Ares turned to glare at the spectators, which gave Percy a moment to breathe. There were five police cars now, and a line of officers crouching behind the vehicles, pistols trained on them.

“This is a private matter!” Ares bellowed. “Be gone!”

With a sweep of his hand, a wall of red flame erupted, rolling over the police cars. The officers dove for cover as their vehicles exploded, sending fire and debris raining down. The crowd screamed and scattered.

Percy seized the distraction. He retreated into the water, the surf rising around him. With a roar, a six-foot wave smashed into Ares, leaving him sputtering and disoriented. Percy lunged, his blade finding its mark. Riptide pierced the god’s ankle, golden ichor spilling onto the sand.

Ares roared, the force of his rage shaking the earth. The sea pulled back, leaving a wet circle of exposed sand.

Before Ares could retaliate, Elysia stepped forward, her wand raised. “You have lost,” she said firmly. “Lose with honour and leave.”

Ares glared at her, his body shimmering with divine light. For a moment, it seemed he might strike again, but then he growled, his form glowing brighter until it was blinding. Elysia shielded her eyes as the light consumed him. When it faded, he was gone, leaving behind Hades’s Helm of Darkness resting in the sand.

Percy, exhausted and battered, sheathed his sword and carefully picked up the helm. The sound of leathery wings drew their attention. Three Furies descended, their fiery whips coiled at their sides.

Percy held out the helm. “Please ensure this gets back to Lord Hades,” he said, his voice steady despite the chill radiating from the artefact.

The lead Fury sniffed, taking the helm with a nod. Without a word, the three ascended, disappearing into the sky in a swirl of shadow. Silence fell over the beach, broken only by the distant crash of waves.

Elysia let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

Percy joined them, and Grover and Annabeth stared at him in amazement.

“Percy…” Grover said, his goat-like voice filled with awe. “That was so incredibly…”

“Terrifying,” Annabeth finished, her stormy gray eyes still wide.

“Cool!” Grover corrected with a broad grin, his hooves tapping nervously on the pavement.

Elysia nodded slightly, her expression calm but her eyes filled with quiet approval. She placed a reassuring hand on Percy’s shoulder, the faint hum of magic still lingering in her touch. “Well done, Percy. That was… brave.”

Percy smiled, though his exhaustion was evident in the slump of his shoulders. He reclaimed the backpack from Grover, opening it briefly to check the master bolt. It gleamed innocently inside, its polished surface belying the chaos it had caused and the danger it represented.

“We have to get back to New York,” Percy said, his voice firm despite the weariness tugging at the edges. “And fast. What do we have, two days left?”

“That’s impossible,” Annabeth said, frowning as she ran the calculations in her head. “Unless we—”

“Fly,” Percy interjected, his grin returning.

Annabeth turned to him, her expression incredulous. “Fly,” she repeated slowly, as if the very word was an affront to logic. “Like, in an airplane, which you were warned never to do lest Lord Zeus strike you out of the sky? And while carrying a weapon that has more destructive power than a nuclear bomb?”

Elysia’s brow furrowed as she considered their options. She wished she had planned a stop closer to New York before joining this quest. Apparating four people and a volatile artefact like the master bolt to a place she’d never been wasn’t just risky; it was reckless. And yet, Percy’s determination was unwavering.

“Ye-p,” Percy said, popping the “p” with a grin. “Pretty much exactly like that. Come on. If Uncle Z does something while we’re on the plane, carrying his precious bolt, well… that’s on him, really.”

Annabeth’s mouth opened, then closed, and she shook her head in disbelief. Grover looked torn between admiration and terror, his ears twitching nervously.

In the chaos Ares had left behind, the group managed to disappear into the crowd, weaving through the masses until they reached the airport. The adrenaline from their escape carried them through the ticketing and security processes, though Elysia’s wand remained subtly poised for any sign of danger. Her presence, calm and composed, seemed to settle the others as they boarded the flight.

Once the plane had levelled out, Elysia discreetly cast a privacy charm around their seats, the faint shimmer of magic enveloping them in a protective bubble. The hum of the airplane engines faded, replaced by a serene silence within their small cocoon. Annabeth, seated beside Elysia, turned to her with a flurry of questions that had clearly been building up.

Percy leaned forward from his seat, his knuckles white where they gripped the armrests. Despite his unease, he latched onto the conversation, eager for the distraction.

“You’ve dealt with a Cerberus before?” Annabeth began, her voice a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

Elysia smiled faintly, the memory flickering across her mind like an old photograph. “Yes, in my first year at Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Hagrid, had one named Fluffy. It was… slightly smaller than the one in the Underworld. Fluffy was guarding a trapdoor that led to a hidden tunnel with a series of traps, all protecting a magical artefact.”

“A Cerberus,” Annabeth repeated, her tone laced with incredulity. “At your school.”

“Hogwarts is… unique,” Elysia admitted, her voice tinged with fondness. “One of the teachers turned out to be working with a dark wizard and was trying to steal the artefact. I found myself in the middle of stopping him.”

“What kind of traps?” Annabeth pressed, her natural thirst for knowledge shining through. “I mean, were they riddles? Magical puzzles?”

“A bit of everything,” Elysia said with a soft chuckle. “A room filled with Devil’s Snare, a room with flying keys, a giant chessboard where we had to play our way across… And then there was the troll.”

“A troll?” Grover’s eyes widened. “Like, a real troll?”

“Yes,” Elysia confirmed. “Though it was already dead, the wizard ahead of us had killed it. Then there was the riddle involving potions.”

Annabeth’s eyes gleamed with interest. “A potions riddle? What was it?”

“A logic puzzle,” Elysia explained. “Seven bottles, each containing a different potion. Two were safe to drink, one would take you forward, another back, and the others were deadly. The clues were all in the wording.”

Annabeth leaned closer, captivated. “And you solved it?”

Elysia shook her head. “It was my friend Hermione who solved the potions riddle. She has a brilliant mind for logic and puzzles—I couldn’t have done it without her,” she added.

“You’re amazing,” Percy said, shaking his head in awe. “You were eleven when you did all that?”

Elysia shrugged slightly, “I had people to lean on to bolster me and help me forward.”

“And how did you know you could escape Hades?” Annabeth asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and a touch of suspicion.

Elysia tilted her head thoughtfully, her fingers lightly brushing the resurrection stone that hung around her neck on a delicate silver chain. “That one is a bit more complicated,” she began. “The easiest place to start is with a fairy tale.”

Grover’s ears perked up, and Annabeth leaned forward, her stormy gray eyes narrowing in intrigue. Percy sat back, watching Elysia intently, the tension of their journey momentarily giving way to curiosity.

Elysia’s voice softened as she leaned back into her seat, her gaze distant as if the story played out before her. “There were three brothers,” she began, her tone rhythmic and deliberate, “one night, they reached a treacherous river. Anyone who attempted to swim or wade through it would drown. But these brothers were no ordinary men; they were wizards. With their magic, they created a bridge to cross.”

Her fingers toyed with the stone as she continued, “Halfway across the bridge, a hooded figure appeared before them. It was the spirit of Death, cheated of his due. Death, cunning and calculating, decided to feign admiration for their ingenuity and offered each brother a reward of their choosing.”

Annabeth’s expression shifted as understanding flickered across her face. Elysia noticed but pressed on. “The eldest brother, a man prone to conflict, asked for a wand more powerful than any other—a wand that could not be beaten in a duel. Death, with a mocking smile, fashioned him a wand from the branch of an elder tree.”

“The second brother,” Elysia said, her voice lowering slightly, “prideful and arrogant in their supposed triumph over Death, asked for the power to recall the dead. Death granted his wish by infusing power into a stone plucked from the river, turning it blood red.”

Grover shivered slightly but kept listening, his wide eyes reflecting the flickering airplane cabin lights. “And the third brother?” Percy asked, leaning forward.

“The third brother,” Elysia said with a faint smile, “humble and wise, did not trust Death. He asked for something that would allow him to go forth without Death ever following him. So, Death fashioned a cloak from his own robes—a cloak of invisibility that could hide even from Death himself.”

Her words seemed to hang in the air, heavy with the weight of ancient magic. “The brothers parted ways. The eldest, drunk on his newfound power, boasted of his unbeatable wand. He challenged anyone who crossed him, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. But one night, as he slept, another wizard crept in, slit his throat, and stole the wand. Thus, Death claimed the first brother.”

Annabeth’s brow furrowed, her mind visibly working through the implications.

“The second brother returned home,” Elysia continued, her voice quieter now, “where he lived alone. With the stone in hand, he summoned the figure of the woman he had once loved, a woman who had died too young. She appeared before him, but she was sad and cold, separated from him by a veil of death. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong. Consumed by his longing and despair, the second brother took his own life to join her. Thus, Death claimed the second brother.”

Elysia paused, her fingers still tracing the stone. “But the third brother… Death searched for him for years, but he could never find him. Only when the youngest brother reached a great age did he remove the cloak and pass it on to his son. He greeted Death as an old friend, and together they departed this life as equals.”

Their row of seats was silent as Elysia finished, her story resonating deeply with her audience. Annabeth’s gaze was sharp, her analytical mind racing. Grover’s ears twitched nervously, and Percy looked thoughtful, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest.

“Your cloak,” Annabeth said after a moment, her voice steady but filled with awe. “It’s the one from the story, isn’t it?”

Elysia inclined her head slightly. “It is. Some believe the story is just that—a tale told to teach lessons. But others take it as the origin of the Deathly Hallows.” 

“What about the others?” Annabeth asked, her eyes lingering on the necklace Elysia was fidgetting with.

“There is truth in every myth and legend,” Elysia said with a slight smirk at her non-answer, “But for now, let’s focus on getting to Olympus. The rest can wait.”

The others nodded, though their expressions betrayed the lingering weight of her words. Silence fell over the group as they prepared for whatever awaited them next.

~~

When they touched down at LaGuardia, the group quickly made their way to the taxi stand. The air was heavy with anticipation, a tension shared by all of them.

“Are you… sure?” Grover asked for what felt like the hundredth time, his goat-like ears twitching nervously.

“Yes,” Percy replied, dragging out the word in amusement. “He thinks I stole it, so I have to return it. And, well, if something goes wrong, you guys can tell Chiron the truth.”

“Be careful, seaweed brain. Look after him,” Annabeth said, her stormy gray eyes narrowing at Elysia as if silently conveying a warning.

Elysia grinned and ruffled Annabeth’s hair, which elicited a surprised squawk. The younger girl batted at Elysia’s hand in indignation. “Don’t worry about it,” Elysia said lightly, though her tone carried an undertone of seriousness.

Annabeth and Grover exchanged one last look before setting off. Percy and Elysia watched them disappear into the crowd before turning to begin their own journey toward the Empire State Building.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Percy said, glancing at Elysia as they walked.

“I know,” she replied, her voice calm and assured. “But I want to. And I can. I might not be able to go with you all the way, but I’ll do everything I can to help.” Her smile was warm, though her wand hand rested lightly on her side, ready for anything.

Thirty minutes later, they entered the opulent lobby of the Empire State Building. The polished marble floors reflected the golden light from the chandeliers overhead, and the steady hum of bustling tourists and office workers filled the air. The grandeur of the building seemed to amplify the weight of their task.

On the way, Elysia had discreetly used her wand to clean them both up. Their hair no longer looked windblown, and their clothes appeared freshly pressed, though their slightly ruffled demeanours hinted at the trials they’d faced.

“Six hundredth floor, please,” Percy said to the security guard stationed at the desk.

The man barely looked up from his book, sighing as though this interruption was the greatest inconvenience in his day. “No such floor, kiddo.”

“I need an audience with Zeus,” Percy said evenly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

The guard blinked, then gave a vacant smile. “Sorry?”

“You heard me,” Percy said firmly.

Elysia arched an eyebrow, her wand hand twitching slightly as she prepared to cast a minor compulsion spell if necessary. But before she could act, the guard finally set down his book and gave them his full attention. Elysia’s sharp gaze caught the cover of his book—a wizard with messy black hair and piercing green eyes standing confidently in front of a gleaming red train. Her lips quirked into a smirk, and she muttered under her breath, "Really? I’m going to need a divine lawyer for copyright infringement. Wonder if Andromeda wants to take a crack at a case involving the gods." Her tone was dry, but her amusement was evident as she filed the thought away for later.

The guard frowned. “No appointment, no audience, kiddo. Lord Zeus doesn’t see anyone unannounced.”

Percy’s lips curved into a sly smile. He slipped his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped it slightly, just enough for the guard to see the faint glint of the master bolt inside.

The man’s expression shifted immediately, his face going pale. “That isn’t…”

“Yes, it is,” Percy confirmed, his voice carrying a quiet edge. “You want me to take it out and—”

“No! No!” the guard interrupted, scrambling to his feet. He fumbled around his desk for a key card, finally thrusting it into Percy’s hand. “Insert this in the security slot. Make sure nobody else is in the elevator with you.”

Percy gave a curt nod and turned toward the elevators, Elysia following closely behind. The moment the elevator doors closed behind them, Percy inserted the key card into the slot. The card disappeared, and a new button appeared on the console, glowing gold with the number 600 etched into it.

He pressed it without hesitation, and the elevator began its ascent. Muzak played softly in the background, the cheery tune of “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head” an ironic counterpoint to the tension in the small space.

Elysia glanced at Percy, her gaze steady. “You ready for this?”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The elevator dinged softly as it came to a stop, and the golden doors slid open, revealing the dazzling grandeur of Olympus beyond. The sight before them was breathtaking: a gleaming city of golden spires, ivory towers, and streets paved with marble. Clouds drifted lazily between the buildings, their edges tinged with the light of a perpetual sunset. It was a place that seemed both timeless and alive, a realm untouched by the mortal world.

The path ahead of Percy and Elysia branched into several directions, each one leading into the sprawling heart of Olympus. The elevator had opened onto a breathtaking open-air market, alive with activity and vibrant colours. Tents in hues of crimson, gold, and cerulean fluttered in the gentle breeze, their canopies sheltering merchants who hawked wares that glimmered like treasures from myths: lyres carved from living wood, amphorae painted with shifting images, and fruit that glowed faintly as though kissed by divine light.

The crowd was just as diverse. Figures with golden auras and nymphs with translucent skin mingled with mortals who carried themselves with an unearthly grace, their eyes betraying hints of immortal ancestry. A satyr haggled with a merchant over a string of pearls, while a group of children, their laughter like chiming bells, chased a ball that left a trail of stardust in its wake. Winged figures darted overhead, their feathers shimmering like prisms in the golden light.

Towering above the market were grand apartments, houses, temples, and lush gardens, their architecture a perfect blend of Ancient Greek and modern styles. Marble facades gleamed with celestial light, and ivy-clad balconies overlooked the bustling streets below. Even further in the distance loomed the decapitated peak of a mountain, its summit glistening with snow that seemed untouched by the golden glow enveloping Olympus. Clinging to the mountainside was a city of mansions—multi-levelled palaces with white-columned porticos, gilded terraces, and bronze braziers that burned with flickering, otherworldly flames.

It felt like stepping into an Ancient Greek city, untouched by time and yet infused with a modern flair, thriving instead of in ruins.

The largest palace, gleaming like the very essence of sunlight, stood at the apex of the city. Its columns seemed to shimmer as if made of liquid gold. Elysia’s gaze lingered on it, her instincts telling her that this was their destination.

“That’s where we need to go,” she said, her tone resolute.

Percy nodded, determination hardening his features. Together, they wound their way through the market, ignoring the whispers and pointing fingers with the ease of seasoned New Yorkers. The murmurs barely registered, drowned out by the hum of anticipation that thrummed in the air like an unspoken melody.

As they passed through the marketplace, Elysia’s sharp gaze caught glimpses of other remarkable sights. Temples dedicated to gods of every domain towered over the streets, their altars adorned with offerings both mundane and extraordinary. Statues of the Olympians stood watch over the city, their marble eyes glinting with divine power. A grand amphitheatre echoed with the distant sound of a choir, its harmonies threading through the air like sunlight on water. An arena shimmered with magical wards, ready to host duels that could shake the heavens themselves. Everywhere they turned, Olympus seemed alive with the vibrancy of a realm that never truly rested.

The palace, when they reached it, was the antithesis of Hades’s dark domain. Where Hades’s palace had been a fortress of black and bronze, this was a masterpiece of white and gold. The columns seemed to reach for the heavens themselves, their surfaces carved with intricate depictions of the Olympians’ triumphs. Sunlight—or something more radiant—glinted off every surface, making the entire structure seem to glow from within. The air around it thrummed with an almost musical quality, a resonance that made Elysia’s magic hum faintly in response.

“Hades must’ve modelled his palace after this one,” Elysia thought aloud, her voice tinged with both awe and a hint of sadness. The disparity between the two realms was stark, a reminder of the injustices Hades had spoken of. “It’s not fair,” she muttered, the weight of those words settling in her chest like a stone.

Steps led up to a central courtyard, and beyond that, the throne room. Massive columns lined the approach, their tops disappearing into a domed ceiling gilded with moving constellations that shifted and shimmered with every step they took. The throne room itself was a vast space dominated by a central hearth pit, its crackling flames sending warmth that didn’t quite reach the air.

Twelve thrones, built to an inhuman scale, formed an inverted U around the hearth. Each was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, designed to reflect the domain of the god who sat upon it. Poseidon’s throne glimmered with coral and mother-of-pearl, while Ares’s chair was wrought from blood-red iron. Artemis’s was carved from silver birch, her bow resting across its arms, and Athena’s throne gleamed with polished bronze, inlaid with intricate patterns of owls and olive branches. Each throne spoke of its occupant’s essence, and all of them radiated an aura of immense power.

The thrones were not empty.

Elysia stopped at the entranceway, her instincts telling her to hold back. Percy took a deep breath and stepped forward, his resolve firm despite the overwhelming presence of the gods.

At the far end of the room, two gods argued in rapid-fire Ancient Greek. Their words were sharp and clipped, filled with the weight of centuries.


Closer to the entrance, a god that held a can of Diet Coke, his expression exasperated, sighed as he spotted Percy, while another—wearing winged sandals—glanced up from his phone with a look of relief at the sight of Percy.

The ripple effect was immediate. One by one, the other gods turned their attention to Percy, their expressions ranging from curiosity to indifference to barely contained annoyance. Some, however, turned their gaze to Elysia, standing silently by the entrance.

A young woman, obviously Artemis from the throne, with a silver bow across her knees stared at her intently, her gaze piercing as though trying to unravel a puzzle. Her eyes were a striking shade of silver, luminous like moonlight reflected on still water. They held a quiet intensity that seemed to delve past the surface, searching for something deeper. Her raven-black hair, streaked with strands of auburn that caught the flickering hearthlight, framed a face both regal and sharp, like a finely honed blade. Her athletic form suggested a life of physical exertion and discipline, every movement carrying the grace and precision of a seasoned hunter. There was an air of authority about her, tempered by an innate curiosity that softened her caution, as though she were encountering something wholly unexpected and yet profoundly significant.

Nearby, a regal figure with a throne adorned with an owl sigil—strikingly reminiscent of Annabeth, Athena—watched her with quiet contemplation, as if weighing a thousand possibilities in her mind. The two women’s scrutiny made Elysia feel as though she were being dissected by intellect and instinct alike. She met their gazes without flinching, though her wand hand remained steady at her side, ready to defend herself if necessary.

Elysia watched as the weight of the moment settled over the room. Her fingers brushed against her wand, ready for whatever came next. For now, though, she would stand her ground, a silent sentinel at the edge of the divine court.

As Percy stepped forward to address Poseidon first, the young girl by the hearth vanished in a swirl of embers, reforming silently beside Elysia. Her movements were fluid, as if she were made of the fire itself, and her presence was both soothing and commanding.

“Morrigan, though you prefer Elysia, don’t you?” the girl asked, her voice soft yet carrying an undeniable warmth that seemed to seep into the very air.

Elysia turned her head slightly, her silver eyes narrowing in acknowledgement. “I do,” she replied, her voice steady but curious. “Hestia, I presume, if my knowledge serves me correctly.”

The goddess nodded, her expression serene as she studied Elysia. Though she appeared as a young girl, her gaze carried the weight of millennia, a quiet but profound wisdom that felt more potent than any thunderous display of power.

“You need not worry,” Hestia said, her voice low but certain. She gestured towards Percy, who was addressing his father while Zeus’s expression darkened. “My brother will not harm young Perseus. As angry as he might act, he knows better than to start the war he has sought to avoid before the council.”

Elysia’s shoulders remained tense, her fingers brushing against the wand holstered at her side. “Maybe,” she admitted, her tone guarded, “but I’ll still worry until we’re gone. Facing a god is something I’ve never done before.”

Hestia’s gaze softened, her fiery eyes glowing like embers in a hearth. “But facing something new has never stopped you before, has it?” she said gently.

Elysia stiffened at the words, a flicker of something unspoken crossing her face. She glanced towards the thrones, where the gods loomed larger than life, before returning her attention to Hestia. “It hasn’t,” she said finally, “but even so, caution is necessary.”

The goddess tilted her head, the faintest hint of a smile gracing her lips. “Wherever there is a hearth, it is my domain,” she said. “But I am only drawn to watch over those who truly care for home and family. It’s why I find myself here, beside you.”

Elysia’s expression flickered with surprise, quickly masked by her usual calm demeanour. “I wouldn’t have thought myself worthy of your attention,” she said carefully.

Hestia’s gaze didn’t waver. “Your actions speak otherwise,” she said. “You carry the weight of many lives, protect those you love fiercely, and stand ready to defend this young hero even against us, should it come to that. You remind me of the hearth itself—steady, enduring, and unyielding when it comes to those you hold dear.”

The warmth in Hestia’s words was almost disarming. Elysia felt a pang in her chest, a mixture of gratitude and an ache she couldn’t quite place. The Mistress of Death, as many had called her, was not accustomed to such gentle praise.

Hestia’s gaze turned back to Percy, her expression calm but knowing. “He will succeed, you know. Perseus has a way of defying the odds. It’s something you share.”

Elysia’s lips quirked in the faintest hint of a smile. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, her voice quiet. “But until it’s over, I’ll keep worrying. That’s my job, I suppose.”

Hestia’s smile widened, her youthful face glowing with the warmth of a hearthfire on a winter’s night. “And a fine job you do,” she said. Then, as if carried by the soft flicker of flames, she stepped back into the embers and returned to her place by the hearth, watching over the room with an unwavering calm.

Elysia stood a little straighter, her silver eyes fixed on Percy as he continued to make his case to the gods. She didn’t know what the next moments would bring, but the quiet presence of Hestia lingered in her mind, like a comforting flame that refused to be extinguished.

As Percy stepped forward to address Poseidon first, the young girl by the hearth vanished in a swirl of embers, reforming silently beside Elysia. Her movements were fluid, as if she were made of the fire itself, and her presence was both soothing and commanding. Elysia barely glanced at her, her focus remaining on Percy as he carried the master bolt toward Zeus, the air humming with the tension of the gathered gods.

Zeus held the lightning bolt aloft, the metallic points flaring with electricity until he gripped what now appeared more like a classic thunderbolt, a fifteen-foot javelin of arcing, hissing energy.

“I sense the boy tells the truth,” Zeus muttered, though his voice was a low growl of restrained fury. Then, louder, his words crackling like a storm about to break: “Ares, what say you to this accusation?”

Ares stood from his throne, his movements deliberate and defiant as he bowed before his father. “The boy speaks the truth,” he admitted, his voice edged with frustration.

Elysia raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised by his honesty. She’d half-expected a brash denial or some poorly constructed excuse. Around the room, the gods’ eyes flicked between Ares and Zeus, their expressions unreadable, though the tension was palpable.

The air seemed to grow heavier, laced with the ozone of Zeus’ rage. Lightning spat at his feet, small sparks sizzling and popping against the marble floor. Yet Ares remained still, an infuriatingly smug smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Ares didn’t act alone,” Percy interrupted, his voice cutting through the crackling air. He stepped forward, his expression resolute. “Someone else—something else—came up with the idea.”

Elysia’s green eyes lingered on Percy, a mix of pride and exasperation swelling within her. The kid’s heroism, his refusal to let even Ares shoulder the full blame, was both admirable and maddening.

Zeus turned his sharp gaze on Percy, the force of it almost a tangible weight, heavy as an impending storm. Despite Hestia’s earlier reassurance, Elysia felt her magic stirring, swirling just beneath the surface, attuned to the tension in the room like a drawn bowstring. Her senses sharpened, but her focus remained squarely on the confrontation unfolding before her.

Artemis’s moonlit silver eyes, reminiscent of an unbroken lake reflecting the night sky, lingered on Elysia, their intensity soft yet piercing. She observed the witch with quiet curiosity. A faint tweak of her lips suggested a flicker of approval, subtle and enigmatic, though Elysia was too intent on Percy and Zeus to notice.

Apollo, perched casually on his throne with a smirk, caught the silent exchange and filed it away for future amusement, his golden eyes dancing with mischief at the rare display of his sister’s interest in someone beyond her huntresses.

“I had dreams on the quest,” Percy continued, his voice steady but charged with urgency. “A voice told me to bring the bolt to the Underworld. Ares hinted that he’d been having dreams, too. I think he was being used, just as I was, to start a war.”

“You are accusing Hades, after all?” Zeus’s words were sharp, the challenge clear.

“No,” Percy said firmly. He met the god’s stormy gaze without flinching. “I mean, Lord Zeus, I’ve been in the presence of Hades. This feeling… It was the same thing I felt when I got close to that pit. That was the entrance to Tartarus, wasn’t it? Something powerful and evil is stirring down there… something even older than the gods.”

Elysia shivered despite herself, the memory of Tartarus’ oppressive power lingering like a phantom touch. Her wand hand flexed instinctively, though there was no immediate threat to counter.

Poseidon rose slowly from his throne, the action drawing all eyes and breaking the suffocating tension. His voice boomed, calm but commanding: “Ares, I will decide what to do with you later. Be gone from my sight.”

Ares offered no argument. He vanished in a burst of flame and light, his presence lingering like the aftershock of a thunderclap.

Poseidon turned to Zeus. “Brother,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of deference and authority, “perhaps we should address this matter with more care. The boy has returned what was stolen. Let us not hasten to judgment without understanding.”

Zeus’s lips tightened into a grim line, but he nodded. “Very well. I shall consider your words, Poseidon. As for you, Perseus Jackson…” His gaze fell on the boy, colder than the arctic winds. “Speak not of what you do not understand. I will hear none of it.” His expression softened by the barest fraction. “You have done me a service, boy. Few heroes could have accomplished as much.”

Percy shifted under the scrutiny. “I had help, sir. Grover Underwood and Annabeth Chase—”

“To show you my thanks,” Zeus interrupted, his tone brooking no argument, “I shall spare your life. Do not presume to fly again. Do not let me find you here when I return. Otherwise, you shall taste this bolt, and it shall be your last sensation.”

Thunder rolled through the palace as Zeus’s form dissolved in a blinding flash of lightning. One by one, the other gods began to take their leave. Artemis lingered a moment longer, her gaze flitting toward Elysia with quiet curiosity before she disappeared into a beam of moonlight.

Poseidon stepped forward, his expression gentler than before. “You must go, child,” he said, addressing Percy. “But first, know that your mother has returned.”

Percy’s eyes widened. “My mother?”

“You will find her at home,” Poseidon confirmed. “Hades sent her when you recovered his helm. My brother pays his debts.” His gaze grew distant, tinged with sadness. “When you return home, Percy, you must make an important choice. You will find a package waiting in your room.”

“A package?” Percy asked, his brow furrowing.

“You will understand when you see it,” Poseidon said. “No one can choose your path but you.”

He hesitated, his voice softening further. “Your mother is a queen among women. I had not met such a mortal in a thousand years. Still… I am sorry you were born, child. I have brought you a hero’s fate, and a hero’s fate is never happy. It is never anything but tragic.”

Elysia’s jaw tightened, anger flaring in her chest. She bit back the urge to chastise the god, but Poseidon’s glance at her suggested he sensed her ire. “Speak to your companion about a hero’s fate,” he added, his tone almost sheepish. “I am told I have a habit of… putting my tail in my mouth.”

Percy’s expression softened. “I don’t mind, Father,” he said quietly.

“Not yet, perhaps,” Poseidon replied. “Not yet.” He stepped back, his form shimmering. “You did well, Perseus. Do not misunderstand me. Whatever else you do, know that you are mine. You are a true son of the Sea God.”

Elysia placed a hand on Percy’s back as they turned to leave, her touch steadying him despite the weight of the day. He flinched slightly at first, but then leaned into the contact, drawing strength from her presence as they walked through the glittering city of gods, the echoes of their encounter lingering in the air.

~~

They caught a taxi to Percy’s mum’s apartment, rang the doorbell, and waited for a moment. The sound of hurried footsteps reached them before the door opened to reveal Sally Jackson, her blue eyes brimming with emotion. She smelled faintly of peppermint and liquorice, a comforting scent that matched the warmth in her gaze. The weariness and worry etched into her face seemed to evaporate the instant she saw Percy standing there.

"Percy!" she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight embrace. Her arms wrapped around him with the kind of fierce relief that only a mother could convey, her hands gently smoothing down his hair as if reassuring herself that he was really there.

Elysia took a half step back, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her cloak as she gave them space. She watched the reunion, a knot forming in her chest that she couldn’t quite name. Percy’s expression softened in a way she hadn't seen before—unguarded, unburdened, safe. It was a look she didn’t think she’d ever had the privilege of wearing herself, though she had come close in fleeting moments. Moments spent with Andromeda and Tonks, or Fleur, Daphne, Tracey, or Luna—times when she had allowed herself to relax, to trust. But it still felt rare, almost foreign, to lower her guard so completely. Watching Percy now, she realised just how elusive that feeling remained for her.

As Percy began recounting their journey, his voice animated with relief and a touch of pride, he introduced Elysia.

“Mum, this is Elysia. She…she helped a lot. I wouldn’t have made it without her.”

Before Elysia could protest or downplay her role, Sally turned to her and drew her into a hug. It wasn’t overbearing like Molly Weasley’s rib-crushing embraces but warm and grounding, more akin to the gentle yet firm comfort Andromeda Tonks offers her. For a moment, Elysia froze, unsure of what to do with the unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” Sally said, her voice soft but filled with conviction as she stepped back, her hands lingering on Elysia’s shoulders. “Thank you for looking out for him.”

Elysia shrugged slightly, attempting to brush off the emotion in Sally’s voice. “It’s no problem at all. I…had my fair share of trouble at his age. Not many adults I could rely on back then.” Her voice wavered slightly, betraying more vulnerability than she intended.

Percy resumed his tale, his words tumbling over each other as he got to the part about his fight with Ares. The tension in his voice was palpable, his hands gesturing animatedly as he described the chaos of the battle.

But then a voice shouted from deeper inside the apartment, jarring and intrusive. “Hey, Sally! That meat loaf done yet or what?”

Elysia’s breath hitched. The tone—gruff, impatient, and dismissive—dragged her back in time with brutal efficiency. It wasn’t Vernon Dursley’s voice, not exactly, but the cadence and condescension were close enough to strike a blow she wasn’t prepared for. Her chest tightened, and she realised belatedly that she was trembling.

Sally noticed immediately. She placed a steadying hand on Elysia’s shoulder, her touch firm yet gentle. There was no pity in her gaze, only understanding. She gave Elysia a subtle nod, a silent acknowledgement of the weight she carried.

Percy looked up at Elysia, confusion flickering across his face before dawning realisation softened his expression. He opened his mouth as if to say something but hesitated, his hand hovering awkwardly at his side.

“I’m fine,” Elysia said quickly, her voice strained but steady. “I can wait outside for you.”

She turned and stepped back into the hallway before they could argue, the door closing softly behind her. The muffled sounds of Percy’s voice and Sally’s soothing responses drifted through the door, but Elysia didn’t focus on them. She leaned against the wall, her hands gripping the edges of her cloak as if it could anchor her.

Coward. The word echoed in her mind, sharp and relentless. She had faced dragons, duelled Death Eaters, and ventured into the Underworld, yet the tone of an impatient old man had unravelled her composure in an instant. She hated it—hated the power it still held over her after all these years. Her breathing was uneven, her thoughts spiralling into the dark corners she rarely let herself linger in.

And yet, amidst the storm in her mind, there was a glimmer of warmth. Sally Jackson’s understanding touch, the way Percy had looked at her with concern rather than pity—it was enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone in this moment, even if she chose to step away. It didn’t erase the scars, but it eased the sting, if only slightly.

Elysia glanced out the small window at the end of the hallway, where the evening light painted the streets in hues of gold and shadow. The warm glow of sunset clung to the buildings, illuminating every crack and imperfection with a soft, forgiving light. She allowed herself a moment to breathe, to find her balance again amidst the storm of emotions that always seemed to follow her. The air carried a weight, as though the moment demanded significance.

When the door opened and Percy stepped out, his face was a mix of gratitude and quiet worry. His shoulders were squared, but his eyes betrayed the vulnerability he rarely showed. Elysia straightened up, pulling herself from her thoughts, and gave him a small smile, a gesture meant to steady them both. There was an unspoken understanding between them—a shared burden that neither had asked for but had learned to carry.

Behind him, Sally stepped into the hallway, her presence radiant with maternal warmth that seemed to soften the harsh edges of the world. She held Percy’s bag in one hand, the other reaching out instinctively to pull her son into another quick hug. Her voice, soft yet filled with immeasurable love, wrapped around them like a protective cocoon as she kissed his forehead. “Take care of yourself, Percy. And thank you, Elysia,” she added, her gaze meeting Elysia’s with an earnestness that made her throat tighten.

Elysia returned the gaze, her green eyes reflecting an unexpected vulnerability. She nodded slightly, her voice quieter than she intended. “You’re welcome. And thank you.”

Before they turned to leave, Elysia’s hand moved almost instinctively to her pocket. She pulled out a small, neatly printed card and handed it to Sally. “From what Percy told me about you, you won’t accept my help to get rid of him,” she said, her tone edged with a playful growl that belied the seriousness of her gesture. For a fleeting moment, the air seemed to chill, carrying an almost imperceptible weight of death and finality. “So instead, take this at least. If you ever need a lawyer, give this number a call.”

Sally’s fingers brushed against Elysia’s as she took the card. Her brows furrowed slightly as she read the name, Andromeda Tonks, and the details below. “Oh, but—”

“Don’t worry about costs or anything like that,” Elysia interrupted, her voice firm but warm. A smile tugged at her lips, softening her usual stoic demeanour. “Our family doesn’t need the money. Just tell her I recommended her. She’ll understand.”

Sally’s grip tightened on the card, her expression a mix of gratitude and hesitation. Words danced on the edge of her lips, but none seemed sufficient to express what she felt. Instead, she simply nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Together, Elysia and Percy turned and walked down the hallway. Percy’s bag thumped lightly against his side with each step, a quiet rhythm that mirrored the steadying of Elysia’s own heartbeat. They left the apartment behind, the door closing softly behind them, as if sealing away the ghosts of their pasts. The echo of its click lingered, a punctuation mark on a chapter that had yet to be fully closed.

Outside, the city was bathed in the golden hues of early evening, the sky a canvas of amber and lavender streaks. The air was crisp, carrying with it the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of birds. A gentle breeze tugged at Elysia’s cloak, its cool touch grounding her. Each step they took seemed to resonate with purpose, the pavement beneath their feet solid and unyielding.

Elysia glanced sideways at Percy, taking in the determined set of his jaw and the way his gaze seemed fixed on the horizon. There was something grounding in his presence, a reminder that even in the face of chaos, there was strength to be found in companionship. A small smile tugged at her lips as she faced forward once more.

For the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of resolve settle over her. It wasn’t just the determination to keep moving forward, but a deeper understanding of the path she had chosen. No matter what shadows lingered in her past or what trials lay ahead, she knew she wasn’t walking this road alone.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

VII

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

They arrived at camp with Percy urging Elysia to follow him up the hill and across the barrier. Elysia felt the moment they passed through it, a strange sensation that tingled along her skin, unlike any ward she had encountered before. It felt alive, almost sentient, as though it were assessing her, weighing her presence before allowing her entry. The sensation lingered, leaving an impression that the barrier somehow recognised her, though she couldn’t fathom why.

As they crossed the threshold, they were greeted by Annabeth and Grover. Elysia’s laughter bubbled out at the sight of Annabeth, her arms crossed, looking highly tense. The reason became apparent when Elysia noticed Hedwig perched regally on Annabeth’s head, her snowy feathers gleaming in the sunlight. The owl’s expression was impossibly smug—as smug as an owl could look, which was surprisingly smug. Hedwig ruffled her feathers with a sense of triumph, as though she had conquered some invisible throne.

“Hedwig, leave her alone,” Elysia said between chuckles. The snowy owl hooted indignantly, her amber eyes flashing with mock outrage, but she complied. With a regal flourish, Hedwig spread her wings, catching the light as she took flight to circle overhead. Her movements were fluid, each beat of her wings a display of effortless grace. After a few laps, she descended, landing lightly on Elysia’s shoulder. Her talons barely pressed against the fabric of Elysia’s cloak. Leaning in close, Hedwig tilted her head in a manner that suggested she was sharing a deeply personal grievance. Her amber eyes glowed with playful intensity, and Elysia rolled her own, a fond smile softening her features. She reached up to stroke the owl’s sleek feathers, earning a satisfied hoot that echoed triumphantly.

As they made their way deeper into camp, the sounds of celebration grew louder. Campers cheered, their excitement spilling over like an unstoppable tide. Apparently, Percy, Annabeth, and Grover were the first heroes to return alive after a quest since Luke Castellan. When Percy pointed Luke out to Elysia, a shiver ran down her spine. Something about him set her magic on edge, a subtle vibration that echoed the oppressive malice she had felt emanating from the pit in the Underworld. She didn’t comment, but her wand hand twitched involuntarily, her instincts urging her to stay alert.

While Percy was whisked away by a crowd of campers eager to celebrate, Elysia found herself approached by a centaur. His presence was commanding yet gentle, and the wisdom in his gaze was undeniable. His human torso merged seamlessly with the equine body beneath, the perfection of his form carrying an ancient, ageless quality.

“Chiron, I presume,” Elysia said, giving him a slight nod of respect.

“Indeed,” Chiron replied, his voice warm but measured. “And you must be Elysia. It has been a very long time since I’ve seen one of your kind.”

Elysia shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “Not much I can say to that, apart from the fact that luck seems to enjoy toying with me.” She paused, realisation dawning on her. “Wait…oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

Chiron’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “It is always amusing to witness that particular epiphany.” His expression turned serious, his tone softening. “But I must ask—what is it you seek here? Why did you help them?”

Elysia’s gaze flicked toward the celebrating demigods before settling back on Chiron. “I helped because I could. Simple as that.” Her tone grew more contemplative. “As for what I seek… I’m not entirely sure yet. Answers, perhaps. Especially why even gods seem to call me Morrigan.”

Chiron’s sharp intake of breath was subtle but telling. He recovered quickly, his expression neutral. “Fair enough. Then I welcome you to stay, so long as you choose to help.” He hesitated, then continued, “There are certain restrictions upon me. I can guide them, but I cannot intervene as much as I would like. You, however, are not bound by such limitations.”

Elysia raised an eyebrow as they walked, her tone laced with dry humour. “Not often someone outright asks me to break the rules.”

Chiron’s gaze remained forward, his tone deliberately casual. “Well, I couldn’t possibly tell you to take a look at the cabins and see what improvements you might offer, especially for their living conditions.”

Elysia grinned, catching his meaning immediately. “Noted.”

They soon reached the central pavilion, where the feast was in full swing. Campers were laughing, eating, and cheering, the atmosphere electric with victory. Percy, Annabeth, and Grover sat at the centre of attention, each wearing a laurel wreath. Chiron gestured for Elysia to join him at the head table. On Chiron’s other side sat a god she immediately recognised from their brief encounter on Olympus. Dionysus, the god of wine, glanced at her with an exaggerated groan, muttering something about “headaches” under his breath.

“This is Mr. D, the camp director,” Chiron said smoothly. “And this is Elysia, the one who assisted on the quest.”

“Elisa,” Mr. D said, deliberately mispronouncing her name. “Do not think I’m impressed or happy you’re here.”

Elysia merely grinned, unbothered. She detected no real malice behind his words, just a usual surly demeanour. “Good to know where we stand, Mr. D.”

After the feast, the camp gathered around a large bonfire to burn the burial shrouds prepared for the questers. Annabeth’s shroud was an intricate masterpiece of grey silk embroidered with owls, a detail that Percy couldn’t resist commenting on. Annabeth responded with a friendly punch to his arm, a rare smile softening her usual seriousness.

Percy’s shroud was a stitched sheet of sea blue lined with green waves. Across the middle, in bright red thread, were X’ed-out eyes and the word “LOSER.” It was the handiwork of the Ares cabin, no doubt a last-minute addition after Percy’s triumph. Percy watched it burn with an expression of gleeful satisfaction.

Elysia stood slightly apart from the group, her gaze drawn to the flames. The firelight danced across her features, highlighting the myriad emotions flickering in her green eyes. Relief for their safe return. Pride in Percy’s resilience. And a quiet, lingering question of what her place might be in this world of gods and demigods. She touched the edge of her cloak as if seeking reassurance, the weight of her journey thus far pressing against her mind.

That night, Elysia drifted through the camp with Hedwig soaring above, the snowy owl’s feathers catching the silver glow of the moon. The cool night air carried the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of nocturnal creatures, a quiet symphony that underscored her silent task. She moved between the cabins with purpose, her cloak brushing lightly against the ground, her wand flicking intermittently to conjure light or jot notes onto the parchment hovering nearby.

Each cabin presented its unique challenges and quirks, their worn exteriors telling stories of countless demigods who had called them home. The Athena cabin was a marvel of logic and structure, its design exuding calculated precision, while the Hermes cabin overflowed with chaotic energy, mismatched decor, and signs of overcapacity. The Apollo cabin had a warmth to it, its golden hues and open windows inviting light even in the moonlit darkness. Elysia took careful measurements, noting areas of disrepair, gaps in the protective wards, and ways to improve both functionality and comfort. Hedwig occasionally swooped low, hooting softly as if offering her approval or pointing out a detail Elysia might have missed. Enhancements like these weren’t her speciality; her skills leaned more toward temporary setups and battle-ready spells. But the idea of leaving something lasting, something that could benefit these demigods for years, drove her to push past her uncertainty.

Once her inspections were complete, Elysia returned to the small room set aside for her. The space was sparse but functional, with a sturdy desk piled high with her notes and a single candle flickering against the shadows. She spread out her sketches and scribbles, her quill scratching feverishly as she worked through ideas. Permanent enchantments required precision, a level of mastery she was determined to achieve. By the time the first streaks of dawn began to colour the sky, she had a comprehensive list of what needed to be done and letters prepared for those who could help. With a whispered command, Hedwig took flight, clutching the rolled-up letters in her talons. The owl disappeared into the early morning light, and her journey back to Britain began.

Days passed, and life at camp settled into a rhythm. The air was alive with the sounds of training, laughter, and the occasional heated argument. Elysia found herself drawn into the community, her presence less of an anomaly and more of a curiosity. She was introduced to a couple of Hecate's children, who were currently living in the Hermes cabin. The leader of the small group was a young girl named Lou Ellen Blackstone, whose mischievous smile and quick wit reminded Elysia of her younger self.

Teaching them quickly became one of her favourite parts of the day. Elysia began with the basics, crafting a modified first-year curriculum designed to give them a foundation in magical theory and practical application. The lessons started simple, focusing on theory—understanding the flow of magic, how to focus intent, and the mechanics behind spellcraft. Unlike her own experience, the children of Hecate didn’t seem to need wands as magical foci. Their power came naturally, woven into their very being, but Elysia wanted to ensure they had structure and discipline.

The summer sun filtered through the canopy of trees, dappling the clearing with patches of warm light. Elysia stood at the centre, her wand twirling between her fingers as she watched the three children before her. Each was a child of Hecate, and while they had no formal training, their raw potential was evident in the way magic seemed to hum around them.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got so far,” Elysia said, her tone encouraging but firm. “Show me what you’ve managed to teach yourselves.”

Lou Ellen stepped forward, her confidence barely masking her nervous excitement. She held her hands out, and a faint glow began to coalesce between them. With a murmured word, she shaped the energy into a small, flickering orb of light that floated just above her palms.

Elysia nodded, impressed. “That’s an excellent control for someone without formal training. What’s your main focus when you cast?”

Lou Ellen hesitated. “I just… I think about the light, how it feels, and I try to… pull it together.”

“Good instincts,” Elysia said. “But let’s refine it. Magic is a bit like weaving; the threads are already there. You just need to guide them into the pattern you want.” She stepped closer and demonstrated, her wand tracing intricate arcs that left shimmering trails in the air. A brighter orb appeared, its light steady and warm. “Try focusing on the threads rather than the end result.”

Lou Ellen’s brow furrowed in concentration as she tried again, and this time, the orb of light she produced was more stable.

“That’s it!” Elysia encouraged, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re getting it.”

Next, a younger boy named Caleb stepped forward. His hands were clenched tightly around a smooth river stone. “I… I can make it float. Sometimes,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing.

Elysia crouched to meet his gaze. “That’s a great start. Show me.”

Caleb nodded and focused on the stone. Slowly, it began to wobble, lifting a few inches off his palm before falling back.

“You’re overthinking it,” Elysia said gently. “Let the magic flow naturally. It’s already in you. Think of it like breathing—it happens without you forcing it.”

He took a deep breath and tried again. This time, the stone lifted higher and steadier, hovering in place. Caleb grinned, his excitement contagious.

“Fantastic work,” Elysia praised. “With a bit more practice, you’ll be levitating all sorts of things.”

The final student, a quiet girl named Mara, fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “I… I don’t know if I’m any good,” she mumbled.

Elysia’s expression softened. “Why don’t you show me what you feel most comfortable with? No judgment here, I promise.”

Mara hesitated before holding out her hands. A faint shimmer spread across her skin, forming a delicate shield of translucent energy. Though it flickered, it held its shape for several seconds before fading away.

“That’s a shielding charm,” Elysia said, impressed. “A tricky one for someone your age. You’ve got a natural talent for defence.”

Mara’s eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Absolutely. Let’s build on that,” Elysia said, demonstrating a simple wand motion and incantation to stabilise the shield. Mara followed along, and after a few attempts, her shield glowed brighter and steadier.

As the session continued, Elysia found herself marvelling at the children’s innate abilities. Their magic was raw and untamed, but it resonated with her own, reminding her of her early days of learning. Unlike traditional wixen magic, which often relied on wands and structured spells, the children of Hecate seemed to draw power directly from their emotions and surroundings. It was closer to the way her own magic worked, weaving instinct and willpower together.

“You’ve all got something special,” Elysia said as she walked among them, adjusting a hand placement here or a stance there. Lou Ellen’s light grew brighter, casting the clearing in a warm glow. Caleb experimented with not one, but three stones, setting them into a gentle orbit around his head. Mara, emboldened by her progress, expanded her shield until it enveloped her entirely.

Elysia couldn’t help but grin. “Look at you three. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been training for years.”

“You really think so?” Lou Ellen asked, her voice brimming with hope.

“I know so,” Elysia replied. “But remember, control is key. Power without discipline can backfire.” Her tone was serious, but her words were laced with encouragement.

They spent the next hour refining their spells. Elysia demonstrated techniques that blended wixen and Hecatean magic, showing them how to harness their surroundings more effectively. They practised pulling energy from the earth beneath their feet, the air around them, and even the light filtering through the trees.

By the end of the lesson, all three children had made noticeable progress. Lou Ellen’s light orb was steady and bright, casting intricate patterns as she moved it through the air. Caleb had graduated from levitating stones to creating small gusts of wind, delighted by the swirling leaves he sent dancing. Mara’s shield now shimmered like a glass dome, sturdy and radiant in the sunlight.

“You’ve all done incredible work today,” Elysia said, pride evident in her voice. “Keep practising, and remember—your magic is unique to you. Don’t try to make it fit anyone else’s mould. Embrace what makes it yours.”

The children beamed at her words, their confidence growing. Lou Ellen hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Thank you for teaching us. It… it means a lot.”

Elysia placed a hand on her shoulder. “It means a lot to me too. You remind me why magic is so important. Never stop exploring what you can do.”

As they packed up their things and headed back toward camp, Elysia lingered in the clearing for a moment, watching the light dance through the trees. These children had so much potential, and she felt honoured to help guide them. With a contented sigh, she turned and followed, already planning their next lesson in her mind.

Elysia introduced challenges to keep the group engaged, creating small obstacle courses where they had to use levitation and shielding spells to navigate. One memorable afternoon, Lou Ellen managed to send her quill soaring across the clearing with a triumphant laugh. “This is so much easier than trying to learn from the books!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement at finally mastering a spell under Elysia’s tutelage, earning a chuckle from her mentor.

“Magic should feel natural,” Elysia replied. “But it’s also about control. Without that, it can become dangerous.”

Their sessions often extended into animated discussions about magical theory. Lou Ellen, always the bold one, peppered Elysia with questions about advanced concepts, eager to test her boundaries. Though Elysia refrained from diving too deep into complex spells, she indulged the girl’s curiosity, often offering cryptic hints that sent Lou Ellen into hours of experimentation.

“You’ll make a fine sorceress one day,” Elysia told her after a particularly successful session. Lou Ellen beamed, her confidence growing with each passing day.

As summer began to wane, Elysia found herself reflecting on how much her young students had grown. Lou Ellen’s mischievous grin remained, but it was now accompanied by a quiet determination that hadn’t been there before. The bond they had formed felt unshakable, and Elysia couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride watching them take their first steps into a much larger world of magic.

The days slipped by, the heat of summer gradually giving way to the cooler whispers of approaching autumn. Campers grew more reflective as the season drew to a close, their days filled with final tasks, heartfelt goodbyes, and preparations for the return to the mortal world. Amid this flurry of activity, Hedwig returned, her arrival marked by a series of sharp hoots that drew Elysia’s attention. She untied the bundle of letters from the owl’s leg, setting aside the personal ones for later as her fingers found the familiar seals of Fleur and Daphne.

Elysia scanned their responses eagerly. Fleur’s letter was filled with detailed notes on the enchantments, her elegant script suggesting subtle but powerful modifications that would enhance the durability and effectiveness of Elysia’s designs. Daphne’s response, by contrast, was blunt and practical, offering precise instructions and diagrams that left no room for misinterpretation. Together, the two letters gave Elysia the confidence she needed to proceed. She laid them out side by side, cross-referencing her own notes and adjusting her plans accordingly.

As she worked, the camp buzzed with life around her. Percy stopped by occasionally, bringing updates from Chiron or simply checking in. One evening, he appeared with a plate of food in hand, placing it on her desk with a grin. “You’ve been at this for hours,” he said. “Eat before you pass out.”

Elysia smirked but accepted the gesture, her gratitude evident in the small smile she offered him. “Thanks, Percy. I’ll take a break soon.”

Taking Percy’s words to heart, Elysia set down her pen. While she might still use a quill for casting or any magical correspondence, she found the practicality of a pen unmatched for everyday writing. With a small sigh, she reached for the couple of personal letters she had received, eager to dive into the heartfelt updates from her friends.

Settling into the cosy chair by her desk, Elysia unfolded the first letter. Fleur's familiar elegant handwriting brought a smile to her lips as she began to read.

~

Dear Elysia,

Your letter was a delightful surprise, mon amie. Dora and I were both thrilled to hear you’re finding adventure in America. Though you were quite mysterious about the details, it’s clear you’re diving headfirst into something exciting—as always! I can only hope it isn’t too dangerous. You do have a penchant for trouble, non?

Victoire, of course, insists I remind you of her very important request. She has been counting down the days until she goes to Hogwarts, and the thought of her beloved godmother not being there to see her off is simply unacceptable. She’s even made a list of all the things she wants to show you—her wand, her robes, and every single book she’s convinced she’ll read in the first week. You know how she is! Please tell me you’ll be back by then.

On a more serious note, mon cher, if there is ever anything you need, do not hesitate to ask. We miss you dearly and worry about you—even though I know you can handle yourself. Dora sends her love and says, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, which, knowing you, means don’t do anything insane.”

Take care of yourself, Elysia. The world needs you in one piece.

Amour Toujours,
Fleur & Dora

~

Elysia chuckled at Fleur’s teasing and could practically hear Dora’s dry humour in the background. She made a mental note to write back soon and reassure Victoire. Setting Fleur’s letter aside, she picked up the next envelope, its parchment bearing the distinctive seal of Daphne. Unfolding it, she smiled again as the familiar voice of her friend came through the words.

~

Elysia,

So, off on an adventure in America? I can’t say I’m surprised. You always did have a way of finding excitement wherever you went. Tracey and I are dying to know what you’re up to, though you’ve conveniently left out the juiciest details. Typical.

Things here are as they always are. Tracey’s latest garden project has completely taken over our backyard, and I’m beginning to suspect she’s plotting to summon a mandrake rebellion. She denies it, of course, but the amount of enchanted fertiliser lying about is suspicious at best. Meanwhile, I’ve been working on a new project at Gringotts. If it pans out, I’ll have to tell you all about it over tea.

You know we’re here for you, whatever it is you’re doing. Don’t hesitate to call on us if you need help, magical or otherwise. And next time you write, include something more interesting than “adventure.” You know I hate suspense.

Yours,
Daphne (and Tracey, who is currently knee-deep in soil and waving in your general direction)

~

Laughing softly at the image of Tracey surrounded by enchanted fertiliser, Elysia set the letter down and reached for the last one. Andromeda’s tidy, no-nonsense handwriting greeted her, and Elysia’s expression softened as she began to read.

~

Dear Elysia,

It’s always a pleasure to hear from you, though I can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the vague nature of your letter. “Adventure,” you say? That’s hardly reassuring coming from you, my dear. Nevertheless, I trust you to keep your wits about you, even in the most unpredictable situations.

On a more local note, I wanted to share some recent work I’ve done. A single mother reached out for help recently. It was a delicate situation, but I’m happy to report things have been resolved. In fact, I’ve already helped her sell an unusual sculpture—a piece of great historical significance, you might say. (Yes, that was sarcasm.) Let’s just say the accompanying tools have been “safely disposed of.” Percy certainly seems to be making quite a name for himself, doesn’t he?

I’m sure you’ll have much to tell us when you return. And you had better return before the summer ends; Victoire will never forgive you if you’re not there to see her off to Hogwarts.

Take care, Elysia. The world is better for having you in it.

With love,
Andromeda

~

Elysia leaned back, the letters resting in her lap, and let out a deep sigh. Warmth filled her chest as she thought about the people she had left behind—each one a tether to home, grounding her no matter how far she wandered. With a small smile, she resolved to respond soon. But for now, she folded the letters neatly and placed them in her bag, their words lingering in her mind like a soft, comforting melody.

~~

The Fourth of July passed with a sky ablaze with fireworks, their dazzling colours reflecting off the shimmering surface of the lake like liquid rainbows. Camp Half-Blood buzzed with energy, laughter, and the occasional splash from campers diving into the water to cool off. Yet, beneath the revelry, a quiet solemnity lingered. The campers knew this was more than a celebration of independence; it marked a moment of hope and bittersweet farewell with the approaching end of summer.

Grover had been granted his searcher’s license that day, a rare and prestigious honor among satyrs. It was a momentous occasion, though it carried the weight of two thousand years of unanswered prayers and fruitless searches for Pan. The hope etched into Grover’s face was infectious, and as he stood before the camp, his voice cracking with emotion as he promised to do his best, the cheers of his friends and peers rose to the heavens. Elysia watched from the sidelines, her lips curving into a soft smile. The courage it took to take on a quest so steeped in failure spoke volumes about Grover’s spirit.

While the campers celebrated, Elysia remained focused on her work. The runes and enchantments she had been crafting required precise adjustments, especially given the divine energy that infused every corner of the camp. Each rune was a delicate balance of power and intention, and the wrong calibration could mean the difference between a lasting protection and a catastrophic failure. Lou Ellen had taken to shadowing her during these sessions, her enthusiasm as boundless as her curiosity.

“What happens if we align the sigils this way?” Lou Ellen asked one evening, crouched beside Elysia as they worked by magic light. Her finger traced an alternative configuration in the dirt.

Elysia glanced over and nodded approvingly. “Good instincts. That could help stabilise the energy flow… but it might draw too much from the ley lines. Let’s test it with a smaller charge first.”

Their experiments often lit up the training grounds with faint glow and cascading sparks of magic, the hum of energy weaving through the air like an unspoken melody. Despite the successes, Elysia refused to activate the enchantments fully. “We’ll wait until the cabins are empty, or at least mostly empty,” she explained to Lou Ellen, who had begun to fidget with impatience. “If something goes wrong, I want the least amount of people caught in the backlash.”

Lou Ellen nodded solemnly, though her eyes sparkled with anticipation. “When it works, it’s going to be amazing.”

Elysia smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting in quiet agreement. “It will be.”

As the final night of the summer session arrived, the air grew heavy with the mingled emotions of joy and sorrow. The campers gathered for one last meal together, their plates piled high with their favourite foods. The smell of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet desserts filled the air, mingling with the salty tang of the ocean breeze. As tradition dictated, many offered portions of their meals to the gods, their prayers rising with the smoke from the central brazier.

At the bonfire, the atmosphere shifted to one of celebration and reflection. The senior counsellors stood to distribute the end-of-summer beads. Elysia sat nearby, her gaze soft as she watched the ceremony unfold from the edge of the campfire, a quiet but steadfast presence among the demigods. When Luke stepped forward to announce the bead’s design, the crowd hushed, anticipation crackling like static in the air.

“The choice was unanimous,” Luke began, his voice steady and resonant over the crackling fire. “This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war.”

He held the bead aloft, and the crowd leaned in to see. Its surface was pitch black, a perfect void that seemed to drink in the firelight. At its centre, a sea-green trident shimmered like a beacon, its edges sharp and deliberate. The entire camp erupted in cheers, the sound echoing off the surrounding hills. Athena’s cabin gently nudged Annabeth toward the front, and she reluctantly stepped forward, her cheeks pink as the campers applauded. Percy was pushed forward next, his expression a mix of embarrassment and pride. He gave Annabeth a small, conspiratorial smile as they stood side by side, the focus of the camp’s admiration.

Elysia’s lips curved upward as she watched. For all the challenges and dangers that lay ahead, tonight was a moment to celebrate—a reminder of the strength and resilience that bound them all together.

The next morning, the camp buzzed with energy, a chaotic blend of excitement and bittersweet goodbyes. Campers hurried back and forth between cabins, their laughter mingling with the occasional shout for a lost item. The soft thud of hooves on grass signaled Chiron’s steady movements as he oversaw the flurry of activity, his presence grounding amidst the chaos.

Elysia moved quietly among the campers, offering help where it was needed. She carried a stack of folded sheets to one cabin, handed a forgotten water bottle to a teary-eyed camper, and helped tighten the straps on a well-worn backpack. Her presence was a calming force, her voice steady and reassuring as she shared words of encouragement. Each interaction was brief but meaningful, her quiet strength a balm to the nervous energy swirling around her.

As Percy passed her on his way to the arena, she caught his eye. His face was flushed from exertion, his pack slung over one shoulder. Elysia gave him a brief nod, her lips curving into a small smile. Percy returned it, his expression softening for a moment before he continued on his way. The exchange was fleeting but carried an unspoken understanding—a shared respect forged through trials neither would forget.

The morning carried on until a chill prickled at the edge of Elysia’s senses, halting her mid-step. The warmth of the sun seemed to dim as an oppressive presence crept through the air, heavy and foreboding. Her hand instinctively went to her wand, the polished wood cool against her palm. The feeling was unmistakable—darkness, ancient and malevolent, emanating from the creek.

Her voice cut through the bustling camp, sharp and urgent. “Get Chiron!” she shouted to a nearby camper. Without waiting for a response, she turned and sprinted toward the forest, her cloak billowing behind her like a shadow. The ground blurred beneath her feet as her heart pounded, dread curling in her chest with every step.

The scene she stumbled upon made her heart lurch. Percy lay sprawled on the ground, his breath laboured as a scorpion crawled up his leg, its stinger poised to strike. Towering over him was Luke, his sword—a blade dark and malevolent, as though it absorbed the light around it—held high in a menacing arc. The air around him pulsed with a sinister energy that made Elysia’s skin crawl.

“Good-bye, Percy,” Luke said, his voice cold and resolute. “There is a new Golden Age coming. You won’t be part of it.”

The blade slashed downward and vanished in a ripple of darkness. A crimson bolt of energy streaked through the space he had occupied, Elysia’s spell barely missing its mark. The malevolent presence lingered briefly before dissipating, leaving behind a tense, charged silence.

Percy swatted at the scorpion as it lunged, uncapping Riptide in a flash of celestial bronze. Before he could strike, Elysia’s wand flicked with precision, a blasting curse erupting from its tip. The scorpion exploded in a burst of yellow ichor, its remains scattering across the forest floor. Percy let out a shaky breath of relief, but his expression twisted with alarm as he glanced at his hand. A massive welt oozing yellow guck marred his palm, the venom smoking ominously where it had made contact.

“Oh gods,” Percy muttered, his voice trembling. His legs wobbled as Elysia darted to his side, her wand already moving in quick, precise motions. Healing spells flickered over the wound, their light casting a faint glow against the dark venom.

“Hold on,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered with worry. Memories surged unbidden to the forefront of her mind—her own brush with death, venom coursing through her veins, the searing pain that had nearly claimed her life at Percy’s age. The thought of him enduring that same agony twisted her stomach.

Sliding an arm around his shoulders, she heaved him upright, his weight heavy against her side. She closed her eyes for a split second, letting her magic flare and entwine with the shadows cast by the forest canopy. The world blurred and shifted as the shadows wrapped around them, their cool embrace carrying them away in an instant.

When they reappeared, it was at the threshold of the Big House. The familiar wooden porch creaked beneath their combined weight as Elysia staggered slightly, bracing herself to keep Percy upright. The sudden shift in location left her momentarily lightheaded, but she shook it off, focusing entirely on the boy slumping in her arms.

“You’re going to be fine,” she muttered, more to herself than to Percy. Her voice cracked with the weight of doubt she couldn’t shake. The venom’s grip was fast and unrelenting, and every second felt like a battle against time.

The sight of Chiron and a cluster of campers rushing toward them brought a surge of relief, but it was fleeting. Percy’s breaths were shallow, each one a strained gasp, and his body hung limp against Elysia as she tightened her grip, refusing to let him slip further. Her voice was a low, steady stream of reassurances between healing incantations, though her magic flared with a desperation that betrayed her calm facade. Every spark of her wand felt inadequate against the venom’s relentless spread, and the edges of her composure frayed with every falter in Percy’s steps.

“Stay with me, Percy,” she murmured, her tone almost pleading. The damp chill of his sweat-soaked skin against her arm sent a shiver of fear through her. The sight of his pallor, a stark contrast to his usual vibrant self, only deepened the knot of worry in her chest. The venom wasn’t just physical; it felt malevolent, as though it carried the malice of the pit itself.

Chiron’s grave expression as he reached them spurred her onward. His calm, authoritative presence helped to anchor her fraying nerves, though the unspoken urgency in his eyes made her heart race faster.

“Almost there,” she said again, her voice steely with determination, though her knees threatened to buckle under the weight of both Percy and her mounting dread. She barely noticed the other campers stepping aside to clear her path, their concerned whispers barely registering as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

By the time they reached the first aid room, Percy’s steps faltered completely. His weight slumped against her, and she barely managed to ease him down onto the nearest cot before he collapsed fully. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling in uneven, labored movements. His face, slick with sweat, was pale to the point of translucence. The acrid scent of venom lingered in the air, sharp and sinister, a cruel reminder of the scorpion’s origin and the darkness it carried.

Elysia barely glanced at Chiron as he entered the room with Lee Fletcher, one of the older Apollo campers, at his side. Her focus remained on Percy, her wand trembling slightly as she layered spell after spell to stabilise him. Her voice, though steady, carried an undercurrent of desperation. “He was stung by some sort of scorpion,” she said, her words clipped. “It felt like the pit.”

Without hesitation, she reached into her cloak and pulled out a small vial of Phoenix tear salve, the remedy that Andromeda sent her. Uncorking it, she dipped her fingers into the cool, shimmering liquid before gently applying it to Percy’s wound. The salve hissed softly as it met the venom, a golden glow pulsing outward as it worked to neutralise the poison. She watched intently as the inflammation began to ease, the dark veins retreating slightly from the affected area.

Chiron’s expression darkened, his eyes flicking briefly to Percy’s unmoving form before he nodded. “We’ll do everything we can.”

Lee moved with practised efficiency, his hands steady as he applied anti-venoms and divine salves. The faint glow of healing magic filled the room, its warmth contrasting starkly with the icy dread clawing at Elysia’s insides. Chiron’s movements were methodical yet urgent as he administered additional treatments, his years of experience evident in the precision of his actions.

Elysia hovered at Percy’s side, her free hand resting lightly on his arm, as though her presence alone could anchor him to the world. Her thoughts spiralled back to her own ordeal, the venom that had once burned through her veins like fire, the agony of feeling her life slip away. The memories were vivid, and they made the sight of Percy’s struggle almost unbearable.

“Come on, Percy,” she murmured, her voice cracking as she wiped a damp cloth across his forehead. Her free hand trembled as she brushed back his sweat-drenched hair, her touch gentle but desperate. “You’re stronger than this. You have to be.”

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, each one an eternity as Percy’s shallow breaths became the fragile lifeline they clung to. Every spell, every salve, every whispered reassurance felt like a battle against an enemy she couldn’t see but could feel pressing down on them with relentless force.

When the venom’s spread finally seemed to halt, its toxic grip loosening, Elysia’s knees nearly buckled with relief. Percy’s breathing evened out, the ragged edge to each inhale smoothing into something more steady. Though his face remained pale and drawn, the faintest hint of colour returned to his cheeks.

Elysia met Chiron’s gaze, her own exhaustion mirrored in his expression. Her voice was soft, almost tentative, as she asked, “He’ll make it, won’t he?”

Chiron placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding. “He’s strong, and he’s had the best care possible. Now, it’s up to him to fight the rest of the way.”

Elysia nodded, though the tightness in her chest didn’t ease. She stayed by Percy’s side, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on the back of his hand as though the contact alone could keep him tethered. Her voice was barely above a whisper, more to herself than anyone else, as she said, “You’ll be okay, Percy. You have to be.”

The first aid room was quieter now, the frantic energy from moments before having settled into a tense calm. Percy lay on the cot, his breathing steady but shallow, his complexion still pale. Lee Fletcher had stepped out to retrieve more supplies, leaving Elysia and Chiron alone with the soft glow of the healing wards casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Elysia sat back in a chair near Percy’s bed, exhaustion tugging at her limbs, but her mind refused to rest. Her wand rested loosely in her hand, the wood cool against her palm. She stared at the cot for a moment longer before turning to Chiron, her expression grim.

“He’s stable now,” she said softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence. Chiron nodded, his gaze lingering on Percy as though willing him to recover faster. “But there’s something else we need to talk about.”

Chiron straightened, his equine half shifting slightly as he focused on her. “What is it, Elysia?”

Her fingers tightened around her wand as she exhaled sharply. “I saw Luke. He was there, standing over Percy, with that sword of his—an evil thing if I’ve ever seen one. He said…” She hesitated, the memory of Luke’s words sending a chill down her spine. “He said there’s a new Golden Age coming, and Percy wouldn’t be part of it.”

Chiron’s face darkened, his normally serene expression giving way to one of deep concern. “A Golden Age,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “Those words… they have weight.”

Elysia leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “It wasn’t just the words, Chiron. The presence I felt—it was ancient, oppressive, like it carried the weight of millennia. And Luke…” Her voice hardened. “He didn’t just vanish. He dissolved into darkness, like he was consumed by something greater than himself.”

Chiron remained silent for a moment, his fingers tapping against the edge of the counter as his thoughts churned. Finally, he met her gaze, his tone cautious. “You think this has to do with what lies in the pit.”

Elysia nodded, her jaw tightening. “I do. And I think I know who’s in there. Kronos, isn’t it?”

Chiron flinched at the name, his reaction confirming what Elysia had already suspected. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted, his voice low and heavy with regret. “The pit… it holds him, but barely. His essence lingers, and his influence seeps through the cracks in Tartarus. He stirs every few hundred years, but this…”

“This is escalation,” Elysia finished for him, her tone sharper now. “Luke’s not acting alone. He’s a pawn in something far bigger, and that sword of his—it’s connected to whatever is fueling this. Kronos isn’t just waiting; he’s preparing.”

Chiron let out a weary sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I had hoped we’d have more time, that whatever plans are in motion would take longer to come to fruition. But if Luke is speaking of a Golden Age…”

Elysia stood abruptly, pacing the room. Her cloak swirled around her ankles as she moved, her thoughts racing. “Golden Age,” she muttered, her mind dissecting the implications. “To him, that probably means an age ruled by the Titans, a return to the old ways of chaos and cruelty.”

Chiron watched her, his expression thoughtful despite the weight of the conversation. “What do you propose we do? You have more recent experience with a threat.”

She stopped mid-stride and turned to face him, her eyes blazing with determination. “We prepare. Whatever enchantments and protections the camp has now, it won’t be enough if Kronos fully awakens. We need to strengthen everything—wards, training, intelligence gathering. And…” Her voice softened slightly. “We need to keep an eye on Percy. He’s at the centre of this, whether he likes it or not.”

Chiron nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “You’re right. I’ll consult with the others, but we must tread carefully. If word spreads too far, it could incite panic.”

Elysia returned to her chair, the fire in her eyes dimming slightly as fatigue crept back in. “Panic won’t help anyone. But neither will ignorance.” She glanced at Percy, her expression softening. “He deserves to know what he’s up against.”

Chiron’s gaze followed hers, his face a mask of quiet contemplation. “You’ve done well today, Elysia. Percy is alive because of you. Rest now; we’ll need your strength in the days ahead.”

Elysia didn’t respond immediately, her thoughts lingering on Luke’s ominous words and the looming threat of Kronos. Finally, she nodded, her hand brushing lightly against Percy’s as though grounding herself in the moment. “We’ll be ready,” she said quietly, more to herself than to Chiron. “We have to be.”

~~

Elysia spent the next day alternating between hovering near the first aid room and working on the cabin improvements with Lou Ellen. After being firmly but politely kicked out of the first aid room for pacing too much, she threw herself into her work, channelling her worry into precise runework and enchantment placement. The cabins began to gleam with subtle, shimmering wards, their magic barely visible but undeniably potent. Lou Ellen watched in awe as Elysia worked, asking occasional questions and eagerly assisting where she could. Yet, every so often, Elysia’s gaze would flicker back toward the Big House, her thoughts drifting to Percy’s recovery.

By late afternoon, Elysia returned from setting up the latest set of enchantments. As she approached the Big House, she spotted Percy standing at the edge of the porch, his shoulders slightly hunched as he spoke to Annabeth. The two friends seemed deep in conversation, their bond evident in the way they lingered, even as Annabeth prepared to leave. Elysia paused, giving them a moment of privacy, before stepping forward just as Annabeth turned to walk away.

“It’s good to see you up and about already,” Elysia said, leaning casually on the railing beside Percy. Hedwig swooped down from a nearby tree, landing gracefully between them with a soft hoot, her amber eyes watching Percy intently.

Percy turned to her, his face still pale but carrying a flicker of determination. “Still feel horrible…” he admitted, his voice low. “Thank you, I don’t…”

Elysia raised a hand to stop him, her expression warm but firm. “It’s fine. You would have found a way. You’re strong like that. Resilient.” Her gaze softened as she added, “But I’m glad I was here.”

Percy looked down at his hands, still bearing faint marks of the scorpion’s sting, and nodded. “Thanks anyway. For everything.”

“So, what’s the plan now?” Elysia asked, shifting the topic as she glanced out over the camp.

“I’m going home for the year,” Percy said resolutely, his tone firm but tinged with a hint of uncertainty. “Back to my mom.”

Elysia nodded approvingly. “That’s a good plan. She’ll be happy to have you home.” Her lips curved into a faint smile as she added, “And make sure to get in touch if you need help with anything, or even just want to talk. Your mum has a way to reach me, or you can send me an iris message.”

Percy gave her a small, grateful smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

They stood there for a moment, the air between them quiet but comfortable. Hedwig fluffed her feathers, breaking the silence with a soft trill, and Elysia chuckled lightly. “She likes you,” she said, gesturing toward the owl.

“Yeah?” Percy asked, giving Hedwig a tentative pat on the head. The owl hooted softly in approval, and Percy’s smile widened slightly.

“Yeah,” Elysia confirmed. “You’ve got a knack for earning loyalty, Percy. Don’t underestimate that.”

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting golden light across the camp, Elysia straightened and gave Percy a final nod. “Take care of yourself, alright? And remember, you’re not alone.”

Percy met her gaze, his expression more determined now. “You too.”

With that, Elysia stepped back, letting Percy linger on the porch a little longer as she turned toward the cabins. Behind her, Hedwig remained for a moment longer before spreading her wings and following, her flight graceful against the fading light.

~~

The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows across Camp Half-Blood as Elysia and Lou Ellen stood before the cabins. The air around them shimmered faintly, charged with the residual energy of the enchantments they had been weaving for weeks. Lou Ellen’s face was a mixture of excitement and apprehension, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her camp shirt. Elysia, on the other hand, radiated calm focus, her wand gripped lightly but ready.

Chiron observed from a short distance, his equine half grounded in the grass, his human arms crossed as he watched the pair work. There was a quiet pride in his eyes, though his expression remained measured. His presence added a layer of reassurance, a reminder of the trust the camp had placed in them.

“Are we ready?” Lou asked, her voice just above a whisper.

Elysia glanced at her, offering a reassuring smile. “We are. You’ve done brilliantly, Lou. Everything’s in place. Now we just need to bring it all together.”

Lou Ellen’s confidence bolstered slightly under Elysia’s encouragement. She nodded, exhaling slowly as she raised her hands. Together, they approached the central hearth of the camp. A ward stone sat prominently within the hearth, its surface etched with glowing runes and a symbol of Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home, carved deeply at its centre. The faint warmth radiating from it was both comforting and powerful, a testament to the protective energy it anchored throughout the camp.

Elysia crouched to inspect the runes one last time, tracing them lightly with her wand. The lines were perfect, the sigils harmonising seamlessly with the wards they had laid. The enhancements were designed to not only strengthen the cabins against external threats but also expand their interiors, creating spaces that could better accommodate the needs of the campers. Each cabin now featured shared sleeping quarters divided into multiple rooms with bunk beds, offering a balance of privacy and camaraderie. The Hermes cabin, with its unique role as a refuge for undetermined demigods, included additional themed rooms representing divine parents with shared attributes or affiliations, ensuring a sense of belonging for those who had found their place. Relaxation areas, common rooms, and study nooks complemented these improvements, making the cabins more welcoming and functional for every camper.

As Elysia straightened, she felt a sudden, insistent tug within her magic. Her hand drifted to the Elder Wand, hidden within her cloak. The sensation was unmistakable: her magic was urging her to use it. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking to the ward stone. The Elder Wand, with its unparalleled power, felt almost eager in her grip as she withdrew it. Its polished surface gleamed faintly in the setting sun.

“Looks good,” Elysia said, exchanging a glance with Lou, who was clutching her own rune-inscribed pendant, a focus they had crafted together for this moment. “Let’s do this.”

The two of them moved to opposite sides of the hearthstone. Elysia raised the Elder Wand, its tip tracing precise arcs through the air, while Lou Ellen extended her hands, channelling the innate magic that came so naturally to her. The circle of runes surrounding the ward stone began to glow brighter, threads of magic weaving upward in shimmering waves.

“Steady,” Elysia called out as the energy intensified. “Focus on the flow. Don’t fight it; guide it.”

Lou Ellen nodded, her face set with determination. The light around her grew steadier, her natural magic blending seamlessly with Elysia’s structured casting. The Elder Wand lent a new intensity to the spellwork, its power amplifying the enchantments in ways Elysia could feel resonating through the ground and air. The buzz of magic was almost audible now, the vibrations faint but pervasive as the enchantments activated.

From his vantage point, Chiron watched with quiet awe. The cabins began to glow, each one outlined in soft golden light. The enchantments surged through the structures, the runes etched into their walls, flaring brightly before settling into a steady hum of power. The changes were immediate. The cabins expanded subtly outward, their interiors rearranging and growing in ways that defied the limits of their physical space. Within the hearth, the ward stone glowed warmly, the symbol of Hestia radiating protective energy that spread throughout the camp.

Elysia’s voice softened as she addressed the ward stone. “Thank you, Hestia, for guarding this home and these children.” The words were barely above a whisper, but they carried a reverence that seemed to settle the surrounding energy into a calm, stable rhythm.

“It’s working,” Lou Ellen said, her voice tinged with both surprise and relief. Her gaze darted around as the golden glow began to fade, leaving the cabins gleaming with a subtle, enhanced aura.

“Of course it is,” Elysia replied with a grin, her tone teasing. “You didn’t think we’d come this far just to mess it up, did you?”

Lou laughed despite herself, the tension in her shoulders easing. Together, they channelled the final burst of energy into the ward stone, locking the enchantments in place. A faint ripple passed through the camp, the magic settling like the quiet after a storm. The very air seemed to hum with renewed strength and protection.

Elysia lowered the Elder Wand, exhaling deeply. She could feel the residual magic settling into the earth beneath her feet, tethered and strong. “And that’s that.”

Chiron trotted closer, his gaze sweeping over the cabins. “Remarkable work,” he said, his voice warm with approval. “The campers will be thrilled. You’ve both done something truly extraordinary here.”

Lou Ellen beamed, her earlier apprehension now replaced with pride. “It… it feels amazing. Like it’s alive.”

Elysia placed a hand on her shoulder. “This was a team effort,” she said. “You’ve got a gift, Lou. Don’t ever doubt that. This magic, it’s part of you.”

They stood together for a moment, admiring their work as the sun dipped lower, bathing the camp in hues of gold and amber. The cabins now stood as a testament to what collaboration and determination could achieve, their enhanced forms ready to welcome generations of demigods to come. Nearby, the hearth’s steady warmth seemed to whisper a silent promise: this place would remain a sanctuary, no matter the challenges that lay ahead.

The cabins stood tall and proud in the fading light, their enhanced forms radiating a quiet strength. Camp Half-Blood felt different now—more secure, more alive, and Elysia couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as she looked at what they’d accomplished. Lou Ellen had long since gone to join her friends, her excitement at the success of the project palpable, leaving Elysia standing alone by the central hearth.

Chiron approached, his hooves making soft thuds against the ground. He stopped a few feet away, his expression warm yet tinged with understanding. “You’re leaving,” he said, not as a question but a statement of quiet acceptance.

Elysia nodded, her gaze lingering on the symbol of Hestia carved into the wardstone. “My work here is done for now. They have what they need. It’s time for me to go back.”

“You’ve given them more than just stronger cabins,” Chiron said. “You’ve given them hope, and that’s something far more enduring.”

She turned to face him, a small smile playing on her lips. “They’ve given me a lot too. A reminder of what it means to build something lasting, to protect what matters.” Her voice softened. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Chiron.”

The centaur inclined his head. “Thank you for offering your gifts so freely. You will always have a place here, Elysia. Never forget that.”

With a final nod, she stepped away from the hearth and began making her way toward the edge of camp. The path was quiet, the usual bustle of the camp now absent, as the majority of campers had already departed for the summer. Only a handful of year-rounders remained, their subdued chatter faint in the distance. The golden glow of the wards illuminated the path, and she let her fingers brush lightly against the trees as she walked, savouring the peace of the moment.

She reached the boundary of Camp Half-Blood and turned back for one last look. The cabins, the Big House, the strawberry fields—all of it felt like a tapestry woven with magic and memories. Hedwig swooped down from the sky, landing gracefully on her shoulder, and hooted softly as if sensing the weight of the moment.

“Time to go,” Elysia murmured, reaching up to stroke Hedwig’s feathers. The owl’s amber eyes glinted in the moonlight, steady and watchful.

Taking a deep breath, Elysia stepped into the shadows, letting them gather around her. The cool darkness wrapped itself around her like a comforting cloak, and the magic surged within her, instinctual and powerful. Without a word or incantation, she became one with the shadows, slipping effortlessly into their embrace. They carried her across the vast ocean, the world around her a blur of silent darkness and faint light.

When she reappeared, she was at the doorstep of her small, secluded cabin nestled deep in the countryside. The air was crisp, carrying the fresh, earthy scent of damp soil and blooming wildflowers. The soft glow of moonlight bathed the surrounding fields, illuminating the quiet, serene landscape. The stillness was a welcome contrast to the vibrant energy of Camp Half-Blood she had just left behind.

Hedwig took off from her shoulder, her wings cutting through the cool night air as she glided gracefully toward a wooden perch near the cabin’s window. Her amber eyes reflected the starlight as she settled in, hooting softly in acknowledgement of their safe return.

Elysia stepped forward, her boots crunching lightly on the gravel path leading to the door. She paused for a moment, gazing up at the weathered wood of the cabin. It was modest, but it carried a charm that lay in its simplicity and the memories it held. The sight of it filled her with a sense of calm and belonging—a haven where she could rest and recharge before facing the challenges ahead.

She pushed open the door, the familiar creak of the hinges welcoming her like an old friend. Inside, the cabin was just as she had left it: cosy and untouched. Shelves lined with books, jars of herbs, and magical trinkets decorated the walls. A small firepit at the centre of the room still held the ashes of her last spellwork, and a faint magical hum lingered in the air, a testament to the wards she had placed long ago to safeguard her home.

Elysia shrugged off her cloak, draping it over the back of a sturdy wooden chair, and stretched, the long journey catching up with her in the quiet stillness. Moving to the hearth, she lit the fire with a flick of her wand, the flames quickly springing to life. Warmth and light filled the room, banishing the chill that had crept in during her absence.

Settling into her favourite chair near the fire, she let out a deep sigh, the tension easing from her shoulders. “Another adventure finished,” she whispered to herself, a small, contented smile tugging at her lips. The memories of Camp Half-Blood—the cabins, the laughter, and the faces of those she had left behind—lingered in her mind. Though her work there was complete, she knew her journey was far from over. But for now, in the quiet glow of the hearth, she allowed herself this moment of peace.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

VIII

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The morning sun filtered through the misty countryside, casting a golden glow over the quaint cottage that stood at the edge of a sprawling meadow. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of lavender from the garden that surrounded the house, mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly turned soil. Elysia adjusted the strap of her satchel as she approached the front door, the faint crunch of gravel underfoot heralding her arrival. Inside the bag were a couple of small gifts she’d picked up during her time in the United States, trinkets chosen with care to bring joy to her goddaughter’s bright, curious heart.

She knocked lightly on the door, her knuckles barely brushing the wood before it swung open. Nymphadora stood there, her hair a vivid shade of turquoise today, curling whimsically at the ends. Her warm smile widened at the sight of Elysia.

“Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence,” Nymphadora teased, pulling Elysia into a tight hug. “Come in, come in! She’s been asking about you all morning.”

Elysia chuckled, returning the embrace before stepping inside. The cottage’s interior was as inviting as she remembered, its cozy charm enhanced by the morning light streaming through the windows. The soft crackle of a fire in the hearth and the faint whistle of a kettle in the kitchen added to the warmth of the space. Fleur’s melodic voice drifted in from the other room, humming a French lullaby as she tidied up.

Before Elysia could respond to Nymphadora, the sound of small, eager footsteps filled the air. A blur of golden hair and laughter dashed into the room, and Victoire, now eleven and radiating excitement, flung herself at Elysia with the unrestrained enthusiasm of someone about to embark on the grand adventure of Hogwarts.

“Auntie Elysia!” Victoire exclaimed, her arms wrapping tightly around Elysia’s waist. “You’re back! Did you bring me anything?”

Elysia laughed, crouching down to meet her goddaughter’s bright blue eyes, which sparkled with anticipation. “Of course I did. I couldn’t come back without bringing something for my favorite goddaughter could I?” She reached into her satchel and pulled out the first gift: a small, intricately carved wooden owl. The detail in its feathers was exquisite, and its eyes seemed to glimmer as though alive.

Victoire’s eyes widened as she took the owl in her hands. “It’s so pretty! Does it do anything?”

Elysia grinned. “Press the base.”

Victoire did as instructed, and the owl let out a soft hoot before spreading its tiny wings and flapping them once. The little girl’s delighted squeal filled the room, and Elysia’s heart warmed at the sound.

“There’s more,” Elysia said, pulling out a second gift: a brightly colored charm bracelet with tiny charms shaped like stars, moons, and other celestial motifs. Each charm shimmered faintly, enchanted to glow softly in the dark.

Victoire’s excitement was palpable as Elysia fastened the bracelet around her wrist. She held it up to admire the way the charms caught the light, her face glowing with happiness. “Thank you, Auntie! I love them!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Elysia’s neck. “I’m going to wear it on the Hogwarts Express so everyone can see it!”

Fleur appeared in the doorway, a tea tray balanced effortlessly in her hands. Her serene smile brightened further as she took in the scene. “You spoil her, mon amie,” she said with a teasing lilt, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “She has been counting the days until your return.”

Elysia stood, brushing a hand gently over Victoire’s hair before turning to Fleur. “I’ve missed all of you. It’s been a long summer.”

Nymphadora plopped onto the couch, patting the seat beside her. “Sit down, then, and tell us everything. But first, tea. Fleur made her fancy lavender blend, just for you.”

Elysia took the offered seat, feeling the tension of the past few weeks ease as the familiar warmth of friendship and family surrounded her. Victoire climbed onto her lap, chattering excitedly about her owl and bracelet, her small hands fluttering as she described how she’d show them to her friends.

As the tea was poured, Fleur joined them, her graceful movements making even the simple act seem like a ritual. She settled into an armchair across from Elysia, her gaze warm and curious. “So, what adventures did America bring you this time?”

Elysia hesitated, a faint shadow crossing her face as she thought of the events she had left behind. But the sight of Victoire beaming up at her melted her hesitation. “It’s a long story,” she said, her tone light. “Let’s just say it was eventful.”

“Eventful?” Nymphadora repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s usually code for ‘I nearly got myself killed again.’”

Elysia laughed softly. “I’m here in one piece, aren’t I?”

“Barely, I’d wager,” Fleur said, her tone affectionate but pointed. “You’ve always been too brave for your own good, Elysia.”

Victoire tugged at Elysia’s sleeve, her voice cutting through the adults’ banter. “Did you see anything magical in America? Maybe something like what we’ll learn at Hogwarts?”

Elysia’s smile softened as she looked down at her goddaughter. “I saw a lot of magical things, Victoire. But none of them as magical as you.” She tapped the little girl’s nose, earning a giggle.

The morning drifted on with stories, laughter, and the comforting rhythm of tea cups clinking against saucers. Fleur and Nymphadora shared tips for Victoire’s upcoming Hogwarts journey, from which house might suit her best to advice on navigating the castle’s secret passages. Victoire listened intently, her bracelet jingling softly as she played with the charms. Elysia felt the weight of her recent journey ease with every moment spent in this sanctuary. For now, she let herself sink into the warmth of the cottage, cherishing the peace and the joy of being with those she loved, and silently wishing her goddaughter every success and happiness in the adventures that awaited her.

The sun had begun its descent by the time Elysia found herself seated in the dining room of the cozy cottage. The hours had flown by in laughter and conversation, much of it spent recounting her adventures in America—albeit carefully edited to exclude any mention of demigods or divine encounters. Instead, she focused on the landscapes she’d seen, the magical oddities she’d stumbled upon, and the peculiarities of American wizarding culture. Fleur and Nymphadora listened intently, their occasional teasing keeping the mood light, while Victoire hung on every word, her eyes wide with wonder.

As the light outside dimmed, Fleur announced it was time for a meal. She’d gone all out, preparing a feast that filled the cottage with rich, tantalizing aromas. The smell of roasted vegetables, buttery pastries, and a perfectly baked fish mingled in the air, inviting warmth into the gathering. Soon after, the other guests began to arrive, their presence adding a lively buzz to the evening.

Andromeda arrived first, carrying a bottle of vintage wine cradled in her arm and wearing a smile that spoke of rare, hard-won peace. As soon as she saw Elysia, her face lit up with a warmth that matched her embrace. She crossed the room in a few graceful strides and pulled Elysia into a hug, firm and filled with affection. “It’s so good to see you again,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. As they pulled apart, Andromeda placed her hands on Elysia’s shoulders, studying her intently. “You look like you’ve been through quite the adventure. I’m looking forward to hearing all about it… especially the part where you met Sally.”

Elysia chuckled, her cheeks colouring faintly. “I had a feeling you’d want to know about that.”

Andromeda smiled knowingly, the corners of her mouth lifting just enough to show her intrigue, before turning to greet the others and settling comfortably by the fire as though she’d always belonged there. She passed the wine to Fleur, who accepted it with a gracious nod and began setting up the dining area.

Daphne and Tracey arrived together next, their usual air of effortless elegance enhanced by understated confidence. Daphne’s sharp green eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and affection as she approached Elysia, offering a subtle, knowing smile that carried the weight of shared history. She brushed past with the barest touch, her presence leaving an almost imperceptible warmth in its wake. Tracey followed close behind, her rich brown hair catching the soft light as she leaned in to plant a light kiss on Elysia’s cheek, her familiar floral scent a quiet reminder of countless moments shared.

The two women exuded a kind of unshakable companionship, their bond with Elysia one of quiet understanding and years of trust. They were pillars in her life, offering grounding moments of clarity and solace. Yet, as close as they were, the casual intimacy Elysia shared with them carried a subtle distance—a gap that reminded her that, while cherished, these connections weren’t the deep romantic bond she sometimes longed for.

The door opened once more to admit Luna and Astoria, their contrasting energies blending seamlessly as they entered. Luna’s ethereal presence seemed to brighten the room as she floated in, her smile as serene as ever, while Astoria’s quiet elegance grounded them both, her arm lightly resting on Luna’s waist. They exchanged a glance filled with unspoken understanding before Luna moved toward the table, her excitement bubbling over as she began unpacking a small satchel filled with peculiar trinkets from her latest expedition.

“And this,” Luna said, holding up what looked like a twisted shell, “is a fragment of a Snargluff pod. Fascinating little things; they only bloom under moonlight in specific regions of the Caribbean.” She glanced at Astoria with a fond smile. “Astoria was so patient while I searched for them.”

Astoria’s soft features glowed with quiet pride as she gently squeezed Luna’s waist. “It was worth it to see you so thrilled with your discovery,” she said, her tone warm and understated. The two of them radiated a kind of effortless harmony that made Elysia’s heart ache just a little, though she quickly pushed the thought aside.

The table was soon set, a colorful array of dishes spread across its surface. Fleur had outdone herself, her signature attention to detail evident in every plate. A rosemary garnish adorned the roasted vegetables, and the desserts—a trio of tarts—looked like something straight out of a culinary spellbook. Everyone gathered around, filling the small dining room with the warm hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses. Fleur took her place at the head of the table, her pride in the meal evident in the satisfied smile she wore as she encouraged everyone to dig in.

Elysia found herself seated between Daphne and Tracey, their familiar presence both comforting and complicated. Daphne’s hand brushed against hers briefly as she reached for the bread, a small gesture that might have once sent a thrill through Elysia but now felt more like a gentle reminder of the connection they shared. On her other side, Tracey leaned in to comment on the richness of the soup, her tone playful and light. 

Across the table, Luna and Astoria were engaged in an animated discussion with Victoire about Hogwarts houses, the younger girl’s excitement about her upcoming journey bubbling over. Andromeda watched with quiet amusement, occasionally chiming in with anecdotes from her own school days. Each story seemed to deepen Victoire’s fascination with the world she was about to enter, her bracelet jingling softly as she gestured excitedly.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, Elysia found herself observing the scene around her. There was so much love and connection in this room, each relationship unique yet deeply meaningful. She felt a pang of longing for something similar, though she wasn’t entirely sure what that would look like for her. Her casual arrangement with Daphne and Tracey was comfortable, even enjoyable, but it didn’t fill the deeper void she sometimes felt—a void she was reluctant to admit existed.

“Elysia,” Fleur’s voice drew her attention back to the present. “You’ve barely touched your plate. Are you all right?”

Elysia blinked, realizing her fork had been hovering over her food for far too long. She managed a quick smile. “I’m fine, just lost in thought. Everything’s delicious, Fleur, as always.”

Fleur’s sharp gaze lingered for a moment before she nodded and returned to the conversation. Elysia took a bite of her food, savoring the burst of flavor as she pushed her wandering thoughts aside. For now, she resolved to focus on the present—on the warmth of the room, the laughter of her friends, and the quiet joy of being surrounded by people who cared for her, even if she sometimes felt like an outsider looking in.

The dining room grew quieter as the evening progressed, the lively chatter giving way to a more relaxed hum. Victoire stifled a yawn as she leaned against Fleur, her excitement about Hogwarts finally giving way to the weight of the long day. Fleur gently stroked her daughter’s hair, her expression soft with maternal affection.

“All right, ma chérie,” Fleur said, her voice low and soothing. “It’s time for you to get some rest. You’ll need all your energy to prepare for Hogwarts.”

Victoire groaned lightly but didn’t protest. She stood, the soft jingling of her charm bracelet filling the quiet air as she gave a round of goodnights. When she reached Elysia, she hesitated, her blue eyes wide. “You’ll still be here in the morning, won’t you?”

Elysia crouched slightly, brushing a strand of hair from Victoire’s face. “Of course. I’ll be here to see you off, I promise.”

Satisfied, Victoire gave Elysia a quick hug before heading upstairs, her small footsteps fading as she climbed. The group waited until the sound of her door clicking shut drifted down the stairs before the atmosphere in the room subtly shifted. Fleur returned from the stairs with a knowing look, and Nymphadora leaned back in her chair, her playful smirk fading into something more serious.

Daphne broke the silence by reaching into her bag and pulling out a folded sheet of paper. She placed it on the table, sliding it toward Elysia with an arched eyebrow. The glossy print was unmistakable. It was a grainy but clear photograph, seemingly clipped from a news article, showing Elysia alongside three unfamiliar figures—a dark-haired boy, a girl with striking grey eyes, and a young man with a colorful beanie. They stood outside a run-down diner, the neon lights flickering above them, with Ares’ motorcycle barely visible in the corner of the frame. Their expressions were a mix of exhaustion and determination.

“Care to explain this?” Daphne asked, her voice calm but pointed. Her green eyes locked on Elysia, the weight of her curiosity evident.

Elysia’s chest tightened as she picked up the picture. Grover’s horns were obscured by his hat, but there was no hiding Percy’s defiant stance or Annabeth’s sharp gaze. The caption beneath the photo was faint but legible: "Unidentified Woman Spotted with Notorious Bus Explosion Suspects, Later Seen at Gateway Arch Incident."

“It’s not what it looks like,” Elysia said, her voice quieter than she intended. She set the photo back on the table and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms defensively.

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what it looks like,” Tracey chimed in, her tone more curious than accusatory. “You’ve gotten yourself tangled up in something big, haven’t you?”

Luna leaned forward, her serene expression giving way to a more inquisitive one. “The boy in the middle… there’s something unmistakably oceanic about him. The way he carries himself, it’s as though the tides are part of him.”

Elysia’s stomach churned. There was no easy way to explain without opening the floodgates. She sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair. “All right. I’ll tell you what I can, but this doesn’t leave this room. Understood?”

The group nodded solemnly, the air growing heavier with anticipation.

Elysia began, her voice measured but tinged with reluctance. “That… is Percy Jackson. He’s not just any boy. He’s the son of Poseidon, yes. A demigod. The others in the photo are Annabeth Chase, a daughter of Athena, and Grover Underwood, a satyr.” She paused, gauging their reactions. Luna looked entirely unsurprised, while Daphne and Tracey exchanged skeptical but intrigued glances. Andromeda leaned forward slightly, her expression unreadable.

“Demigods?” Nymphadora repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. “Like the ones from myths?”

“Exactly like the ones from myths,” Elysia confirmed. “Except those myths are real. All of it. Gods, monsters, ancient prophecies. And I found myself in the middle of it when I… crossed paths with Percy and his friends.”

Fleur frowned, her brows knitting together. “Crossed paths how?”

The room settled into a tense quiet, the weight of anticipation thick in the air. Elysia took a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the photo still lying on the table. She reached for her glass of wine, took a long sip, and set it down carefully before leaning forward, resting her elbows on the table.

“I’ll start at the Gateway Arch,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with a weariness that hinted at the gravity of her tale. “That’s where I met them. Percy, Annabeth, and Grover were on a quest—three twelve-year-olds crossing the country to retrieve Zeus’s master bolt. I didn’t know all the details at first, but it became clear quickly that they were in way over their heads. I couldn’t just walk away.”

She paused, the memory of the encounter vivid in her mind. “At the Arch, we were ambushed by a Chimera and its handler, Echidna. Percy ended up falling into the Mississippi River after being bitten, and I… well, I barely managed to avoid being scorched alive by its flames. Percy, being the son of Poseidon, was unharmed by the water, but it was a close call for all of us. That’s when I realised just how dangerous their world truly is.”

“And you stayed with them?” Andromeda asked, her voice quiet but filled with admiration.

Elysia nodded. “I couldn’t leave them. They were brave, yes, but they were still kids. They needed someone who could watch their backs, someone who could handle the things they weren’t ready for. From there, it was one challenge after another. Ares himself sent us to retrieve his shield from a water park, which turned out to be a trap. We escaped by the skin of our teeth, but not before we realised the gods were… paying attention to us. Ares called me Morrigan. At first, I thought it was just a mocking title, but it stuck. Every god we encountered after that used it.”

The mention of the title brought a shift in the room. Her friends exchanged glances, the tension thickening with unspoken understanding. They all knew the title well. A title that carried with it as much reverence as fear.

“They called you Morrigan?” Daphne said, her voice soft but sharp. “Just like…”

“Just like here,” Elysia finished, her lips curving into a faint, humourless smile. “Apparently, my reputation precedes me everywhere I go.”

Tracey frowned, leaning forward. “I know you’ve never liked it. But to have the gods use it… how did that feel?”

Elysia hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Complicated,” she admitted. “I hate the name. I hate what it represents—the battles, the blood, the choices I’ve made. But hearing it from them was different. It felt less like a condemnation and more like… recognition. They saw me as someone who could thrive in the chaos of battle, someone who wouldn’t flinch in the face of death. They weren’t entirely wrong.”

Luna, ever thoughtful, tilted her head. “The Morrigan is a goddess of war, yes, but also of fate and prophecy. Perhaps they see you as more than just a warrior.”

“Perhaps,” Elysia murmured, but her tone suggested she wasn’t convinced.

She took a deep breath and continued. “After the water park, we finally made it to Los Angeles and the Underworld. That was… an experience.”

Her voice grew quieter as she recounted their journey into the realm of Hades. “The Underworld is unlike anything you can imagine. It’s vast and oppressive, filled with lost souls and the weight of eternity. We faced trials there that tested us in ways I’d rather not dwell on. But we found what we were looking for. The bolt wasn’t with Hades—it had been stolen and planted as part of a scheme to ignite war among the gods.”

“A scheme by who?” Nymphadora asked, her brows furrowed.

“Luke Castellan,” Elysia said, her tone darkening. “A demigod who betrayed the camp. He’d been working to bring back Kronos, the Titan of Time. The bolt was just one piece of the puzzle.”

The room fell into stunned silence. Finally, Fleur spoke, her voice tinged with disbelief. “And you survived all this? You faced gods and monsters, Titans, and betrayal, and yet you’re sitting here, alive?”

Elysia’s smile was faint but genuine. “Barely. Percy was the hero of the quest; I was just there to help where I could. We returned the bolt to Zeus, and the gods… well, they acknowledged our efforts. But even then, I could feel the tension. The war they fear is coming, and this quest was just the beginning.”

“And they called you Morrigan through it all?” Astoria asked, her expression a mix of fascination and unease.

“They did,” Elysia said, her gaze distant. “I think it was their way of reminding me that I’m part of this now. Whether I want to be or not.”

Luna’s serene smile returned, though her tone was thoughtful. “Perhaps it’s not just a name. Perhaps it’s a role you were meant to play.”

Elysia met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “Perhaps,” she murmured, before reaching for her glass. “But for now, I’ll settle for finishing this wine.”

The others laughed softly, the tension easing as they raised their glasses. But the story lingered in the air, a reminder of the unseen battles Elysia had faced—and the ones still to come.

The room fell into contemplative silence as the weight of Elysia’s revelations sank in. Finally, Luna broke it with her usual dreamy tone. “I imagine it’s quite fascinating, living in a world where myths breathe alongside us. Dangerous, too.”

Elysia nodded. “Very dangerous. But those kids… they’re brave. Brave and strong in ways most people can’t understand.”

“Sounds a bit like someone else I know,” Daphne murmured, her smile softening as she glanced at Elysia.

Elysia chuckled weakly. “I’m just glad I made it back. Luna, why don’t you tell us more about your latest expedition? I’m sure it’s a lot more interesting than my tales.”

Luna’s eyes lit up with excitement as she leaned forward, her voice soft but brimming with enthusiasm. “Oh, it was wonderful. We were in the Caribbean, and I discovered a magical coral reef that glows in brilliant colours under the moonlight. The coral reacts to magical energy, creating patterns that seem almost alive. I suspect it might be a form of communication, though I’ll need more time to study it.”

The group listened intently, the tension easing further as Luna’s dreamy voice wove through the room. Her passion was infectious. Elysia relaxed in her chair, grateful for the shift in focus, though the unspoken understanding lingered: her story was far from over, but for now, it could wait.

~~

The soft glow of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden light across the cozy guest room. Elysia stirred, reluctant to emerge from the cocoon of the thick duvet. She’d slept deeply, the kind of rest that only came when surrounded by the comforting hum of a home filled with love. The faint smell of fresh bread and tea wafted through the air, a gentle reminder that she was in Fleur and Nymphadora’s cottage.

Her peace was shattered by the sudden burst of energy that was Victoire. The door flew open, slamming against the wall with a resounding thud. “Elysia! Wake up! It’s time! Hogwarts!”

Elysia groaned, rolling onto her side and pulling the duvet over her head. “Five more minutes,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the covers.

“Five minutes?” Victoire’s voice was a mix of incredulity and amusement. “You’re worse than Mama when Mum tries to get her up early! Come on, you promised you’d see me off!”

Before Elysia could respond, the duvet was unceremoniously yanked off her, and she found herself staring up at a beaming Victoire. The girl was already dressed in her Hogwarts robes, her golden hair tied back with a ribbon, and her blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

“You’re impossible,” Elysia said with a soft chuckle, sitting up and running a hand through her messy hair. “All right, I’m up. Give me a minute to get dressed.”

Victoire clapped her hands and practically skipped out of the room, shouting, “Hurry up, or you’ll miss breakfast!”

Smiling to herself, Elysia swung her legs over the side of the bed and began getting ready. She quickly changed into a comfortable set of robes and tied her hair back, taking a moment to glance at herself in the small mirror by the dresser. The reflection staring back at her looked more rested than it had in weeks.

When she stepped into the kitchen, the scene before her made her heart warm. Fleur was bustling about, placing fresh croissants and jam on the table, while Nymphadora was helping Victoire adjust her robe, her Metamorphmagus abilities making it easy to match the girl’s energy with playful shifts in her appearance. The room was filled with the cheerful chaos of a family morning.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Nymphadora teased, her hair shifting from a soft blue to a vibrant pink as she turned to face Elysia.

“Good morning,” Elysia replied, her voice tinged with amusement. She took a seat at the table, where Victoire was already piling her plate high with croissants and fruit.

“Are you excited?” Elysia asked, pouring herself a cup of tea.

Victoire’s eyes sparkled as she leaned forward eagerly. “Excited? I’ve been waiting for this day forever! Do you think I’ll be in Hufflepuff like Mum, or maybe Ravenclaw? It’s hard to decide which one fits me more!”

“Ravenclaw would suit you,” Elysia said thoughtfully, “but you’ll do well no matter where you end up. Just remember, the Sorting Hat takes your choice into account too.”

Fleur smiled softly as she set a plate of toast on the table. “She will thrive, wherever she goes.”

The morning passed in a flurry of last-minute preparations. Victoire dashed around the house, her golden hair catching the early sunlight as she triple-checked her trunk, ensuring she hadn’t forgotten anything. Books, robes, cauldron, wand—everything was carefully packed. Fleur and Nymphadora hovered close by, fussing over her with the meticulous attention of parents seeing their child off for the first time. The air buzzed with excitement and a touch of nervous energy.

“Are you sure you’ve packed enough socks?” Fleur asked, holding up a small bundle of neatly folded garments. “You don’t want to run out during the colder months.”

“Yes, Mama!” Victoire replied with an exasperated laugh. “You already checked twice!”

Nymphadora grinned, her hair shifting from a cheerful pink to a playful blue as she chimed in, “Don’t let her fool you, Victoire. I’ve seen her sneak socks into your bag when you weren’t looking. You’ll have enough to outfit the whole Gryffindor tower.”

Elysia watched the exchange with a smile, her gaze soft as she leaned against the doorframe. She adjusted her robes and cast a small glamour charm over herself to subtly disguise her features. It wasn’t drastic, just enough to make her less recognizable while out in public. The faint shimmer of the spell blended seamlessly as she smoothed her appearance in the hallway mirror.

“Are we ready?” Fleur asked, her voice tinged with both pride and nervous anticipation.

“Ready as I’ll ever be!” Victoire chirped, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The family Apparated to King’s Cross station, choosing a discreet spot to avoid drawing attention. The platform was alive with its usual morning bustle—commuters hurrying to catch trains, vendors calling out their wares, and the occasional screech of an owl echoing faintly from an inconspicuous cage. To Victoire, it felt like stepping into another world.

Her eyes widened as they approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten. “It’s even better than I imagined!” she exclaimed, gripping her trolley tightly.

“Go ahead, darling,” Fleur said, smiling softly. “We’ll be right behind you.”

Victoire nodded, her golden hair glinting in the morning light as she pushed her trolley through the barrier with practiced ease. Fleur and Nymphadora followed closely, with Elysia trailing a few steps behind, her glamour holding steady as they emerged onto Platform 9 ¾.

The scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express gleamed in the sunlight, its whistle cutting through the chatter of the crowd. The platform was a flurry of activity, filled with families saying tearful goodbyes and students catching up with friends. Parents hugged their children tightly, owls hooted from their cages, and the steam from the train billowed into the air, creating an atmosphere alive with excitement and nostalgia.

Victoire’s excitement seemed to grow with every passing second. She spotted a group of familiar faces and waved eagerly, her cheeks flushed with joy. “Look, there’s Amelie! I’ll be right back!” she called, darting off to exchange greetings.

“Not too far, Victoire!” Fleur called after her, though her tone was more fond than admonishing.

Elysia took a moment to soak in the surroundings. The sight of the Hogwarts Express, with its timeless charm, brought a rush of memories. She could see the wide-eyed excitement of the first-years mingling with the more casual confidence of returning students, their voices blending into a symphony of youthful anticipation. It was a reminder of the magic and hope that Hogwarts represented.

As they helped load Victoire’s trunk onto the train, Nymphadora turned to her daughter with a playful smirk. “Remember to write,” she said, wagging a finger, “and no pranking the professors until at least the second week. You don’t want them to catch on too soon.”

Victoire giggled, hugging both her parents tightly. “I’ll remember. And I’ll write every week, I promise!”

When it was Elysia’s turn, she knelt down, her voice soft but steady. “You’re going to be amazing, Victoire. Trust yourself, and don’t be afraid to make new friends. Hogwarts is full of surprises, and you’re going to shine.”

Victoire’s expression turned serious for a moment as she hugged Elysia tightly. “I’ll make you proud, I promise.”

“You already do,” Elysia replied, brushing a kiss to the top of her head.

The train’s whistle sounded again, a clear signal that departure was imminent. Victoire climbed aboard, leaning out of the window to wave as the train began to pull away. Fleur and Nymphadora stood close together, their hands clasped as they waved back, pride and wistfulness etched across their faces. Elysia stood beside them, her expression a mix of joy and melancholy.

“She’ll be brilliant,” Elysia said, breaking the quiet moment.

Fleur nodded, her voice soft but certain. “Yes, she will.”

As the train disappeared into the distance, the platform’s noise began to fade, leaving behind a sense of lingering calm. The three of them lingered for a moment longer, absorbing the bittersweetness of the morning.

Before they turned to leave the platform, a voice rang out from behind them. “Well, what do we have here then?”

Elysia turned, a smirk already tugging at her lips as she recognized the voice. Standing there in her Auror robes, Susan Bones regarded her with a knowing look. Her posture was casual, but the sharp gleam in her eyes betrayed her ever-alert nature.

“Should have known a slight glamour wouldn’t have gotten past you,” Elysia said, her tone playful but tinged with genuine respect.

Susan grinned, folding her arms as she stepped closer. “You’d have to try a lot harder to slip by me, Elysia. Besides,” she added with a wink, “I was pretty sure you wouldn’t miss your goddaughter going off to Hogwarts. Neville told Hannah, who told me, about her being on the intake roll this year. He was nervous about her scary godmother popping around.”

Elysia let out a short laugh, the sound warm despite the busy platform around them. “Scary? I’ve been nothing but polite to Neville. He’s just too nice to say no to Hannah when she’s teasing him.”

“Oh, sure,” Susan said, raising an eyebrow. “Polite—when you’re not glaring daggers at people or reducing them to stammering wrecks with just a look.”

“That’s entirely unintentional,” Elysia replied, feigning innocence.

Susan rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Intentional or not, it’s effective. How’s Victoire holding up? She looked like she was taking this whole ‘first day at Hogwarts’ thing in stride.”

Elysia glanced over to where Fleur and Nymphadora were still standing, their hands clasped as they watched the train pulling away. “She’s more than ready. Confident, curious, and absolutely determined to make the most of it. She’ll be brilliant.”

Susan nodded thoughtfully. “She’s got good people looking out for her. That makes a difference.” Her tone softened as her gaze shifted back to Elysia. “And how about you? How are you holding up these days?”

Elysia hesitated for a brief moment, her smirk fading into a more subdued smile. “I’m managing. It’s… easier, with moments like this. Seeing her so happy, so excited for the future. It’s a nice change from everything we’ve dealt with.”

Susan’s expression grew more serious, her own memories of the war flashing briefly in her eyes. “You’ve done good, Elysia. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”

Elysia met her gaze, the weight of unspoken gratitude hanging between them. “You’ve done plenty yourself, Susan. I haven’t forgotten.”

The corner of Susan’s mouth lifted into a soft grin. “Well, someone had to keep you in line back then. You’re a force of nature when you get going.”

“And you were the voice of reason,” Elysia shot back with mock indignation.

“Most of the time,” Susan said with a chuckle. “Sometimes I just enjoyed watching you terrify Death Eaters into surrendering. Those were… satisfying moments.”

Elysia’s smirk returned, and the two women shared a quiet laugh. The noise of the platform seemed to recede slightly as they stood there, their bond forged in fire and sharpened by shared determination.

“Don’t be a stranger, Elysia,” Susan said finally, her voice steady but warm. “I mean it. Stop by for a drink sometime. It’d be nice to catch up.”

Elysia nodded, her gaze softening. “I’ll take you up on that. Thanks, Susan.”

“Anytime,” Susan replied, giving her a brief but firm clap on the shoulder.

“You know,” Susan added as she lingered for a moment longer, “I still remember how you’d stride into those meetings after the war, refusing to let anyone water down the sentences for those… monsters.” She tilted her head. “You made it easier for the rest of us to stand firm. I’ll always appreciate that.”

Elysia’s smirk faded, replaced by a quiet intensity. “It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. People like you, who stood with me… that’s what made the difference.”

Susan’s expression softened further. “Still, I don’t think I ever thanked you properly. You’re one of the reasons I felt like we actually accomplished something after it all.”

Elysia’s gaze dropped for a moment before she met Susan’s eyes again. “Thank you. That means more than I can say.”

With one last grin, Susan turned and disappeared into the crowd, her confident stride a reminder of the battles they had fought together. Elysia watched her go for a moment before turning back to Fleur and Nymphadora, who had been watching the exchange from a respectful distance.

“Everything all right?” Nymphadora asked as they fell into step beside Elysia.

Elysia nodded, her smile lingering. “Just an old friend reminding me why we fought so hard. It’s good to know that some things… and some people… haven’t changed.”

Fleur reached out, giving Elysia’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

The platform’s noise had quieted slightly as the crowd thinned, families dispersing now that the Hogwarts Express had left. Fleur adjusted her coat, the lingering wistfulness in her expression softening as she looked at Elysia.

“It’s time I head off,” Elysia said, her tone light but affectionate. “Thank you both for letting me stay the night. And for breakfast. It’s always… grounding to spend time with you.”

Nymphadora grinned, her hair shifting to a vibrant turquoise. “You’re always welcome, you know that. Don’t be a stranger, or I’ll have to drag you back myself.”

“We’ll hold her to that,” Fleur added with a gentle smile, her French accent softening her words. “Take care, Elysia. And give our regards to anyone you meet.”

Elysia nodded, stepping forward to pull them both into a quick hug. “Take care of yourselves too. And let me know how Victoire’s first few weeks go.”

With a final wave, Elysia Apparated away, the familiar pull of magical travel depositing her near the bustling streets of Diagon Alley. The cobblestones beneath her feet felt as familiar as an old friend, and the hum of magical activity filled the air. Her destination was clear: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the iconic joke shop that had become a cornerstone of the magical community—and a testament to the twins’ boundless creativity.

As she stepped inside the vibrant shop, a wave of nostalgia washed over her. Shelves were crammed with brightly colored products, enchanted toys whizzing through the air, and explosions of glitter and smoke punctuating the chatter of customers. The atmosphere was as lively as ever.

“Elysia! Look who’s decided to grace us with her presence!” George’s voice boomed from behind the counter. His broad grin was unmistakable, and he waved her over with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“And here I thought you’d forgotten about us,” Fred added, appearing from a nearby aisle, his arms loaded with boxes of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. His teasing tone was accompanied by a playful wink.

Elysia smirked, walking up to the counter. “As if I could forget about the two of you. I just figured I’d stop by and see if you’ve managed to blow the place up yet.”

Fred gasped in mock offense, setting down the boxes with a dramatic flourish. “Blow it up? We prefer to call it creative experimentation.”

“And business is booming,” George chimed in. “Literally, sometimes.”

“Elysia!” Alicia’s voice cut through the playful banter as she emerged from the back room, her hands dusted with glittering powder. Fred’s wife had become an integral part of the shop’s operations, her sharp mind and infectious energy a perfect match for the twins. She embraced Elysia warmly. “It’s so good to see you. How long has it been?”

“Too long,” Elysia admitted. “I’ve been… busy. But it’s good to be back. This place looks as chaotic as ever.”

“That’s the goal,” Alicia said with a laugh, stepping back to survey the shop. “It’s been a madhouse lately, but we wouldn’t have it any other way. So, what brings you here? Need a Skiving Snackbox? Or maybe a Decoy Detonator?”

“Actually, I just wanted to catch up,” Elysia said, leaning casually against the counter. “Though now that you mention it, a Decoy Detonator or two might come in handy. You never know when you’ll need a good distraction.”

“See, she gets it,” Fred said, nudging George with a grin.

The four of them fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, catching up on old times and sharing stories. Elysia recounted a few lighthearted moments from her travels, carefully omitting anything related to her recent adventures involving demigods. Fred and George regaled her with tales of their latest product tests, some of which had gone hilariously awry. Alicia filled in the gaps with her own anecdotes, painting a vivid picture of life at the shop.

“You should’ve seen it,” George said, gesturing animatedly. “We were testing the latest batch of Extendable Ears when Fred here thought it’d be funny to connect them to a Howler…”

Fred interjected, grinning. “It was brilliant! Until the Howler turned on me.”

“Serves you right,” Alicia teased, smirking at her husband. “And who had to clean up the mess? Oh, right. Me.”

Elysia laughed, shaking her head. “You’ve certainly kept things interesting. Never a dull moment with the three of you, is there?”

“Never,” Fred said, his grin widening. “So, Elysia, what’s next for you? Off to save the world again?”

Elysia’s smile softened, her gaze distant for a moment. “Something like that. But for now, I’m just enjoying the little things—like seeing old friends.”

Fred’s expression shifted, becoming more serious. He reached over to pat her shoulder. “Well, don’t be a stranger. You know you’re always welcome here.”

“Absolutely,” Alicia added. “Come back anytime. Preferably before another year passes.”

“You know me,” Elysia replied with a wry grin. “I’ll try not to make it too long.”

As she prepared to leave, George handed her a small box tied with a ribbon. “Consider it a care package. A few things that might come in handy on your… adventures. Just don’t open it near anyone too serious.”

“Thanks, George. I’ll make good use of it,” Elysia said, tucking the box into her bag.

As she stepped outside, the laughter and warmth of her visit lingered with her, a reminder of the bonds that time and distance could never break. The bustling streets of Diagon Alley welcomed her back into their fold, the world seeming just a little brighter than before. She paused for a moment, glancing back at the shop, where the sounds of cheerful chaos carried on unabated. With a smile, she turned and disappeared into the crowd, ready for whatever lay ahead.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

IX

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The autumn air hung crisp and quiet around Elysia’s secluded cottage. It had been a week or two since Victoire had gone off to Hogwarts, and though the house didn’t feel particularly different, Elysia found herself reflecting more often on the moments they’d shared. Her time was spent tending to her garden, reinforcing the wards around her property, and occasionally writing letters to Fleur and Nymphadora, recounting updates and her quiet musings about Victoire’s new adventure.

That morning, Elysia was seated in her small study, surrounded by a stack of books and parchments, the faint scent of ink mingling with the herbal tea she’d been nursing. Hedwig was perched on the windowsill, preening her feathers while keeping a watchful eye on the grounds outside. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the room. The atmosphere was calm, but there was a lingering restlessness in Elysia, a sense that peace was always fleeting.

The peace was shattered by a sudden shift in the air. Elysia felt it immediately—a cold ripple, like a breath from another realm. Her hand froze mid-sentence, quill hovering above the parchment. Hedwig’s head snapped toward the window, her feathers puffing slightly as she let out a low hoot, her sharp gaze fixed on the woods beyond the garden.

Elysia stood, her wand slipping into her hand instinctively. She moved toward the window, scanning the forest beyond her garden. The wards shimmered faintly in the light, undisturbed, yet the presence she felt was undeniable. It wasn’t often something—or someone—approached her home uninvited.

“You’re not subtle,” Elysia said, her voice steady but carrying an edge. The words hung in the air, unanswered for a moment, before the shadows near the treeline began to shift.

A figure stepped forward, emerging from the interplay of light and shadow beneath the forest canopy. She moved with an ethereal grace, her pale skin faintly luminous, as if kissed by moonlight. The dark cloak draped over her shoulders seemed alive, shifting like smoke and revealing intricate, shimmering patterns that caught the faintest glimmers of light. Her mismatched eyes—one a pale, spectral green and the other a deep black with a scarlet iris—fixed on Elysia with a piercing intensity, as though she could see into the very core of her being.

Her presence carried an aura of death and dreams, a suffocating, heavy weight that rippled through the air like a chilling tide. It was the kind of energy that could sap the resolve of even the strongest minds, unravelling their defences in moments. Yet for Elysia, the sensation wasn’t alien. She recognised it immediately—the familiar tide of death’s essence that whispered of endings and eternity, mirroring the power she felt each time she wielded the combined might of the Hallows.

Elysia’s magic responded instinctively, rising in a protective ripple that met the woman's oppressive aura head-on. The two forces collided but didn’t clash; instead, they seemed to dance in a tentative, unspoken recognition. Elysia held her ground, her presence steady and resolute, her expression calm. She regarded the woman before her with measured caution.

“You’re the witch,” the woman said, her voice smooth and lilting, as if she were tasting each word. “The one who walked into the Underworld and then left.”

Elysia’s grip on her wand tightened slightly. “I am. And you are?”

The woman stepped closer, the faint scent of night-blooming flowers trailing in her wake. Her cloak shifted, revealing intricate patterns woven into the fabric that seemed to shimmer like starlight. “Melinoë,” she said simply. “Daughter of Hades and Persephone. And you… are quite the curiosity.”

Elysia’s eyes narrowed. “Curiosity?”

Melinoë tilted her head, her mismatched eyes scanning Elysia as though searching for something unseen. “You walked through the land of the dead with no fear, no hesitation. And yet, you are not one of us. Not entirely. But death lingers around you… deeply. It’s… fascinating.”

Elysia lowered her wand slightly but didn’t put it away. “I could say the same about you. Not many deities visit unannounced.”

Melinoë’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I was curious. And I’m not often denied what I wish to know.”

Hedwig let out a sharp hoot from her perch, drawing Melinoë’s attention. The goddess’s gaze softened slightly as she regarded the owl. “She’s beautiful. Loyal.”

“She is,” Elysia said, her tone guarded. “Why are you here, Melinoë?”

The goddess’s expression darkened with intrigue. “I wanted to see you for myself—to understand why death clings to you so intimately. It’s not natural for someone to carry such a presence and yet remain untouched by it. And why...” She stepped closer, her aura brushing against the edge of Elysia’s magic, which seemed to pulse outward instinctively, meeting the goddess’s presence with a calm but unyielding resistance. “...you don’t seem affected by me. Most mortals would be quaking by now. Even gods prefer to keep their distance.”

Elysia’s jaw tightened, her expression unwavering as she met Melinoë’s mismatched gaze. “I’ve lived with death long enough to make peace with it. It doesn’t frighten me anymore.”

Melinoë studied her for a moment, then allowed a faint smile to curve her lips, one carrying a flicker of admiration. “Good. That makes you worth speaking to.”

Elysia hesitated briefly before stepping aside and gesturing toward the cottage. “Come in. But temper your aura. I’d rather not have my garden die before winter does its work.”

Melinoë chuckled softly and followed Elysia into the house. As the door closed behind them, the firelight flickered across their faces, the weight of two beings who understood death in ways few others could ever hope to.

Inside, Elysia gestured toward a chair by the hearth. Melinoë moved gracefully, her cloak billowing slightly as she took the seat. Elysia remained standing for a moment, studying her visitor before finally lowering her wand and setting it on the desk.

“So what actually made you come here?,” Elysia said, pouring another cup of tea. She set it on the table near Melinoë before sitting across from her.

Melinoë picked up the cup, her long fingers wrapping delicately around it. “You did. Stories of a mortal who entered and left unscathed don’t go unnoticed, especially by those like me.”

“I’m hardly mortal anymore,” Elysia replied, her tone even. “I think you already know that.”

Melinoë inclined her head slightly. “Yes. Mistress of Death and Morrigan, they call you. It’s rare for someone like you to exist outside the realms. And rarer still for someone to hold their ground in my presence.” She leaned forward slightly, her eyes catching the firelight. “You intrigue me, Elysia.”

Elysia met her gaze evenly. “And you, me. Though I don’t take kindly to unannounced visitors.”

“Then I’ll consider this an introduction,” Melinoë said with a faint smile. “Perhaps next time, I’ll send word ahead.”

Elysia allowed herself a small smirk, leaning back in her chair. “Next time?”

Melinoë sipped her tea, her mismatched eyes glinting with amusement. “I suspect this won’t be the last time we speak.”

The firelight flickered warmly, casting dancing shadows across the walls as Elysia and Melinoë sat in the quiet of the cottage. The weight of the conversation yet to unfold was palpable but not oppressive. Both women regarded one another, curiosity lacing their expressions—one mortal-made-immortal, the other a goddess steeped in the essence of death itself. Despite the stillness of the room, there was an undeniable energy between them, like the calm before a storm.

Melinoë broke the silence first, her voice soft but laced with intrigue. “So, Mistress of Death. Morrigan. Which title do you prefer?” Her mismatched eyes glinted in the firelight, their contrasting colours catching the flickering glow. There was an unmistakable playfulness to her tone, a teasing edge that belied her otherwise solemn demeanour.

Elysia leaned back slightly, her fingers curling around the warm porcelain of her teacup. “I’ve never been fond of titles,” she admitted. “They’re usually more trouble than they’re worth. ‘Elysia’ will do just fine.”

Melinoë’s lips curved into a faint smile, but there was a sharpness to her gaze, a hunger for understanding. “Yet you’ve earned them. Few can claim to have walked the paths you’ve tread. The Underworld. The Hallows. Death itself. I wonder, do you wield your power, or does it wield you?”

Elysia’s jaw tightened slightly, and she set her cup down carefully. “It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times. There’s a weight to it, always there, even when I’m not tapping into its power. I’ve learned to carry it… to make it my own. But it’s a fragile balance.”

Melinoë nodded, her expression briefly contemplative. “I can understand that. Death’s touch is not easily borne, even for those of us born to it. Yet you carry it with an ease that is… unusual. I felt it the moment I approached your home. It’s as if it’s woven into your very being.”

“And what of you?” Elysia countered, her gaze sharp but not unkind. “You’re a goddess of death and nightmares. Do you bear it, or does it bear you?”

A quiet laugh escaped Melinoë, and she leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “A fair question. I suppose it’s both. My essence is tied to it; I cannot separate myself from it any more than I can sever my connection to my parents. It is who I am, for better or worse. But I’ve found… comfort in it, in a way. There is beauty in endings, and there is truth in the dreams I bring. Even if they are painful.”

Elysia nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “That’s something I’ve come to understand as well. Death isn’t just an end. It’s a passage, a doorway. But people fear it because they don’t understand it.”

“Do you fear it?” Melinoë’s voice was quiet now, almost a whisper, her gaze unwavering.

Elysia’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “I used to. But not anymore. I’ve seen too much and lived through too much. Fear has no place in my life now. If death was to come for me, I would greet it like an old friend.”

The goddess studied her for a long moment before inclining her head. “An honest answer. I admire that. Most mortals, even those who claim to be unafraid, carry fear in their hearts. You’re different.”

“And you,” Elysia said, leaning forward slightly, “aren’t what I expected of a goddess. You’re… different. More human, I suppose.”

Melinoë raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing her features. “Is that so? And what did you expect?”

“Someone more… distant. Aloof. You seem more curious than commanding,” Elysia replied honestly.

“Curiosity is a form of command,” Melinoë said with a soft laugh. “The more you know, the more power you hold. And you, Elysia, are a well of curiosity. How could I not be intrigued?”

Elysia’s smirk returned. “Fair enough. Though I have to say, it’s not every day a goddess shows up at my door to ask questions.”

Melinoë’s smile widened slightly, but there was a warmth to it now. “Perhaps it should be. You have more to teach than you realise, and I suspect I have much to learn from you.”

The conversation flowed more freely after that, their mutual curiosity creating an unexpected sense of camaraderie. They spoke of the Underworld, of Melinoë’s role guiding lost souls and weaving dreams of truth and warning. Melinoë shared anecdotes of gods, mortals, and the fragile balance she maintained between justice and punishment in her realm. Her voice grew lighter as she described moments of kindness she had shown to souls who deserved second chances, contrasting with the unyielding punishment she delivered to those who didn’t.

In turn, Elysia shared glimpses of her own journey. She spoke of the Hallows, their seductive power, and the lessons she’d learned about wielding them responsibly. She recounted battles fought, friends lost, and the bittersweet reality of her immortality. The way she described it—a double-edged sword—seemed to resonate with Melinoë, whose existence, too, was shaped by contrasts.

As the night deepened, their conversation turned more introspective, peeling back layers of vulnerability and experience. Melinoë’s questions grew softer, more pointed, as though she sought to unravel the essence of what made Elysia who she was. “Tell me,” she began, her voice almost tentative, “about the lives you’ve touched. And the ones you’ve been forced to let go of.”

Elysia hesitated for a moment, her gaze dropping to the faint embers in the hearth before lifting to meet Melinoë’s mismatched eyes. “There are too many to name,” she admitted, her voice tinged with a wistfulness that spoke of centuries of memory. “Each life leaves a mark—sometimes a joy, sometimes a wound that never quite heals.” She began to share, her words weaving a tapestry of her existence: stories of her goddaughter Victoire, whose boundless curiosity and courage brought light to even her darkest days; of friends who had stood by her, loyal and steadfast, and whose losses still haunted her dreams; and of moments when the weight of her choices tipped the balance between victory and failure.

“There was a boy,” Elysia said after a pause, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. “Barely old enough to understand the war he was dragged into. I saved him once, only to see him fall later, in a battle I couldn’t stop. I sometimes wonder if saving him only prolonged his suffering.”

Melinoë’s expression was unreadable, though a flicker of something close to empathy crossed her face. “You carry these stories like talismans,” she observed. “Do you believe they define you?”

Elysia’s lips twitched into a faint smile, more rueful than amused. “I think they’re pieces of me, but not the whole. Each one shaped who I’ve become. Without them, I’d be less… grounded, I suppose.”

Melinoë nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to the fire. “Grounded, yes. That’s not a luxury I’ve had, flitting between dreams and shadows. But listening to you… it makes me wonder if I’ve forgotten something important about balance.”

Elysia leaned forward slightly, curiosity lighting her expression. “You’ve seen the Underworld in ways no mortal ever could. You’ve guided countless souls. Surely you’ve found moments of connection there?”

“Perhaps,” Melinoë said thoughtfully, her voice carrying a rare softness. “But connection is fleeting in my realm. I’ve never had what you describe—a bond that feels unshakable. My work doesn’t allow for it. Dreams are impermanent, and even the dead pass through eventually.”

“Do you ever resent it?” Melinoë asked, her tone softer now, less probing. “The immortality? The weight?”

Elysia considered the question carefully. “I did. At first, it felt like a curse. Knowing I would watch everyone I cared for grow older, while I stayed the same. But then I realised it gave me a unique purpose. To protect, to guide, to ensure the mistakes of the past aren’t repeated. It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it.”

Melinoë’s expression softened. “That’s… remarkably noble. I’m not sure I could carry such a burden with the same grace.”

“I’m not always graceful about it,” Elysia replied with a wry smile. “But I try.”

By the time the fire had burned low, their initial wariness had given way to something that felt almost like friendship. Melinoë even chuckled softly at one of Elysia’s quips about mortal bureaucracy being more nightmarish than the Underworld.

As Melinoë stood to leave, she turned back to Elysia with a glimmer of something unspoken in her mismatched eyes. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” she said quietly. “I’ll be back. There’s more I wish to understand.”

Elysia nodded, her expression thoughtful. “And I’ll be here. You’re welcome to return. Just… maybe send word ahead next time.”

Melinoë’s laughter lingered in the air even as she disappeared into the shadows, leaving Elysia alone with her thoughts and the faint echo of a connection she hadn’t expected to find.

As the fire dwindled to faint embers and the cottage grew quieter, Elysia prepared to retire for the night. She moved through the familiar rituals of closing the windows, feeding Hedwig, and extinguishing the remaining candles. Yet, even as she moved through the comforting routine, her mind was far from still.

Melinoë’s words lingered, resonating like echoes in a cavern. “Do you believe they define you?” The question seemed simple, but it was anything but. Elysia had carried countless memories, stories of lives touched and lost, battles won and lessons learned. And yet, there was one name, one life, that always came back to her when she thought of who had shaped her the most in those early years.

Sirius.

She slipped into her room, pulling the heavy curtains closed to block out the moonlight. Hedwig hooted softly from her perch as Elysia sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the small photograph on the nightstand. It was one of the few possessions she kept from her early days. The image showed Sirius grinning widely, arm thrown over a younger Elysia’s shoulder, his grey eyes twinkling with mischief. It had been taken during one of the few truly happy days before everything had fallen apart.

Lying back, Elysia let out a slow breath and closed her eyes, clutching the memory tightly. Her thoughts drifted, and before long, the past began to unspool in her mind like a thread being pulled from a tapestry.

~~

The air was heavy with late autumn chill as Elysia pulled her cloak tighter around herself, the enchanted fabric muting the sounds of her hurried steps across the Hogwarts grounds. The castle loomed behind her, its lights flickering through the foggy evening, but it felt more oppressive than comforting. Lately, Hogwarts had become less of a home and more of a battleground—not just because of the looming Triwizard Tournament, but because of the way her peers had turned on her once again.

The whispers, the glares, the accusations—they were all painfully familiar. Just like in her second year, when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, and everyone had assumed she was the heir of Slytherin. Now, they thought she had somehow cheated her way into the tournament. The constant murmurs in the corridors, the pointed looks, even the once-friendly Gryffindors seemed distant. The only ones who stood firmly behind her were the Quidditch team, their loyalty unwavering despite the tide of doubt and scorn that surrounded her. Their belief in her offered a small anchor in the storm, but it didn’t erase the pain of the broader betrayal.

Each whispered insult felt like a fresh wound she had to carry through her days, a burden that grew heavier with every passing moment. The betrayal stung sharper than any spell, a constant reminder that acceptance at Hogwarts had always been conditional.

“As if I’d want this,” she muttered bitterly under her breath, her boots crunching against the frosted grass as she slipped past Hagrid’s hut and toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Her heart pounded with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Each step away from the castle felt like shedding a layer of suffocating judgment, even if only for a while. She could almost breathe again, the oppressive weight of the castle’s stone walls lifting as she neared the forest’s edge. For now, at least, the silence of the forest seemed far kinder than the echoes of distrust and condemnation she’d left behind.

Ahead, concealed by a cluster of towering trees, stood the wizarding tent she had painstakingly prepared for Sirius. From the outside, it was deceptively modest—a simple, dull canvas structure with no indication of the refuge it held within. Elysia had spent weeks sneaking supplies from Hogsmeade, dipping into her limited funds at school and taking care to avoid suspicion. Each item she brought here felt like a small act of defiance against the unfairness of his circumstances, a quiet declaration that Sirius Black deserved more than a life spent running.

Inside, the tent was a haven. The air was infused with warmth from a magically powered stove that crackled gently in one corner. A cosy bed with thick, patchwork blankets rested against the far wall, next to a small, well-stocked pantry that Elysia had filled with everything from canned soups to Sirius’s favourite biscuits. She’d even managed to scrounge up a battered armchair that now sat near the stove, its worn fabric a testament to countless evenings spent in quiet companionship. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was safe, and it was home—a sanctuary for a man who had become her rock amidst the chaos of her life.

Elysia approached the entrance, murmuring the passphrase they’d agreed upon. The tent flap shimmered faintly before parting with a soft rustle, revealing Sirius inside. He was sprawled in the armchair, his dark hair dishevelled and his face drawn from months on the run. Yet, despite the gauntness of his features, his grey eyes lit up the moment they landed on her.

“Elysia,” he greeted, his voice rough but filled with unmistakable warmth. “You’re late.”

She rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Snape gave me detention again,” she said, setting her bag down by the stove. “Apparently, my attitude is a problem.”

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, the sound rich and familiar. “Greasy git. Always knew he’d find a way to make your life miserable. Here,” he said, leaning forward to grab a steaming mug from the side table, “this will help.”

Elysia accepted the mug gratefully, cradling it in her hands and letting the warmth seep into her fingers. The aroma of chamomile and honey wafted up, soothing and grounding her. She sank into the chair opposite him, sighing as the tension of the day began to melt away. The crackling stove filled the silence, accompanied by the occasional distant hoot of an owl outside.

For a moment, they simply sat there, sharing the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. But Sirius’s expression eventually grew serious, his grey eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his tone low but insistent. There was no room for deflection in his gaze; he knew her too well to accept anything less than the truth.

Elysia hesitated, her eyes dropping to the swirling tea in her mug. “It feels like second year all over again,” she admitted finally. “The whispers, the stares. Even some of the Gryffindors think I cheated my way into the tournament. And Dumbledore… he just keeps telling me to trust the process. Whatever that means.”

Sirius’s jaw tightened, and the knuckles of his free hand whitened as he gripped his own mug. “Dumbledore means well,” he said after a moment, though his voice was laced with frustration, “but he’s wrong about this. The tournament isn’t fair, and it’s certainly not safe. You need to be ready for anything—prepared for what they won’t teach you in class.”

Her gaze lifted to meet his, a flicker of determination igniting in her eyes. “That’s why I’m here.”

Sirius nodded, setting his mug aside and retrieving his wand. “Good. Because tonight, we’re focusing on duelling. Proper duelling,” he added, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes, “not the watered-down nonsense they’re teaching you in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Elysia set her mug aside and stood, her fingers flexing around her wand as if testing its weight anew. “What are we starting with?”

“Creative thinking,” Sirius replied, his grin both mischievous and razor-sharp. It was the grin of someone who thrived on chaos and knew how to wield it. “Rules are fine in the classroom, but when it’s your life on the line, there are no rules. You need to learn to adapt, to see opportunities in chaos, and use everything at your disposal.”

With a flick of his wand, the furniture in the tent leapt to life, sliding effortlessly to the edges of the room to create a makeshift arena. The armchair groaned as it scooted aside, and the stove’s flames flared briefly before settling, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The sudden movement made Elysia’s heart skip, her muscles tensing instinctively, but she quickly steadied herself, drawing a deep breath as her focus sharpened. The walls of the tent shimmered faintly, protective charms glowing for a moment before fading, a testament to the care they had both put into fortifying this haven.

“First lesson,” Sirius began, pacing slowly as if circling prey. “Never assume your opponent will fight fair. In fact, assume the opposite. Use your surroundings, exploit their weaknesses, and always—always—keep them guessing. Hesitation is your enemy.”

Elysia’s grip on her wand tightened, her determination solidifying like steel under heat. “Got it,” she said, her voice steady despite the flicker of anticipation coursing through her. Her pulse quickened as she prepared for what was to come, knowing Sirius wouldn’t go easy on her. She didn’t want him to.

“Good.” Sirius raised his wand, his posture shifting into a combat-ready stance. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

What followed was nothing short of a whirlwind. The tent, though modest in size, became an arena of relentless spellfire and strategic manoeuvring. Sirius didn’t hold back; his hexes and jinxes flew with startling speed and precision, forcing Elysia to react instinctively. Her wand became an extension of her will, deflecting curses with quick Shield Charms while her feet darted across the cramped space. The crackle of magic collided with the hum of protective wards, filling the air with electric tension.

Sirius was relentless, his movements fluid and unpredictable. One moment, he conjured a barrier of thick, swirling smoke to obscure her vision. The next, he sent a Stinging Hex hurtling toward her from the opposite direction. Elysia countered by conjuring a gust of wind, dispersing the smoke, only to find herself narrowly dodging a jet of purple light aimed at her feet. Her heart pounded as she fired back a series of Stunning Spells, forcing Sirius to dive behind the stove for cover.

“Not bad,” he called out, his voice tinged with amusement. “But you’re still holding back.”

Elysia gritted her teeth, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. “Holding back? You’re using dirty tricks!” she shot back, her tone exasperated but laced with a hint of humour.

“And so will your enemies,” Sirius retorted, springing back into view with a flick of his wand. A wall of fire erupted in front of her, its searing heat forcing her to step back. Without hesitation, she muttered a water-summoning charm, sending a torrent of liquid to extinguish the flames. But as the fire died down, she realised too late that Sirius had used the distraction to close the distance between them. With a sharp, non-verbal spell, her wand flew from her grasp.

“Think faster,” Sirius said, tossing her wand back with a grin that bordered on smug. “You’re quick, but you hesitate. Trust your instincts, Elysia. They’ll save you when nothing else can.”

The session continued with unrelenting intensity. The confined space of the tent became a crucible, forcing Elysia to adapt and improvise under pressure. Her movements grew more fluid, her spells sharper and more precise. She conjured barriers that absorbed blasts of magic and retaliated with jinxes that ricocheted off the tent’s protective wards. At one point, she managed to transfigure a loose cushion into a flock of darting birds that briefly disoriented Sirius, giving her the opening to cast a Stunning Spell that hit its mark.

Sirius groaned as he stirred, blinking rapidly as he pushed himself up from the floor, clearly disoriented. His laugh came moments later, rough but genuine, as he raised a hand in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! That was clever,” he said, rubbing the back of his head with a rueful grin. “Didn’t see the birds coming—or the stunner, apparently.”

By the time they stopped, Elysia was panting, her hair clinging to her damp forehead and her arms trembling from exertion. Her robes were singed in places, and a thin layer of sweat coated her skin. Yet, for all the fatigue, she felt a surge of accomplishment. Her confidence, dulled by weeks of doubt and isolation, now glowed faintly within her.

“You did well,” Sirius said as they finally collapsed into their chairs. He ruffled her hair affectionately, earning a half-hearted glare. “You’re going to make it through this tournament, Elysia. And when you do, you’ll show everyone just how strong you are.”

She managed a small smile, the warmth of his words cutting through the lingering doubts. “Thanks, Sirius. For everything.”

He leaned back, his expression softening. “Anytime, kiddo. That’s what family’s for.”

As Elysia sipped the now-cold tea, the exhaustion in her body was tempered by a rare moment of peace. Sirius’s unwavering belief in her dulled the sting of her isolation, leaving her with a renewed sense of purpose. She would fight, and she would survive—not just for herself, but for the people who believed in her.

And if that meant breaking the rules, so be it.

~~

The night was crisp, the kind that carried the sharp bite of late autumn, with fallen leaves scattering across the ground and rustling softly in the breeze. The trees bordering Elysia’s cottage were almost bare, their branches dark silhouettes against the pale light of the moon. Elysia stood outside, her breath visible in the chill air as it curled into faint wisps. She had wrapped herself in a thick cloak, the edges embroidered with protective runes that shimmered faintly when they caught the light. A small fire crackled in the stone pit nearby, its golden warmth a stark contrast to the cold that lingered in the air. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves mingled with the faint aroma of pine, while the distant hoot of an owl added to the serene isolation of the autumn night.

Elysia enjoyed these moments of solitude, where the silence felt less like an absence and more like a presence of its own. The rhythmic sound of leaves skittering across the ground in the light wind combined with the occasional creak of branches made the night feel alive. Her mind often wandered during these moments, reflecting on the many threads of her life—from her recent travels to the memories she carried of the war. Tonight, her thoughts lingered on Melinoë. The goddess’s unexpected visit had left a mark, her words and aura lingering in the corners of Elysia’s mind. It was rare to meet someone who embodied such contradictions—kindness and ferocity, mortality and divinity—in ways that felt oddly familiar.

The snap of a twig behind her pulled Elysia from her thoughts. Her posture stiffened, her wand already in her hand, its tip glowing faintly as she turned. The wards surrounding her home hadn’t stirred, which meant whatever—or whoever—was approaching was either exceptionally skilled or someone the wards didn’t deem a threat.

Out of the shadows stepped Melinoë, her mismatched eyes gleaming in the firelight. The goddess’s presence was as striking as before, her dark robes flowing like liquid shadow around her. Her pale green eye caught the light, while the scarlet iris of her other eye seemed to absorb it, giving her an otherworldly aura that was impossible to ignore. There was a faint hum in the air, like the residual echo of distant whispers, that seemed to accompany her presence. The wind picked up slightly as she stepped forward, scattering a handful of leaves around her feet, making the scene feel almost theatrical.

“You have a talent for catching people off guard,” Elysia said, lowering her wand but keeping it loosely in her grasp. Her voice was calm, though her gaze remained watchful.

“It’s one of my better qualities,” Melinoë replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Though, I admit, it’s more enjoyable when the person doesn’t immediately aim a wand at me.”

Elysia gave a small shrug, her expression softening slightly. “Old habits. Hard to break when you’ve lived my kind of life.”

Melinoë stepped closer, her robes whispering against the ground. The firelight illuminated her features, and there was a subtle playfulness in her demeanour, though it was underpinned by the same air of curiosity Elysia had noticed during their first meeting. “I wanted to see how you spend your nights,” Melinoë said, glancing around the clearing. “I half expected you to be brewing something mysterious or practising magic that would make mortals tremble.”

Elysia’s brow arched, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. “Disappointed?”

“Not at all,” Melinoë replied, stepping closer to the fire. She extended her hands slightly, as if savouring the warmth. “There’s a simplicity to this that’s refreshing. The mortal and the divine rarely find common ground, but you seem to bridge it effortlessly.”

Elysia leaned against the stone bench near the fire, studying Melinoë intently. “I’d say the same about you. Most gods I’ve read about don’t bother with visits unless they’re demanding something.”

Melinoë’s smile widened slightly, though her eyes carried a glimmer of something deeper. “Perhaps I’m not like most gods. I don’t demand—I inquire. Besides, I find you… intriguing.”

Elysia chuckled softly, though there was a note of scepticism in her voice. “Intriguing. That’s one way to put it. Most people seem to prefer ‘troublesome.’”

“Only those who fail to appreciate what they don’t understand,” Melinoë said, her tone light but resolute. “Tell me, Elysia, do you enjoy the quiet? Or does it leave too much space for your thoughts to wander?”

Elysia tilted her head, considering the question. The firelight danced in her eyes as she replied, “A bit of both. The quiet is a refuge, but it’s also where the ghosts live.”

Melinoë’s gaze sharpened slightly, her curiosity intensifying. “And do you fear your ghosts?”

“No,” Elysia said firmly, her eyes meeting Melinoë’s mismatched gaze. “I carry them. They’re a part of me, just as much as the Hallows are. Fear only gives them power they don’t deserve.”

Melinoë studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “A wise answer. It seems we share more than I first thought.”

They stood in companionable silence for a time, the fire crackling softly between them. The autumn chill felt less biting with Melinoë’s presence, though the aura of death she carried was as inescapable as the season’s fading light. Yet Elysia found herself unbothered by it, perhaps because she had walked so closely with death herself. The shared understanding between them hung in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

“Stay for a while,” Elysia offered, motioning to the bench beside her. “If you have nowhere else to be.”

Melinoë’s smile softened, and she nodded. “I think I will. There’s something about you, Elysia, that feels worth understanding.”

Elysia’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Let’s hope you don’t regret it.”

As the fire burned steadily, the two women settled into an easy rhythm of conversation, their words weaving a connection that felt both fragile and unshakable. Melinoë spoke of her travels through the Underworld and the strange dreams she often encountered, while Elysia shared stories of her time in the mortal world, both before and after she united the Hallows. Their topics ranged from the mundane to the profound, touching on magic, loss, and the delicate balance between power and humanity.

The fire crackled gently, its warm light casting flickering shadows across the clearing. Elysia leaned forward from the stone bench, carefully pouring steaming tea from a small enchanted kettle she had summoned moments earlier. The rich aroma of herbs wafted into the crisp autumn air, mingling with the scent of wood smoke and damp leaves. She handed one of the mugs to Melinoë, who accepted it with a quiet nod, her mismatched eyes briefly meeting Elysia’s before she looked into the swirling liquid as if reading its depths.

Elysia leaned back against the bench, cradling her own mug between her hands, savouring the warmth that seeped through the ceramic. The goddess sat beside her, her presence both grounded and ethereal, as if she were simultaneously part of the world and apart from it. The autumn chill still lingered in the air, but the shared warmth of the fire and the tea, coupled with the ease of their conversation, created a cocoon of comfort amidst the encroaching cold. Above them, the night sky was an inky canvas dotted with stars, the moon casting its silvery glow over the clearing.

“You said the Underworld is quieter than here,” Elysia began, her gaze shifting to Melinoë. “But is it peaceful? Or just silent?”

Melinoë tilted her head, considering the question. “It depends on how you define peace,” she replied. “For the spirits who have found rest, it’s peaceful. For the others, the ones caught in their own regrets and unfulfilled desires, it’s more… restless silence. There’s a weight to it, a kind of tension that never fully dissipates. And then there are the damned…” Her voice grew quieter, her mismatched eyes darkening slightly. “For them, there is no peace, only torment. Their screams ripple through the depths of the Underworld, unending and raw, a constant reminder of the consequences of their actions. It’s a sound that’s difficult to ignore, even for me.”

Elysia’s lips pressed into a thin line as she stared into the flames. “That sounds… relentless. Like an echo that never fades.”

“It is,” Melinoë admitted, her gaze shifting to the fire. “But it’s also a reminder of the balance that must exist. Without consequence, there is no justice. Without rest, there is no peace.”

Elysia nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s not so different from the living. Plenty of people carry their own restless silence, even if they’re surrounded by noise.”

A small smile tugged at Melinoë’s lips. “You have a way of understanding things that most mortals would prefer to ignore. That’s rare.”

Elysia chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I’ve had my share of restless silences. It teaches you to listen, even when there’s nothing to hear.”

They lapsed into a companionable silence, the crackling fire filling the space between their words. The wind rustled the trees around them, carrying with it the faint scent of wood smoke and damp leaves. Melinoë stretched her hands toward the fire, her fingers catching the flickering light, and Elysia took the moment to study her. There was a serenity to the goddess, but also a quiet intensity, as if she carried the weight of countless lifetimes within her.

“Do you ever tire of it?” Elysia asked suddenly. “Your role, I mean. Watching over the dead, guiding them, carrying their burdens?”

Melinoë’s mismatched eyes flicked to her, one pale green, the other scarlet red, glowing faintly in the firelight. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “It’s a heavy mantle. But it’s also my purpose, and I find meaning in it. There’s something… satisfying about helping souls find their place, even if it’s not the one they imagined for themselves.”

Elysia nodded, a trace of understanding in her expression. “I think I understand that. When I became Mistress of Death, it wasn’t something I wanted. It felt like a burden at first, something to resent. But over time, I’ve realised it’s also a way to bring balance, to ensure things unfold as they’re meant to.”

Melinoë’s gaze softened, and she leaned slightly closer. “That’s why I was drawn to you. There’s something about the way you walk between worlds, mortal and divine, that’s… unique. Most mortals either cling desperately to life or crave divinity without understanding its cost. You’ve found a way to balance both.”

Elysia raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at her lips. “Balance might be generous. Some days, it feels more like stumbling between the two and hoping for the best.”

Melinoë laughed softly, the sound light and melodic. “Perhaps, but you stumble with grace. And that’s more than most can say.”

They fell into conversation again, their words flowing easily as they shared stories of their respective lives. Elysia spoke of her goddaughter, Victoire, and the joy she brought, as well as the challenges in a world still mired in the aftermath of war. Melinoë listened intently, her questions thoughtful and probing, revealing a genuine curiosity about the intricacies of mortal life.

In return, Melinoë shared glimpses of her own experiences—the moments of solace she found among the spirits, the rare friendships she’d formed with other gods, and the unique beauty she saw in the Underworld. Her descriptions were vivid, painting a picture of a realm that was far more complex than the mortals’ grim tales would suggest or the brief glimpse Elysia had gotten. There was sadness, yes, but also beauty and resilience, a reflection of life itself.

“You make it sound almost inviting,” Elysia said, a hint of teasing in her tone. “If not for the whole ‘being dead’ part.”

Melinoë smiled, her expression touched with a hint of mischief. “Who says you have to wait until you’re dead? I could show you around now if you’re willing. There’s much to see, and I think you’d find it… illuminating.”

The offer took Elysia by surprise, her brow arching as she considered the goddess. “Is that something you do often? Giving mortals a guided tour of the Underworld?”

“Rarely,” Melinoë admitted, her mismatched eyes glinting with curiosity. “But you’re not exactly an ordinary mortal, are you? Besides, it’s not every day I meet someone who might appreciate the beauty amidst the shadows.”

The thought hung between them, intriguing and slightly daring. Elysia took a sip of her tea, her gaze drifting to the fire. “It’s tempting,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “Perhaps not tonight, but someday soon. I think I’d like to see the Underworld properly—through your eyes.”

Melinoë’s smile widened slightly, her mismatched eyes gleaming with something akin to satisfaction. “Then it’s a promise. When you’re ready, I’ll show you what most mortals never get the chance to see.”

As the night deepened, their conversation turned lighter, filled with shared laughter and moments of unexpected camaraderie. They found common ground in their love of animals, with Elysia recounting stories of her owl, Hedwig, and Melinoë sharing tales of the creatures she’d encountered in the Underworld. The more they talked, the more Elysia felt the tension she hadn’t realised she was holding begin to ease. There was a kinship forming between them, one that felt as natural as it was unexpected.

By the time the fire had burned low, casting the clearing in a soft, golden glow, Elysia realised she hadn’t felt this at ease with someone in a long time. Melinoë, too, seemed more relaxed, her usual aura of death tempered by the warmth of their shared connection.

“You know,” Elysia said, breaking a comfortable silence, “I didn’t think I’d ever consider a goddess a friend. But here we are.”

Melinoë’s smile was gentle, her mismatched eyes meeting Elysia’s. “Friendship is rare, even among the divine. Perhaps that makes it all the more valuable.”

The words settled between them, unspoken but understood. In the quiet of the autumn night, under the watchful gaze of the moon and stars, a bond had taken root—not one born of duty or power, but of mutual respect and understanding.

The fire had burned low, casting only faint flickers of light and long shadows around the clearing. The warmth from the flames lingered, though the night’s chill had begun to creep back in, biting gently at Elysia’s cheeks and fingertips. She sat comfortably against the stone bench, her mug of tea now empty beside her, the fading warmth a stark reminder of the hour. Above, the sky stretched wide and dark, stars shimmering in their silent vigil.

Melinoë stretched her hands once more toward the dying fire, her mismatched eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Her pale green eye caught the weak glimmers of the embers, while the scarlet iris seemed to absorb the shadows around her, making her presence both comforting and otherworldly.

“It’s rare that I linger so long in one place,” Melinoë said suddenly, her voice breaking the easy silence that had settled between them. There was a softness in her tone, almost contemplative. “But I find your company… intriguing.”

Elysia smiled, leaning forward to stir the embers with a stick. The glow flared briefly, casting more warmth and light. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, her voice light. “Though I have to admit, you’re not what I expected from a goddess of the Underworld.”

“Good,” Melinoë replied with a faint smirk. “Expectations are tedious. They limit what people can see. Besides,” she added, tilting her head playfully, “I’d argue that you’re not what I expected from the Mistress of Death.”

Elysia chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Fair point. Surprises all around, then.”

For a moment, the quiet returned, filled only by the occasional crackle of the fire and the rustle of leaves stirred by the cool breeze. Then, with an almost hesitant motion, Melinoë reached into the folds of her dark robes. She retrieved a small charm, holding it between her slender fingers as though it were something fragile. It was a polished stone of black onyx, no larger than a knut, etched with faint, swirling patterns that seemed to shift and shimmer in the firelight. Her fingers lingered on it for a moment, as though debating whether to hand it over.

When she finally extended it toward Elysia, there was a flicker of something vulnerable in her mismatched eyes, a fleeting hesitation that belied her usual composure. “Take this,” Melinoë said, her voice quieter than before. “If you ever wish to speak, to find me, or even just to call for guidance, hold it and focus your intent. It’ll let me hear you, no matter where you are.”

Elysia’s gaze flicked between Melinoë’s outstretched hand and the charm itself. She could sense the importance of the gesture, the weight of what it meant for Melinoë to offer such a thing. Slowly, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the cool stone as she took it. A faint pulse of energy traveled up her arm, like a whisper of the goddess’s power, and something unspoken passed between them.

“Thank you,” Elysia said softly, tucking the charm into the pocket of her cloak. Her tone was warm but careful, as though she understood the vulnerability the goddess had shown her. “I’ll try not to abuse the privilege.”

Melinoë’s smirk returned, though there was a subtle softness to it now, as if the vulnerability hadn’t entirely faded. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep it interesting,” she said, her voice regaining its teasing lilt.

Rising gracefully to her feet, Melinoë stepped back from the fire, the shadows seeming to gather around her as she moved. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a conversation like this,” she admitted. “You’ve given me much to think about, Elysia. I hope you’ll consider my offer to show you the Underworld soon.”

Elysia stood as well, brushing off her cloak and offering the goddess a small smile. “I will. And I’ll keep this close,” she said, patting the pocket where the charm rested. “It’s not every day you get an invitation to tour the Underworld, after all.”

Melinoë inclined her head, her mismatched eyes glinting with mischief. “Good. I’ll be waiting. And Elysia?”

“Yes?”

“Try not to let the ghosts keep you up too much tonight. They can be awfully clingy.” Her grin was almost wolfish as she took a step back into the shadows, her form dissolving into the darkness as though she had never been there. The rustle of leaves was the only sound marking her departure.

Elysia watched the spot where Melinoë had disappeared for a long moment, the faintest trace of a smile lingering on her lips. She glanced down at the fire, now reduced to glowing embers, and the charm tucked safely in her cloak.

“Clingy ghosts, huh?” she murmured to herself. “I think I’ll manage.”

With a flick of her wand, she doused the embers, letting the clearing return to the quiet embrace of the night. As she turned to head back into her cottage, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of something unfamiliar—not quite hope, but perhaps the beginning of it. The faint pulse of the charm in her pocket seemed to echo that feeling, promising possibilities she hadn’t yet considered.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

X

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The late morning sun filtered through the delicate lace curtains of Andromeda’s inviting sitting room, casting intricate patterns across the well-worn, yet lovingly cared-for furniture. The room radiated a lived-in warmth, its shelves lined with books whose spines bore the marks of frequent use and photographs that captured fleeting moments of joy. Elysia sat on the plush armchair closest to the fireplace, its cushions moulded slightly from years of use, her hands wrapped securely around a steaming cup of tea. The aroma of freshly brewed Earl Grey mingled with the faint scent of lavender that lingered in the air, and the subtle spice of the biscuits Andromeda had just set on the table added a comforting layer to the atmosphere.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its golden light flickering against the polished wood and stone. Outside, the cool breeze of autumn rustled the leaves, their occasional whispers filtering faintly through the glass panes. The warmth of the flames pushed back against the season’s chill, creating a bubble of tranquillity within the cosy room.

Andromeda settled into her own chair with a graceful ease, her dark eyes warm but sharp as they studied Elysia. The subtle lines at the corners of her eyes hinted at a life filled with both wisdom and hardship, but a genuine fondness softened her expression. “It’s been far too long since you’ve visited,” she said, her voice gentle but tinged with a knowing reproach. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about us mere mortals.”

Elysia chuckled, shaking her head, though her gaze briefly dropped to her tea. “Never. Things have just been… complicated. You know how it is.” Her tone carried a weariness that Andromeda didn’t miss.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow, her sharp gaze softened by the small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “I do. But even complications need proper tea breaks.” She gestured to the tea tray between them, its delicate porcelain cups and steaming teapot reflecting the warm glow of the fire. “Now, how are you finding the Potter and Black estates these days? It’s been years since you left me in charge of them, and I’m curious to see if my work has met your standards.”

Elysia sighed, the corners of her mouth twitching into a fleeting smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Guilt flickered across her features as she took a measured sip of tea, her fingers tightening briefly around the cup. “You’ve done far more than I could have hoped for, Andromeda. Truly. Everything’s in better shape than I left it, and I’m not sure I would have had the patience to untangle half of what you’ve managed. Grimmauld Place, though…” She trailed off, shaking her head with a rueful chuckle. “That one’s still a beast of its own.”

Andromeda’s expression softened, her maternal concern evident as she leaned forward slightly. “Grimmauld Place has always been more curse than home. It clings to its history, its shadows. But it’s yours now, and you’ve done well to face it, even if it fights you every step of the way. Sirius would’ve been proud of you, you know.” Her voice grew quieter, carrying a note of genuine admiration.

Elysia’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile, the mention of Sirius stirring both warmth and ache in her chest. “I hope so. Leaving it all behind for so long wasn’t easy, but I’m glad you were there to pick up the pieces. It’s a lot to balance, but I’m doing my best to live up to what he’d expect.” Her voice softened, a hint of vulnerability slipping through.

Andromeda reached for her own tea, pausing thoughtfully as the steam curled lazily upward. “You know, I always wondered what drew you away for so long. It wasn’t just wanderlust, was it?” Her voice was gentle, but there was a probing curiosity in her gaze that Elysia knew she wouldn’t easily evade.

“No,” Elysia admitted, setting her cup down with care. The porcelain clinked softly against the saucer. “It was… more than that. After everything that happened, I felt lost. The estates, the memories… it was like stepping into ghosts. Every corner held a shadow of someone I’d loved and lost. Travelling gave me the space to breathe again, to remember who I was outside of all that.”

Andromeda’s eyes softened, her expression tinged with understanding as she reached across the small table to place a hand over Elysia’s. The warmth of her touch was grounding, a quiet reassurance that words couldn’t fully capture. “You did what you had to. I never faulted you for it. You’ve always carried so much more than anyone should have to. But I’m glad you’re back now—even if it’s only for a while before you go gallivanting off again.” Her tone was light, but the wistfulness in her eyes betrayed a deeper longing for permanence.

Elysia laughed softly, though a trace of guilt lingered in her expression. “You’ve earned that right to tease. But, Andy, I’m not planning to stay put any time soon. There’s so much left to see, especially now that I’ve gotten a glimpse of a whole new hidden world. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t already thinking about my next trip.” Her voice carried a mixture of excitement and quiet determination, a reflection of the restless spirit that drove her.

Andromeda’s lips curved into a wry smile as she gave Elysia’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re incorrigible, you know that? Just promise me you’ll come back in one piece, and don’t you dare leave me to clean up the chaos you’ll inevitably create.” Her affectionate exasperation was clear, but so was the genuine care beneath it, her words a soft plea wrapped in humour.

Elysia laughed, a genuine warmth spreading through her chest like the crackling firelight that bathed the room. “I’m grateful, Andy. Truly. I don’t think I’ve ever said that properly… not as often as I should.” Her voice softened, a flicker of guilt and vulnerability weaving into her words.

Andromeda squeezed her hand briefly, the touch firm yet comforting, before leaning back in her chair. Her movements carried an effortless grace, honed through years of balancing strength and tenderness. “You’ve said it in your own way,” she replied with a smile that was equal parts reassurance and teasing. Her dark eyes sparkled with warmth as they lingered on Elysia’s face. “But I’ll take the words too, now and then. They’re nice to hear.”

With a small sigh, Andromeda settled back, crossing her legs and cradling her teacup as if it were a shield against the world. “Now, enough about estates and responsibilities. I’m far more interested in hearing about you. What else have you been up to? And don’t you dare skimp on the details, Elysia. You know I’ll pry them out of you anyway.” Her tone was light, but her gaze carried the undeniable weight of genuine interest, the kind that only came from deep, maternal care.

Elysia chuckled, leaning back into her seat, the tension in her shoulders easing as the warmth of the firelight flickered across her face. “All right, all right. Where do I even start?” Her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of her teacup as she hesitated, then she decided to be honest. “I’ve had… an interesting visitor lately. Melinoë.”

Andromeda’s expression shifted instantly, curiosity sharpening into a keen interest. She set her own teacup down on the table, leaning forward slightly. “Melinoë? As in the daughter of Hades and Persephone? That Melinoë?”

Elysia nodded, her gaze dropping briefly to the swirl of tea in her cup before returning to Andromeda’s sharp eyes. “She’s visited me twice now. The first time, I think it was mostly curiosity. She wanted to see the mortal who’d walked into the Underworld and then… left. Unscathed.”

“Well, you do have a knack for making impressions,” Andromeda remarked, a wry smile tugging at her lips. Her tone was light, but her eyes gleamed with intrigue. “What is she like?”

Elysia paused, turning the question over in her mind. Her voice softened as she considered her words. “She’s… different from what I expected. Intense, but it’s not overwhelming. There’s this stillness about her, a calmness that feels deliberate. But it’s not the kind of calm that’s unshakable. It feels like it’s holding something powerful beneath the surface… something that could be released if the moment called for it.” She let out a small laugh. “We’ve… gotten along surprisingly well. She’s easy to talk to, and I think we’re beginning to understand each other in a way that’s… rare.”

Andromeda’s brow furrowed slightly, her maternal concern evident in the way she tilted her head. “And you’re comfortable with her?” she asked, her voice gentle but probing. “I don’t mean to pry, but dealing with gods—even the kind ones—is never without risk. I’ve been reading everything I can about the myths, and the stories don’t exactly paint them as… predictable.”

Elysia met her gaze, offering a reassuring smile. “I’m careful, I promise. But yes, I’m comfortable with her. It’s… refreshing, in a way. Having someone who understands what it’s like to exist between worlds, neither fully belonging to one nor the other.” Her voice softened as she spoke, revealing a flicker of vulnerability she rarely let show.

Andromeda’s expression eased, though her sharp gaze didn’t entirely waver. “Well, I’ll trust your judgment. But if she’s going to be part of your life, even as a friend, it’s only proper that I meet her someday. You know how I feel about vetting the people who matter to you.”

Elysia chuckled, a genuine warmth lighting her face. “I’ll let her know. Though I’m not sure how she’d handle your interrogation skills.”

Andromeda smiled, a glint of mischief flashing in her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure I’d manage. If she can handle you, I’d say she’s up to the challenge.”

They shared a laugh, the sound blending harmoniously with the soothing crackle of the fire. The warmth of the hearth illuminated their faces, casting soft golden hues that danced against the shadows of the room. As Elysia began delving deeper into the moments that had defined her budding friendship with Melinoë, her voice took on a reflective tone. Elysia’s descriptions were vivid, painting a picture of her surprising connection with the goddess. She spoke of Melinoë’s quiet intensity, her sharp but unspoken wisdom, and the rare ease she felt in the goddess’s presence. Andromeda listened without interruption, her expression softening further as she caught glimpses of something in Elysia’s words that hinted at a deeper sense of belonging—or perhaps a kindred understanding—that even Elysia might not have fully grasped.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, the fire’s gentle crackling providing a steady rhythm to their exchange. Andromeda’s gaze held a warmth that felt like an anchor, a grounding force that encouraged Elysia to share more freely. As Elysia recounted the moments that had surprised her most, from Melinoë’s measured calm to the fierce strength she sensed beneath the surface, Andromeda’s lips quirked into a knowing smile.

“She sounds fascinating,” Andromeda remarked, her tone tinged with admiration. “I can see why you’ve found her company refreshing. It’s rare to find someone who truly understands the spaces between worlds you’ve always seemed to occupy.”

Elysia nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “She does. It’s… strange, but in a good way. I didn’t expect to connect with her like this, and yet… here we are.” Her voice trailed off, the faintest hint of vulnerability slipping through.

They continued to talk, the conversation shifting seamlessly between introspection and lighthearted moments, as if they were rediscovering a rhythm that had always been there. Andromeda’s pride in Elysia was evident in the subtle softening of her features, the way she listened so intently, her presence unwavering. The room, bathed in the soft glow of the fire, seemed to cocoon them from the outside world, making this exchange feel timeless.

The fire crackled gently, a steady backdrop to their voices. The bond shared between them, weathered by years of absence and built on mutual trust, felt stronger than ever. As the golden light flickered and shadows danced across the walls, it seemed to echo the growing connection between Elysia and Melinoë—and the unwavering support Andromeda offered, a steady anchor in an ever-changing world.

~~

The soft autumn sunlight was beginning to dip toward the horizon as Elysia left Andromeda’s cosy home, her spirits buoyed by the warmth of their conversation. The fresh, crisp air filled her lungs as she Apparated to the designated meeting spot for her long-overdue reunion with her old Quidditch teammates. She arrived at a private Quidditch pitch nestled in the countryside, shielded from prying eyes by tall trees and enchantments that shimmered faintly in the golden light.

The sounds of laughter and friendly banter reached her ears as she approached, her boots crunching softly against the grass. In the middle of the pitch, the familiar figures of her former teammates were gathered, their brooms leaned casually against their shoulders. Oliver Wood, dressed in a snug athletic jumper and casual flying trousers, was already holding forth with his trademark intensity, gesturing animatedly as he discussed game strategy with Fred and George Weasley, who wore lightweight jerseys and tracksuit bottoms, their easy grins belying the mischief in their eyes.

Angelina Johnson, wearing a fitted workout hoodie and leggings, stood next to Katie Bell, similarly dressed in an athletic long-sleeve and joggers. The two were engaged in a mock argument about the best manoeuvre for dodging a Bludger, their animated gestures reflecting their years of camaraderie on and off the pitch. Alicia Spinnet, in a sporty zip-up jacket and leggings, stood nearby with an amused expression, her hands resting on a well-worn duffel bag slung over her shoulder—no doubt filled with an assortment of healing supplies and training gear for any mishaps. The sight of them all together sent a wave of nostalgia through Elysia, and she quickened her pace, a smile spreading across her face.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Fred called out as he spotted her, his grin widening. “We were starting to think you’d chickened out, Elysia.”

“As if I’d let you lot play without me,” Elysia shot back, her tone teasing as she approached the group. “I’d hate to miss the chance to remind you who’s the best flyer here.”

“Big talk for someone who hasn’t been on a broom in ages,” Angelina quipped, her eyes sparkling with affection as she pulled Elysia into a warm hug. "And don’t expect George and me to go easy on you just because you’re out of practice.”

“We’ll see if you can still back it up,” Katie added with a grin, clapping Elysia on the shoulder. “Don’t think we’ll go easy on you just because it’s been a while.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Elysia replied, her voice light but carrying an undertone of genuine excitement. She turned to Oliver, who was watching her with a small smile, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You ready to prove you’ve still got it?” Oliver asked, his tone half-serious, though his eyes glinted with good humour.

“Always,” Elysia said confidently, reaching out to shake his hand before turning to the Weasley twins. “And you two better not have any tricks up your sleeves for this.”

“Who, us?” George asked, feigning innocence as Fred clutched his chest in mock offence. “We’re just here to play a clean, friendly game.”

“Sure you are,” Alicia interjected dryly, her knowing smirk aimed equally at Fred, who exchanged a conspiratorial wink with her. "And if either of you end up injured, don’t expect me to be too sympathetic. I’ve got enough supplies to patch up whatever you manage to pull, so don’t think I’m not ready.”

The group laughed, the camaraderie and ease of their shared history evident in every exchange. As they began to mount their brooms, the familiar thrill of anticipation coursed through Elysia. The air seemed to hum with the promise of friendly competition, the scent of grass and distant wood smoke mingling in the cool breeze.

The cool autumn air buzzed with excitement as Elysia and her old teammates divided themselves into two teams for their impromptu Quidditch match. The private pitch was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the trimmed grass. The sky overhead was a perfect canvas of orange and lavender, promising a crisp evening ahead. The breeze rustled the last of the autumn leaves clinging to the nearby trees, carrying with it the distant scent of wood smoke from nearby cottages. The distant chirping of birds blended with the occasional crack of twigs beneath wandering woodland creatures, grounding the moment in the quiet beauty of the season.

Oliver stood proudly in front of the lone set of hoops, his arms crossed as he surveyed the two teams forming in front of him. His expression was a mixture of challenge and amusement. He adjusted the grip on his broom, Puddlemere United colours faintly visible beneath his casual hoodie. His sharp eyes gleamed with competitive fire, and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“All right,” Oliver called out, his voice carrying across the pitch with authority. “Teams of three. I’ll keep the goals. Let’s see if any of you can get past me.”

Fred, dressed in a fitted long-sleeve shirt and track pants, twirled his bat lazily in one hand, grinning. “Guess that means you’re playing for both sides, eh? Double the pressure, Wood.”

Oliver smirked, gripping his broom tighter. “Double the satisfaction when I block every shot.”

The teams quickly organised themselves. On one side, Elysia teamed up with Angelina and Fred, with Fred taking up the role of Beater. On the opposing side, George filled the Beater position alongside Katie and Alicia. The Weasley twins smirked at each other, the familiar spark of sibling rivalry igniting as they prepared to face off on opposite sides. Fred swung his bat over his shoulder with a cocky grin.

“Let’s make this interesting,” Fred said, glancing at his twin. “Losers buy drinks after.”

“You’re on,” George shot back, mounting his broom with ease, the glint of determination in his eyes matching Fred's.

With a blast of Oliver’s whistle, the Quaffle shot into the air, and the game was on.

Angelina and Elysia wasted no time, soaring upward with practiced ease. Angelina scooped up the Quaffle first, dodging Alicia’s quick attempt to intercept. She passed it to Elysia, who tucked it close and dove low, weaving through the air like a dart.

George was quick to respond, swinging wide to block Elysia’s path. Katie flanked him, eyes sharp and focused, ready to intercept any pass. Elysia feinted left before sending the Quaffle back to Angelina, who shot forward like a comet.

Fred, meanwhile, patrolled the air with his bat in hand, keeping a watchful eye for Bludgers and his twin. He launched one with a calculated swing toward George, forcing him to bank hard to avoid it.

George retaliated almost instantly, sending a Bludger rocketing back toward Fred with a forceful swing. The ball whistled past Fred’s ear, causing him to let out a startled laugh. "Close, Georgie! But not close enough!" Fred called out.

The air was filled with the crack of bats and the whoosh of brooms as Fred and George exchanged relentless blows, each trying to outmatch the other. Elysia darted between the chaos, narrowly dodging a rogue Bludger that whizzed past her shoulder. Her heart pounded with adrenaline, but a wide grin spread across her face.

“Nice try, Freddie!” George called out, but his grin faltered when Angelina faked a shot and passed to Elysia. Elysia aimed low at the right hoop, forcing Oliver to dive—only to redirect her shot at the centre hoop at the last second.

“And that’s how it’s done!” Elysia cheered as the Quaffle sailed cleanly through the middle hoop.

Oliver groaned but grinned. “Lucky shot!”

Not to be outdone, Alicia snapped up the Quaffle on the restart and bolted forward, Katie flying beside her. Alicia passed it to Katie, who expertly feinted a throw before launching it toward the right hoop. Oliver caught it with ease, tossing it back into play.

Fred and George exchanged a competitive glance, their rivalry heating up. Fred shot toward the Bludger, sending it flying toward Alicia, but George quickly intercepted, knocking it away mid-air with a loud crack. Alicia ducked smoothly, laughing, as George smirked at his twin.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Freddie!” George taunted, circling Fred with a glint of challenge in his eyes.

The game intensified, both teams pushing harder. Angelina and Elysia executed seamless passes, weaving through George and Katie’s defenses. Fred kept the pressure on with well-placed Bludgers. On the other side, Alicia and Katie moved with practiced coordination, George expertly defending and counterattacking.

Elysia pulled off a daring mid-air barrel roll to dodge George’s sudden intercept, causing the others to cheer and groan in equal measure. Fred hooted in delight, sending a Bludger spiralling toward Katie, forcing her to drop lower in altitude.

The sky darkened to a deeper hue, stars beginning to peek through as their laughter and cheers echoed across the pitch. Sweat and exhilaration mingled as both teams gave their all, the friendly competition fueling their energy.

Finally, after an intense back-and-forth, George managed a perfect steal from Angelina, passing to Katie, who launched a flawless shot past Oliver’s outstretched hands.

“Ha! Drinks are on you!” George crowed, pumping his fist in the air.

Fred groaned dramatically. “Guess we’re buying then. But only the first round!”

The teams slowly descended, their faces flushed with effort and laughter. Brooms clattered to the ground as they collapsed onto the grass, breaths heavy but spirits high.

“Merlin, I needed that,” Elysia said between gasps, stretching out her legs.

Oliver chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow. “Same here. Still got it, all of you.”

Angelina leaned back on her hands, glancing at the sky now glittering with stars. “Next time, we need proper teams. Full game.”

George grinned. “Oh, it’s on.”

As laughter filled the cool night air, the bonds of friendship forged long ago on the Quidditch pitch felt stronger than ever. As the stars began to emerge, their conversation drifted into reminiscing about their school days, the triumphs and pranks that had defined their time as teammates and friends.

~~

The narrow, winding alleys of Knockturn Alley were shrouded in a perpetual gloom, the fading autumn light barely piercing the thick canopy of charmed awnings and crooked buildings. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp stone, old parchment, and the faint, acrid burn of strange brews bubbling behind shuttered windows. Shadows clung to every corner, deeper and darker than usual, as if the alley itself was holding its breath.

Elysia drifted through the winding street, her black cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders, the hood casting deep shadows over her face. Her steps were slow, deliberate, yet silent, her presence barely noticeable to the scattered witches and wizards who lingered in doorways or shuffled past with wary eyes. The hem of her cloak barely whispered against the uneven cobblestones, and in the dim light, she seemed to blend into the darkness itself, becoming more shadow than substance.

But eyes watched her. Knockturn Alley was a place where secrets were currency and fear was a language. The closer Samhain drew, the thicker the air felt with anticipation—and dread. Whispers echoed in the shadows, soft voices carrying rumours of things best left unsaid. Elysia could feel it, an almost electric charge beneath her skin, as though the alley itself pulsed in time with some ancient, slumbering magic. Her magic stirred in response, sensing the thinness of the veil between worlds, tasting the distant scent of old blood and older promises.

She passed shop windows filled with cursed trinkets and bottled poisons, the glass fogged and smudged. Tomes bound in cracked leather and stitched flesh sat behind thick iron grates, their titles shifting and squirming when looked at directly. A blood-red gemstone glinted in the gloom, pulsing faintly in rhythm with her own heartbeat. Elysia slowed for a moment, narrowing her eyes at the display, feeling the subtle pull of dark enchantments curling toward her like smoke. It recognised her—or what she had become.

Further down the alley, a faint scraping sound caught her attention. An old hag hunched by a doorway muttered under her breath, grinding some unidentifiable root with her knobby fingers. A ragged figure in tattered robes leaned against a crumbling wall, his eyes pale and wide as he traced runes into the dirt with a broken wand. Elysia caught the glint of recognition in his gaze before he hastily looked away, disappearing into the shadows.

“Mistress of Death,” a voice rasped from the shadows, barely more than a breath. She didn’t turn, didn’t break her stride. The words clung to her like cobwebs, unwelcome but unsurprising. The alley remembered her. It always would.

The magic of the place seemed to hum louder as she moved, old wards and curses shivering against her presence. It was not fear that kept the alley’s inhabitants from her path—it was reverence, laced with wariness. She was something not fully mortal anymore, and Knockturn Alley knew to respect power when it slithered by.

She moved purposefully toward a small, nearly hidden doorway wedged between two crooked buildings. The iron sign above it swung faintly, its faded letters barely legible: Morwyn's Curiosities & Antiquities . The heavy door creaked as she pushed it open, the musty scent of aged parchment and dried herbs flooding her senses.

Inside, the shop was a labyrinth of shelves, cluttered with ancient relics, rusted weapons, and jars of preserved oddities. Shadows flickered in the dim light cast by a low-burning fire in the hearth. The walls seemed to press in with the weight of forgotten stories, and faint whispers echoed in the corners where light could not reach.

Behind the cluttered counter, Morwyn herself emerged—an ancient witch with skin like parchment and eyes as sharp as splinters. Her gaze, cold and knowing, fixed on Elysia with unsettling calm.

“Elysia Potter,” Morwyn rasped, her voice dry as old paper. “Or should I say, Morrigan now?”

Elysia lowered her hood slowly, letting the dim light catch the sharp glint in her eyes. “Names are just names. I’m here for information, not flattery.”

Morwyn chuckled, the sound like brittle leaves crumbling underfoot. “Then you’re in the right place. The alley’s been humming lately—the old magics stirring, bones rattling in their graves. Samhain draws near, and some fools think they can open doors best left closed.”

Elysia leaned forward, her voice low and precise. “What doors?”

Morwyn’s gaze sharpened, flicking to the dark corners of her shop as if wary of unseen ears. “There are whispers of rituals, blood rites, to call on forgotten things—old gods and darker forces. They say a relic was uncovered—something that breathes beneath the dust.”

Elysia’s expression didn’t shift, but her pulse quickened. “Where?”

The old witch hesitated before pointing a crooked finger toward the far end of the alley. “The cellar beneath Borgin and Burkes. Someone’s been poking around in places that should be sealed. You’d best tread carefully, girl. Not all shadows bow to you.”

Elysia straightened, her cloak falling back into place. “They should know better than to try.”

Without another word, she turned and slipped back into the suffocating dark of Knockturn Alley. The distant tolling of a bell marked the hour, and the weight of ancient secrets pressed in around her. The path ahead felt colder, heavier—but Elysia walked on, her steps steady, her purpose clear. Somewhere in the shadows, the old magics stirred, waiting for the veil to thin.

Elysia stalked through the narrow, winding paths of Knockturn Alley, her steps echoing softly off the uneven cobblestones. The rising moon cast a pale silver glow over the crooked rooftops, illuminating the fog that clung low to the ground. Shadows stretched long and thin, reaching for her like skeletal hands, but she paid them no mind. Her hood was drawn tightly around her head, obscuring her face in deep shadow. The dark folds of her cloak shifted with her movements, blending seamlessly with the gloom around her.

The few souls who still lingered on the alley's twisted paths stole brief glances at her before quickly averting their eyes. Conversations dropped into murmurs, and figures slipped silently into doorways or vanished into side streets. No one wanted to draw the attention of the figure moving with such deliberate purpose. Even in a place as steeped in darkness as Knockturn Alley, there were still things—and people—best left undisturbed.

Ahead, the ominous storefront of Borgin and Burkes loomed from the shadows. Its blackened windows, streaked with grime, seemed to absorb rather than reflect the moonlight. Behind the glass, strange and sinister artifacts sat in oppressive stillness—cursed objects, dark relics, and remnants of forgotten magics. Yet tonight, nothing seemed overtly threatening. The store appeared quiet, still—ordinary, even. But Elysia's magic stirred uneasily, sensing something beneath the surface. There was no visible sign of danger, no flickering lights or ominous shadows. And yet, she felt the pull—a subtle, insistent tug at the edges of her consciousness, guiding her forward.

The wooden sign above the door creaked faintly on rusted chains, the faded letters barely visible: Borgin and Burkes . The door was slightly ajar, as though inviting her in. Elysia paused just beyond the threshold, studying the shopfront. There was no light seeping from within, no sign of movement—only a cold stillness that seemed to beckon.

Her hand tightened around her wand, though she sensed no immediate threat. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and let the ancient magic woven into her cloak stir. The enchantments responded instantly to her will, the fabric shimmering faintly before dissolving her figure into the surrounding shadows. In an instant, she was gone from sight, blending seamlessly with the darkness around her.

Invisible now, Elysia allowed herself to move closer, every sense sharpened. The feeling remained—that quiet hum in the air, like a distant echo of something ancient awakening. Her magic responded to it instinctively, the sensation coiling low in her gut, urging her to move forward.

With a slow, measured breath, she reached for the door. It creaked softly on its hinges, the sound oddly muted in the stillness. Inside, the shop was exactly as it should be—dusty shelves lined with strange trinkets, rows of ancient tomes, and dark artifacts gathering cobwebs. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and stale parchment, mingling with something more elusive—a faint trace of lingering magic.

Elysia stepped inside, letting the door shut quietly behind her. She moved carefully, each step ghostlike, the Invisibility Cloak ensuring that not even a shadow betrayed her. Her sharp eyes scanned the familiar clutter. Nothing seemed out of place. No signs of recent movement. No watchful eyes from behind the counter. The shop was empty.

And yet, the pull of magic grew stronger.

Her gaze was drawn to the far corner of the shop, where a narrow staircase descended into the cellar. The air there was noticeably colder, and the shadows felt heavier, denser. It wasn't the typical darkness of an unlit room—this was deeper, older. It seeped into the corners, as if something down there breathed slowly in the dark.

Elysia tightened her grip on her wand beneath the cloak. The cellar. Of course.

Without hesitation, she crossed the room, each step careful and deliberate, the wooden floorboards groaning softly beneath her weight. She paused briefly at the top of the stairs, letting her senses stretch out into the dark below. Nothing moved. No sound reached her ears.

But the pull was stronger now—an undeniable force guiding her down.

Drawing in a slow, steady breath, Elysia descended into the dark.

Elysia descended slowly into the dark, each step down the creaking wooden staircase deliberate and silent. The air grew colder with every breath, the damp chill of the stone walls pressing in around her. Shadows stretched and pooled unnaturally at the edges of her vision, as if the dark itself was alive and watching. The distant sounds of Knockturn Alley faded away, leaving only the faint creaks of the old wood beneath her feet and the steady rhythm of her own breathing. Her wand remained steady in her hand, its tip faintly aglow with a soft, silver light that barely illuminated the space ahead—enough to see, but not enough to give her away.

The cellar opened into a wide, low-ceilinged room. Dust motes hung motionless in the still air, and the faint scent of mildew clung to the stones, mingling with the coppery tang of old magic. At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a storeroom—shelves sagging under the weight of crates and forgotten artifacts, jars of preserved things long dead lining the walls. Cobwebs draped like curtains in the corners, undisturbed by time. But beneath the stillness, she could feel it—a subtle thrum of magic that vibrated just under her skin, guiding her attention to the far wall. It pulsed faintly, like the distant echo of a heartbeat.

It wasn't visible to the naked eye, but it was there: ancient and potent. Elysia could sense the dense layering of wards and protections tangled like thick brambles, interwoven with spells designed to repel, confuse, and destroy. This wall was no ordinary barrier—it was a veil meant to conceal something far older, far more dangerous than anything in the shop above. She could feel the dormant power embedded within the stone, coiled and waiting to strike at any who dared disturb it.

Narrowing her eyes, Elysia let her magic flow inward. She channeled it carefully, guiding it up through her core and into her eyes, coaxing the latent power that slept within her. A subtle hum rose in the back of her mind, and slowly, her vision shifted. Her eyes glowed faintly—an ethereal green—though cloaked in invisibility, the light remained hidden from view. The world peeled back its layers, and she saw the wall for what it truly was.

The stone rippled, and the invisible lattice of enchantments revealed itself. Intricate sigils glowed faintly in the air, layered one over another in dizzying complexity. Ancient runes pulsed slowly, reacting to the magical presence near them. Threads of enchantments, some frayed and decaying, others still taut and dangerous, wove together like a living tapestry of defense. Blood-inked glyphs flickered at the edges, pulsing in time with the magic—wards that seemed to breathe, alive and coiled with malice.

She raised her wand slowly, tracing the air just above the wards without touching them. Her magic reached out like a second sense, carefully feeling the flow and intent of each layer. Protection, confusion, entrapment—the curses were old, but still deadly. She could almost taste the bitterness of dark magic clinging to the stone. Every weave had its purpose: to mislead, to punish, to kill.

Taking a cautious step back, Elysia began weaving her own magic into a delicate spell. Her wand moved in slow, deliberate arcs, each movement precise as she murmured ancient words under her breath. A shimmering veil of silver magic began to twist and coil at the tip of her wand. She wasn't brute-forcing her way through—no, that would be suicide. Instead, she worked carefully to unravel, to slip between the cracks. Magic, after all, was a language, and this was a conversation she intended to dominate.

First, a soft counter-curse to dull the sensitivity of the outermost wards—a lullaby for angry magic, coaxing it to rest. Then, a thin, spiraling thread of curse-breaking magic, delicate as spider silk, winding its way into the weave. She guided it with steady hands, isolating each enchantment one by one, severing connections without setting off their defenses. Her spells danced along the edges of the wards, soothing the oldest protections, unraveling the newer ones like pulling loose threads from a tapestry.

The air around her thickened as the protections fought back, tendrils of dark magic recoiling and twisting like snakes disturbed in their den. A faint, disembodied hiss slithered through the room, and the glow of the runes momentarily brightened in defiance. But Elysia was relentless, her focus razor-sharp. Her magic was not loud, not forceful—it was precise, deliberate, and impossibly patient. Slowly, the wards began to falter. Sigils dimmed, the tangled spells loosening as if exhaling their last breath.

Her breath was steady, but sweat beaded at her temples from the strain. Dark magic was stubborn, deeply rooted, and unwilling to be undone. But the ancient spells were not prepared for her level of expertise and her power.

Finally, with a faint shimmer, the magic dissipated.

The wall before her wavered, the illusion peeling away like old paint. What remained was a narrow, ancient archway carved into the stone—a passage that led deeper underground, into suffocating blackness. Faint runes traced the edges of the arch, their glow nearly extinguished, their power broken.

Elysia allowed herself a quiet breath, lowering her wand slightly. The barrier was broken, but whatever lay beyond would likely not be unguarded. The pull of dark magic was stronger now, more insistent, like the slow inhale of something vast and ancient awakening.

Drawing the Invisibility Cloak tighter around herself, she let the magic of it settle back into place. Her grip on her wand tightened as she stepped forward, silent as a shadow, and slipped beyond the archway into the depths below.

Elysia moved forward, each step echoing faintly in the suffocating silence of the passage. The air grew heavier with every breath, colder too, as though the walls themselves exhaled a chill that clung to her skin. The narrow corridor sloped downward, its stone walls slick with moisture. Her wand cast a muted glow ahead of her, revealing ancient carvings eroded by time—symbols half-lost, their meanings long forgotten but their ominous presence undeniable. The dampness seeped through her boots, and the scent of earth and mold thickened, filling her lungs with every slow breath.

The deeper she ventured, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The tunnel seemed endless, winding deeper into the earth, as if the darkness itself was swallowing her whole. Yet Elysia pressed on, every sense sharpened, the magic in her blood prickling in warning. The taste of old magic—metallic, bitter—clung to the back of her throat. Her grip on her wand tightened, and her eyes darted to the shadowed corners, wary of movement, though none came. The walls seemed to lean inward, suffocating and ancient, and the silence grew so profound it was almost deafening.

After what felt like an eternity, the tunnel abruptly widened, spilling into a vast underground chamber. Elysia paused at the threshold, her breath slow and steady. The ceiling arched high above, lost in shadow, and jagged pillars of stone jutted from the ground like broken teeth. Pools of stagnant water mirrored the faint light of her wand, their surfaces trembling as if disturbed by something unseen. The air was colder here, biting and still. She felt as if she had stepped into the lungs of something vast and sleeping.

But it was the smell that struck her first—the thick, choking stench of decay. It seeped from the walls and rose from the floor, mingling with the acrid tang of extinguished fire and the coppery scent of blood. The air itself seemed to hum with residual magic, the kind that left the skin crawling and the mind uneasy. Her stomach churned as she caught the scent of something fouler beneath it all—burned flesh, perhaps, or something far older.

Scattered remnants of dark rituals littered the ground—burned-out candles, broken chalk lines, and scraps of parchment marked with dark sigils. Circles of dried blood were etched into the stone, their patterns chaotic and unfamiliar. At the far end of the room, a stone altar stood cold and empty, its surface stained dark. Strange bone fragments—too large for any animal she recognized—were piled haphazardly in the corners. The magic here was old, angry, and violent—it clung to every surface, refusing to fade. It pressed against her skin like a cold hand.

Yet it was abandoned. Recently.

Elysia could feel it in the air—the lingering heat of spells cast, the fading whispers of voices long gone. Whoever had been here had left in haste, but their presence was far from forgotten. She knelt briefly, brushing her fingers over a still-warm smear of ash, noting the charred remnants of herbs unfamiliar even to her.

Her eyes narrowed.

Whatever had been done here was beyond her knowledge, the rituals and symbols alien even to her extensive studies. The markings were a twisted blend of ancient and obscure, woven together in a way that spoke of desperation and malice. They didn't belong to any school of magic she knew—not even the darkest of curses studied in forbidden texts. Elysia couldn't decipher their intent, but the malevolence that radiated from them was unmistakable, an oily residue that seemed to cling to her skin and settle in her bones.

Her grip on her wand tightened as she rose, senses on high alert. She moved forward slowly, examining the scattered remnants, letting her magic reach out to brush against the edges of the lingering spells. They hissed against her touch, defensive and fragmented, like wounded animals ready to lash out. She could almost hear the echo of incantations, the crackle of dark magic in the air, lingering like the memory of a scream.

Then, something caught her eye.

A symbol scorched into the far wall, partially obscured by shadow. She moved closer, lifting her wand to illuminate it. The sigil was old—far older than the rest of the markings—and it pulsed faintly, as if still alive with residual power. Yet it was utterly unfamiliar. Its design was unnerving in its unnatural symmetry, a pattern that felt instinctively wrong. It wasn't constructed with any known magical structure—the lines didn't flow with purpose but clawed at the space they occupied. Whatever it was, it didn't belong in this world.

Whoever had been here wasn’t simply experimenting with dark magic. They were invoking forces that should have remained buried, tearing at the very fabric of magic itself. This was no ordinary summoning—it was something far more reckless and far more dangerous.

Elysia stood still, listening to the silence that pressed in on her from all sides. The dark had secrets yet to reveal, but it also had teeth. Her magic curled close to her skin, instinctively wary.

Her expression hardened. Whatever had been awakened here—whatever had been left behind—needed to be found before it found her. There was a cold certainty in her gut now. If this power was allowed to fester, it would not simply linger in the dark—it would rise.

And with that thought, she pressed deeper into the shadows, each step measured and silent, ready for whatever awaited in the depths.

Elysia's breath remained steady as she moved deeper into the abandoned chamber, the eerie silence pressing against her ears like an oppressive weight. Her wand stayed poised, casting a dim silver glow that barely cut through the suffocating dark. Shadows danced across the jagged walls, seemingly alive with silent whispers. She moved with the practiced precision of someone well-versed in exploring places where a single misstep could trigger curses or traps. The sharp tang of dark magic still clung to the air, mingling with the stale scent of decay and damp stone, and beneath it lingered something far fouler—a scent like scorched flesh and old blood.

Her eyes methodically scanned the room. Every shadow, every corner could be hiding something. Elysia had spent years delving into cursed tombs and ancient ruins, and every instinct in her told her there was more here than met the eye. Ancient magic had a way of concealing itself, wrapping danger in layers of illusion. She approached the stone altar, its surface slick with old stains—a dark mixture of ichor and something thicker. The cracks in the stone were filled with the remnants of old wax and ash, and faint scorches marred the edges. It was clear this place had been used for rituals beyond comprehension, yet nothing on the altar itself offered clues. Nothing useful.

Circling the altar, Elysia's gaze drifted to the clutter surrounding it—the burned-out candles, fragments of shattered bone, and scraps of parchment curled with fire damage. Yet, something about the way the debris was scattered felt… off. Years of experience had taught her to recognize the difference between careless disorder and deliberate concealment. She crouched, brushing aside layers of dust and ash with gloved fingers, her senses probing for hidden wards or traps. Her magic stretched beyond her skin, brushing against the edges of latent spells, many of which had been hastily severed, leaving magical scars in the air.

Her hand paused over a darkened patch of stone. There, half-buried beneath charred fragments, was a cluster of scorched parchment. Someone had tried to destroy these—recently—but had failed to finish the job. The edges were brittle and blackened, but the center remained stubbornly intact. Elysia carefully lifted the fragments, coaxing them apart with gentle flicks of her wand to prevent further crumbling. The air around the papers seemed heavier, almost vibrating with residual magic, reluctant to give up its secrets.

The ink had run in places, but several jagged lines of text remained legible. Strange, fragmented words leapt from the page:

"...binding complete...the veil thins...awaits the offering..."

"...cannot be controlled...yet it listens..."

"...bones of kings...blood of the willing...open the gate..."

Her eyes narrowed. The language was obscure, but the intent was clear—this wasn't a simple summoning. It was something far older and more dangerous. The mention of "the veil" sent a shiver down her spine. Someone had been tampering with the boundaries between worlds. Whatever they had tried to bring forth—or awaken—was meant to remain buried.

Elysia's grip on the parchment tightened. The writing style was hurried, frantic, with smudges where the ink had been smeared by trembling hands. Whoever wrote this had been desperate. Or terrified. It wasn't the careful script of a scholar; it was the panicked scrawl of someone racing against time, perhaps even their own doom.

Her magic prickled at the edge of her awareness—a residual pulse from the symbols still scorched into the walls. She turned slowly, letting her senses stretch out like unseen tendrils. The malice in the room hadn't faded, only slumbered. The oppressive stillness was deceptive. She wasn't alone in this space. Not truly. The walls seemed to breathe, slow and shallow, as if holding back a whisper.

Her eyes drifted back to the floor, where among the ashes and debris, something else glimmered faintly—a shard of obsidian, dark and glossy, almost pulsing with a life of its own. She picked it up carefully, the cold biting into her fingertips. Dark magic seeped from it in thin tendrils, like smoke dissipating into the air. It was a fragment of something larger, a broken piece of a ritual focus, perhaps. Whatever it had been, it was significant enough to be hastily discarded.

Slipping the fragile notes and the shard carefully into her cloak, Elysia rose smoothly to her feet. There was more to uncover here, but lingering would be a mistake. The oppressive energy weighed on her, pressing against her chest. She needed to decipher the fragments, to find the source of these rituals—and stop whoever was behind them.

Her gaze flicked once more to the scorched sigils on the walls. They pulsed faintly, still feeding off the residue of whatever ritual had been conducted here. The dark wasn't finished with her yet, and she wasn't finished with it.

With her wand raised and her steps measured, Elysia scanned the dark chamber one final time, ensuring she had not overlooked anything that might be of value. Satisfied, she carefully gathered the remaining fragments of the scorched notes, wrapping them securely in protective spells before tucking them into the folds of her cloak. The ominous pulse of lingering magic scraped at the edges of her senses, urging her to leave before whatever dark presence that once lingered here stirred again.

Drawing a steadying breath, Elysia tightened her grip on her wand. With a sharp crack, she vanished, the oppressive darkness of the chamber swallowing the space where she once stood. The still air quivered briefly in her absence before returning to an uneasy silence, as if the shadows themselves were waiting for her return.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

XI

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

Morning light filtered weakly through the thick curtains of Elysia's cottage, its faint, golden beams cutting through the gloom and falling in uneven streaks across the cluttered desk. The surface was a chaotic sprawl of ancient tomes, loose parchment, and delicate quills stained with ink. The scent of old parchment and aged leather mingled with the sharp, resinous aroma of smouldering herbs that curled faint trails of smoke from a small dish on the mantle. Each breath she took seemed heavier than the last, infused with the charged weight of lingering magic that hummed faintly in the air. A subtle metallic undertone tickled her senses, setting her nerves on edge and amplifying the tension that coiled in her chest.

Elysia stood by the window, her silhouette outlined by the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. The silken folds of her cloak brushed softly against the wooden floor as she tied a tightly folded letter to Hedwig's outstretched leg. The snowy owl tilted her head slightly, her intelligent amber eyes gleaming with a sharp awareness that seemed to mirror the urgency in Elysia’s own gaze. Each feather glimmered faintly in the dim light, an almost ethereal glow that lent an air of quiet grace to the moment.

“Find Susan Bones, quickly,” Elysia murmured, her voice low but steady, though a hint of tension wove through her tone. She ran her fingers gently along Hedwig’s neck, smoothing the pristine white feathers with a deliberate tenderness. “She’ll know how to handle it.”

Hedwig gave a soft, reassuring hoot, her wings unfolding with a smooth, practised motion. She launched gracefully into the grey morning sky, the faint rustle of her feathers cutting through the stillness. Elysia’s eyes followed her, watching as the snowy form soared higher, shrinking into a speck against the cloud-dappled horizon. The sound of her flight lingered briefly before being swallowed by the silence, leaving behind a palpable void.

Elysia exhaled, a slow and measured breath that barely eased the tension coiling in her chest. Her shoulders sank slightly under the weight of unspoken worries, the heaviness of her discoveries pressing against her mind like a stone she couldn’t dislodge. The faint drizzle outside streaked the window with rivulets of water, each drop reflecting her unease in its path down the glass. Time felt as fragile and fleeting as the raindrops disappearing into the sodden earth below.

She turned back to the chaotic spread on her desk. Several heavy volumes from the Black Family library lay sprawled open—thick, leather-bound tomes with gilded lettering dulled by centuries. The weight of history pressed against her fingertips as she turned the fragile pages, their crackling sound filling the quiet room. Her fingers deftly skimmed over faded ink and intricate arcane symbols, each word and mark seeming to hum faintly with remnants of old magic. These were texts she rarely touched, even during her years of wandering, but now they were her best chance of deciphering the scorched notes and strange sigils she’d uncovered in the depths beneath Knockturn Alley.

Symbols, fragments of ancient spells, half-formed rituals—the clues hinted at something immense and dangerous, yet they defied coherence. Each piece teased at a larger picture, but the fragments refused to align. She traced a finger over one of the darkened pages, her touch light and reverent, muttering softly under her breath as she compared the text to the notes she’d recovered. The language was fractured, like a mirror shattered and pieced together haphazardly. Terms from different magical traditions clashed, their incompatibility making the spells volatile and unpredictable. Whoever had crafted this had done so recklessly, with desperation oozing from the structure of their work.

Her magic stirred restlessly beneath her skin, an almost familiar unease that had plagued her every year since she united the Hallows. It was a deep, resonant hum, steady and insistent, like distant thunder rolling endlessly beneath her bones. The sensation wasn’t a sharp warning of immediate danger but rather a persistent rhythm, growing stronger with each passing day as Samhain approached. The thinning veil between worlds amplified the ever-present resonance of death magic within her, sharpening it to an almost painful frequency, like the vibration of a taut string about to snap.

Elysia leaned back in her chair, flexing her fingers to dispel the tingling energy building in her hands. The rising magic unsettled her in ways she couldn’t entirely explain, its weight calling to her with an intensity that refused to be ignored. The Hallows' ancient magic, ever entwined with her being, seemed to react instinctively to the energies of the season. Together, they created a sense of foreboding, as if she were standing at the precipice of a vast and incomprehensible void.

She let out a slow breath, her mind racing. The fragments she’d uncovered so far echoed in her thoughts:

"...binding complete...the veil thins...awaits the offering..."

"...cannot be controlled...yet it listens..."

"...bones of kings...blood of the willing...open the gate..."

Each phrase carried a haunting weight, the fragmented syntax feeling as desperate as the scrawled notes themselves. They offered no clear answers, only an ominous sense of intent. Something ancient and malevolent was stirring, and Samhain’s liminality would provide the perfect moment for it to act.

Her fingers tapped against the desk absently as her gaze drifted to the mantle. A small collection of warding charms rested in a neat row, their runes glowing faintly. She brushed her fingers over one—a smooth stone etched with protective sigils—feeling the faint pulse of power it emitted. Even these protections seemed dim under the weight of the magic saturating the air. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to tip the balance.

Elysia forced herself back into the chair, pulling another tome closer. She couldn’t afford to lose focus. Whatever had been set into motion beneath Borgin and Burkes wouldn’t wait for her to piece everything together perfectly. As she leaned forward, her magic reached instinctively into the text, coaxing the hidden meanings from the ancient words. The familiar flow of her power soothed her nerves slightly, even as the insistent hum beneath her skin refused to fade.

The hours stretched on. Outside, the sky darkened as heavy clouds rolled in, smothering the weak morning light. A soft drizzle began to tap faintly against the windowpanes, its rhythmic sound a quiet counterpoint to the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The room grew heavier with the mingling scents of ink, parchment, and the faint metallic tang of lingering magic. As Elysia delved deeper into the shadows of forgotten magic, time slipped away, the weight of the approaching Samhain pressing relentlessly against her.

The soft crackle of the fire in the hearth was the only sound in the dimly lit room, a steady rhythm that accompanied Elysia’s tireless efforts. The golden flicker of the flames cast shifting shadows across the cluttered desk, where fragmented notes lay scattered among ancient tomes and scraps of parchment. The faint, musty scent of old parchment mingled with the sharp, earthy aroma of smoldering herbs from the mantle, adding to the dense, almost oppressive atmosphere. Despite hours of focused effort and the ambient hum of her magic lingering in the air, her progress remained maddeningly slow, as though the fragments themselves resisted yielding their secrets.

The fragments were maddeningly incomplete—their charred edges curling inward like a dying creature clutching its last secrets. Elysia’s fingers moved delicately over the faint ink, her touch reverent as though handling something volatile. Her wand rested beside her, its tip flicking upward occasionally to cast a faint, silvery glow over a particularly faint mark or rune. The language scrawled across the fragments was an unsettling tapestry of ancient tongues, their fractured and inconsistent structure leaving a sense of dissonance in her mind. Whatever these dark wizards had been attempting, it was clear they had gone to great lengths to shroud their intentions, even in the remnants of failure. The desperation in their craftsmanship was as palpable as the faint scent of burned parchment lingering in the air.

She leaned back in her chair with a frustrated sigh, her magic humming faintly beneath her skin, an insistent pulse that felt like a whispered call to action. The fragmented notes scattered before her—burned, disjointed, and maddeningly incoherent—refused to coalesce into a clear picture. But through the chaos, one detail emerged with unmistakable clarity, like a jagged shard of truth piercing through the fog.

“A doorway,” she murmured, the word heavy on her tongue, carrying the bitter taste of foreboding.

The longer she pored over the fragments, the more the concept of a doorway—a portal between realms—solidified in her mind. Each piece of the puzzle seemed to orbit around that singular idea. The veil between worlds was already beginning to thin as Samhain approached, the season when boundaries softened and the fragile barrier separating the living from the dead weakened. It was a time steeped in ancient magic, both primal and dangerous. If these dark wizards were scheming to exploit that natural thinning to force something—or someone—through, the consequences could be catastrophic, not just for this world but for others tethered to it.

She turned her gaze back to one of the fragments, the ink smudged but still legible enough to reveal fragmented phrases that seemed to whisper their ominous intent:

"...awaits the offering...the gate shall—"

Another piece bore words etched with hurried desperation:

"...when the veil thins, the..."

And yet another fragment seemed almost prophetic in its warning:

"...cannot be contained...but must be controlled..."

Elysia closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose as a wave of unease washed over her. She had encountered rituals like this before—at least in theory. Her years poring over the darkest tomes in the Black Family library had unearthed countless tales of arrogant wizards who dared to tamper with the boundaries between life and death. But this… this was different. There was a precision to the fragments, a deliberate intention woven into their fragmented structure that made her skin crawl.

It wasn’t just recklessness; it was calculated, methodical—and the malice radiating from the words left no doubt about the danger they posed.

Her magic stirred uneasily, as if mirroring her growing doubts. The sensation had become more pronounced with each passing day, its hum now an almost physical presence under her skin—a constant, thrumming reminder of the connection she shared with death. What once felt like a quiet companion now roiled with an edge of urgency, a restless push demanding action.

She reached for another book from the Black library—a thick, leather-bound tome whose cracked spine betrayed centuries of wear. Its cover bore faded gilded lettering, and the pages inside were brittle, the ink smudged and faint. As she carefully flipped through, her eyes scanned dense paragraphs discussing magical gateways and planar intersections. The brittle parchment released a faint, musty odor, mingling with the sharp tang of magical energy that seemed to saturate the room.

Certain sections caught her attention, describing how specific locations—especially those tied to powerful leylines—could act as amplifiers for attempts to pierce the veil. The text elaborated on places where the magical and mundane worlds overlapped, creating natural focal points of immense energy. Her magic stirred again, almost as if reacting to the very descriptions on the page, urging her to connect the pieces.

“A doorway, when the veil is thinnest,” she murmured, her voice heavy with the weight of realization. The words hung in the air like a foreboding echo. “They’re not just trying to reach through… they’re trying to bring something through. ”

Her mind raced as possibilities and dangers collided in her thoughts. If the ritual succeeded, the damage wouldn’t simply stop at the site of the doorway. The disruption could ripple outward, destabilizing the already fragile balance between realms, pulling on the thin threads that separated the living from the dead. Each fragment of the notes hinted at a greater, more ominous cost— "offerings," "blood of the willing" —words that suggested a toll far heavier than mere magic. Whatever the dark wizards were planning, it demanded a price drenched in pain and sacrifice.

Elysia’s hands tightened into fists, her knuckles whitening as she fought to steady her thoughts. She couldn’t afford to let fear or uncertainty slow her down. Samhain was only days away, and each moment wasted brought the ritual closer to completion. The where and the what were still a maddening void in her understanding, but the gravity of the situation left no room for hesitation. The weight of not knowing pressed against her like a physical force, but she refused to let it crush her resolve. There was too much at stake—more than even these fragments could fully reveal.

Rising from her chair, she began to pace the room, her cloak swirling fluidly around her ankles with every step. The air inside felt heavy, thick with unspoken tension as if the very walls absorbed her unease. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the sky had deepened into a brooding slate-grey, the clouds dense and low. The faint patter of rain against the glass created a rhythmic whisper, echoing her restless thoughts. Each drop streaked down the pane like a silent countdown, a reminder of the fleeting time left before Samhain’s arrival. The chill in the room seemed to seep into her skin, but it only sharpened her resolve as she turned back toward the scattered fragments.

If she couldn’t determine the full scope of their plans, she could at least uncover where they intended to act. Her determination solidified as she strode purposefully toward her library, her movements swift and deliberate, the weight of urgency sharpening her focus. The heavy oak door creaked softly as she pushed it open, revealing the cavernous room beyond. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment, candle wax, and the faint metallic tang of lingering enchantments. Shelves lined with meticulously organized tomes loomed like silent sentinels, their ancient spines gleaming faintly in the warm, golden light of an enchanted lantern that hovered near the ceiling.

Elysia’s fingers trailed over the rows of books, each touch a momentary connection to the centuries of knowledge housed within. Her hand paused at a section devoted to leyline studies, the titles etched in worn but elegant script. She carefully pulled out a series of maps, their edges frayed and corners curling from centuries of handling. The vellum crackled faintly as she unfolded the first map on the central table, the soft glow of the lantern casting intricate shadows across its surface. With a whispered incantation, the markings on the map began to glow faintly, a delicate web of golden threads spreading outward to reveal the intricate network of leylines. Each intersection pulsed faintly, like the heartbeat of the earth itself.

She set the damaged notes beside the maps, the fragmented runes and symbols seeming almost to mock her with their incompleteness. Her magic stirred instinctively, a subtle thrum beneath her skin that seemed to nudge her toward certain points on the map. She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied the glowing intersections, her thoughts racing to connect the fragments of knowledge. Patterns began to emerge faintly, alignments that hinted at something deliberate and focused. Her fingers danced over the map, tracing possible sites while her mind worked feverishly to piece together the puzzle.

“If the ritual needs this much power... it has to be one of the larger nexuses,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking louder might disturb the delicate threads of realisation forming in her mind. The words hung in the air, a quiet admission of both her uncertainty and her growing resolve.

Elysia sat hunched over the central table in her library, the leyline maps sprawled out before her like an intricate puzzle, demanding to be solved. The soft glow of candles burned low in their holders, their flickering flames casting elongated shadows across the room. The golden threads of energy etched into the vellum shimmered faintly in the dim light, an enigmatic web that both guided and confounded her. Around her, scattered pages and hurriedly scrawled notes bore witness to hours of intense concentration and effort, her magic occasionally flaring in response to her probing thoughts.

Her eyes narrowed as her fingers traced the faint lines of energy converging at a particular intersection, the pulsing resonance almost tangible. This nexus of power drew her focus like a lodestone, one of several sites she had identified as possible locations for the dark ritual. The closer Samhain approached, the more potent and volatile these places would become. She leaned back, tapping her quill rhythmically against the table’s edge, the sharp clicks punctuating her racing thoughts.

The Cliffs of Moher—their rugged, windswept terrain and ancient ties to Celtic myth made them an undeniable candidate. The cliffs were perched near a powerful leyline nexus, and the storm energy that regularly lashed the coastline could serve as a natural amplifier for any ritual. The proximity to sites associated with the Morrigan gnawed at her thoughts, stirring her innate connection to the goddess of war and death. It wasn’t just the land’s mythological resonance; it was the visceral sense of power that lingered in the very rocks and crashing waves, a raw force that could easily be twisted to dark purposes.

Her gaze shifted to another marked location on the map—the caves beneath Delphi. Though distant from Britain, the Greek site held a distinct gravity of its own. As the former seat of Apollo’s oracle, Delphi’s caverns thrummed with centuries of prophetic energy, a potent undercurrent of divine influence still lingering beneath the ruins. The leylines converging there formed a nexus steeped in the echoes of visions and omens, making it an ideal focus for a ritual aimed at breaching the veil between realms.

A third possibility loomed heavily in her mind—the Paris Catacombs. Beneath the bustling streets of the city lay an ossuary of unimaginable scale, its labyrinthine tunnels housing the remains of millions. The oppressive atmosphere of death and decay that clung to the Catacombs made it a natural reservoir of dark magic. If the wizards were aiming to harness the latent energy of the dead to fuel their ritual, the Catacombs offered an unparalleled source of power. The very thought of traversing its narrow, bone-lined passages filled her with a chill, but it also reinforced her determination. If they were there, they had to be stopped.

Elysia sighed deeply, setting the quill down and rubbing her temples. The weight of uncertainty pressed against her like a tangible force, each potential site bearing the hallmarks of disaster. She glanced at the fragments of notes recovered from beneath Borgin and Burkes, their edges blackened and curling as though to guard their secrets. The incomplete phrases seemed to mock her, refusing to coalesce into a definitive answer.

Her magic stirred uneasily, a restless hum beneath her skin that had grown sharper with each passing day. It was as though it could sense the looming danger, the thinning of the veil, and the dark intent behind it. Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed the rhythm of her magic to ground her thoughts, its familiar cadence a steadying presence in the storm of uncertainty.

“Cliffs of Moher,” she murmured, her voice breaking the heavy silence of the library. The name lingered in the air, carrying with it the weight of its mythological ties and the resonance of her own connection to the Morrigan. “Or Delphi. Or… the Paris Catacombs.”

She turned her gaze toward a small enchanted globe resting on a nearby shelf, its surface softly glowing with points of light marking magical hotspots. Three locations flickered faintly: the cliffs, Delphi, and the Catacombs. Her instincts tugged strongest toward the cliffs, but the Catacombs held an ominous pull of their own, the oppressive aura of death and decay promising something sinister. The decision wasn’t yet clear, but it was beginning to crystallize.

Rising from her chair, she began pacing the room, her cloak swirling around her ankles like liquid shadow. The cool stone floor grounded her as she moved, her thoughts threading through the possibilities. Time was slipping through her fingers. Samhain loomed like an ominous specter, its approach tightening the coil of urgency in her chest. She had perhaps a day to act, no more, if she hoped to preempt the dark wizards’ plans.

Stepping back to the table, she swept her hand over the maps, her magic sparking faintly as it resonated with the leyline markings. The sensation was sharp and electric, grounding her decision with a clarity that sent a shiver through her.

“The cliffs first,” she decided, her voice firm and resolute.

The weight of her decision settled over her like a mantle, heavy yet purposeful. She extinguished the candles one by one, the room falling into shadow as the golden threads on the maps dimmed. With one last glance at the charts and fragments, she turned to prepare for the journey ahead. 

Elysia stood in the dim light of her library, methodically packing her satchel with the tools and supplies she might need for the journey ahead. The room was quiet except for the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth, its warm glow casting dancing shadows across the walls. Her wand rested nearby on the edge of the desk, a constant companion in her preparations. A few carefully selected potions clinked softly as she arranged them within padded compartments of the satchel, ensuring each vial was secure. Her hands moved with practiced precision, though her mind raced with the weight of the task before her.

She reached for the last item—an enchanted map etched onto fine parchment—designed to reveal hidden dangers and pathways within the treacherous terrain of the Cliffs of Moher. As her fingers brushed the map, a sharp, almost scolding bark shattered the quiet. Elysia froze, startled, before turning to see Hedwig swooping down from her perch near the window. The snowy owl landed gracefully on the desk, her amber eyes glowing with a sharp intensity that brooked no argument. Hedwig’s feathers fluffed slightly, her expression one of firm disapproval as she barked again, a sound laden with reprimand.

“What is it?” Elysia asked, raising an eyebrow as she straightened. Her familiar bond with Hedwig hummed faintly, allowing her to sense the owl’s emotions. The message was clear: Hedwig was not pleased. The snowy owl tilted her head, her piercing gaze locking onto Elysia’s face. A wave of concern and frustration surged through their connection, the intensity of it making Elysia sigh.

Placing her hands on her hips, Elysia regarded her companion with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. “I don’t have time to argue with you,” she muttered, though the softness in her tone betrayed her affection. “I’ll rest when I’ve stopped them. This can’t wait.”

Hedwig’s response was immediate and unyielding. She flapped her wings in a burst of frustration, her feathers ruffling in a way that made her seem twice her size. The sharp bark she let out carried more than just disapproval; it was a command. Hopping closer, Hedwig clicked her beak pointedly, her amber eyes narrowing as though to underline her dissatisfaction. Through their bond, Elysia felt a surge of exasperation, accompanied by a sharp, almost maternal reminder of her own physical state—the exhaustion that she had been stubbornly ignoring for hours, if not days.

“You’re relentless, you know that?” Elysia muttered, sinking heavily into the chair by the desk. Her shoulders sagged as the weight of her fatigue caught up with her. She ran a hand through her hair, the gesture more a sign of surrender than frustration. “Fine. I’ll eat something and rest, but only for a little while.”

Hedwig hooted softly, her tone shifting to one of approval and encouragement. The snowy owl hopped onto Elysia’s lap, her claws careful as she perched lightly. She nuzzled her beak against Elysia’s hand, the bond between them humming again, this time with a soothing warmth that eased the tension in Elysia’s chest. It was a reminder that she wasn’t alone, even in moments like this.

“You win,” Elysia said with a small smile, stroking Hedwig’s feathers. The softness of the owl’s plumage under her fingers was a calming balm to her frayed nerves. “But you’re as stubborn as I am. Maybe more.”

Hedwig tilted her head again, the glint in her eyes almost mischievous, as if to say, “Someone has to be.”

Elysia chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the tension that had filled the room. Rising to her feet, she gently set Hedwig back on her perch. “I’ll grab something from the kitchen,” she promised, her tone laced with genuine intent. “And maybe a short nap. But after that, we’re heading out.”

Hedwig hooted once more, satisfied with the concession, and watched as Elysia left the room. The owl’s piercing gaze lingered on the satchel and its contents, a silent guardian ensuring her mistress would be at her best when the time came to face the storm. The faint rustle of Hedwig’s feathers as she resettled herself was the only sound in the library, a quiet reminder that even in the darkest moments, there was someone looking out for Elysia—whether she admitted she needed it or not.

Elysia wandered into the kitchen, her steps slower now as the weight of exhaustion finally pressed down on her shoulders. The soft glow of the enchanted lanterns above her provided a gentle light, casting warm tones across the room’s wooden cabinets and well-worn countertops. She reached for a loaf of bread, slicing off a thick piece before grabbing a jar of honey from the shelf. Her movements were automatic, almost mechanical, as her mind continued to linger on the task ahead.

As she sat at the small kitchen table, her fingers brushed absently against the grain of the wood while she chewed. The sweetness of the honey brought a momentary comfort, a small indulgence in the midst of the storm brewing around her. Despite the simplicity of the meal, it grounded her, pulling her attention back to the present, if only for a fleeting moment.

Finishing the last bite, she leaned back in her chair, her head tilting to rest against the cool wood. The familiar hum of her magic stirred faintly beneath her skin, a reminder of the time of year and the proximity to Samhain. It wasn’t just her physical body that felt the strain—her magic itself seemed restless, an undercurrent of energy rolling through her veins like an untamed tide. It pulsed with a rhythm of its own, insistent yet enigmatic, urging her toward the work that lay ahead.

With a heavy sigh, Elysia stood and rinsed her plate, placing it neatly back on the drying rack. The thought of rest tugged at the edges of her mind, and Hedwig’s earlier scolding echoed faintly in her thoughts. Her owl had been right, of course. She couldn’t face what was coming without some measure of recovery.

She made her way to the sitting room, where a small, comfortable chaise lounge sat near the hearth. The fire had burned low, its embers glowing softly, casting flickers of light that danced across the walls. Elysia shrugged off her cloak, draping it over the back of the chair before settling onto the chaise. The cushions cradled her as she leaned back, her body sinking into the plush fabric.

Hedwig, watching from her perch, gave a soft hoot before gliding down silently. The snowy owl landed gently on Elysia’s lap, her talons careful against the fabric of the chaise. Nestling into Elysia with practised ease, Hedwig tucked her wings close and let out a soft, almost purring coo. Her feathers were impossibly warm and downy against Elysia’s hands, and as Elysia absently stroked the soft plumage, the gentle motions seemed to calm the storm of tension that had been coiling within her all day. The quiet companionship of her familiar was grounding, a small reminder of safety amidst the chaos that loomed beyond the walls of the cottage.

“Just a short nap,” Elysia murmured to herself, though her voice carried a flicker of doubt that even she could not ignore. Hedwig’s rhythmic breathing blended with the soft crackle of the low fire, creating a cocoon of warmth and quiet that drew Elysia into its embrace. Her eyelids grew heavy, the temptation of rest proving impossible to resist.

As her eyes drifted shut, the warmth of the fire seemed to seep deeper into her, soothing muscles she hadn’t realized were so tense. The quiet, comforting weight of Hedwig on her lap added to the stillness, and within moments, sleep claimed her—not the light, temporary reprieve she had intended, but a deep, unyielding slumber. Her exhaustion, both magical and physical, wrapped around her like a heavy blanket, pulling her into the depths of unconsciousness.

The rhythm of her magic, heightened and restless in the proximity of Samhain, intertwined with her dreams, amplifying their vividness and intensity. It wasn’t long before her mind was transported elsewhere, her consciousness slipping into the ethereal realm of visions and fragmented realities.

She found herself standing in a vast, moonlit field, the air thick with mist that clung to the ground like a living thing. The sky above was a swirl of dark clouds and silvery light, and in the distance, she could hear the faint whispers of voices carried on the wind. It felt familiar yet otherworldly, as if her magic had drawn her into a place between worlds.

The hum of energy beneath her feet was almost deafening here, each step resonating with the pulse of the earth itself. Shadows shifted at the edges of her vision, shapes half-formed and fleeting, their presence both alluring and unsettling. Elysia’s wand was in her hand, though she couldn’t recall drawing it, and the faint glow at its tip seemed to push back the encroaching darkness.

She turned slowly, her senses heightened, as the whispers grew louder, forming faint, disjointed words. They spoke of veils and doorways, of power and sacrifice. The urgency in their tone mirrored the restless energy she had felt all day, and though she knew this was a dream, it felt achingly real.

As the whispers swirled around her, a figure began to emerge through the mist. Elysia froze, her grip tightening instinctively on her wand. The woman stood alone, her presence commanding yet enigmatic. Draped in a cloak that bore an uncanny resemblance to Elysia’s own Invisibility Cloak, the fabric seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly quality, blending seamlessly into the swirling mist. Perched on her shoulder was a crow, its beady black eyes gleaming with an intelligence that felt almost human.

The woman’s face was partially obscured by the hood of her cloak, but what little Elysia could see was striking—sharp, defined features that seemed both ageless and ancient. The crow shifted slightly, its talons gripping the fabric of the cloak with an almost possessive air, as though it were a guardian or a companion.

Elysia’s heart pounded in her chest as the whispers grew louder, their fragmented words converging into a single chant that echoed in her mind. The woman’s gaze, though shadowed, seemed to pierce through the distance between them, locking onto Elysia with a weight that felt both scrutinizing and knowing. The air grew heavier, the magic around Elysia thrumming in response, as if recognizing the presence of something—or someone—far greater than herself.

When she woke, hours later, the fire had burned out completely, leaving the room bathed in faint pre-dawn light. Elysia sat up abruptly, her heart pounding and her magic thrumming wildly in response to the remnants of her dream. Hedwig shifted in her lap, blinking slowly as if annoyed by the sudden movement. The snowy owl’s feathers, still warm from their shared rest, rustled softly as she adjusted herself, looking up at Elysia with a mixture of curiosity and mild reproach.

The chaise’s cushions, once comforting, now felt suffocating, and Elysia gently lifted Hedwig to perch on her arm as she swung her legs over the side, placing her feet firmly on the floor to ground herself. The movement was slow, deliberate, as her mind worked to process the vivid images that lingered from her dream.

Her breath came in slow, measured intervals, though the tremor in her fingers betrayed the lingering intensity of what she had seen. The dream had felt less like a creation of her subconscious and more like a message—a warning from the magic that surrounded her. She ran a hand through her hair, her other arm steadying Hedwig, who nuzzled her feathers into Elysia’s sleeve as if offering silent comfort.

Hedwig hooted softly, her amber eyes watching Elysia intently. The owl’s calm presence was a balm to her frayed nerves, grounding her in the here and now. Elysia offered her a faint smile, her voice quiet but carrying a hint of gratitude. “Looks like you were right,” she said. “I needed the rest. Now, it’s time to act.”

She set Hedwig gently on her perch, stroking the soft feathers along the owl’s neck before stepping away. Hedwig watched her with a steady, knowing gaze as Elysia reached for her cloak, the weight of her resolve hardening with each movement. The world beyond her cottage awaited, and whatever lay ahead, she would face it—strengthened by the rest her familiar had insisted she take and the cryptic warning her magic had shown her.

~~

Elysia stood at the edge of the Cliffs of Moher, the wind tearing at her cloak and whipping her hair into a chaotic dance. The air here was sharp, briny, and alive with the ceaseless crash of waves against the jagged rocks below. The vastness of the sea stretched out before her, its surface churning and restless beneath the brooding sky. Each wave seemed to rise in defiance of the cliffs, only to crash back down in a furious roar, the spray rising like ghostly fingers grasping at the air. Clouds hung heavy and low, dark and foreboding, casting deep shadows over the jagged terrain. The distant cry of gulls echoed like mournful wails, adding to the raw, untamed atmosphere.

As she stood there, Elysia’s magic flared instinctively, reaching out like an unseen web, probing the world around her. The cliffs thrummed faintly with energy, an ancient pulse that seemed to resonate deep within the earth and the air itself. She walked carefully along the uneven terrain, her boots crunching on the damp moss and loose stones. The magic here wasn’t immediately obvious, but as she focused, she began to detect it—traces of death magic lingering in the ground like faint, malevolent scars. It was subtle yet unmistakable—a stain that spoke of a ritual, or perhaps the remnants of something far older and more sinister. The energy seemed to rise and fall with the rhythm of the waves, as though the land itself were breathing in tandem with the sea.

Kneeling by the edge of the cliffs, Elysia placed her hand on the damp, mossy rock. The rough texture pressed against her palm as she closed her eyes, letting her magic flow freely. The connection was immediate, a ripple of energy surging through her as her senses sharpened. It felt almost like a whisper carried on the wind, fragmented and fleeting, but its tone was unmistakable—an echo of malice and desperation. She shivered despite the layers of her cloak, her breath visible in the cold, salty air. Whatever had happened here had left its mark, but the traces were faint—too faint to pinpoint the focus of the ritual she sought.

The stormy sea reflected the turmoil within her as she withdrew her hand and rose to her feet. Her cloak billowed behind her, caught in the relentless wind that howled like a living thing. She stared out at the horizon, the endless expanse of water seeming to stretch into infinity. The sheer force of the natural elements here was humbling, a reminder of how small and fleeting humanity was against the vastness of the world. Yet, amidst the raw beauty of the cliffs, there was an undercurrent of unease, as though the land itself remembered something it could not forget.

Satisfied for now, Elysia tightened her grip on her wand and turned away, her footsteps careful as she navigated the treacherous terrain. The wind continued its assault, tugging at her cloak and threatening to unbalance her, but she moved with purpose. The cliffs had offered her a fragment of the truth, but it wasn’t enough. There were other places to search, and the sense of urgency gnawed at her like a persistent ache. The faint traces of death magic she had found were a clue, but the full picture remained maddeningly out of reach.

As she climbed the path away from the edge, the cries of the gulls faded, and the roar of the waves grew distant. The cliffs, with all their ancient power and hidden secrets, seemed to watch her retreat, their solemn presence a silent witness to her search. Elysia didn’t look back, her focus already shifting to what lay ahead.

~~

The Paris Catacombs were a world away from the wild, open expanse of the cliffs. As Elysia descended into the underground labyrinth, the air grew thicker with each step, heavy and oppressive, pressing against her chest like an unseen weight. Her footsteps echoed softly against the damp stone walls, the sound swallowed quickly by the vast silence that stretched endlessly around her. The cloying scent of earth and decay filled her lungs, a miasma of damp soil and centuries-old rot that seemed to cling to her skin.

The walls of the passageways were lined with bones, arranged in patterns so deliberate they bordered on grotesque artistry. Skulls stared out from their mortared prisons, their hollow eyesockets seeming to follow her movements as she passed. The flickering light of her wand cast long, jagged shadows that danced and shifted, creating the unnerving illusion of motion in the periphery of her vision. More than once, she turned sharply, her heart hammering, only to find nothing but the empty corridors stretching out behind her.

The deeper she went, the colder it became. The damp air bit at her exposed skin, and her breath emerged in faint puffs of mist. Here, the magic was palpable, wrapping around her like a suffocating shroud. It wasn’t just the magic of death—it was a dense, ancient power steeped in the memories of countless souls. It seeped into her skin, her bones, saturating her senses until it felt as though the catacombs themselves were alive. With every step, the weight of centuries pressed down on her, a heavy, stifling force that made it hard to think, hard to breathe.

Elysia paused in a narrow chamber where the walls were particularly thick with skulls, their smooth, time-worn surfaces gleaming faintly in the wandlight. The air here was colder still, and the silence was so complete it felt deafening. She reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against the brittle edge of a skull. A sharp jolt of energy coursed through her, and she recoiled, her magic instinctively sparking in response. The dark energy that pooled here was ancient and primal, a stagnant ocean of power that felt neither benevolent nor malicious—simply indifferent. It was a reminder of the forces that lay beyond human comprehension, forces that cared little for the living.

She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath as she allowed her magic to probe more deeply. The sensation was like dipping her hand into freezing water—sharp, painful, and all-encompassing. The magic here was vast, immense in its scope, but it was stagnant, locked in place by some unseen barrier. It felt as though the catacombs themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something, or someone, to disturb their uneasy slumber.

Elysia’s senses strained for any sign of recent activity, but the oppressive energy seemed undisturbed, untouched by the living for what felt like an eternity. There were no traces of the dark wizards she hunted, no signs of the rituals she feared, but the potential for something far worse loomed like a shadow over the entire labyrinth. The catacombs hummed with latent power, a sleeping giant that could not be ignored.

As she turned to leave, her steps were slow and deliberate, her ears straining for any sound beyond the echo of her own movements. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to press closer with every turn, the shadows growing darker, the silence heavier. Her grip on her wand tightened, her magic sparking faintly at her fingertips in defiance of the unspoken challenge that seemed to emanate from the very walls.

When Elysia finally emerged into the cold night air, the stark contrast was almost disorienting. The sky above was a deep indigo, dotted with stars that felt almost alien after the suffocating darkness of the catacombs. She inhaled deeply, the crisp air burning her lungs in a way that was both painful and invigorating. Yet the weight of what she had felt lingered, a shadow at the edge of her mind that refused to be shaken.

This place was dangerous in its own right. The catacombs were a sleeping giant, a place of dormant power that demanded respect and caution. As Elysia adjusted her cloak and prepared to move on, she couldn’t help but glance back at the dark entrance. It loomed like a gaping maw, the secrets of the dead buried within its depths.

~~

The Caverns of Delphi, nestled within the rugged mountains of Greece, exuded an entirely different kind of power. The air was warm and dry as Elysia entered the cave’s shadowy mouth, the golden light of the sun fading into cool, dim darkness. The scent of ancient stone and earth filled her senses, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed faintly, creating a rhythmic cadence that seemed to match the pulse of magic saturating the air.

The deeper she ventured, the more overwhelming the magic became. It was not oppressive like the catacombs or faint like the cliffs; it was vibrant, alive, and all-encompassing. Every step Elysia took felt as though she were walking through an unseen current, her own magic brushing against the raw, unrestrained power of the leyline nexus beneath Delphi. The walls of the cavern shimmered faintly, almost imperceptibly, as though they were infused with the very magic that coursed through this place.

Elysia paused in a large chamber, her breath catching as she took in the sight. The walls were etched with faintly glowing runes, their intricate patterns pulsing with an inner light that seemed to breathe in time with the earth. A small spring bubbled in the center, its waters unnaturally clear and shimmering with a faint, golden hue. The energy here was ancient, older than even the catacombs, and yet it felt balanced—a natural force rather than one corrupted or misused.

Kneeling by the spring, Elysia reached out and let her fingers hover above the water’s surface. The magic rippled in response, brushing against her senses like a whisper of prophecy, teasing her with half-formed visions and fragments of knowledge. This place was a wellspring of power, but it bore no trace of recent tampering. The dark wizards she hunted would have struggled to harness magic so pure and unyielding.

As she stood, Elysia felt a deep sense of reverence and caution. The Caverns of Delphi were a testament to the raw beauty and danger of unfiltered magic. Though they had not been touched by her quarry, they were a reminder of the power that could be both a gift and a curse.

Elysia emerged from the cool shadows of the Caverns of Delphi into the brilliant light of the late afternoon. The golden sun hung low on the horizon, casting the rugged mountains in hues of amber and crimson. She paused at the cave's mouth, taking a deep breath of the warm, dry air, the contrast stark after the cool, magic-laden depths of the cavern. Her mind churned with thoughts of the ancient magic she had encountered, its purity and power still resonating faintly within her.

As she stepped forward, the crunch of loose gravel beneath her boots broke the stillness of the landscape. She adjusted her cloak, preparing to apparate to her next destination when a voice, smooth and melodic, called out behind her.

“Well, well, what do we have here? Someone brave enough to poke around my old oracle’s home? Or foolish enough? The line’s thin, you know.”

Elysia spun on her heel, wand immediately in hand, her sharp gaze landing on the figure standing casually a few paces away. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, tall and lean with an effortless confidence that seemed to radiate from him. His golden-blond hair caught the light like spun sunlight, and his eyes—Elysia’s breath hitched for a moment—his eyes were like miniature suns, bright and burning, as though they held the very essence of day within them.

“Who are you?” she asked sharply, her wand steady as she studied him. There was something about him, an aura that practically screamed divinity, and it set her magic thrumming uneasily beneath her skin.

The man tilted his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Apollo. God of the sun, music, poetry, healing, and oh yes, prophecies.” He gave a theatrical bow, his movements fluid and graceful. When he straightened, his grin widened. “And who might you be, oh mysterious mortal wandering where most mortals dare not tread?”

Elysia’s grip on her wand tightened, though she lowered it slightly, her instincts telling her this wasn’t an immediate threat. “Elysia,” she said simply, her voice calm but cautious. “And I’m not just wandering. I have my reasons.”

Apollo’s eyes seemed to brighten further, his curiosity evident. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Not many stumble into Delphi without a purpose, especially not someone like you.” He stepped closer, his movements casual but deliberate, as though studying her from a new angle. “You’ve got quite the aura about you… powerful, layered, and something else… oh, how interesting.”

Elysia arched a brow, crossing her arms. “I didn’t come here for your amusement, god of the sun. If you have a point, I suggest you get to it.”

Apollo’s grin didn’t falter, but his expression softened slightly. “Direct. I like that.” He gestured toward the cave entrance behind her. “The magic here is ancient, and you’ve been poking at it. That’s bound to get my attention. So, naturally, I’m curious. Why are you here?”

Elysia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m trying to prevent something dangerous,” she said carefully, unwilling to reveal too much.

Apollo studied her for a long moment, his radiant eyes flickering with something akin to understanding. “Ah,” he said finally, his tone lighter but still thoughtful. “That would explain why my dear sister is keeping an eye on you.”

Elysia blinked, caught off guard. “Your sister?”

Apollo’s grin returned in full force, a teasing edge to it. “Oh, you know. Artemis. Goddess of the hunt, the moon, and protector of… well, many things. She’s been… interested in you.” He stepped even closer, now standing directly before her, his voice lowering slightly. “And if she’s interested, that makes you doubly fascinating to me.”

Elysia’s heart thudded in her chest, though she kept her expression composed. “I’m not here to entertain your curiosity, Apollo. If you’re not going to stop me, I have work to do.”

Apollo chuckled, stepping back with a graceful sweep of his arm. “Far be it from me to get in the way. But consider this—you’re treading in dangerous waters, Elysia. The kind that even gods don’t wade into lightly. Whatever you’re looking for, I hope you find it before it finds you.”

She watched him carefully, noting the genuine weight behind his words despite his playful demeanour. Without waiting for her response, Apollo gave her a small, almost respectful nod before turning on his heel. As he walked away, his form shimmered in the sunlight, and just as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone—leaving Elysia standing alone at the entrance to the cavern, her thoughts more tangled than ever.

~~

Elysia stood at the crossroads of her search, her thoughts weighed down by the clues she had uncovered. The cliffs bore traces of the ritual’s dark intent, faint but undeniable. The catacombs, though untouched by recent activity, exuded a dormant power that hinted at the potential for something catastrophic. The Caverns of Delphi were saturated with magic, vibrant and untouched by corruption, yet powerful enough to inspire awe and caution. As Samhain drew closer, the pieces of the puzzle began to align, but the full picture remained maddeningly out of reach.

She turned her gaze to the horizon, her resolve hardening as she prepared for the next step. Whatever was coming, she would face it head-on—armed with the knowledge she had gathered and the unshakable determination that had carried her this far.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

XII

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The first light of dawn on Samhain crept over the horizon, casting long, pale fingers across the frost-covered landscape. Elysia sat in the quiet of her cottage, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. The flickering flames barely chased away the chill that had settled in the air—a chill that wasn’t entirely natural. Her magic rolled beneath her skin like restless waves, surging and receding with a rhythm that felt both familiar and unsettling. The veil between realms was at its thinnest, and the sensation permeated everything around her, like a heartbeat echoing through the very walls of her sanctuary.

The cottage, usually a haven from the chaos of the world, felt charged with an energy that was difficult to ignore. Shadows clung to the corners, deeper and more pronounced, as if the house itself were holding its breath. The aura of death, always present within Elysia, was amplified today, wrapping around her like a second skin. She felt it in every breath, every heartbeat, a thrumming connection to the world beyond. It was a feeling that left her restless, pacing the worn wooden floors with a tension she couldn’t shake, her mind racing with thoughts of what lay ahead.

This was why she spent Samhain alone. The sensation of her magic, so natural to her, was off-putting to even her closest friends. It made their skin crawl, their hearts race with an unspoken fear they couldn’t quite name. But to Elysia, it was a comfort—a reminder of who she was and the power she held. Still, the solitude weighed on her more heavily this year, as the looming threat of the dark wizards gnawed at the edges of her thoughts. The knowledge that they sought to breach the veil on this very night made the atmosphere even more oppressive.

As the sun climbed higher, casting weak light through the frosted windows, a sudden, sharp knock echoed through the cottage. Elysia froze, her wand slipping into her hand with practiced ease. Visitors on Samhain were rare, and her mind immediately leapt to the worst possibilities. She approached the door cautiously, her senses straining to detect any magical presence beyond it, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum.

But as she drew closer, she felt it—a familiar, comforting sensation that mirrored her own. The magic on the other side of the door was like a twin flame to her own, rolling off in waves that resonated with the same blend of life and death. Her tension eased slightly, though curiosity prickled at the edges of her mind, mingling with a hint of unexpected relief.

Elysia opened the door to find Melinoë standing there, her pale, ghostly green right eye and black left eye with its scarlet iris gleaming in the dim light. The goddess’s presence was as natural as breathing, her aura of death and dreams blending seamlessly with Elysia’s own. Melinoë’s expression was soft, her lips curved in a gentle smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, as though she carried the weight of countless souls on her shoulders, yet found solace in this fleeting connection.

“I thought I’d check on you,” Melinoë said, her voice a melodic blend of warmth and something ancient. “Samhain can be… difficult.”

Elysia stepped aside, allowing her in without a word. The cottage seemed to breathe with relief as the goddess crossed the threshold, the oppressive weight of solitude lifting slightly in her presence. Melinoë moved with the grace of someone who belonged, her gaze sweeping over the familiar surroundings before settling back on Elysia.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” Elysia admitted, closing the door behind them. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Melinoë’s smile deepened, a hint of genuine affection in her eyes. “I figured as much. There aren’t many who understand what it’s like to straddle the line between life and death. But you…” She paused, her gaze softening. “You do.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken understanding. Elysia felt a warmth blossom in her chest, a rare, fragile thing that she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. The kinship between them was undeniable, a connection forged in the shared experience of existing between worlds.

They spent the morning in quiet companionship, the usual tension of Samhain softened by Melinoë’s presence. Elysia found herself opening up in ways she hadn’t expected, sharing stories of her travels, her struggles, and the looming threat of the dark wizards. Melinoë listened with rapt attention, her own tales weaving seamlessly into Elysia’s narrative, creating a tapestry of shared experience and mutual respect. The moments stretched, each one a balm against the heavy weight of the day.

As the afternoon light waned, casting long shadows across the wooden floor, Melinoë’s expression grew more serious. “Elysia,” she began, her voice softer now, tinged with concern, “these dark wizards you spoke of… what exactly have you found out?”

Elysia’s brow furrowed as she retrieved the notes she had been poring over, laying them out on the table between them. The parchment was worn, edges curled and ink smudged from countless hours of study. “They’re trying to open some sort of gateway,” she explained, her finger tracing the fragmented runes and symbols. “When the veil is at its thinnest… tonight.”

Melinoë’s eyes darkened, her usual calm replaced by a flicker of unease. “Mortals trying to breach the veil… they have no idea what they’re meddling with.” She reached out, her fingers brushing against the parchment as if she could sense the lingering malice within the ink. “This could unravel more than they comprehend. The balance between life and death is delicate, and forcing a doorway could unleash horrors neither of our worlds are prepared for.”

Elysia nodded, her jaw set with determination. “That’s why I need to stop them.”

Melinoë’s gaze met hers, a flicker of frustration shadowing her serene expression. “I cannot intervene directly,” she admitted, her voice tinged with regret. “The laws that bind us gods prevent me from interfering in mortal affairs to that extent. But know this—you won’t face this entirely alone. I will support you however I can. My knowledge, my guidance, and any aid short of direct involvement are yours.”

The words settled over Elysia like a shield, bolstering her resolve. The weight of the impending confrontation felt lighter with Melinoë’s support, their shared understanding a beacon in the growing darkness. They spent the remaining daylight hours meticulously planning, Melinoë offering insights into the rituals and energies at play, her wisdom providing Elysia with the edge she needed.

As dusk settled over the landscape, casting the cottage in hues of deep purple and shadowed gold, Elysia felt the familiar weight of anticipation press down on her chest. The flickering light from the hearth threw elongated shadows across the walls, dancing in tandem with the restless energy that filled the room. Melinoë sat quietly nearby, her presence a steadying force amidst the growing tension, her eyes reflecting the dim glow of the firelight like twin embers.

The sudden flare of green flames in the hearth startled Elysia from her thoughts. The distinct whoosh of a Floo call echoed through the room, and a familiar face materialized in the flickering flames—Andromeda Tonks, her expression a mixture of concern, stubborn determination, and maternal worry that only deepened as she took in Elysia's tense features.

“Elysia,” Andromeda’s voice carried through the hearth, steady but threaded with the kind of anxious undertone Elysia had come to expect, especially on this day. “I just wanted to check in on you. You know I can’t help but worry, particularly on Samhain.”

Elysia moved closer to the hearth, kneeling down so that her face was level with Andromeda’s. The warmth of the fire was comforting, but it couldn’t quite chase away the chill that clung to her. The sight of Andromeda’s familiar, caring face stirred something deep within her—a mix of comfort and guilt for the constant worry she caused.

“I’m fine, Andromeda,” Elysia replied softly, though she knew the older witch wouldn’t be easily reassured. “I’ve got everything under control.”

Andromeda’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly, seeing through the placating words with ease. “I’ve heard that before, dear. But you remember how rough the first few Samhains were after you united the Hallows. I still remember those nights—the way your magic lashed out, how you wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat. You don’t have to face this alone. You never did, and you never will.”

Elysia’s gaze softened, a flicker of gratitude passing through her. Andromeda had been more than just a mentor or guardian; she had become the anchor Elysia often didn’t realize she needed. “I’m not alone,” she said, glancing toward Melinoë, who offered a small, knowing smile. “I have some… unexpected company.”

Andromeda’s eyes followed Elysia’s glance, her expression shifting slightly as she registered the goddess’s presence. There was a brief pause, as if Andromeda were weighing her words carefully, her protective instincts wrestling with the recognition of divine involvement.

“I see,” she said finally, her tone cautious but accepting. “Just remember, Elysia, no matter how strong you are—and you are strong—it’s okay to lean on those who care about you. Strength doesn’t mean carrying everything on your own shoulders. It means knowing when to let others share the burden.”

Elysia felt a lump rise in her throat, the familiar warmth of Andromeda’s unwavering support wrapping around her like a protective cloak. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire. “You’ve always been there for me, even when I didn’t realise how much I needed it.”

Andromeda’s expression softened, her features illuminated by the gentle flicker of the flames. “Of course, dear. That’s what family does. Just promise me you’ll be careful. And check in when you can. You know I’ll be up worrying, pacing around the house like an old hen until I hear from you.”

“I promise,” Elysia replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The warmth in Andromeda’s words seeped into her heart, grounding her amidst the chaos of the day.

With a final, lingering glance, Andromeda nodded, her eyes soft with unspoken words and a depth of affection that only years of shared hardships could forge. The Floo connection faded, the green flames dying down to their usual warm glow. The room felt quieter in the wake of her departure, but Elysia felt a renewed sense of resolve. The weight of the coming night was still heavy, but the knowledge that she wasn’t facing it entirely alone—that she had both mortal and divine support—gave her the strength she needed.

Melinoë stood, moving to Elysia’s side with a quiet grace. “You’re well-loved,” she observed softly, her voice carrying a hint of admiration.

Elysia nodded, her heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and determination. “I am.”

Rising to her feet, Elysia felt the pulse of her magic thrumming more insistently beneath her skin, like a second heartbeat echoing through her veins, resonating with the rhythm of the world beyond. The energy in the air was almost tangible, vibrating with the thinning of the veil, urging her forward. Every breath she took felt heavy with expectation, and the walls of the cottage seemed to close in, as though even the very air recognized the significance of the night ahead. The firelight danced across the walls, casting flickering shapes that mirrored the restless energy coursing through her body. The room felt charged, the shadows deeper and more pronounced, and the familiar warmth of the hearth seemed almost fragile against the looming darkness outside.

With practiced efficiency, Elysia began to gather her supplies, her movements fluid and purposeful. She crossed the room to the sturdy wardrobe where her trusted cloak hung, its dark fabric shimmering faintly in the dim light like liquid midnight. As she draped it over her shoulders, the material shifted beneath her touch, the enchantments woven into its fibers revealing its true form—an impressive dark dragon leather cloak that molded to her frame with an almost sentient awareness. The leather felt cool and supple against her skin, its protective charms humming softly as they recognized their mistress. The cloak’s weight was familiar and grounding, like an old friend whispering promises of protection in her ear.

Next, her fingers found the hilts of her daggers, each blade a testament to countless battles fought and survived. One, a slender blade with ancient runes etched along its length, was strapped securely to her belt, the metal gleaming faintly in the firelight. The other, a slightly shorter but equally lethal weapon, found its place in the sheath on her thigh, its presence a reassuring weight against her skin. Both blades had seen their share of blood and victory, their edges honed to razor-sharp perfection. Elysia’s fingers lingered on the hilts for a moment longer than necessary, drawing strength from their familiar touch, the cold steel a reminder of the battles yet to come.

Her attention then turned to her wands. She flexed her wrists, feeling the subtle give of the holsters hidden beneath her sleeves. Her trusted Aspen wood wand, its surface smooth and warm to the touch, slid effortlessly into her right holster. It was a part of her, an extension of her will, and its familiar presence calmed the restless thrum of her magic. The Elder Wand, with its ancient, almost sentient power, settled into the left holster, its presence a steady, potent pulse against her skin. The dual weight of them felt right—a perfect balance of familiarity and formidable strength, a symbol of the duality she carried within herself.

As Elysia moved through these preparations, Melinoë watched from her place by the fire, her gaze thoughtful and unwavering. The goddess sat with a serene grace, her delicate fingers stroking Hedwig’s snowy feathers as the owl perched contentedly on the armrest of the chair. Hedwig, usually sharp and vigilant, was uncharacteristically relaxed, her eyes half-lidded in contentment. It was a rare sight, one that spoke volumes about the calming presence Melinoë brought into the room. The quiet companionship between goddess and familiar was a stark contrast to the charged energy that filled the space, a small oasis of calm amidst the storm.

“You’re meticulous,” Melinoë observed softly, her voice a soothing balm against the tension in the room. “But I suppose you have to be, don’t you?”

Elysia glanced over her shoulder, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, though her eyes remained shadowed with the weight of what lay ahead. “I’ve learned the hard way that being prepared isn’t just a habit—it’s survival.” Her voice was steady, but the undertone of experience was unmistakable.

Melinoë nodded, her fingers pausing in their gentle ministrations of Hedwig’s feathers. “Still, it’s impressive,” she murmured, her gaze lingering on Elysia’s movements as if committing them to memory.

Elysia secured the final strap of her thigh sheath and stood tall, her cloak billowing slightly as she moved, the enchanted leather catching the firelight in subtle, shifting patterns. “Experience is a teacher that leaves scars,” she replied, her tone edged with a hint of humor, though her eyes betrayed the weight of memories past. “But I’ve learned to listen.” Her gaze flicked to Melinoë, a silent acknowledgment of the goddess’s understanding.

She crossed the room to the small table where her final supplies lay—a pouch of enchanted powders, a few vials of restorative potions, and a carefully folded map marked with leyline intersections. Each item was a tool, a lifeline, a symbol of the countless preparations that went into surviving the battles she faced. She tucked them into the hidden compartments of her cloak, ensuring everything was within easy reach, her fingers moving with the precision of someone who had done this many times before.

Melinoë watched her with a thoughtful expression, her gaze lingering on Elysia’s every movement as if she could see the weight of each decision, each scar that had led her to this moment. “You carry a great weight,” she said quietly, her voice laced with an understanding that went beyond mere observation. “But you don’t have to carry it alone.” Her words were a gentle reminder, a thread of connection that tied them together in their shared understanding of life and death.

Elysia paused, meeting Melinoë’s gaze. The goddess’s words echoed Andromeda’s from earlier, weaving a tapestry of support and connection that bolstered her resolve. She felt a swell of gratitude, tempered by the knowledge of the battle ahead and the understanding that while she might walk into the darkness alone, she was never truly without support.

“I know,” Elysia replied softly, her voice a quiet promise. “And that makes all the difference.”

With her preparations complete, she took a deep breath, letting the weight of the coming night settle over her like the cloak on her shoulders. The room, filled with the quiet companionship of Melinoë and the steady, reassuring presence of Hedwig, felt like the calm before a storm—a sanctuary of peace before the chaos to come. The firelight flickered and danced, casting their intertwined shadows against the walls, a silent testament to the bond they shared and the battles yet to come.

Elysia gave one final glance around the room, committing the moment to memory—the warmth of the hearth, the serene presence of Melinoë, the soft rustle of Hedwig’s feathers. Then, with a nod to Melinoë and a soft, affectionate stroke of Hedwig’s feathers, she stepped toward the door.

The familiar creak of the hinges echoed softly in the quiet night as she pushed it open, revealing the dark expanse of the countryside beyond. The air was crisp and cool, filled with the earthy scent of damp leaves and distant rain. The rising moon hung low on the horizon, casting a pale, silvery glow over the landscape and bathing everything in a ghostly light.

As Elysia crossed the threshold, Hedwig took flight from her perch inside the cottage. The snowy owl soared gracefully into the night air, her wings catching the moonlight as she glided effortlessly toward Elysia. With a soft flutter, Hedwig landed on Elysia’s shoulder, her talons finding familiar purchase on the reinforced fabric of the dragon leather cloak. The owl’s presence was both a comfort and a symbol of unwavering loyalty, her keen eyes scanning the surroundings with sharp vigilance.

Behind her, Melinoë followed silently, her steps as light as shadows on the ground. The goddess moved with an otherworldly grace, her presence blending seamlessly with the night. She came to stand beside Elysia, her dark eyes reflecting the moonlight as they both gazed up at the luminous orb above them. The air between them was charged with unspoken understanding, a shared anticipation of the task ahead.

For a brief moment, they stood in perfect stillness beneath the moon’s ethereal glow, the world around them holding its breath. The veil between realms was at its thinnest, and the magic that coursed through them hummed in resonance with the earth and sky. Elysia could feel the pulse of her power, steady and insistent, guiding her toward the confrontation that awaited.

Without a word, the two women exchanged a glance, their silent bond stronger than any spoken promise. Elysia felt the familiar surge of magic rising within her, intertwining with Melinoë’s own divine energy. The shadows at their feet deepened and stretched, wrapping around them like a living cloak.

In a heartbeat, they vanished into the darkness, their forms dissolving into a single, seamless shadow. The night swallowed them whole, leaving only the faint echo of their departure in the rustling leaves and the soft, watchful gaze of the moon.

~~

Elysia emerged from the shadow with Melinoë at her side, the world snapping into sharp, almost painful focus as they appeared at the Cliffs of Moher. The storm greeted them like an old adversary, its fury unrelenting, as if the very elements themselves were trying to drive them back. Wind howled around them in shrieking gusts, lashing against Elysia’s face with icy needles of rain that stung her skin and blurred her vision. Her dragon leather cloak whipped violently around her ankles, the enchanted material resisting the worst of the elements, but even its formidable protection couldn’t keep out the bitter cold that gnawed at any exposed skin. The roar of the waves crashing against the jagged rocks far below echoed up the cliffside, a relentless, thunderous pulse that vibrated through the ground beneath her feet and resonated deep within her chest, as though the cliffs themselves were alive and breathing with ancient power.

Lightning tore across the sky in jagged, blinding streaks, casting the cliffs in stark, white brilliance for the briefest of moments before the darkness surged back in, heavier and more oppressive than before. The clouds churned above, thick and ominous, like a great beast coiling in the heavens. In that fleeting illumination, Elysia saw them—a large group of figures gathered at the ley line nexus point ahead, their dark robes billowing wildly in the tempest, their forms hunched and shadowed as they moved with frantic purpose. The raw magic of the ley lines surged and twisted around them, a visible distortion in the air that made the landscape ripple and pulse with unnatural energy, as though reality itself was struggling to hold its shape. The death magic that clung to the cliffs was suffocating, thick and oppressive as it rolled across the land like a living fog, seeping into every crevice and hollow, leaving an unmistakable chill in its wake.

But there was something else—something older, deeper, and far more powerful than the frantic rituals of the dark wizards ahead. As Elysia stepped forward, drawing her wand with a practiced motion that felt as natural as breathing, she felt it: an ancient presence that seemed to rise from the very stones beneath her feet. It wasn’t just the death magic of the ritual or the raw power of the ley lines—this was primal, elemental, a force that had existed long before any human had set foot on these cliffs. It embraced her as she arrived, a whisper of recognition that curled around her like a second skin, sinking into her bones and merging with the restless energy already thrumming through her veins. The storm, the cliffs, the very earth itself seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat, as if acknowledging her presence and lending its strength to her cause.

The wind tore at her words as she turned slightly toward Melinoë, her voice low but steady, carrying an undercurrent of determination that cut through the tempest. “They’re trying to force something through the veil,” she said, her eyes fixed on the figures ahead, narrowing as she took in the chaotic energy swirling around them. “But there’s more here than just their ritual. Something older is watching.”

Melinoë nodded, her dark eyes reflecting the distant flashes of lightning like twin pools of midnight fire. “This place remembers,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the storm, yet carrying the weight of undeniable truth. “The land knows who you are. It knows what you carry.”

Elysia tightened her grip on her wand, feeling the surge of magic around her respond in kind, as if the very cliffs were lending their power to her. The cliffs had witnessed countless histories—battles fought, blood spilled, lives lost and reclaimed. They had felt the footsteps of gods and mortals alike, had absorbed the echoes of ancient rites and forgotten sorrows. Now, they stood on the brink of another chapter—one that Elysia was determined to write with her own hand, forged in the crucible of her resolve and the fire of her magic.

The storm raged on, its fury a living thing that clawed at them with every gust of wind and every lash of rain, but Elysia moved forward, her steps steady and unwavering. The ancient power of the land mingled with her own, intertwining like old friends reunited, their combined strength a beacon in the darkness. The raw magic of the ley lines crackled in the air, a chaotic symphony of power that vibrated through her very soul, but Elysia welcomed it, drawing it into herself, letting it fuel the fire burning within.

As she advanced, the figures at the nexus point began to take notice, their movements growing more frantic as they sensed the shifting tide of power. The air grew heavier, the storm’s roar mingling with the rising crescendo of magical energy, but Elysia felt only clarity, a sharp, unwavering focus that cut through the chaos like a blade. The cliffs had given her their blessing, the storm had tempered her resolve, and now, she was ready to face whatever dark forces awaited her ahead.

Elysia walked forward toward the ley line nexus, each step deliberate, her presence cutting through the storm like a blade through fog. The dark wizards clustered around the swirling nexus began to falter, their chants wavering as they sensed the inevitable force approaching. The wind howled around her, tugging at her dragon leather cloak, while her black hair, streaked with white strands and tied back in a tight braid, was buffeted relentlessly by the gale. Despite the storm's fury, Elysia moved as if untouched, her focus sharp and unyielding, her determined gaze locked on the figures ahead.

The raw magic of the ley lines pulsed in the air, making the very ground beneath her feet tremble with power. As she drew closer, the wizards’ panic became palpable—their eyes wide, their movements erratic. Some clutched their wands tighter, while others cast nervous glances toward their comrades, silently questioning whether they had the courage to face what was coming.

Once within striking distance, Elysia paused, her stance calm and confident against the chaotic backdrop of the storm. She lifted her wand to her throat, her magic amplifying her voice so it cut through the tempest with a clarity that was impossible to ignore.

“I give you this one chance,” she announced, her voice resonating with both authority and finality. “Stop this now and walk away.”

For a heartbeat, there was silence, the storm seeming to hold its breath. The wizards exchanged uncertain glances, their fear evident even in the dim, flickering light. But then, from within their ranks, a figure stepped forward—a tall, gaunt man with hollow eyes and a twisted sneer. He raised his wand, and with a surge of bravado, his voice, magically propelled, echoed over the cliffs.

“We will not be stopped!” he roared, his words a defiant challenge against the storm’s wrath. “Not even by you, Morrigan!”

Elysia sighed softly, a sound almost lost to the wind, yet heavy with the weight of inevitability. She shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving the man who had spoken. Around him, the wizards began to fan out, their movements stiff with fear and determination as they spread along the outcropping of the cliffs. A core group remained by the nexus, their focus returning to the dark ritual as they chanted louder, trying to drown out their own fear.

For a moment, the storm was the only sound, the wind and waves crashing in a furious symphony. Then, as if on an unspoken signal, the wizards raised their wands in unison and unleashed a volley of spells toward Elysia, a cacophony of magical energy screaming through the air.

Elysia reacted with effortless precision, her wand snapping out in a swift, fluid motion. With a half-circle sweep, she pulled moisture from the storm-laden air, crafting a shimmering barrier of water that rose like a protective wall before her. The spells struck the water with sizzling hisses, their energy dissipating harmlessly into mist.

Before the mist could settle, Elysia’s wand flicked again, the movement sharp and decisive. The water barrier condensed in an instant, transforming into jagged spikes of glistening ice. With another silent command, she launched the ice shards toward the wizards with lethal speed and accuracy.

The dark wizards scrambled to dodge, their panic evident in their frantic movements. Some managed to evade the deadly projectiles, their spells deflecting the ice just in time. But others were not so fortunate. The ice spikes found their marks with chilling precision, piercing through robes and flesh alike. Cries of pain and gurgles of shock echoed across the cliffs, mingling with the storm’s roar as bodies crumpled to the ground, their lifeblood mingling with the rain-soaked earth.

Elysia’s expression remained unreadable, her focus unwavering as she advanced further toward the nexus. The remaining wizards hesitated, their resolve faltering as they watched their comrades fall. The storm raged on, but in that moment, the true force they faced was not the fury of nature—it was the unrelenting will of the Morrigan.

The dark wizards rallied, their fear giving way to desperation as they unleashed a barrage of spells toward Elysia. Bright streaks of magical energy cut through the storm, illuminating the chaotic battlefield in flashes of color. But Elysia moved with a deadly grace, her wand dancing through the air with precise, fluid motions. Her spells landed with unerring accuracy, each one a silent harbinger of death.

A jet of red light streaked toward her, but she sidestepped effortlessly, her cloak billowing like a shadow behind her. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she sent a cutting curse slicing through the air, severing the wand arm of a wizard before he could cast again. He crumpled to the ground with a scream, clutching the stump where his hand had been. Another wizard attempted to flank her, but Elysia spun on her heel, her wand flicking in a tight arc. A silent blasting curse sent him flying backward, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

The storm raged around them, the wind and rain masking the cries of the fallen as Elysia advanced steadily. The remaining wizards tried to regroup, their spells becoming more frantic and less coordinated. But it was futile. Elysia was a force of nature, her magic slicing through their defenses like a hot knife through butter.

The first wizard who had spoken, his face twisted with fury and fear, raised his wand high and screamed the incantation for the Killing Curse. “Avada Kedavra!” The sickly green light shot toward Elysia, cutting through the storm with deadly intent.

But Elysia was faster. At the last second, her wand flicked out with a precise, almost casual motion. The Killing Curse met the tip of her wand, and for a heartbeat, it hovered there, crackling with malevolent energy. Then, with a sharp twist of her wrist, she deflected the curse sideways. The green light streaked through the air, striking one of the wizards performing the ritual at the nexus.

The wizard didn’t even have time to scream. The curse hit him square in the chest, and he crumpled instantly, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the stormy sky. The chanting faltered as the other ritualists realized what had happened, their focus breaking under the weight of their fear.

As Elysia advanced closer to the ley line nexus, the storm seemed to intensify, the wind howling with a ferocity that threatened to tear the very earth apart. The chaotic energy from the nexus pulsed violently, distorting the air and sending tremors through the ground beneath her feet. Lightning crackled overhead in jagged streaks, illuminating the swirling mass of dark energy that hovered ominously over the nexus. Just as she thought the ritual had been fully disrupted, a deep, unnatural rumble echoed through the cliffs, resonating in her bones like the growl of some ancient, slumbering beast now awakening.

Above the nexus, the sky began to tear open, a jagged rift forming in the very fabric of reality. The storm clouds spiraled around the gaping wound, their dark tendrils twisting and writhing as though alive, lightning crackling at the edges like a crown of fire. From within the swirling void, a massive figure began to materialize, its sheer size dwarfing everything around it. The air grew thick with oppressive power, pressing down on Elysia’s chest like an iron weight as the figure stepped closer to the threshold of the rift.

Elysia’s breath caught in her throat as she beheld the monstrous being. It was a giant, its form shadowed and immense, with an aura that radiated raw, ancient power that seemed to sap the warmth from the very air. A single, closed eye dominated its grotesque face, the lid twitching as though it could burst open at any moment, unleashing untold destruction. Though Elysia did not recognize the figure, its presence sent a chill down her spine, a primal fear stirring deep within her soul. It was Balor, one of the Fomorians from Irish mythology, though his name remained unknown to her, his malevolence palpable even through the storm.

As the rift widened, the figure’s presence grew stronger, and Elysia felt the ground tremble beneath the weight of its impending arrival. The remaining dark wizards, emboldened by the sight of their summoned entity, redoubled their efforts, their chants rising in a desperate crescendo to pull the giant fully into their world. The ley lines pulsed with chaotic energy, their bright veins of magic weaving a lattice of power that throbbed in time with the ritualistic incantations.

Before Elysia could react, a sudden burst of energy flared beside her. Melinoë leapt into the fray, her eyes blazing with determination and a fierce light that seemed to cut through the storm itself. The goddess’s presence was like a beacon in the darkness, her magic surging forth in waves of ethereal light that shimmered and danced across the battlefield. With a swift, practiced motion, she raised her hands, weaving intricate sigils in the air that pulsed with divine power, the symbols glowing bright against the storm’s gloom.

“I cannot fight them directly,” Melinoë’s voice echoed in Elysia’s mind, calm but urgent, a steady anchor in the chaos. “But I can hold the rift. You must stop them.”

Melinoë’s magic surged toward the rift, intertwining with the chaotic energy and pushing back against the force trying to break through. The clash of divine power against the dark magic was palpable, the air humming and vibrating with the strain of their opposing forces. The rift’s edges flickered and wavered, as though caught in a violent tug-of-war between two immense powers. The storm responded to the struggle, its winds screaming louder, the rain falling in torrential sheets that stung Elysia’s skin.

Elysia nodded, her resolve hardening like steel as she turned her focus back to the remaining wizards. With Melinoë holding the rift at bay, she could concentrate on eliminating the mortals fueling the ritual. Her wand snapped out, casting spells with lethal precision, each burst of magic cutting down those who dared stand in her way. The storm seemed to bow to her will, the wind parting around her as she advanced with unrelenting purpose.

A wizard to her left raised his wand, but Elysia’s reaction was faster than thought. A flick of her wrist sent a searing jet of blue light that struck him squarely in the chest, sending him flying backward into the churning sea below. Another tried to flank her, but she spun gracefully, her cloak billowing like the wings of a raven, and unleashed a concussive blast that shattered the ground beneath his feet, swallowing him whole into the earth’s gaping maw.

The storm raged around them, but Elysia and Melinoë stood as unyielding sentinels against the encroaching darkness. The cliffs trembled under the weight of the battle, the ley lines pulsing with chaotic energy, but together, they fought to reclaim control. The dark wizards’ chants grew more frantic, their voices tinged with fear as they realized their power waned against the combined might of mortal and divine.

As Elysia struck down the last of the ritualists, the nexus pulsed violently one final time before the rift began to shrink, Melinoë’s magic weaving tightly around it like a net of starlight. The giant figure within the rift let out a guttural roar, its single eye fluttering open for a brief, terrifying moment, revealing an abyssal void that promised annihilation. But the rift’s closing severed the connection, cutting off its presence from their world.

As the last echoes of the battle faded into the wind, Elysia and Melinoë stood close together at the edge of the ley line nexus, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The storm had begun to retreat, its fury subsiding into a sullen drizzle that clung to their skin and hair, but the energy in the air still crackled with residual magic. The cliffs beneath their feet felt steadier now, though the earth still hummed with the aftershocks of the ritual's disruption.

Elysia’s chest rose and fell as she tried to steady her breathing, the weight of the fight settling into her limbs like lead. Her wand was still clutched tightly in her hand, its tip faintly glowing from the last spell she’d cast. The dark leather of her cloak was soaked through, clinging to her form, while the white-streaked braid of her hair was plastered to her back, whipped by the fading gusts of wind.

Melinoë’s presence beside her was a quiet, grounding force. The goddess’s eyes, usually sharp and piercing, now held a softer, more reflective light as they surveyed the aftermath of the battle. Her hands, still faintly glowing from the magic used to seal the rift, slowly lowered to her sides as the final tendrils of divine energy dissipated into the misty air.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the distant roar of the waves crashing against the rocks below and the soft, rhythmic patter of rain on stone. The silence wasn’t heavy; it was a shared reprieve, a mutual understanding of what they had faced and the bond forged in the crucible of that confrontation.

Elysia finally broke the silence, her voice low and steady, though tinged with exhaustion. “That was closer than I’d like.”

Melinoë gave a soft, wry chuckle, the sound barely audible over the wind. “Closer than either of us would prefer.”

Elysia turned to look at her, their eyes meeting in a moment of silent gratitude and respect. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Melinoë’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “And I wouldn’t have wanted to face this with anyone else.”

The words lingered between them, heavier with meaning than the simple gratitude they expressed. There was an unspoken acknowledgment in Melinoë’s gaze—a recognition of the kinship they shared, both of them walking the line between life and death, mortal and divine.

As they stood there, the storm continued to dissipate, the clouds parting just enough to let a sliver of moonlight pierce through, casting a pale, ethereal glow over the cliffs. The ley lines beneath their feet pulsed softly, no longer chaotic but still vibrant, a reminder of the power that coursed through the earth and the delicate balance they had fought to protect.

Elysia took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the tension begin to ease from her muscles. She slid her wand back into its holster on her forearm and rolled her shoulders, the weight of the night’s battle settling into a familiar, if unwelcome, ache.

Melinoë watched her with quiet concern, her expression softening. “You should rest,” she murmured, her voice carrying a note of gentle insistence.

Elysia shook her head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Not yet. There’s still too much to do.”

Melinoë didn’t argue. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Elysia’s arm—a simple gesture, but one that spoke volumes. The touch was grounding, a silent promise that whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.

As Elysia and Melinoë stood side by side, their breaths finally beginning to even out, Hedwig soared in wide, graceful circles above them, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon as though ensuring no further threats remained. The cliffs, battered by the storm, now lay under a fragile peace, the ley lines beneath them humming with a subdued but persistent energy.

But just as the tension seemed to ebb from the air, the very ground beneath their feet trembled. Elysia froze, her eyes narrowing as she felt a sudden shift—a surge of magic, ancient and powerful, rising from the depths of the earth. The ley lines, so closely intertwined with the land's history and the Morrigan of old, pulsed with a violent, almost sentient force.

Before Elysia could react, the magic burst forth from the nexus, a torrent of raw energy that shot upward and slammed into her with the force of a tidal wave. It was as though the land itself had recognized her, claimed her, and now sought to pour its ancient power into her very being. The surge flooded her body like molten fire, setting every nerve alight with excruciating intensity. Her vision blurred as the overwhelming force ripped through her, her limbs trembling under the sheer weight of it.

Elysia gasped, a strangled sound torn from her throat as she staggered. The magic seared through her veins, mingling with her own power in a chaotic dance that threatened to tear her apart from within. Her knees buckled, and before she could collapse fully onto the rain-slicked ground, Melinoë was there, her arms strong and steady as they caught Elysia’s falling form.

“Elysia!” Melinoë’s voice was sharp with panic, her usually calm demeanor cracking under the sudden fear for her friend. The goddess could feel the volatile magic surging through Elysia, its chaotic energy lashing out like a wild, untamed beast.

Elysia’s eyes fluttered open briefly, the storm within her reflected in their depths—a maelstrom of pain, power, and something far older, far more dangerous. Her lips moved, trying to form words, but only a faint, breathless whisper escaped.

Without hesitation, Melinoë tightened her hold on Elysia, her own magic flaring in response to the crisis. She knew they couldn’t stay here—not with Elysia in this state. With a swift, decisive motion, Melinoë drew them both into the shadows, her divine power wrapping around them like a protective cocoon. Hedwig let out a sharp, concerned cry from above before diving after them, her wings folding as she vanished into the shadows alongside them.

The cliffs of Moher faded from view, swallowed by the encroaching darkness as Melinoë whisked them away to seek help. The ley lines pulsed one last time, their ancient magic settling back into the earth, but the mark they had left on Elysia would not fade so easily.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

XIII

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

Elysia drifted through the void, a space neither warm nor cold, neither dark nor light. She was weightless, untethered, suspended in the liminal space between consciousness and oblivion. The echoes of the magic that had surged into her still pulsed beneath her skin, a slow, burning thrum that refused to fade. She was aware, but at the same time, she was lost.

Then, the void shifted.

A landscape began to form around her, ancient and wild. A vast, mist-laden battlefield stretched out beneath an endless, storm-choked sky. The air smelled of damp earth and something older, something that carried the weight of history and forgotten wars. The wind howled, carrying the whispers of those long since passed, their voices mingling into an eerie, haunting chorus.

At the heart of it all stood a lone figure.

A woman, cloaked in shadows and woven with the echoes of something long forgotten, watched her in silence. A great black crow perched on her shoulder, its beady eyes fixed unblinkingly on Elysia. The woman’s presence was oppressive, ancient, but not hostile. There was something familiar about her—not in a way that Elysia could place, but in the way the very land recognized her, in the way the magic whispered its name to her in a tongue she did not know but somehow understood.

The woman’s hood concealed most of her features, but Elysia could see the sharp glint of eyes that seemed to reflect the storm itself. Eyes that had seen war, blood, and death. Eyes that knew the weight of fate.

Elysia tried to speak, but her voice was stolen by the wind. Her lips moved, but no sound came forth. The woman watched her still, tilting her head slightly as if contemplating something only she could see.

Then, for the first time, she spoke. Her voice was a whisper that carried through the howling wind as though it were woven into the very breath of the storm itself.

“You carry the weight of a name not yet yours, yet it knows you.”

The crow on her shoulder let out a sharp caw, the sound reverberating like a war cry.

Elysia felt her magic pulse in response, resonating with something deep, something ancient within her that she had never dared to touch. The battlefield, the woman, the crow—they all felt like fragments of something unfinished, something calling to her through the veil of time.

“Who are you?” Elysia finally managed to whisper, though the words were nearly lost to the wind.

The woman did not answer immediately. Instead, she reached out a hand, her fingers brushing the space between them, though she did not make contact. The moment stretched into eternity, the air between them alive with power.

“Remember,” the woman murmured.

And then, everything shattered.

The battlefield dissolved into a swirl of mist, the wind roared with an unearthly howl, and the vision collapsed in on itself like the fading embers of a dying flame.

Then, just as suddenly, the vision shifted again.

Elysia found herself standing in the middle of a battlefield, but this was different—this was real, or had once been real. The air was thick with the acrid scent of fire and blood, the distant screams of combatants and the clash of magic ringing in her ears. She knew this place, this moment.

The battlefield was a maelstrom of chaos, a cacophony of screams, spells, and destruction. The air was thick with smoke, the scent of scorched earth mingling with the metallic tang of blood. The remnants of Hogwarts and the bodies of the fallen littered the ground, illuminated only by the sporadic flashes of spellfire. Yet, amidst the chaos, Elysia stood, unwavering, her wand steady in her grasp as she faced the Dark Lord.

Voldemort stood across from her, his crimson eyes gleaming with the promise of death. His robes billowed in the nightmarish wind that howled through the ruins, his skeletal fingers curled around his wand like a vice. He was speaking, taunting her, but his words were drowned out by the ringing in her ears, by the sheer weight of the moment pressing down upon her shoulders. This was it. The end.

They had fought before, exchanged curses and counter-curses in a deadly dance of magic, but this was different. This was final.

Elysia had known for some time what needed to be done. She had carried the knowledge in the depths of her soul, a secret burden too heavy to share. To end this war, to truly defeat Voldemort, she had to die by his hand. The fragment of his soul within her—the last anchor binding him to immortality—had to be destroyed, and there was only one way to do it.

She met his gaze with a steady calm, her breath even, her heart a drumbeat of certainty.

Voldemort struck first, a lash of green light searing through the air toward her. She moved, stepping aside with the grace of a shadow, her own spell snapping forward, violet and edged with raw power. Their duel was a symphony of destruction, the ground beneath them cracking with the force of their magic. Spells collided midair in thunderous explosions, sending shockwaves that shattered stone and sent debris flying.

A jagged boulder hurtled toward her—she flicked her wand, transfiguring it into a flock of ravens that dispersed into the night. Voldemort retaliated with a curse that ignited the very air around her, flames licking at her cloak as she spun through the inferno, her own counter-curse slamming into his shield.

The battle raged, each movement precise, each spell carrying the weight of years of hatred, grief, and inevitability. And yet, through it all, Elysia could feel the pull of fate tightening around her like a noose. She could see the moment approaching, the inevitable conclusion written in the air between them.

Then, she saw her opening.

She stopped dodging.

Voldemort’s expression flickered with the briefest moment of confusion before it twisted into cruel satisfaction. He saw her stillness as surrender, as weakness. He raised his wand, the emerald glow of Avada Kedavra illuminating his pale, serpentine features.

Elysia smiled.

And stepped into the curse.

The flash of green light engulfed her, painlessly, soundlessly. For a fraction of a second, she felt weightless, untethered from the world, as if slipping into a place beyond time.

She heard a whisper—distant, ancient, familiar.

Then, darkness.

Elysia slowly came to, her body heavy, her breath shallow as she lay among the debris of battle. Every limb ached as though she had been torn apart and put back together again. The distant ringing in her ears faded, replaced by the unmistakable voice of Voldemort. His tone was victorious, filled with arrogance and finality. He spoke with the certainty of a conqueror, demanding the surrender of all who remained. His words echoed through the battlefield like the tolling of a death knell, a declaration that the war was over, that he had won.

But he was wrong.

A deep, thrumming power resonated within her, unlike anything she had felt before. It surged beneath her skin, filling her veins with fire and clarity. The weight of magic was immense, but instead of crushing her, it lifted her, carried her forward. It was not just her magic—this was something more, something ancient, something inevitable. The Deathly Hallows were no longer separate entities but a singular force intertwined with her very soul. 

Elysia inhaled sharply, feeling the cold bite of the wind, the scent of scorched earth, the iron tang of blood. The battlefield was still steeped in chaos—flashes of spellfire illuminated the smoke-laden sky, and the ground was littered with the fallen. Yet, all else dimmed as she slowly pushed herself up onto her feet, her presence an unspoken challenge against the self-proclaimed Dark Lord.

The Cloak of Invisibility settled around her shoulders like a second skin, its magic rippling in reaction to her awakening. It no longer simply concealed; it shrouded her in something deeper, something intangible yet undeniable. It billowed as though caught in an unfelt wind, an extension of the magic that now wove itself through her very existence.

The Resurrection Stone, still resting on its chain against her chest, pulsed warmly against her skin, its presence both comforting and haunting. A whisper of voices brushed against her senses—familiar, distant, neither alive nor dead, but watching. Waiting.

And in her grasp, the Elder Wand thrummed with power. It was no longer an artifact, no longer a tool—it was a part of her, an extension of her will. Its core burned with unrestrained potential, eager to be wielded, to be unleashed. 

Above, the storm raged, dark clouds roiling like an extension of her own fury, the elements responding to the weight of what had just transpired. Then, through the smoke-choked air, a familiar shape descended. Hedwig. 

Her snowy feathers gleamed even amidst the destruction, her piercing golden eyes locking onto Voldemort with unyielding defiance. She let out a cry that cut through the battlefield, a sound that sent a shiver through the gathered Death Eaters. It was no ordinary call; it carried magic, an echo of something far older than them all. 

Voldemort faltered for the briefest of moments, a flicker of something passing through his crimson gaze. Doubt? Disbelief? He had watched her fall. He had killed her.

Elysia exhaled, her breath steady, her magic an unrelenting force wrapped around her like an unbreakable shield. She felt none of the exhaustion she should have. Instead, there was an overwhelming sense of clarity, as if she were standing at the precipice of fate, looking down at the final path laid before her. 

The war was not over.

She was not finished.

Voldemort slowly turned, his crimson eyes widening in disbelief as he beheld the figure rising before him. Gasps and whispers rippled through the battlefield, the voices of both friend and foe alike uttering a single name—

"Morrigan."

The word carried through the air like an omen, laced with awe and dread, as if the very presence of the name commanded the attention of the living and the dead. The storm that had raged above now seemed to quiet in anticipation, the very air thick with an energy that crackled in response to her presence. Elysia stood tall, her black hair, whipping around her face in the howling wind, her expression one of unshakable certainty. The Elder Wand thrummed in her grip, the Resurrection Stone pulsed against her chest, and the Cloak of Invisibility billowed behind her like the wings of a phantom.

Voldemort's pale fingers tightened around his wand, his expression twisting between fury and something dangerously close to fear. "Impossible," he hissed. "I killed you. I watched you fall."

Elysia tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharp, unwavering. The air around her pulsed with something ancient, something that predated both of them, something far older than magic itself. "You tried," she said, her voice steady, carrying through the ruins of the battlefield. "But death and I are well acquainted. And I have never been yours to destroy."

The Death Eaters shifted uneasily, their previous certainty cracking as the weight of the moment settled upon them. Some took a step back, their faith in their supposed immortal leader wavering at the sight of what should have been impossible. Those who had followed Voldemort without question now saw the truth—the woman standing before them had risen from death itself, untouched, unbroken, stronger than ever.

Voldemort’s lips curled into a snarl. "You think you can defy me? That you can stand against the inevitable? I am Lord Voldemort. I am magic’s true master!"

Elysia took a measured step forward, her power rolling through her veins like an inexorable tide, an unseen force pressing outward from her, sending ripples through the battlefield. "No," she said simply, lifting the Elder Wand with deliberate grace. "You are just another man who feared death so much that you made it your master. And now, you will learn what it means to be truly powerless."

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the shattered remains of Hogwarts in stark relief. The storm, once wild and untamed, now bent to her presence, the wind carrying whispers of the dead, their voices threading through the gale. Hedwig let out a piercing cry from above, her white feathers flashing against the darkened sky as she circled protectively overhead. The tension between them stretched taut, an invisible tether of inevitability binding them together.

Then, the moment snapped.

With a single breath, the two adversaries moved in unison, their wands flashing as they leaped into what both knew would be their final duel.

Voldemort struck first, his curse a torrent of sickly green light that seared through the space between them. But Elysia was faster. The Elder Wand moved as if it knew the spell before it was even cast, her shield forming an instant before impact, the force of it sending tremors through the ground. She countered in a heartbeat, her spell weaving through the air like a blade of raw magic, sharp and unrelenting.

Their duel was unlike anything the battlefield had ever seen. Magic clashed in a furious storm of fire and shadow, tearing through the ruins as the ground trembled beneath them. Spells struck with explosive force, sending shockwaves that shattered stone and sent dust spiraling into the air. The sky itself seemed to crack with every spell exchanged, the very fabric of reality bending under the weight of their power.

The battlefield held its breath, the world narrowing to the space between them as death itself watched on, waiting for the victor to claim their place in history.

The air between them crackled with raw energy, charged with magic so potent it felt like the world itself held its breath. Elysia and Voldemort moved in a deadly dance, their wands flashing as they exchanged brutal, unrelenting spells that tore through the battlefield like a tempest given form. Neither held back, and neither intended to.

Voldemort’s opening strike was ruthless, a twisting, jagged arc of green energy aimed straight at Elysia’s heart. She deflected it with a flick of the Elder Wand, the impact sending a wave of force outward, knocking over rubble and sending dust spiraling into the air. Her counter-curse streaked toward him, an amalgamation of silver and violet that screamed through the space between them, cutting through the smoke like a blade.

They moved in tandem, casting and countering, their magic warping the battlefield with every strike. The ground beneath them trembled as a torrent of fiery, serpent-like tendrils erupted from Voldemort’s wand, surging toward her with lethal intent. Elysia responded with a blast of shadowy magic, her spell colliding with his in a violent explosion that sent shockwaves through the ruins of Hogwarts.

Darkness twisted around them, spells crafted of raw destruction weaving together in a violent symphony. A jagged spike of dark magic speared toward Elysia’s side; she barely twisted away in time, retaliating with a slash of silver-blue energy that cut through the air like lightning. It struck Voldemort’s hastily conjured shield, shattering it in a burst of black mist. He hissed, his red eyes glowing with hatred, and sent a wave of cursed wind toward her, its force powerful enough to carve trenches into the ground.

Elysia grounded herself, her magic surging as she raised her free hand, twisting the air around her to redirect the force. It slammed into a nearby ruin instead, reducing what remained of a tower to rubble. She didn’t hesitate. Another flick of her wand sent dozens of razor-sharp ice shards flying toward Voldemort, each one infused with curses meant to tear through flesh and bone. He vanished in a swirl of darkness, reappearing behind her with a snarl, his wand cutting downward in an arc as he unleashed a torrent of necrotic energy.

Pain flared as the edges of his curse seared across her shoulder, blackening the edge of her cloak. Gritting her teeth, she retaliated instantly, lashing out with a jet of crackling violet lightning that sent Voldemort staggering backward. The momentary lapse gave her an opening. She pressed forward, forcing him to retreat as she unleashed spell after spell, the sheer force of her assault making the very air around them vibrate.

Voldemort snarled, raising his wand high. The sky itself darkened, shadows swirling in a malevolent storm overhead. Elysia felt the surge of energy and responded in kind, pulling on the power coursing through her veins—the Hallows, her own magic, the land itself.

A column of spectral energy erupted around her, its luminescent form clashing against Voldemort’s conjured darkness. The battlefield quaked beneath the magnitude of their unleashed power. Their duel had transcended mortal limits—this was magic at its most raw, its most terrifying.

A final surge of power crackled between them, the ground splitting open as their spells met in a cataclysmic collision, neither willing to be the one to fall first.

The battlefield trembled under the sheer force of their duel. The sky above raged with storm and fire, the wind howling through the shattered ruins, carrying the echoes of destruction. Elysia and Voldemort were locked in a brutal exchange, each spell cast with lethal intent, each counter met with defiance.

Elysia's breath came fast, but her grip on the Elder Wand never wavered. Voldemort, despite his skill, was beginning to falter. His crimson eyes burned with desperation, a flicker of disbelief hidden beneath his fury. He had never encountered resistance like this—not even from Dumbledore. But Elysia was no ordinary witch, and the power coursing through her veins was unlike anything he had ever faced.

Their spells collided in an explosion of magic that sent debris flying, the very ground beneath them cracking under the pressure. Voldemort twisted his wand in a sharp motion, sending a wave of necrotic energy surging toward her, but Elysia was already moving. With a flick of her wrist, she deflected the deadly curse, her magic surging forward like a tidal wave.

Voldemort staggered back, barely managing to conjure a shield before Elysia pressed the attack. The Elder Wand burned in her hand, a conduit of pure, raw magic. She could feel the weight of the Hallows, the pulse of their combined power amplifying her own. Her heart pounded with a certainty she had never known before. This was the moment.

Summoning every ounce of magic she had left, she whispered an incantation under her breath, the words lost to the roaring wind. A spiral of violet and silver energy coiled around her wand, twisting with an eerie, almost sentient grace. Voldemort’s eyes widened as he recognized the danger, but it was too late.

Elysia thrust her wand forward, and the spell punched straight through Voldemort's chest.

A choked gasp escaped him as his body arched backward, his eyes bulging in shock. A tremor ran through him, his wand slipping from his grasp as his hands clutched at the gaping wound, fingers scrabbling against the searing energy now consuming him from within. The magic tore through his very essence, unraveling him at a fundamental level.

The battlefield fell silent. The storm above stilled, as if the very world was holding its breath.

Voldemort let out one last strangled sound—something between a scream and a whispered plea—before his body convulsed violently. Then, in a final burst of unearthly light, he disintegrated, his form unraveling into nothingness. No remains, no corpse—only silence and the scent of burned air where he once stood.

Elysia remained standing, her wand still raised, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. The Elder Wand pulsed one last time before the magic settled. It was over. The Dark Lord was gone.

The war had ended.

The battlefield trembled as the final echoes of Voldemort’s existence faded into nothingness. The storm above, once raging in fury, grew eerily still, as if the very world held its breath in the wake of his defeat. The air was thick with the scent of burned earth and dissipating magic, the ruins of Hogwarts standing as silent witnesses to the war’s end.

Elysia remained standing at the epicenter of it all, her breath coming in slow, measured exhales. The Elder Wand felt weightless in her grasp, its purpose fulfilled, its power no longer humming with urgency. Hedwig descended from above, her white feathers stark against the ashen landscape, settling onto Elysia’s shoulder with a quiet rustle of wings.

The silence stretched, thick and absolute. And then, the world began to warp.

The ruins wavered, the battlefield shifting like mist dissolving in the wind. The charred ground beneath her feet melted into shadow, the echoes of battle distorting as if reality itself was unraveling. Elysia felt no fear—only a deep awareness that something was not yet done. Her fingers flexed around her wand, her senses sharpening as the remnants of the memory twisted into something else entirely.

And then she saw her.

A lone figure stood at the edge of the battlefield, draped in a cloak that shimmered like liquid night. It was identical to Elysia’s own—the same fabric that had hidden her from death’s grasp so many times before. The figure was motionless, save for the crow perched on her shoulder, its dark eyes gleaming with an intelligence beyond mortal comprehension. The bird ruffled its feathers, mirroring the way Hedwig subtly adjusted her perch upon Elysia’s own shoulder.

The woman’s face was obscured beneath the hood, but Elysia felt the weight of her gaze as though it was a physical force. There was no hostility in it, no malice—only an eerie, watchful presence. The storm clouds above seemed to bow to her presence, shifting unnaturally, tendrils of mist curling around her feet like wraiths drawn to her being.

Elysia took a step forward, but the world shuddered in response. The figure remained still, unwavering, as the battlefield continued to dissolve around them. A whisper, too faint to make out, brushed against Elysia’s mind—like the echo of a forgotten name carried on the wind.

And then, with a final pulse of energy, the vision collapsed. The battlefield, the woman, the crow—everything dissolved into shadow.

~~

Elysia jolted awake, a sharp breath catching in her throat as the vision dissolved into reality. The oppressive sensation of death magic still clung to her like a second skin, wrapping around her in an unseen cocoon. Her mind reeled, caught between the remnants of the memory and the stark unfamiliarity of her surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, bathed in an eerie, flickering glow emanating from braziers set in the corners. The polished obsidian walls gleamed with reflected firelight, casting elongated shadows that danced with the flames. The air held the cool scent of stone and something more ancient, something that whispered of power and patience. Silken sheets of midnight black draped over her, their texture cool against her skin, and the mattress beneath her was impossibly soft—luxurious, yet still foreign. A distant hum of power resonated within the very foundations of the room, a silent pulse that set her on edge.

She barely had time to process where she was before the heavy door to the chamber eased open. A woman stepped inside, her movements silent but possessing an air of quiet authority. The moment she entered, the shadows seemed to bend around her, parting like a living entity recognizing its master. Her skin was deathly pale, an ethereal contrast to the rippling dark gown she wore—fabric that moved as if composed of ink and shadow, shifting with each step she took. Her golden hair was gathered into a high Greek-style ponytail, the strands catching the faint light like liquid gold, but it was her eyes that held Elysia captive. Black as the void, deep and endless, they carried an unfathomable weight, the look of someone who saw the branching paths of fate and understood them all.

Hecate.

Elysia had seen many powerful figures, but Hecate’s presence was unlike anything she had encountered before. There was no hostility in her gaze, but neither was there warmth—only understanding, distant yet perceptive. She carried the weight of ancient knowledge, of crossroads unseen and choices that shaped the course of fate.

“You are awake.” Hecate’s voice was smooth, deliberate, a sound that carried the echoes of forgotten spells and whispered prophecies. “Melinoë did not know what had happened to you, so she sought me.”

Elysia pushed herself up, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her, but she forced herself to meet the goddess’s gaze. The cool air sent a shiver down her spine as she tried to steady her breathing. “Where am I?”

“Hades’ palace,” Hecate answered, stepping closer, her gown flowing around her like living shadow. “You were found wreathed in death magic, unresponsive. It was not of your making, nor Melinoë’s, so she sought aid from those who would understand.”

Elysia exhaled, pressing her fingers to her temples, trying to ground herself in the present. The memory of the battlefield, the cloaked woman, the crow—they still lingered like ghosts just beyond her reach. She looked back to Hecate, knowing that whatever had happened, she needed answers.
Hecate had just finished her examination, her dark, piercing gaze sweeping over Elysia one last time before nodding in quiet satisfaction. “You are intact,” she murmured, her voice laced with the weight of knowledge. “Whatever transpired did not leave a permanent mark on your being, though the magic that touched you lingers still.”

Elysia exhaled deeply, running a hand through her hair, feeling the residual hum of magic still clinging to her like a second skin. Her body ached, not from wounds, but from something deeper, something more intrinsic. The vision, the battle, the strange woman with the crow—all of it swirled in her mind like echoes of something she hadn’t quite grasped yet. She was about to respond when the door burst open with a force that sent the braziers flickering violently, shadows leaping against the obsidian walls.

Melinoē rushed into the room, her eyes searching frantically until they landed on Elysia. Her usual eerie grace was abandoned as she practically threw herself forward, the sharp echo of her boots against the polished floor breaking the tense silence. Before Elysia could react, she was enveloped in a fierce embrace, the force of it nearly knocking the breath from her lungs.

The warmth of Melinoē’s touch was unexpected, a contrast to the ever-present aura of death that surrounded her. Her arms tightened around Elysia as if she feared she might disappear if she let go. Elysia felt the tremor in Melinoē’s fingers, the way her grip lingered just a second too long, betraying the depth of her relief.

Elysia blinked in surprise before hesitantly wrapping her own arms around Melinoē, her fingers lightly pressing against the fabric of her cloak. There was something grounding about the way Melinoē held her, something Elysia hadn’t realized she needed until this moment. 

After a breathless second, Melinoē suddenly pulled back, her pale cheeks darkening in a rare display of embarrassment. She stepped back quickly, clasping her hands behind her back as though trying to reclaim her usual composure. “I— I am simply relieved that you are unharmed,” she said, her voice carefully measured but carrying the unmistakable tremor of lingering concern.

Elysia let out a small chuckle, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “I appreciate that,” she said, offering a small but genuine smile. “I seem to have a habit of worrying people lately.”

Hecate, who had been watching the interaction in silence, finally spoke. “It seems you have people who care deeply for your well-being, Elysia,” she mused, her voice carrying a knowing lilt. “That is both a strength and a responsibility.”

Elysia shifted slightly, glancing at Melinoē, who had returned to her usual composed expression, though the soft tension in her shoulders remained. The weight of what had just happened, of what she had just experienced, still loomed over her. But in this moment, with Melinoē standing near and Hecate watching her with something that almost resembled approval, Elysia felt the faintest glimmer of steadiness return.
Hecate regarded Elysia with an unreadable expression before turning to Melinoë. With a flick of her wrist, a scroll materialized in her grasp, its parchment aged yet brimming with power. The sigils along its edges pulsed faintly, as though imbued with the very essence of fate itself. She extended it toward Melinoë, her fingers barely touching the surface as if even she hesitated to fully claim its weight.

“I leave her in your hands, Melinoë,” Hecate said, her voice carrying the finality of a sealed fate. “There is much she must understand, and you are the best suited to guide her.”

Melinoë took the scroll with a solemn nod, her pale fingers tightening around the parchment as though the weight of responsibility had settled onto her shoulders. She cast a brief glance at Elysia before tucking the scroll into the folds of her robes. The goddess of magic lingered only a moment longer, her dark eyes inscrutable, before the shadows at her feet thickened and swallowed her form. In an instant, she was gone, retreating into the unseen corridors of the Underworld where only she could tread.

The silence left in her wake was thick, heavy with unspoken truths. Melinoë exhaled, then turned to Elysia with a small, reassuring smirk. “Come,” she said, motioning for her to follow. “If you are to be here for a time, you should at least know your surroundings.”

Elysia fell into step beside her, her boots making barely a whisper against the floors of the palace. The walls of Hades’ domain were imposing, forged from black obsidian that shimmered faintly under the glow of ghostly lanterns suspended in midair. Strange runes flickered along the surface of the stone, occasionally shifting as though they were alive, and the air itself hummed with quiet power. The deeper they ventured, the more Elysia felt the weight of the realm settle over her, wrapping around her like an unseen shroud.

“This palace is older than most gods remember,” Melinoë said as they walked, her voice reverent. “It exists in a state between the mortal realm and the Underworld, a place where death does not simply linger but reigns. Every stone here remembers, every shadow whispers. Even the air carries the weight of those who have passed.”

They passed grand archways, each leading to unknown depths, some lined with jagged runes that pulsed with a dull crimson glow, others completely dark, yawning voids that seemed to pull at the edges of her consciousness. Elysia could feel the presence of something beyond the walls, not alive but not entirely dead either—a constant, lingering awareness watching from the shadows.

“That,” Melinoë pointed to a large set of double doors etched with intricate silver filigree, “leads to the archives. If Hades has ever known it, it is written in there.”

Elysia raised an eyebrow. “A library of the dead?”

Melinoë chuckled, though there was an edge to it, as if she knew the truth was far more complicated. “Something like that. But what Hecate wrote for you is likely more useful for now.”

She reached into her robes, retrieving the scroll, and unfurled it with a flick of her wrist. The script shimmered in the dim light, ancient symbols arranging themselves in neat, flowing lines as though responding to the reader’s intent. She handed it to Elysia without a word, watching closely as she read.

Elysia skimmed the parchment, her brows furrowing the longer she stared. The words carried weight beyond ink and paper—Hecate had not simply written knowledge; she had inscribed something fundamental, something immutable. 

“Death magic,” Elysia murmured, fingers tightening around the parchment. “Flows through my veins?”

Melinoë nodded, stepping closer. “It is not common. Most who wield death magic, even gods, merely tap into it. Even Hades himself only commands it from the outside. But for some…” she hesitated, her gaze flickering to Elysia’s, deep and unreadable. “For some, it is as natural as breathing.”

Elysia swallowed, feeling a strange sense of understanding settle over her. She had always known she was different, that something unseen wove through her very being, a connection she had never fully understood. Now, with Melinoë’s words and Hecate’s confirmation, she realized she had never been alone in that feeling. It explained the way her magic reacted so instinctively in moments of life and death, why she could feel the presence of spirits in ways others could not.

Melinoë led her down another corridor, this one lined with statues of forgotten souls, their features worn away by time but their presence unmistakable. The flickering lanterns cast shifting shadows across their forms, making them seem as though they were moving, whispering secrets in the language of the dead. The very air here thrummed with ancient power, old memories woven into the stone.

“Most gods command death, but they are not part of it,” Melinoë continued, her voice softer now, as if sharing something personal. “You and I… we exist within it. We do not simply reach for it; it flows through us. It calls to us, and in turn, we answer.”

Elysia exhaled, her grip tightening on the scroll as the weight of her newfound knowledge settled over her. She glanced at Melinoë, who studied her with a quiet intensity, as if gauging how she was processing everything.

Melinoë gestured toward another corridor, leading deeper into the palace. “Come, there is more to see..”

The grand corridors of Hades’ palace stretched endlessly, their obsidian walls shimmering faintly under the glow of ghostly lanterns. The weight of the Underworld pressed against Elysia’s senses, its silent hum resonating through the very air she breathed. Melinoë led her onward, pointing out various chambers and passages, some vast and lined with intricate carvings, others narrow and winding, disappearing into the unseen depths of the realm.

Before long, the oppressive weight of the palace walls gave way to something else—something vibrant, alive despite its location deep within the realm of the dead. The passage they had been walking through opened into a vast, enclosed garden. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, and the light here was softer, golden, as though untouched by the gloom of the Underworld.

Elysia’s gaze swept across the lush landscape, taking in the twisting vines, flowering trees, and delicate petals that seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow. The garden pulsed with life, a stark contrast to the heavy stillness she had grown accustomed to. And in the center of it all stood a woman who could only be Persephone.

Regal and radiant, the Queen of the Underworld carried an effortless grace that commanded attention. Her long auburn hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, and her emerald-green eyes held an unfathomable depth, carrying both the warmth of spring and the chilling authority of her domain. She wore a flowing gown of deep red and gold, the fabric shifting like petals caught in the wind. There was power in her presence, ancient and unwavering.

At the sight of them, Persephone turned, a knowing smile gracing her lips as she regarded her daughter and her unexpected guest.

“Melinoë,” she greeted, her voice like the rustling of leaves. “I was wondering when you would bring her to me.”

Melinoë hesitated, but only for a moment before she stepped forward, her expression neutral but the faintest flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. “Mother,” she acknowledged before gesturing toward Elysia. “This is Elysia.”

Persephone’s gaze flickered to Elysia, studying her with a quiet intensity. For a moment, she seemed to see beyond her physical form, her emerald eyes searching deeper, as if peering into Elysia’s very soul. Then, slowly, her smile widened.

“Yes,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “I see why.”

Elysia, feeling the weight of the goddess’s scrutiny, offered a small, respectful nod. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Persephone.”

Persephone chuckled softly, stepping closer with an effortless elegance. “The honor is mine, Elysia,” she said warmly. “You have made quite the impression, especially on my daughter.”

Melinoë stiffened slightly, casting a sharp glance at her mother, but Persephone only smiled, a glimmer of amusement in her expression.

“You were unconscious for days, and she barely left your side,” Persephone continued, as if speaking of something entirely casual. “It was... telling.”

Elysia’s eyes flicked to Melinoë, whose usual composure faltered just enough for Elysia to catch the faintest hint of a blush on her pale cheeks. The goddess of ghosts quickly averted her gaze, clearing her throat as if trying to will away the moment.

Persephone’s gaze remained knowing, her amusement tempered with something softer, something fond. “Come,” she said, turning back toward the heart of the garden. “Walk with me. There is much to discuss.”

Elysia glanced at Melinoë, who seemed torn between frustration and resignation before nodding and following after her mother. With a lingering glance at the blooming flowers and golden light, Elysia stepped forward as well, feeling as though she had just stepped into something far more intricate than she had anticipated.

As they walked along a winding path lined with ivy-laced trellises, Persephone kept a leisurely pace, allowing Elysia time to take in the beauty of the Underworld’s most unexpected sanctuary. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, their delicate petals glowing faintly in the dim light, casting shifting patterns of gold and green onto the cobbled walkway. This place felt different from the rest of the Underworld—not oppressive or heavy with the weight of souls but teeming with a strange, ethereal life. It was as though this garden defied the very nature of its realm, infused with the balance Persephone herself embodied.

Despite the peace of the setting, Elysia could feel a quiet expectation lingering in the air. Persephone's presence was warm yet commanding, her grace effortless as she strolled through her domain. She had not spoken yet, but Elysia knew she would soon. There was an intent behind this walk, and she suspected the goddess was merely waiting for the right moment.

Finally, she did. “So, Elysia,” Persephone mused, her voice carrying a gentle lilt, a blend of spring’s warmth and the cold authority of her realm. “Tell me about yourself. It’s not often my daughter takes such a keen interest in someone.”

Melinoë, walking just a step behind them, let out a quiet groan. “Mother.”

Persephone merely chuckled, her emerald eyes glinting with amusement as she cast a sidelong glance at her daughter. “Oh, I only wish to know the person who has captured my daughter’s attention.”

Elysia raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly as she cast a glance at Melinoë, who was steadfastly avoiding eye contact. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what to say. I doubt my story is nearly as grand as anything found in these halls.”

Persephone’s laughter was light, like the wind rustling through a field of wildflowers. “Modesty is endearing, but I think there is far more to you than you let on.” She plucked a deep purple flower from a nearby vine, twirling it between her fingers before passing it to Elysia. The petals were soft as silk against her skin. “Tell me, what drew you to the Underworld? Or, perhaps, what drew my daughter to you?”

Elysia accepted the flower, feeling its silken texture between her fingers as she considered her answer. “Fate, I suppose,” she said eventually. “Or something close to it. My path has always seemed to weave between life and death. The first time I came to the Underworld, it was alongside Percy Jackson on a quest to retrieve Zeus' stolen bolt. Even then, I felt the pull of this place, like it recognized something in me. I’ve never quite belonged to either world.”

Persephone’s expression shifted slightly, as though she were seeing something beyond Elysia’s words. “A fitting answer,” she murmured, nodding thoughtfully. Then, she turned her attention back to her daughter. “And my daughter? What do you think drew her to you?”

Melinoë, who had been trying very hard to appear unbothered, crossed her arms. “Mother.”

Elysia chuckled, tilting her head. “Perhaps it’s that we understand each other. I think… we both know what it is to stand on the edge of two worlds.”

Persephone smiled knowingly, resting a hand on Elysia’s shoulder before glancing at Melinoë. “I believe you may be right.” Then, with a teasing glint in her eye, she added, “Though I suspect there may be more to it than that.”

Melinoë huffed, her ears tinged with the faintest flush, but she said nothing, opting instead to walk a little faster, putting some distance between herself and her mother’s pointed amusement. The goddess of ghosts had spent centuries maintaining her composure, but around her mother, she was still very much a daughter—one who could not entirely avoid the occasional embarrassment.

Elysia, fighting back a grin, met Persephone’s gaze once more. The Queen of the Underworld’s expression was warm, approving, but there was something deeper beneath it. A quiet curiosity, a hint of recognition, as if she saw something in Elysia that even Elysia herself had not yet grasped. 

“I look forward to seeing where this path takes you, Elysia,” Persephone said at last, her voice soft but certain.

Elysia dipped her head respectfully. “So do I.”

The words lingered between them, hanging in the still, fragrant air as they continued their walk through the garden, the future unwritten but already shifting in unseen ways.

As Persephone took her leave, her flowing gown trailing behind her like a river of silk, Elysia and Melinoë found themselves alone on a grand balcony overlooking the vast, ethereal expanse of the Underworld. The scent of blooming asphodel lingered in the air, mixing with the faint, earthen scent of the ancient stone beneath their feet. Below them, the endless fields of the dead stretched far into the distance, their misty forms wandering in a silent, ceaseless drift. The faint glow of spectral lights illuminated the landscape in hues of silver and deep blue, casting long shadows that seemed to dance with an unseen rhythm. The air carried an eerie stillness, neither warm nor cold, only heavy with the weight of eternity, as if the Underworld itself was listening.

Leaning against the intricately carved stone railing, Elysia let out a slow breath, her fingers tracing the cool, timeworn surface. It was smooth yet carried the subtle imperfections of a structure that had stood for millennia, witness to ages of change and unchangeable truths. She glanced toward Melinoë, who stood beside her, arms resting on the railing as she gazed over the landscape of drifting souls. The quiet burden of her existence was evident in the set of her shoulders, the way she held herself poised yet slightly weary.

After a moment, Melinoë exhaled, shaking her head slightly before speaking. "Sorry about my mother," she muttered, her voice tinged with both fondness and exasperation. "She has a tendency to... meddle."

Elysia turned her head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "I think that's a universal trait for mothers. But she seems to care about you a great deal."

Melinoë sighed, running a hand through her midnight-dark hair before tilting her head back to look at the cavernous sky above them. There was no true sky here, only an endless stretch of swirling darkness, broken by the occasional flicker of ghostly lights that pulsed like dying stars. "She does. But she also enjoys making things difficult for me." Her fingers idly traced the intricate patterns etched into the stone, her touch soft, almost absentminded. "I think she’s just pleased I’ve made a connection outside of my usual existence."

Elysia’s expression softened as she watched her carefully. Melinoë, the goddess who commanded nightmares and guided the restless dead, was composed, powerful—but here, in this quiet moment, there was a vulnerability to her that Elysia had rarely seen. "And have you? Made a connection?"

Melinoë’s gaze remained fixed on the fields below, watching the endless procession of souls drifting like lost echoes of the past. Her fingers tightened around the railing for a fleeting second before she exhaled slowly, almost as if she was releasing something long held in her chest. Then, with a small, almost hesitant smile, she nodded. "I think I have."

The wind carried a whisper through the balcony, its chill brushing against their skin, causing the hem of Elysia’s cloak to billow slightly, the enchanted fabric shifting like living shadow. She looked at Melinoë again, noting the way the goddess' silver-green eyes glowed faintly under the spectral light, reflecting something both distant and present. The weight of their unspoken understanding settled between them like an invisible tether, fragile yet undeniable.

Elysia hesitated for a moment before she spoke, her voice quieter this time, more introspective. "Do you ever wonder if we're meant to be more than what we are? That maybe fate doesn’t just dictate our paths, but instead, it offers us a choice?"

Melinoë turned her head slightly, studying her, something unreadable in her gaze. "I think about it all the time."

Elysia shifted her weight, the fabric of her cloak brushing against her ankles as she turned slightly to face Melinoë. "And what do you think? Do we get to choose, or are we bound to what’s expected of us?"

Melinoë’s lips quirked in the barest ghost of a smile. "I think... we can choose. But sometimes, the choice isn't as simple as it seems. Sometimes, it's not about choosing to walk a different path, but choosing how we walk the one laid before us."

Elysia considered her words, letting them settle in the quiet between them. It was a sentiment that resonated deeply, a thought she had often pondered but never quite put into words. She turned her gaze back toward the drifting souls below, the endless movement of spirits wandering through the fields, lost to the passage of time.

"Then I suppose the question is," Elysia said softly, "how do we walk it?"

Melinoë’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment before she turned her eyes back to the horizon, watching as the Underworld stretched on in infinite shades of shadow and silver. "Together, perhaps." Slowly, almost unconsciously, she leaned into Elysia, resting her head against her shoulder. The warmth of the contact was subtle, but it sent a ripple of something unspoken between them, an acknowledgment neither needed to put into words.

A small smile tugged at Elysia’s lips before she turned her attention back to the land below, where thousands of souls drifted on, unaware of the two figures watching from above. For now, the moment remained suspended in time, unspoken yet deeply felt, as the realms of the living and the dead continued to intertwine in ways neither had fully realized yet.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

XIV

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The candlelight flickered gently in Melinoë's chambers, casting soft shadows that danced along the intricately carved stone walls. The scent of rich spices and roasted meats filled the air, mingling with the faint, earthy undertones that seemed to linger in the Underworld. The table between them was adorned with plates of food more lavish than Elysia had expected—succulent cuts of meat, seasoned vegetables, and warm, fragrant bread. A pitcher of deep red wine sat between their goblets, the liquid catching the candlelight like liquid garnet. 

The space itself was a stark contrast to the eerie chill of the Underworld, holding an unexpected warmth. Dark tapestries embroidered with shimmering silver threads hung along the walls, depicting scenes of old myths, the fabric shifting faintly as though touched by unseen hands. It was quiet, intimate in a way that made Elysia feel as though the outside world had been left far behind. For the first time since waking, she felt like she could breathe without the weight of uncertainty pressing against her chest.

Across from her, Melinoë sat comfortably, her mismatched eyes—one a ghostly pale green, the other black with a scarlet red iris—watching Elysia with knowing amusement. She lifted a goblet to her lips, sipping slowly before setting it back down. "Hedwig has been carrying messages to Andromeda for you," she said casually. "Your family has been worried. I wanted them to know you were safe."

Elysia's fork hovered just above her plate as relief washed over her, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. Andromeda knew she was alive. That alone made her stomach unknot, made the fatigue from her ordeal seem just a little less heavy. "Thank you," she murmured, setting her fork down for a moment. "That means a lot more than I can put into words."

Melinoë shrugged, though there was warmth in her expression. "I figured you wouldn't want them left in the dark. Besides, Hedwig is quite insistent. I get the impression she would have delivered the messages even if I hadn’t asked her to."

A small smile tugged at Elysia’s lips. That sounded exactly like Hedwig. Fiercely loyal, persistent, and sharp enough to outwit gods and mortals alike.

She glanced down at the meal before her, hesitating. The food looked and smelled delicious, but old myths whispered at the back of her mind. The warning of consuming Underworld food and being trapped forever was a tale as old as time. She shifted slightly, eyeing Melinoë with open wariness. "Is it safe for me to eat this? I mean, I know the stories—Persephone and all that."

Melinoë blinked before realization dawned on her face, and she let out a soft, amused laugh. "Oh, Elysia, you really think I'd trap you here like that?" She shook her head, her expression fond, the candlelight catching in her sharp features. "You have nothing to fear. Your magic is already entwined with death in a way that few others could claim. You’re not a mere mortal stepping into the realm of the dead—you belong to both worlds. You can come and go as you please."

Elysia studied her carefully, searching for any sign of deception, but there was none. Only sincerity, something else lingering beneath Melinoë’s words that Elysia couldn’t quite place. Something softer, something that made the tension in her chest ease just a little more.

Slowly, she picked up her fork again, twirling a bite of the meal between the tines before taking a cautious bite. The taste burst across her tongue, rich and full, more vibrant than anything she had expected. Warmth spread through her, sinking into her bones, a comfort that had nothing to do with magic but everything to do with the presence across from her.

Melinoë leaned back slightly, watching her reaction, a satisfied look crossing her face. "See? I wouldn’t lead you astray."

Elysia huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. "I suppose not."

The room settled into an easy quiet after that, the distant hum of the Underworld ever-present but not intrusive. The occasional flicker of torches along the walls cast shifting shadows, giving the illusion of movement where there was none. The tension that had once filled the space had dissipated, leaving only the flickering candlelight, the soft clinking of utensils, and the quiet companionship between them. The silence wasn't empty; it was filled with understanding, with something unspoken yet present between them. 

As they ate, the weight of the world outside seemed to fade, if only for a little while.

After their meal, they moved to the couch before the fire, the warmth of the flames drawing them closer together. The golden light flickered over their faces, casting soft shadows that shifted with every gentle movement. The weight of the day settled over them, yet here, in this quiet moment, the burdens they carried seemed just a little lighter.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm golden glow that flickered across the stone walls, its shifting light making the deep shadows in the corners of the room dance and stretch. The rich scent of burning wood mixed with the faint, lingering presence of incense, something faintly floral yet dark, a reminder of the Underworld’s ever-present magic. The warmth of the fire wrapped around them both, contrasting the usual cool stillness that seemed to permeate this realm.

The air between them was quiet, but not empty—rather, it was filled with something unspoken, something deep and unnameable that neither seemed to want to break. Elysia and Melinoë sat close together on the small couch, shoulders brushing, their quiet companionship a comfort in itself. The silence was not one of discomfort, but rather the kind that came with understanding, with knowing that words were not always necessary. The flames cast a soft glow against Melinoë’s pale skin, reflecting in her mismatched eyes—one a ghostly pale green, the other black with a scarlet-red iris—giving her an almost ethereal look, as though she belonged to the firelight itself.

Elysia let out a slow breath, shifting just enough to lean further into Melinoë, who made no effort to move away. Instead, she allowed her body to relax against Elysia’s side, their warmth bleeding into one another, grounding them both in a way neither would openly acknowledge but both deeply felt.

For a long moment, Melinoë was silent, her fingers tracing the rim of her goblet absently. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she admitted, "I was scared. When you collapsed on the cliffs of Moher, I didn’t know what was happening to you. I didn’t know if you’d wake up. I’ve never... felt that before. That kind of fear."

Elysia’s breath caught in her throat as she absorbed the quiet confession. Melinoë was a goddess of death, a being as ancient as she was powerful, and yet there was a raw, unfamiliar emotion in her tone that made Elysia’s heart ache. She had seen so many fall, had watched lives slip away with the inevitability of the tide, and yet this—this had been different for her.

Slowly, without thinking, Elysia reached out, taking Melinoë’s hand in hers. Her fingers were warm against the goddess’s cooler skin, a contrast that neither of them seemed to mind. Melinoë glanced down at their intertwined hands, her grip tightening ever so slightly, as though she needed the contact, as though it tethered her to something solid.

Elysia hesitated only a moment before resting her head on Melinoë’s shoulder, her voice gentle yet steady. "I’m here," she murmured. "I’m not going anywhere."

Melinoë let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her posture loosening as she allowed herself to lean into Elysia more fully. The tension that had coiled within her since that night at the cliffs melted away bit by bit, replaced by something fragile, something neither of them had quite figured out how to define.

Despite all her power, despite her divine nature, it was clear that Melinoë had never truly come close to losing someone she cared about before—not like this. She had known grief, yes, but the fear of losing someone while they still lived? That was something different. That was something mortal. And it was something that shook her.

They remained like that for a long time, the fire crackling, the world outside forgotten. The weight of the Underworld, of gods and magic and ancient responsibilities, faded into the background, leaving only the warmth of the moment. Whatever unspoken emotions lingered between them did not need to be voiced—not yet. Perhaps they never needed to be.

The warmth of the fire wrapped around them, the soft glow flickering in rhythmic patterns across the walls. The embers pulsed gently, their heat pressing against the quiet air, creating a cocoon of comfort against the eternal coolness of the Underworld. Elysia, her body heavy with the weight of exhaustion, let herself sink deeper into Melinoë’s side. The steady rise and fall of Melinoë’s breath became an anchor, grounding her in the moment, the warmth of their shared space lulling her into something she hadn't allowed herself in a long time—rest.

Melinoë remained still, feeling the gradual weight of Elysia pressing against her, the slow relaxation of her limbs as unconsciousness took hold. At first, she glanced down, expecting Elysia to stir, but the slow, rhythmic breaths told her otherwise. Elysia had finally surrendered to sleep, something Melinoë had rarely seen her do so easily. Her usual alertness, her ever-present readiness to spring into action, had melted away, leaving only the quiet vulnerability of true exhaustion.

For a long moment, Melinoë simply watched her, absorbing the quiet details—the way her dark lashes fluttered faintly against her pale skin, the way the fire’s reflection danced over her features, casting golden light over the sharp planes of her face. She looked... peaceful. A stark contrast to the battle-worn warrior who had torn through enemies and wielded magic like a storm incarnate. 

Melinoë hesitated only a moment before lifting a hand, fingers threading gently through the strands of Elysia’s black and white hair. It was softer than she expected, smooth between her fingertips as she combed through the locks in a slow, soothing motion. The contrast of colors fascinated her—the deep black like the void between stars, the streaks of white like the touch of something ancient, something divine. 

She didn’t want to wake her. Not after everything. Not after watching Elysia push herself beyond the limits of her body and magic. Seeing her rest, even for a short while, felt like something rare and precious. It was a gift she hadn’t expected, to be trusted with this moment, to be the one Elysia let her guard down around. 

So, she remained there, holding her close, her own breath unconsciously syncing with Elysia’s. The firelight continued to dance, the golden glow warming the space as the distant hum of the Underworld murmured beyond the quiet sanctuary they had found together. The weight of ancient magics, of gods and death, of all the burdens they carried, faded into the background. Here, there was only warmth. Only the steady heartbeat beneath her fingertips and the whisper of flames in the dim chamber. 

Melinoë let herself relax, resting her cheek lightly against the top of Elysia’s head. She had seen many things in her long existence, had wandered through nightmares and walked among the restless dead—but in this moment, with Elysia safe against her, she felt something different, something unfamiliar yet deeply grounding. 

The warmth of the fire faded from Elysia’s awareness as sleep wrapped its arms around her, drawn deeper by the comfort of Melinoë’s presence. Her head rested against the goddess’s shoulder, and the steady rise and fall of Melinoë’s breath was a quiet lullaby in the hush of the room. Shadows of memory began to stir—gentle ones, tinged not with fear or grief, but with the golden glow of something rare and treasured.

In the dream, the world smelled of salt and summer, of wildflowers tangled in sea breeze.

The golden sunlight spilled across the rolling waves of the French coastline, the water sparkling like glass under the cloudless sky. Elysia stood barefoot in the sun-warmed sand, the grains soft between her toes. Her dark hair—back when it was still untouched by white—whipped about her face in the coastal wind, and she pushed it aside with an absent swipe as laughter rang in her ears.

Sirius Black bounded up from the surf, soaked from the chest down, shirt clinging to his lean frame, and his trousers rolled up to his knees. His expression was carefree in a way she rarely saw, boyish and wild. He carried the ocean in his grin—bright, untamed, and alive.

“You’re not going to hide in the shade all day, are you?” he called out with mock disdain, hurling a dripping towel at her.

Elysia shrieked as the towel hit her shoulder, catching it and tossing it back at him with a spell-enhanced flick that nearly knocked him off his feet. “I burn!” she declared in protest, grinning. “I don’t tan like some beach-dwelling Veela.”

Sirius let out a theatrical gasp. “Excuse you. I am a work of Black family perfection. This glow is a curse, not a choice.”

“You’re the most dramatic man I’ve ever met,” Elysia said, plopping onto a towel with an eye-roll, though the laughter never left her voice.

He dropped beside her, flinging wet sand onto her ankle, which made her yelp and kick at him half-heartedly. “You know,” he said more quietly after a beat, staring out at the cerulean horizon, “this is what I wish I could give you more of. Not just a break. A life. You deserve more than battlefield memories and half-buried trauma.”

Elysia turned her head, her smile faltering into something gentler. “You gave me this. You got me out. You reminded me what it means to live, even just for a little while. That means everything.”

The wind fluttered the edges of their towels and played with the hem of her sundress. For a while, they sat there in companionable silence, the kind that existed only between souls forged together by loyalty and shared scars. Eventually, Sirius got up with a wicked gleam in his eyes and dragged her—laughing and flailing—into the surf. She retaliated by charming the water to freeze around his ankles, only to be dunked moments later.

They built a lopsided sandcastle shaped vaguely like Hogwarts, wandered through a sleepy seaside village where they bought too much bread and sweet berry jam, and spent the evening on the little balcony of their rented beach house, playing Exploding Snap and drinking chilled lemonade as the sunset turned the sky to molten gold.

For a few blessed days, Elysia had felt like a teenage girl on holiday, not a weapon honed by war. No one was hunting them. There were no secret missions, no prophecies, no dark magic looming overhead. Just laughter, the crash of waves, and Sirius—her family, her anchor.

She knew, even then, it wouldn’t last. But in the dream, she let herself believe it might.

She let herself rest in that warmth, even if only for a moment, curled in the memory of the one man who had ever made her feel truly safe.

Back in the waking world, nestled against Melinoë, a soft smile curved Elysia’s lips in sleep, the afterimage of golden sunlight and Sirius’s laughter clinging to her dreams like sea foam on the tide.

A gentle breath stirred against Elysia's temple as she shifted slightly, the dream fading into the quiet warmth of reality. Her eyes fluttered open to the soft golden glow of the hearth, still crackling low in the fireplace across the room. The weight of sleep clung to her limbs, making her slow to register the firm, comforting presence she remained nestled into.

Melinoë had not moved.

The goddess sat exactly where she had been when Elysia had drifted off, her arm curved gently along the back of Elysia's shoulders, fingers still carding slowly through her black and white hair. Her touch was soft, reverent almost, as if the simple act of being close to Elysia was something precious and fragile.

Elysia blinked sleepily, her head still resting against Melinoë's shoulder, and murmured without thinking, "You're so warm and cozy..."

Melinoë's fingers paused for a heartbeat before resuming, the faintest shift in her breath betraying a quiet surprise. She turned her head slightly, pale green and crimson eyes glancing down at Elysia with an expression caught between startled affection and disbelief.

"Most people don’t say that about me," she replied softly, her voice a hushed melody in the quiet of the room. "Usually they say I feel cold... unsettling."

Elysia made a contented hum, burrowing just a little closer, half-asleep and far too comfortable to filter her words. "Not to me. You feel... safe."

Melinoë’s hand stilled in her hair again, lingering this time, the silence between them filled only by the soft crackle of the fire and the slow, shared rhythm of their breathing. Her eyes softened, the ever-present tension in her posture easing ever so slightly.

For someone ancient and divine, who walked with the shadows of the dead, warmth and closeness were not things she was accustomed to being seen as. But here, in this quiet space with Elysia resting against her, Melinoë allowed herself a fragile smile. One not of command or mystery, but of quiet hope.

She held Elysia just a little closer, careful not to wake her further, and let the moment linger—as rare and delicate as it was.

But Elysia, though still half-dreaming, spoke again, her voice low and colored with the lingering haze of sleep. "It’s been a long time since I had a pleasant dream this time of year..."

Melinoë tilted her head slightly, watching her with something gentler than curiosity—something close to protectiveness.

"A dream?" she asked softly.

Elysia nodded, her eyes still closed. "One of the last summers I had with Sirius. Just sun and waves and laughing without looking over my shoulder. I forgot what it felt like."

Melinoë didn’t respond with words at first, only smoothed her fingers once more through Elysia’s hair, as if that comfort could hold the memory gently without disturbing it.

When she finally spoke, it was no louder than the whisper of flame in the hearth. "Then I’m glad you had it. Even if just for a little while."

Elysia, drifting toward sleep again, only smiled faintly and nestled closer. In that fragile quiet, Melinoë kept her watch—guardian of a moment too rare to disturb.

The fire had burned down to soft embers, casting a dim amber glow across the room, when Melinoë glanced toward the clock resting on the side table. Time in the Underworld flowed differently, but it was unmistakably night now, even in this realm. The silence had deepened, the magic of the palace shifting subtly with the passing hours. The stillness, though comforting, also reminded her of Elysia’s need to rest properly. Recovery was not something to be rushed, even for someone as strong as her.

She looked down again at the woman curled gently against her side. Elysia was warm, her head nestled into the crook of Melinoë’s shoulder, her breathing slow and steady. Melinoë had not moved for what felt like hours, reluctant to disturb the peace of the moment. But concern tugged at her now, a whisper that Elysia would sleep more comfortably in a proper bed.

Melinoë's fingers drifted once more through Elysia’s dark hair streaked with silver, marveling at the contrast, at the softness of her, and the quiet way she had curled into Melinoë like she belonged there. An ache bloomed low in her chest—a mix of tenderness, fear, and something far more vulnerable than she was used to allowing herself to feel. The sight of Elysia, so trusting and peaceful in her arms, chipped away at the barriers Melinoë had long held between herself and the world.

She whispered, barely louder than the hush of the fire, “Elysia?” Her voice was gentle, laced with a hesitance she rarely showed, a coaxing murmur touched with something warmer than worry—affection, longing.

Elysia made a sleepy sound, burrowing slightly deeper against her shoulder, murmuring something unintelligible in return. The movement made Melinoë’s breath catch. She let out a quiet, helpless sigh, her fingers still threading through Elysia’s hair.

“Come on, o thánatós mou,” Melinoë murmured, the endearment slipping from her lips like a confession. Her voice trembled at the edges, heart exposed in a way she could barely understand herself. “Let me get you somewhere more comfortable.”

With a tenderness that belied her divine strength, she shifted and carefully gathered Elysia into her arms. The witch stirred faintly, blinking up at her with bleary, half-lidded eyes that gleamed silver in the low light. “Melinoë...?”

“Just moving you to bed,” she said, soft and reassuring. “You need real sleep.”

Elysia made a soft noise of protest, but her arms instinctively looped around Melinoë’s shoulders, trusting and pliant in her embrace. The goddess held her close, her arms wrapping securely around her as if to shield her from every danger. There was something fragile in the moment—delicate and precious. Melinoë felt it in the thrum of her pulse, in the brush of Elysia’s breath against her neck. The fear she’d harbored these past days—the fear of losing Elysia—still lingered like a shadow behind her heart.

Melinoë walked through the quiet chambers of her private suite, the dark stone walls lit by soft, enchanted lanterns that flickered like starlight. Just beyond the sitting room, an adjoining guest bedroom stood ready—simple yet elegant, and unmistakably prepared with care. The sheets were fresh, the room warmed with a soft enchantment, the shadows cast to the corners where they would not disturb.

She nudged the door open with her foot and stepped inside, easing Elysia down onto the bed with a gentleness few would ever believe the Goddess of Ghosts and Nightmares capable of. She brushed a strand of hair from Elysia’s cheek, her touch lingering, reverent. Every part of her was reluctant to let go.

Elysia blinked up at her again, her voice barely audible. “Warm… again. You’re warm.”

Melinoë felt her heart twist in the softest, most human way. She leaned down and pressed her forehead to Elysia’s for the briefest moment, her voice a whisper against her skin. “Only for you. Sleep now. I’ll be just next door.”

Elysia sighed, her eyes already sliding shut, a trace of a smile on her lips.

Melinoë lingered at the bedside a moment longer, her eyes drinking in the peaceful curve of Elysia’s face, the slow rise and fall of her chest. She didn’t want to leave. Her feelings had taken root so quickly, so deeply—it was disarming. But it was also real.

Eventually, she stepped back into the doorway. Her eyes lingered on the sleeping figure one last time, her expression a complex tangle of wonder, longing, and a quiet protectiveness she had never known she possessed. Then she pulled the door quietly shut behind her and stood in the shadows for a long while, listening to the quiet pulse of Elysia’s magic—and her own—settling into rhythm once again.

Something inside her had changed, and Melinoë wasn’t sure she could go back.

A soft rustle stirred the quiet that had settled in the suite, drawing Melinoë’s attention to the tall windows beyond the hearth. The air trembled with a familiar magical presence, just as a faint tapping came from the balcony doors.

Melinoë stepped toward them, slipping the latch free with practiced ease. As the doors creaked open, a sudden flutter of wings swept past her, followed by the low, affectionate hoot of a snowy owl.

"Hedwig," Melinoë breathed, extending her arm. The owl landed gracefully, talons gentle against the leather bracer Melinoë had donned earlier.

Hedwig fluffed her feathers, nipping lightly at Melinoë's sleeve in greeting before tilting her head, bright eyes scanning the goddess's face.

"She woke up," Melinoë said softly, her voice calm and sure as she stroked the owl’s snowy plumage with tender fingers. “Elysia’s better. You did well.”

Hedwig gave a pleased hoot, relaxing under Melinoë's touch. The bond between them had grown subtly over the past few days, forged through their shared concern. While Elysia had been unconscious, Hedwig had served as Melinoë’s tireless messenger to the world above, flying letters back and forth with unerring precision. Andromeda’s responses had been frequent, her worry matching Melinoë’s own in every line of her graceful script.

But in those days of silence, of waiting and uncertainty, Melinoë had found an unexpected confidante in the snowy owl. The quiet intelligence behind Hedwig’s golden eyes, the silent understanding they seemed to share—it had been a comfort she hadn't known she needed.

Melinoë reached into the small pouch at her hip, pulling free the latest letter from Andromeda, tied with a silver ribbon. "She wrote back just this morning," she murmured, setting it on the desk for when Elysia awoke. “She’ll be glad to know her girl is finally resting properly.”

She paused, watching Hedwig with thoughtful eyes. “You love her too,” she said quietly. “In your way. You watched over her when she fell. You haven’t left her side.”

Hedwig cooed softly, lifting one wing to preen, then nestled in closer along Melinoë’s arm. The goddess of ghosts and nightmares exhaled slowly, brushing her hand once more down the owl’s sleek back.

“I’ve always kept people at a distance,” she confessed in a whisper. “It was easier. Safer. But she… she makes it feel worth the risk.”

Her voice trembled ever so slightly with the weight of truth, her usual composure peeling back in the presence of one who would never speak a word of it, yet understood all the same. “She’s not just powerful. She’s kind. Fierce. Beautiful in ways I don’t think she even sees in herself. And I—” Melinoë hesitated, swallowing her next words. The emotions were too raw, too soon. But they burned in her chest like embers fanned by every breath Elysia took.

“You’re not so different from me,” she added, her voice touched with a quiet smile. “I didn’t expect to care like this. Not so soon. But she’s different. She always was.”

Hedwig let out another soft hoot and settled against her, a silent ally in this unspoken moment of vulnerability. Together, they kept watch a while longer—two guardians drawn to the same flame, both unwilling to leave her side.

~~

The next morning dawned in the Underworld with a soft, otherworldly glow that filtered in through the gauzy curtains of Elysia’s guest room. She stirred slowly, blinking against the low, silvery light. A familiar weight pressed comfortingly against her shoulder, accompanied by the gentle tickle of feathers.

"Alright, alright," Elysia murmured, voice thick with sleep and affection. "You're worse than a kneazle when it wants feeding."

Hedwig hooted with smug satisfaction, nuzzling her head against Elysia's cheek, her wings flaring slightly in excitement. The snowy owl had not budged since returning yesterday, and this morning she had resumed her post with renewed energy, pressing her affection into every feathery movement. Elysia chuckled as she sat up, stroking Hedwig's soft back, letting the familiar sensation ground her.

A soft knock came at the door before it opened partway, revealing Melinoë standing with a soft smile, dressed in deep violet robes that shimmered like shadows in starlight. Her mismatched eyes met Elysia's with a fond, cautious warmth.

"She missed you," Melinoë said, nodding toward Hedwig. "I think she believes you owe her a full day of pampering."

Elysia smirked, brushing hair out of her face, the white strands mingling with the black. "Wouldn’t be the first time. She always knows how to guilt-trip me."

Melinoë stepped inside more fully, folding her hands in front of her. "If you’re feeling up to it, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Someone very dear to me—and someone who's been... watching over you, in her way, for a long time."

Elysia blinked, caught slightly off guard. "Watching me?"

Melinoë nodded. “She’s one of my closest friends—my only real constant outside of Hecate. She’s worried for you. She’s been concerned ever since you collapsed, but even before then... she’s had an eye on you for years, since your second year at Hogwarts.”

“My second year?” Elysia echoed slowly. “That’s... the Basilisk.”

Melinoë gave her a knowing look. “She was watching then. And again when you stood alone in the Department of Mysteries. When you disappeared during the war. When you died.”

Realisation dawned slowly across Elysia’s face. "You're talking about Artemis."

Melinoë’s lips curved slightly. “She doesn’t open herself to many. But she’s always respected you. Even when you didn’t know it.”

Elysia swung her legs over the side of the bed, Hedwig hopping with light grace to remain perched on her shoulder. "Well," she said, fastening the clasp of her cloak around her shoulders, "if I’ve had a goddess keeping tabs on me for half my life, I suppose it’s time we met properly.”

Melinoë smiled gently, a mixture of affection and anticipation in her gaze.

Melinoë reached for Elysia’s hand, her fingers intertwining easily with hers, the motion a gentle reassurance as much as an invitation. “Ready?” she asked, her voice soft but threaded with excitement and a flicker of anticipation that danced in her ghostlight eyes.

Elysia gave a nod, Hedwig shifting slightly on her shoulder, ruffling her feathers but not moving. “Let’s see where the shadows take us.”

Melinoë smiled, pleased, and the shadows around them rippled in response, drawn to her call. Unlike most who used shadow-travel—blinking from one place to another in a violent ripple of dark energy—Melinoë moved through the world like a ghost through mist. The darkness wrapped around them like silk rather than chains, swallowing sound and sensation until there was nothing but cool silence. Elysia felt the whisper of the dead pass through them, ancient voices echoing at the edges of awareness, not cruel or angry but old and watchful. There was something intimate in the way Melinoë guided her through the shadows, a trust extended and accepted, one that made the magic feel strangely personal and safe.

When they stepped out again, the world around them had shifted entirely. A sprawling forest stretched in all directions, the trees tall and proud, their leaves all shades of flame and gold. Autumn was king here, the air crisp and scented with pine, wild moss, and the faintest trace of woodsmoke. The light filtering through the canopy shimmered in cool hues, casting the clearing in a silvered haze that felt untouched by time. It was beautiful in the way that old things are—sacred and unknowable.

Nestled in a hollow surrounded by thick, ancient trees lay a camp of silvery tents. Their surfaces shimmered and shifted like mirrors of moonlight, enchanted to reflect their surroundings, near invisible to the untrained eye. The camp pulsed with life—young women, none appearing older than their early twenties and most younger, moved with easy confidence. Some cleaned weapons or tended to enchanted gear, others laughed quietly around a fire, the sound like the ringing of silver bells.

But the moment the two newcomers stepped beyond the trees, all movement ceased. Within a breath, bows were drawn, arrows nocked with deadly speed. The Hunters' aim was true, their eyes clear, all pointed toward Elysia and Melinoë. A heartbeat passed, tense and quiet.

Melinoë stepped slightly ahead of Elysia, her divine aura bleeding into the world around them like moonlight over water. A shimmer of cold starlight seemed to dance in the air around her, and the mist coiled at her feet as if obeying her will. She radiated calm and ancient power, the sort of presence that demanded not only attention but deference. The shift was immediate. Recognition sparked in the Hunters' eyes, followed by something softer—respect, reverence. The bows lowered and were carefully stowed away, replaced with curious glances and guarded intrigue.

Melinoë was more than a visiting deity—she was a known entity, one of Artemis’s oldest and most enduring friends. Her connection to the Hunt stretched back through the centuries, and the recognition of her divine presence brought not just acceptance, but warmth. A murmur passed through the camp, soft and reverent: Lady Melinoë had returned.

One of the young women stepped forward, tall and composed with eyes like tempered steel. Her long dark hair was braided with silver thread, and her poise marked her as a leader among warriors. “Lady Melinoë,” she said with a slight incline of her head, her voice cool but respectful.

Melinoë inclined her head in return, a rare softness in her gaze. “Zoë Nightshade,” she greeted. “It is good to see you again.”

Zoë’s sharp gaze shifted to Elysia, scanning her with an intensity that would have made a lesser witch flinch. But Elysia met her eyes without hesitation, her own magic coiling like a serpent behind her gaze, quiet and resolute. After a moment, Zoë smirked faintly, something like amusement flickering in her expression.

“You may enter,” she said, stepping aside. “Lady Artemis has been expecting you.”

She turned, her footsteps silent on the forest floor, and began leading them deeper into the camp with the grace of someone long accustomed to command.

Melinoë gave Elysia a sidelong glance, her mouth quirking into a small smile that held both affection and amusement. “Welcome to the Hunters' camp,” she murmured, her voice low enough to feel like a secret. “And to one of the few places that has always felt like home.”

Elysia took in the surroundings—the sacred quiet, the strength and unity that hung in the air like incense, the ancient forest standing guard. Her magic responded, not with tension, but with a kind of curiosity, as if recognizing something old and worthy. The energy of the place hummed softly at the edge of her senses, wild and unyielding, and yet… welcoming.

As they walked, a few of the younger Hunters peered out from behind tents and trees, whispering to one another in hushed tones, eyes darting between Melinoë and the stranger she had brought. A sense of expectation lingered in the air, as if this visit meant something—something more than either of them had spoken aloud.

Side by side, the two of them followed Zoë into the heart of the sacred camp, leaves crunching softly beneath their boots, the firelight ahead flickering like starlight between the trees.

Melinoë and Elysia followed Zoë in silence, their footsteps nearly silent against the forest floor, muffled by a thick carpet of fallen leaves. The air within the Hunters' camp was hushed, wrapped in a reverent stillness that seemed to echo with the pulse of ancient magic. Moonlight filtered down through the branches above, casting soft, silvery light that made the camouflaged tents shimmer as if woven from mist and moonbeams. The cool bite of autumn clung to the air, crisp and bracing, carrying with it the scent of pine and the promise of frost.

Among the ethereal rows of tents, one stood apart—not by garish display, but by the quiet grandeur of its presence. Slightly larger than the rest, it sat near the center of the camp, its fabric subtly glimmering with star-thread and lined with polished lunar stone. It radiated a sense of calm command, as though the forest itself bowed toward it in silent homage. Zoë approached it with ease born from countless years of loyalty, knocking once on the central pole that held up the entrance flap.

"My lady," she called, her voice crisp, formal, and sure.

Without waiting for a reply, she pulled the flap aside and stepped through before turning back, holding it open for the others. "You may enter."

Melinoë swept through first, her dark hair trailing behind her like mist, moving with a smoothness that belonged to shadows more than to flesh. Elysia followed, cloak brushing the threshold, her black and white braid catching the soft glow of the firelight as she entered the expanded space within.

Inside, the tent was a sanctuary of twilight. The walls were lined with celestial charts and ancient maps inked on leather-thin parchment, and weapon racks glimmered faintly with softly enchanted silver and steel. The scent of evergreen and old parchment lingered, grounding the tent’s otherworldly calm. A hearth of moonstone held a gently crackling fire, casting warm, flickering light across plush furs and cushioned benches.

In the center of it all sat Artemis, reclined slightly with a poise both relaxed and alert. She was meticulously polishing a silver dagger, every movement purposeful. But as the visitors entered, she stilled, her gaze snapping upward with instinctive grace. Her eyes—cool and luminous like twin full moons—widened in quiet surprise as they fell on Elysia.

The goddess straightened, the calm shell of her expression cracking ever so slightly. She hadn't expected this. Not Elysia. Not now.

Artemis’s gaze flicked from Elysia to Melinoë and back again, realization dawning. "You’re awake," she said, voice low and uncertain, a rare quiver of emotion threading through her words. "I didn’t know you were coming."

Melinoë’s lips curled into a small, impish smile as she stepped to Artemis’s side. "I wanted to surprise you. You’d have made excuses not to fuss otherwise."

Artemis exhaled slowly through her nose, clearly trying to collect herself. She stood, moving with the poised precision of a predator in stillness. Her posture was flawless, regal, yet there was a tension in her shoulders that betrayed her unease. Her gaze landed on Elysia again, searching her as if the answers to questions long pondered might be written across her skin.

"You look different," Artemis murmured.

Elysia, calm despite the quiet weight in the air, tilted her head slightly. "I feel different. Samhain was… intense."

Artemis gave a slow nod, her expression momentarily unreadable, as if fighting through her own storm of emotions. Then, a rare note of something almost vulnerable passed across her face. "You caught me at an unguarded moment. I meant to see you when you woke."

Melinoë arched a brow and teased gently, "Not like you to be so flustered, Artemis."

Artemis shot her a look—a blend of fond exasperation and veiled affection. "I am not flustered. Merely... surprised."

The exchange drew a soft chuckle from Elysia, breaking the remaining tension. "I’m glad to finally meet you properly."

Artemis looked at her again, this time truly seeing her. The witch who had stood alone, who had fought monsters and gods, who bore the title of Mistress of Death not as a burden, but as armor. Artemis had watched her from afar for years, ever since she’d slain the Basilisk as a second-year. Each act of defiance against the odds, each moment Elysia had walked into danger alone, had stirred something in the goddess—a protective worry she hadn't admitted until now.

"And I you," Artemis said finally, her voice steadying. She stepped forward, her presence no less radiant, but gentled somehow. "Welcome, Elysia."

The fire crackled softly as three figures—bound by threads of myth and magic, of mortality and divinity—stood together in the heart of the Huntress's sacred domain. In the silence that followed, something shifted—an unspoken acknowledgment, a ripple of fate moving through them like wind through leaves.

And for the first time in centuries, Artemis felt uncertain—but not of Elysia. Of herself.

The silver-threaded glow of the tent interior cast a soft shimmer over the three as they sat down on the wide couch near the hearth. Elysia settled between the two goddesses, the warmth of the fire and their presence lulling her into a sense of calm she hadn’t realised she’d needed. Her dark cloak rustled softly as she shifted, Hedwig perched now near the entrance, preening her feathers with contentment.

Artemis, always composed and regal, sat on Elysia’s left. Despite her usual confidence, there was a subtle tension in the goddess’s posture, a stiffness in her shoulders that hadn’t been there earlier. She kept stealing glances at Elysia, as if unsure how much was too much, how close was too close. Her silver eyes flickered with curiosity and something warmer—something far more uncertain. A blush occasionally touched her cheeks, quickly hidden beneath a veneer of stoicism. For all her strength and poise, Artemis wasn’t used to feeling so off-balance, especially not in her own space.

Melinoë, by contrast, seemed completely at ease. She leaned slightly toward Elysia on the opposite side, her arm stretched along the back of the couch behind her. Her pale green and crimson gaze was soft and open, her comfort rooted not just in her friendship with Artemis but in her growing affection for the mortal-turned-divine woman nestled between them. She had always been more forward when it came to her feelings, but even she had hesitated these past days, unsure what space to give Elysia in the wake of everything she’d endured. Still, watching Elysia now, alive and warm beside her, Melinoë felt a quiet pull she no longer denied.

"So," Artemis began after a beat, her voice gentler than usual. "I’ve watched over you for a long time. Since your second year at that school of yours. The Basilisk… that was when I first noticed you."

Elysia blinked, turning to face her. "That long ago?"

The goddess nodded, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear. "I told myself it was out of interest. A mortal child standing so close to death and surviving… again and again. But I suppose, eventually, I stopped pretending it was just that."

Melinoë smiled softly at that, her gaze shifting between the two. "You never were very good at hiding when something mattered to you, Artemis."

A faint blush colored the huntress's pale cheeks, and she gave Melinoë a playful glare, which only made her friend chuckle. The familiarity between them was palpable, the kind that came from centuries of shared memories, silences, and companionship. But underneath the comfort was a current of unspoken things—looks that lingered too long, words left unsaid. They had danced around those edges before, testing boundaries but never crossing them, the timing never quite right.

Elysia tilted her head, watching them. "You two… know each other well."

Melinoë’s fingers brushed Elysia’s hand briefly, a casual gesture that lingered just a little. "We’ve been close for thousands of years. She’s my oldest friend."

Artemis nodded, eyes still fixed on the fire. "We’ve always had each other’s backs. Even when we couldn’t explain it."

There was a shared look between the two goddesses then—an acknowledgement of years spent circling something unspoken. Elysia caught it, her heart skipping slightly. She wasn’t blind to the affection that passed between them, nor to the way it now extended toward her.

The silence that followed was thoughtful. Elysia could feel the thrum of something delicate between the three of them—an invisible thread being woven slowly, surely. She felt its pull, the warmth it offered.

"I never thought I’d be sitting between the goddess of the Hunt and the goddess of Nightmares and Ghosts like this," she murmured, half to herself.

"It suits you," Artemis said, her voice quiet. "You belong in strange places, Elysia. Between worlds. Between us."

Melinoë gave a slow nod, her eyes lingering on Elysia’s profile. "It doesn’t feel strange. Not anymore."

Artemis looked over then, her expression softening fully. There was still hesitation, the kind born not from fear but from unfamiliar vulnerability. Melinoë had always known how to speak plainly, but Artemis—Artemis was learning. The goddess who had commanded legions of Hunters for eons now found herself uncertain of her own feelings, unsure how to reach forward.

"I’m glad you came," Artemis said finally. Her voice was quiet but steady, and her hand brushed Elysia’s wrist in a fleeting but meaningful touch.

They sat like that for a while, the silence deepening around them into something sacred. Three women—two divine, one straddling the divine—bound not by prophecy, but something older. Choice. Kinship. The beginnings of something tender, and possibly more.

~

The stars had just begun to bloom above the forest canopy, a scatter of silver across the ink-dark sky, as Artemis, Melinoë, and Elysia stepped out of the tent into the soft hush of evening. The sounds of the forest rustled gently in the background, joined now by the quiet laughter and soft murmur of voices around a large fire at the center of the camp.

Elysia glanced around, noting the way the flames painted warm light over the silvery tents, catching on the faces of the Hunters gathered close. Despite the martial discipline of their order, there was something familial in the way they huddled together—a closeness born of trust, of battles shared and time endured. It was the kind of camaraderie Elysia hadn’t felt since the days of the war. The firelight flickered against bows and half-loosened armor, the shadows of the towering trees enclosing them in a sacred kind of twilight.

Melinoë brushed her fingers briefly against Elysia’s hand as they approached the circle, her touch grounding and intimate, a gentle reassurance amid the strangeness. Artemis walked with steady grace at Elysia’s other side, her silver eyes flicking from face to face, her expression soft, but still touched by something wary and restless.

The moment they entered the firelight, a few heads turned, and then someone scooted aside on a long log bench, offering space without a word. It was instinctual—the way they welcomed Melinoë and Artemis, and by extension, Elysia. There was no hierarchy around the fire; not tonight. Tonight, they were all part of the same rhythm. More than a few Hunters shared meaningful glances as they recognized the rare intimacy between the goddesses and the mortal between them.

Elysia sat between the two goddesses, the firelight dancing over the three of them. Artemis settled in with ease, her posture relaxed in a way that betrayed the centuries she’d spent with these girls, while Melinoë leaned forward slightly, her attention caught by the singing that had just begun. Her hand lingered along the back of the bench, behind Elysia’s shoulders, not quite touching, but ever-present.

One of the younger Hunters, no older than fourteen, was singing a soft, lilting tune in Ancient Greek, her voice carrying with a kind of aching beauty. When she finished, there was a round of light applause, and then Zoë Nightshade took up the space, standing near the fire with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Shall I tell the story of how our great Lady Artemis once fell into a lake because she was too busy lecturing me about tracking techniques?” she said, eyes flashing with humor.

Groans and laughter erupted from the circle. The warm familiarity between them sparked with delight.

Artemis visibly tensed beside Elysia. “Zoë,” she warned, but the amusement in her tone betrayed any real displeasure.

“Oh no,” Melinoë whispered conspiratorially to Elysia, leaning in, “this one is a camp favorite. She tells it better every time.”

Elysia smirked as Zoë launched into the tale with flair and dramatic reenactment, painting Artemis as stern and imperious right up until the moment she tripped over a root and plunged into the shallows of a moonlit lake. The Hunters were in stitches by the end, and even Artemis, for all her embarrassed groans, was smiling in spite of herself. Her shoulders relaxed, and she even leaned a little closer to Elysia without quite realizing it.

Once the laughter settled, Melinoë rose slightly, the fire casting her pale features in flickering shadows. When she spoke, her voice was low and resonant.

“In the deepest reaches of the Underworld,” she said, “there is a river that never flows the same way twice. It carries whispers of those who never found peace, and their voices twine with the wind in that place. I visited it once, long ago, and I heard a lullaby sung by a mother who never held her child.”

The fire dimmed slightly, as though even the flames bent to listen. Her tale was not long, but it lingered—eerie and sorrowful, yet strangely comforting. A story of grief and endurance and love that transcended even death. When she sat back down, there was a heavy silence. Reverent. A few Hunters bowed their heads in quiet respect.

Elysia found herself staring into the fire, caught in the delicate hush.

“There was one summer,” she said softly, breaking the quiet. “Sirius took me to a beach house in France. We left England behind—left the war, the burdens, all of it. For a little while, I got to be just... a girl. We swam in the sea, ate fresh bread with jam every morning, and stayed up too late watching the stars. He danced with me on the porch in the rain, just once. I think that was the only time I ever saw him completely free.”

The words left her with a small smile, even as her chest ached with the memory. The fire popped. No one spoke. There was no need to.

Artemis shifted closer, and Elysia felt the barest brush of fingers against her hand beneath the flickering shadows. She turned, met Artemis’s gaze—gentle and luminous—and neither looked away. Melinoë, silent, leaned in on Elysia’s other side, her presence a steady, quiet warmth. She tilted her head just slightly toward Elysia, their shoulders brushing.

They sat like that, three souls tangled together in the hush of the firelight.

Around them, the Hunters began to softly sing again, a lullaby this time. The sound was like a breeze through silver trees, light and haunting. The night deepened, but the closeness held fast, woven through with growing threads of affection, understanding, and something that might one day become love—not quick and blinding, but deep and abiding, forged in silence and story and touch.

In that quiet moment, with starlight overhead and firelight on their faces, a bond deepened between them, unseen but unshakable.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

XV

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The moon hung high in the sky, its silvery light blanketing the quiet winter forest in a soft, ethereal glow. Snow clung to the branches of the tall pines, turning them into glistening sculptures, and every step left a crisp imprint in the freshly fallen powder. Frosty air bit gently at exposed skin, and the scent of pine and distant smoke hung faintly on the breeze. The forest held its breath, hushed beneath winter's serene weight.

Elysia stood just beyond the perimeter of the camp, her breath misting in the cold air. Her long cloak, dark dragon-leather that shimmered faintly with enchantment, hung close around her form. Tonight, its inner lining was warmer than usual, carefully charmed to hold in heat without dampening movement. Her black-and-white hair, braided down her back, glinted with silver from the moonlight, each strand catching the light like spun frost.

Artemis approached silently from between the snow-laden trees, her steps almost weightless. The silver in her eyes glimmered under the moon’s light, her expression serene but unreadable. A soft nod was all the greeting she gave, but it carried the depth of familiarity. "Come. Melinoë is waiting."

They walked in companionable silence, footsteps muffled by the snow, their shadows dancing with the shifting moonlight between the trees. There was no need for words—the rhythm of their steps, the shared understanding, was enough.

Melinoë was already waiting in the clearing, crouched by a snow-covered bush, her pale form blending with the winter around her. Her heterochromatic eyes—one pale ghostly green, the other inky black with a scarlet iris—watched the forest as though she was seeing beyond the veil of this world. As they approached, she rose gracefully, a rare smile playing at her lips as she greeted them with a quiet nod.

Without ceremony or signal, the hunt began.

The other Hunters were further south, following their own trail, but this hunt was different. There was no quarry, no urgency—only the act of moving together beneath the moon. Elysia didn’t carry a bow like Artemis and Melinoë; instead, her magic flowed outward in gentle pulses, like echoes searching through the snowbound forest. Death magic, ever-present in her veins, whispered of movement—flickers of life and remnants of memory. She tracked with instinct honed in places between worlds.

They moved together in silent synchronicity. Artemis adjusted her pace to match Elysia’s without thought. Melinoë’s motion was fluid, dancing in and out of shadows, echoing their steps like a ghost trailing a heartbeat. Trees gave way to clearings and back again, the only sound their breaths and the occasional crunch of snow beneath a boot.

It wasn’t about the hunt. It was about harmony. About trust. About how easily the three of them slipped into rhythm, instinct and bond guiding them more than sight. They weaved through the woods like a single spirit, three parts of the same whole.

By the time they returned to a quiet clearing, the sky had turned a deeper shade of blue-black, and a fire crackled merrily in the center. The smell of pine smoke and something warm and spiced welcomed them back.

Elysia settled on a log, cradling a steaming mug in her gloved hands. Melinoë sat beside her, their shoulders brushing, the closeness familiar and comforting. Artemis hesitated only a moment before joining them, her posture poised but unguarded, a soft expression playing across her features.

After a few sips of their drinks, the silence stretched out, gentle and content.

Then Artemis glanced at Elysia, frowning faintly. "You’re always colder than you let on," she murmured, almost too quiet to hear. Before Elysia could respond, Artemis reached out and unfastened her own cloak, draping it over Elysia’s shoulders with quiet determination.

Elysia blinked in surprise, the warmth seeping through her layers almost instantly. The scent of Artemis—moonlight, pine, and something wilder—enveloped her, and her cheeks flushed softly. She glanced toward the goddess, only to find Artemis looking elsewhere, pretending not to notice.

Melinoë let out a soft, knowing chuckle. "It suits you," she murmured. Her voice was velvet and bone, full of mischief and warmth. "Though I’d wager Artemis just wanted an excuse to share."

Artemis gave a huff, eyes narrowing, but she didn’t argue. The corners of her lips quirked in something close to a smile.

The fire popped, casting flickering light across their faces. Around them, the snow whispered against the trees, and the world narrowed to the warm circle of firelight and the three forms sitting together.

The quiet stretched on, not empty but full—of understanding, affection, and a bond deepening with every heartbeat. Beneath the winter stars, in a forest far from the burdens of their pasts, three souls sat together, wrapped in the hush of snow and the promise of something just beginning.

The walk back to Artemis's tents was quiet, the snow crunching gently beneath their boots as the moonlight filtered through the trees like a silver veil. The crisp night air carried the scent of pine and firewood, familiar and soothing after the stillness of the hunt. The camp was quiet, most of the Hunters either already asleep or keeping to their own fires, their silver-cloaked forms like whispers in the darkness.

The main tent—larger on the inside through divine magic—was warmed by a small enchanted brazier and softly glowing lanterns strung between its central poles. A trio of bedrolls had been laid out side by side near the rear, thick with layers of furs and wool for warmth. Elysia stepped inside first, pulling off her boots and loosening the clasp of Artemis's cloak still around her shoulders. It smelled faintly of woodsmoke and wildflowers, oddly comforting. She folded it carefully and set it beside one of the rolls, fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.

Artemis followed shortly after, her movements fluid and precise as always, though there was an ease to her posture now—something softer in the way she shed her outer cloak and weapons. She didn’t speak as she moved to the corner, carefully setting aside her silver bow and quiver, though her eyes often flicked toward Elysia when she thought she wasn’t looking. Melinoë, with her usual quiet grace, entered last, letting the tent flap fall closed behind her with a finality that wrapped the space in intimacy.

Elysia removed a book from her satchel—a worn volume taken from the Hades Library, recommended by Melinoë. Its cracked spine and brittle pages hummed faintly with dormant power, the ink slightly iridescent under the tent's glow. She sat cross-legged on her bedroll, opening it across her lap. Her eyes scanned the text slowly, her fingers trailing softly along the runes of an old death-weaving technique. Every now and then, she paused to ask Melinoë a quiet question, to which the goddess responded with soft, thoughtful answers, her voice like dusk sliding over old stone.

Time passed in stillness.

Artemis, who had been resting against one of the tent's posts, finally moved closer, slipping into the furs beside Elysia without a word. Her legs tucked beneath her in a graceful, instinctual way, like a fox curling into its den or a doe bedding down beneath the trees. She leaned lightly against Elysia's side, not quite touching, yet unmistakably near. Her eyes remained half-lidded, calm and reflective, as though listening to a rhythm only she could hear. Her fingers, hesitant at first, brushed a lock of Elysia’s hair aside before retreating, a gesture full of unspoken care.

Elysia glanced at her with a small, amused smile, the warmth in her chest settling deeper than any fire. She shifted just slightly, allowing Artemis the space to lean more fully if she chose to. The goddess did, in the smallest way—shoulders brushing now, a point of contact that held.

Melinoë joined them next, curling into the other side of Elysia with far less hesitation. Her head rested briefly on Elysia's shoulder as she settled in, her fingers ghosting over the edge of the page Elysia had been reading, tracing the rune there with familiarity. She leaned into Elysia with quiet affection, her presence both grounding and gently possessive, as though claiming a piece of this fragile peace for herself.

The three of them sat in comfortable quiet, bound by more than shared space. Outside, snow continued to fall in a gentle hush, blanketing the world in stillness. Inside, the warmth between them was quiet, wordless, but deeply understood. Every breath seemed to align, their heartbeats falling into rhythm—not through enchantment, but something deeper, something chosen.

No declarations were made, no grand gestures offered—only shared breath, shared warmth, and the silent promise of something growing. Something sacred.

Elysia turned another page.

Artemis remained still beside her, steady as moonlight, her fingers now occasionally brushing Elysia’s as they lay between them.

Melinoë’s presence hummed like the quiet echo of eternity, her gaze soft as it swept between her two companions.

Together, they sat until sleep finally came for two of them—and restful wakefulness kept watch with the third, the goddess of the hunt keeping vigil not out of duty, but out of silent, growing devotion.

~~

The sun filtered through the canopy overhead, casting long, shifting shadows across the forest clearing where the Hunters of Artemis trained. Crystalline frost still clung to the edges of the trees, melting slowly in the growing warmth of the late morning. Laughter, the twang of bowstrings, and the rhythmic clash of practice weapons filled the crisp air with a music that was both wild and disciplined.

Elysia stepped into the training ring with quiet determination, her breath curling faintly in front of her as she exhaled. A few Hunters paused to glance her way, curiosity piqued. Despite the weeks she'd spent with them, it was rare for her to train alongside them in full. Her presence alone carried a weight of myth and quiet power—but today, she came to remind herself of the rhythm of steel.

She rolled her shoulders, her magic stirring like a slow wave under her skin, responding to her intent. With a single breath and a whisper of will, her sword materialized into her waiting hand.

It was a longsword, simple in silhouette but undeniably unique. The fuller ran down the center of the blade, gleaming faintly with the sheen of polished steel. In the middle of the darkened crossguard rested a blood-red gemstone that shimmered with a hidden fire—the resurrection stone, bound to the blade through ancient craft and bond. The hilt was wrapped in soft, worn leather, a pale brown molded perfectly to the contours of Elysia's hand from years of wielding. At a glance, it was not a flashy weapon. But to those who looked closer, there were layers—runes etched in ancient scripts, woven into the blade itself and near-invisible unless the light struck just right. Elysia's magic flowed through it like water through a riverbed, and the sword responded with a soft hum, alive in her grasp.

Zoë Nightshade stood opposite her, already in the ring with a pair of short swords in hand, her expression unreadable. She gave Elysia a nod, then rolled her shoulders and dropped into a ready stance, eyes sharp and evaluating.

"Show me," Zoë said simply, her voice cool but not unkind. "If you wish to stand beside my Lady, you should know how to wield more than magic."

Elysia nodded, offering a raised salute before settling into her stance, sword angled slightly toward the ground, weight balanced, eyes focused. The air between them thickened with anticipation. The watching Hunters quieted, all attention drawn toward the center of the ring.

Zoë moved first, quick as a viper’s strike, her short blades glinting as she launched a flurry of precise attacks. Elysia met the strikes evenly, her blade a dance of grace and efficiency. She didn’t overpower Zoë—she matched her, parried her, adapted. Their blades sang against one another, a metallic cadence that echoed through the glade.

Zoë pushed harder, not with the intent to defeat but to test, to measure. Every blow carried years of refined skill—centuries of practice and instinct—but Elysia responded with a honed edge of her own, sharpened by war, loss, and the weight of a dozen near-deaths.

Sweat gathered at Elysia’s brow, but her grip never slipped. She ducked under one of Zoë’s slicing arcs, pivoted, and launched a precise riposte that Zoë narrowly deflected. Sparks flared as steel kissed steel. The duel shifted like a tide—Zoë flowed with speed and efficiency, while Elysia countered with rhythm and intuition. Her sword wasn't just a tool; it was an extension of her will, her history, her legacy.

They circled each other again, breath rising in short, controlled bursts. Elysia’s blade shimmered faintly, the runes pulsing with each beat of her heart. Her magic wasn’t just present—it was watching, coiled like a silent guardian within the steel.

Zoë smiled slightly, a flicker of approval in her eyes. She lunged again, faster than before—an overhead feint into a spinning low strike. Elysia countered with a sharp downward block, redirecting the force, before stepping into Zoë’s space with a twist and locking the blades for a brief heartbeat.

They broke apart, breathing heavier now. Around them, the Hunters watched with more than just curiosity—some with awe, others with the recognition of a warrior meeting another on equal ground.

Finally, Zoë lowered her blades.

"You fight with more than skill," she said, voice low and serious. "You fight with purpose. That is enough."

Elysia inclined her head, heart still pounding, but her grip on her sword steady.

For the first time in a long while, she felt the echo of her old self—the warrior, not just the wielder of death magic. Her magic pulsed beneath her skin, not as a burden, but as a familiar strength. It grounded her in ways that even the Deathly Hallows could not.

Zoë turned with the barest smile and stepped from the ring, and Elysia remained for a moment longer, letting the quiet pride settle into her bones like warmth by a fire.

Elysia stepped out of the training ring, breath still coming in short, controlled bursts as she rolled her shoulder and let her sword vanish back into magic. The familiar thrum of power faded, leaving a residual warmth in her fingertips and a quiet hum beneath her skin. The sounds of the clearing returned in pieces—a few low murmurs among the Hunters, the rustle of wind in the trees, and the ever-present crispness of winter air nipping at her cheeks.

She flexed her fingers and rubbed her wrist absently, letting the sting of exertion settle into something satisfying. There was pride there, beneath the ache in her arms. Zoë Nightshade had pushed her, tested her in every way without apology. Elysia could still feel the echo of each parried strike and near miss, the unspoken language of the duel that said plainly: prove yourself worthy.

And she had.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she glanced back over her shoulder. Zoë was already speaking with another Hunter, her posture relaxed, but Elysia didn’t miss the quick look the lieutenant cast her way. There was no malice in it, only scrutiny. Challenge. Acceptance.

Elysia shook her head faintly, amused. She hadn’t expected the match to mean anything more than an exercise, a stretch of muscle and steel. But she understood now. That duel wasn’t about her technique—not really.

It was about Artemis.

Zoë was making sure that if her Lady—her friend, her goddess—was placing even a sliver of trust or affection in someone, that person was worthy of it.

And Elysia respected that.

She ran a gloved hand through her wind-tousled hair, pushing strands of black and white out of her face as she made her way toward the edge of the ring. Her body still hummed with energy, but her mind was calm, centered. She felt lighter somehow. Grounded.

Melinoë met her near the training ring’s edge, arms crossed, a crooked smile playing at her lips.

"Not bad," the goddess said, voice teasing but soft with warmth.

Elysia lifted an eyebrow. "Not bad? I didn’t get disarmed once."

Melinoë tilted her head in mock thought. "True. Zoë seemed pleased… in her way."

They both knew that was high praise.

Elysia chuckled quietly, glancing back once more at the center of the ring. "She was just making sure Artemis isn’t making a mistake."

Melinoë didn’t respond right away, simply looping her arm through Elysia's and leaning in slightly as they walked. "That’s Zoë. Always watching. Always guarding. But I think she sees what we see."

Elysia didn’t answer, but the quiet flicker of warmth in her chest said enough. That blade of doubt—the one that always hovered at the edge of her mind, whispering that she didn’t belong, that she wasn’t enough—dulled slightly in the face of steel and respect.

She had held her own. And for now, that was more than enough.

~

The training ring rang with the rhythmic clash of blades, the cold air alive with the sharp song of steel on steel. From just beyond the edge of the circle, hidden partially by the silvery-barked trees dusted in snow, Artemis stood with her arms loosely folded, her silver eyes locked on the match unfolding between Elysia and Zoë. Her expression was unreadable at first glance, but the subtle tension in her jaw and the quiet focus in her eyes betrayed the depth of her attention.

Beside her, perched regally on a low-hanging branch draped in frost-tipped pine needles, Hedwig fluffed her feathers against the wintry chill. The great snowy owl's golden eyes tracked every movement in the sparring ring with fierce devotion. Occasionally, her feathers would ruffle in response to a particularly close exchange, but she made no move to intervene. She trusted her witch.

Artemis let out a small, breathy sigh, her gaze unwavering. "She moves like the forest wind, doesn’t she?" she murmured, almost to herself but loud enough for the owl beside her. Her voice was low, reverent, touched with something like awe. Hedwig made a soft sound in her throat—not quite a hoot, more of a gentle chirrup that seemed to agree.

The goddess offered a faint smile, a rare expression of warmth curving her lips. "I know," she continued softly. "She can be reckless. Brave to the point of foolishness. But there’s a fire in her... something old and untamed. She protects everyone else, carries so much, like it’s just expected of her. I see it even when she tries to hide it."

Hedwig clicked her beak gently, then shifted closer on the branch. Artemis raised a hand, slow and respectful, letting it hover in invitation. Hedwig considered it for a moment before leaning into the touch, allowing the goddess to stroke her feathers with light, reverent fingers. The motion grounded Artemis, a connection shared between them that needed no words.

"You guard her heart better than she ever will," Artemis whispered. Her voice trembled slightly, the vulnerability there unfamiliar even to her. "I want to protect it too. But I don’t know how to do it the way mortals do. I understand wolves, the silent loyalty of a mate, the devotion of a pack. I understand silence and stillness. But this? This growing ache in my chest when she’s in danger... it terrifies me."

She fell silent, watching as Elysia dodged a spinning strike from Zoë and countered with a precise arc of her blade. Artemis's heart clenched briefly. Her fingers stopped mid-stroke against Hedwig's feathers, tension rippling through her form.

"She doesn’t need me to fight for her," Artemis murmured, almost mournful. "But I want to stand with her. Even if I don't always know what to say. Even if I can only offer presence instead of poetry."

Hedwig tilted her head, blinking slowly at the goddess, then gave a soft huff of sound that might have been approval. Artemis let out a breath she hadn’t realized she'd been holding.

"That was foolish, wasn’t it?" she asked with a small, sheepish chuckle. "Asking an owl for approval. But you’re not just any owl. She trusts you more than anyone. You know her heart. And I... I want to be worthy of that trust."

The sound of a final clash of swords echoed across the field. Artemis turned back fully to the ring, her silver eyes shining. Elysia stood tall, breath misting in the air, her blade steady in hand. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes focused. Artemis felt something deep in her stir—pride, affection, awe.

"And now," she whispered to Hedwig, a quiet smile playing on her lips, "I think I understand why I started watching her in the first place. And why I never stopped."

~

The late morning light filtered gently through the forest canopy, casting shifting patterns of gold and green over the snowy ground. Elysia had just stepped away from Melinoë, her breath still visible in the crisp air as she rubbed her gloved hands together. The clamor from the training ring had faded into the distance, replaced now by the peaceful sounds of the winter wood and the soft activity of the Hunters' camp.

She was walking the edge of the forest path when she noticed movement from the corner of her eye. A young girl stepped cautiously out from between two snow-laden pines. She couldn't have been older than fourteen, with olive skin and long black hair that had been braided neatly over one shoulder. Her grey hunter's cloak, dusted with frost, swayed lightly with each step. Her expression was hesitant, but not afraid, and her eyes—a deep, thoughtful brown—were fixed on Elysia with a mixture of awe and nervous determination.

Elysia turned fully to face her, posture relaxed, though curiosity sparked behind her dark eyes. "Hello," she said softly, her voice gentle so as not to startle her.

The girl dipped her head in a respectful nod, then stepped forward with deliberate care. "Lady Elysia... my name is Callista," she said, her voice steady despite her obvious nerves. "I—I wanted to speak with you. I've been waiting for the right time."

Elysia blinked, her mind racing as she searched her memory. The name wasn’t what struck her—it was the girl’s face. There was something hauntingly familiar about her. And then it hit her. The Mediterranean coast. A ship. Flames. Screaming. The acrid stench of blood and salt. A group of terrified girls.

And the monsters who had caged them.

Her jaw tightened subtly, though she kept her face calm. "Callista," she repeated slowly. "You were there."

Callista nodded. "You saved me. And the others."

Elysia exhaled, a slow breath that misted in the cold air. Her gaze dropped, the memory clawing its way to the front of her mind. That day had been one of her darker moments—not because she regretted saving the girls, but because of what she'd done to the traffickers. The raw fury that had consumed her, the way she'd let the Deathly Hallows guide her hand without restraint. The slaughter had been complete and brutal.

"I wasn't... kind, that day," she said, voice low. "I acted out of rage. I was afraid it would make you afraid of me."

To her surprise, Callista stepped closer, her expression soft but firm. "You were terrifying. But not to us. Not to me. You came when no one else did. You looked like death itself... and you gave us back our lives."

Elysia met the girl's eyes, searching for fear and finding none. Instead, she saw gratitude. Admiration. Strength. And in that moment, something within her softened—something long-held and guarded.

"I asked to join the Hunt because of you," Callista added. "Because I wanted to be like you. To protect others like you protected us."

Emotion twisted in Elysia's chest, unexpected and sharp. She swallowed hard, unsure what to say. Her throat felt tight, and her usual mask of confidence cracked at the edges. Before she could speak, Callista continued.

"You're not the only one here who you helped. There are a few of us. Some from Greece, one from southern Italy, another from Istanbul. You crossed our paths once, maybe twice. Some of them still talk about you like you're a myth. Like you’re a legend made flesh."

Elysia gave a short, dry laugh, shaking her head. "I didn’t think anyone remembered me. I never stayed long enough."

"We all do," Callista said. Then, quieter, almost shy, "Would you... maybe join us later? Around the fire? We’d like to hear you speak. You don’t have to tell a story like Zoë or Lady Artemis. Just... talk to us. It would mean a lot."

Something in Elysia’s heart stirred—a strange warmth beneath the weight she always carried. Slowly, she nodded. "Alright. I’d like that."

Callista beamed, her smile bright enough to rival the sun through the trees. She gave a short bow and turned, vanishing back into the trees with the same silent grace of a seasoned Hunter.

Elysia stood still for a long moment, breath curling around her in the cold. She glanced skyward, toward the soft grey light, and whispered, "Sirius, you'd laugh if you could see me now."

Then she turned back toward camp, where the sounds of the Hunt awaited—and so did the girls she never knew she’d inspired.

~

The fire crackled softly in the center of the snowy clearing, casting a warm, golden glow that pushed back the long shadows of the encroaching forest. Stars shimmered like frost in the deep velvet sky overhead, their light glinting off the gentle snow that blanketed the ground. A hush had fallen over the Hunters' camp, the usual sounds of training and chatter replaced by the soft murmur of wind through pine boughs and the rhythmic pop of burning wood.

Elysia sat cross-legged near the firepit, her black-and-white hair falling loose over her shoulders from beneath her hood. Her dark cloak was wrapped tight around her, but a hint of polished leather and enchanted silver shimmered beneath. She sat with a quiet grace, leaning slightly forward as though the flames whispered to her alone. Hedwig was perched just above her on a low-hanging branch, preening gently, the snowy owl’s watchful gaze sweeping the gathered circle.

Around Elysia, a loose ring of young Hunters had formed, some wrapped in thick blankets, others leaning against one another, their postures relaxed yet focused. Many were girls Elysia had crossed paths with over the years—those she had rescued or shielded from violence, or simply helped in ways she hadn’t realized at the time. Some sat with their girlfriends, hands intertwined, bodies drawn close for warmth. The firelight danced across their faces, illuminating awe, affection, and a deep yearning for something real, something meaningful.

A little off to the side, beneath a tall evergreen, stood Melinoë and Artemis. Their divine auras were quieted but present, a soft pulse in the wintry air. Melinoë’s eyes, mismatched in pale violet and deep green, glowed faintly in the firelight as she watched Elysia, her features soft with emotion she no longer tried to hide. Artemis stood beside her, arms loosely crossed, her silver eyes unreadable but focused, her stance protective. Despite her usual guardedness, she looked at Elysia with something raw and tender—something she hadn’t shown anyone in a very long time.

Elysia exhaled, her breath misting in the cold. Her eyes lifted to meet those of the girls around her, and then she spoke.

"I’m not here to tell stories tonight. Not the kind you’re expecting, anyway. I’m not Artemis, or Zoë, or one of your seasoned sisters."

A ripple of protest began to rise, but she held up her hand gently.

"Just listen, please."

The silence returned, still and patient.

"I didn’t rescue anyone because I was brave," she said quietly, the firelight catching the silver ring on her finger and the faint shimmer of runes on her bracers. "I acted because I couldn’t stand by. Because I knew what it felt like—to be alone, to be hurt, to think no one was coming."

Her gaze swept the circle, landing briefly on Callista, whose eyes shimmered with emotion.

"What I did—what I could do—was only ever possible because you were strong enough to keep going. You’re not here because I saved you. You’re here because you chose to survive. You chose to fight. Or to heal. Or to find a place like this to call your own."

Callista’s eyes filled with unshed tears, but she didn’t look away.

"You all walked your paths to get here," Elysia continued, her voice growing steadier. "I just happened to cross yours for a moment. If that helped, then I’m glad. But never forget—you did the hardest part. You kept going."

The fire crackled louder in the stillness that followed, and no one spoke. Some of the girls looked down into their laps, their expressions thoughtful. A few nodded slowly. One girl leaned her head against her girlfriend’s shoulder and whispered something too soft to hear.

Hedwig gave a soft trill from her perch, a quiet note of comfort.

Off to the side, Melinoë felt Artemis’s hand slip into hers. The Huntress goddess didn’t say anything, but her grip was warm, grounding. They both watched Elysia—this woman who bore the weight of death magic, who wore the Deathly Hallows like they were stitched into her very soul—and felt something unspoken stir between them.

Elysia’s gaze dropped to the flames again. "I’m not a hero. I’m just someone who couldn’t walk away. If you want stories... maybe another night. But tonight? I just want to sit with you. That’s enough for me."

And it was. Because around that fire, surrounded by girls who had found safety and strength and chosen sisterhood, there was no need for heroics.

There was only warmth. There was only healing. And in that stillness, Elysia finally allowed herself to feel just a little bit of peace.

Beneath the shadows of the snow-laced evergreens, Artemis stood in quiet observation. The fire's glow painted a warm, flickering halo across the camp, its golden light illuminating the circle where Elysia sat, still and serene, among the young Hunters. The goddess's silver eyes tracked every subtle shift—the way Elysia leaned forward when one of the girls spoke, the quiet nods of understanding, the calm, undemanding presence she offered. There was no performance, no need to command attention. She simply was , and that was enough to draw them in.

Beside her, Melinoë leaned in, the shadows clinging to her like old friends, her presence steady and sure. Her mismatched eyes—one a ghostly green, the other black with a scarlet iris—were thoughtful as she watched the same scene unfold. She stepped closer with an ease born of centuries, her arm already snaking around Artemis’s shoulders, the curve of her body tucking into Artemis’s side like a puzzle piece falling into place. Her fingers, cool and sure, slipped beneath the collar of Artemis’s cloak in a quiet act of intimacy. It was an embrace of comfort and grounding, the casual kind of touch that spoke to a long history of closeness and shared silence.

"They trust her," Melinoë murmured, her voice barely more than a breath, lost beneath the crackle of the fire and the soft murmur of the girls' voices. "Not because she demands it. But because she listens. Because she sees them."

Artemis's gaze didn’t waver. Her expression softened. "She reminds me of you," she said, voice laced with the weight of something unspoken.

Melinoë blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "Me?"

A faint smile played on Artemis’s lips, more genuine than most ever got to see. "You see the overlooked. The wounded. The quiet ones. Elysia does too. She doesn’t carry power like a banner, even though she could. She chooses gentleness when others would offer force. And that... that speaks louder than any show of strength."

She hesitated. Her thoughts tangled with emotions she rarely dared give voice to. As goddess of the Hunt, Artemis moved with instincts and grace, but this—this vulnerability, this budding affection—was unfamiliar terrain.

Melinoë’s fingers brushed soothingly against Artemis’s upper arm, her affection as effortless as breath. Her body remained pressed close to Artemis’s, a silent comfort. "You've been watching her for years," she said gently. "Since she slew the basilisk. And every time she walked alone into danger, I saw it in your eyes. You were afraid—for her. You wanted to be there."

Artemis turned her head slightly, meeting Melinoë’s gaze. Her silver eyes shimmered with reflection. "She’s mortal. Or... was. I don’t even know what she is now. But when she fought... when she bled... when she faced down gods and monsters—I hated that she did it alone. Not because I thought she needed me, but because I wanted to walk beside her."

Melinoë’s smile deepened, touched with both understanding and fondness. She gave Artemis’s shoulder a soft squeeze. "You don’t always have to speak it. You just have to keep showing up. Like you always have."

Artemis turned her attention back to the fire below. Elysia was laughing again, her voice light and easy, a thread of warmth in the winter-dark camp. Her presence wasn’t one of command, but of connection. The girls didn’t gather around her out of awe anymore, but out of kinship. Out of love.

Artemis exhaled slowly, her breath misting in the cold. "She holds death in her hands," she whispered, almost reverent. "And still she chooses life. She chooses them ."

Melinoë pressed a soft kiss to the top of Artemis’s head, a gesture tender and full of old affection. Her other hand found Artemis’s free one, fingers entwining. "And maybe... she chooses us , too."

The thought made Artemis’s breath hitch, her pulse fluttering like a startled bird. She didn’t pull away from the touch. Instead, she leaned into it, letting her cheek brush against Melinoë’s temple.

Below, Elysia met the gaze of one of the girls with quiet reassurance, her presence still and unshakable. A protector not by proclamation, but by the gentle steadiness of her soul.

The two goddesses remained as they were—entwined in shadow and starlight, heartbeats aligned. They didn’t need words. The warmth blooming quietly between the three of them said everything.

No vows were spoken. No declarations exchanged. Just the hush of breath, the echo of laughter, and the promise of something more waiting in the soft quiet of what came next.

~~

That night, nestled between Artemis and Melinoë in the warmth of the tent, Elysia drifted into sleep with Hedwig resting near the entrance, keeping silent watch. The quiet comfort of being surrounded by those she was beginning to trust let her slip deeper into rest than she had in a long time. And as the veil of dreams fell over her mind, she found herself once more in a memory—not a dream of fantasy, but something real, something deeply imprinted on her soul.

She sat in the dimly lit drawing room of Grimmauld Place, the firelight dancing across the faded wallpaper and flickering over the cluttered remnants of the Black family home. The battle at the Ministry had ended just days ago. Her hands still bore the evidence—the angry red scarring from the blood quill’s use during her detentions at Hogwarts, and the thin cuts and bruises from the vicious fight deep in the Department of Mysteries.

The war had truly begun now, and Elysia, despite her age, had stood on the front lines.

Across from her, Sirius poured two small glasses of Firewhisky, sliding one across the battered table to her without a word. He didn’t speak immediately—just leaned back into the worn armchair, watching her with eyes that had seen too much. Elysia stared into the flames, her jaw tight, her fingers cradling the glass without taking a sip.

“They’re all looking at me like I’m already gone,” she said quietly, voice rough with emotion she refused to let spill. “Like I’m something they need to save from myself.”

Sirius leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Because you fought to end it,” he said. “Because you used spells they’re too afraid to admit might be necessary.”

“I didn’t disarm anyone,” she muttered bitterly. “I didn’t hold back. I wanted to hurt them. I—”

“They were trying to kill you,” Sirius interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “They were trying to kill your friends. And you stopped them. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

Elysia finally looked at him. “But does it mean they’re right? That I’m going dark?”

Sirius gave her a long look, then smiled, something fierce and proud in it. “You want to know what I think? I think being dark isn’t about the spells you use. It’s about why you use them. You weren’t hurting people because you wanted power or because it felt good. You did it to protect others. That’s what matters.”

She looked down again, her voice barely a whisper. “Dumbledore gave me his speech. About forgiveness. About how mercy is strength.”

“Dumbledore’s not wrong,” Sirius said carefully, leaning back, “but he's also not right. He’s also never been a child in a war zone. Not like you. He doesn’t understand what it feels like to know the people behind you won’t survive if you hesitate.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and for a moment, Elysia saw the cracks in his composure. The years in Azkaban, the weight of being a Black, the loss of his friends—he wore all of it like invisible armor that had taken its share of blows. “The truth is, I've struggled with it too. Being nice, being kind… Merlin, there were years where I wasn't either. At school, I could be cruel. Reckless. I lashed out more than I should have, and I told myself it was justified because I was fighting back. Because I was the good guy.”

He glanced at her, his expression haunted but steady. “But the war stripped all the pretty excuses away. I saw what happened when you gave in to hate. I saw what it did to Regulus. What it did to Peter. And I promised myself if I ever had someone to look after, someone like you—I’d be better.”

He reached over, placing a hand over hers. “Let me tell you something I’ve learned, something I try to live by. Always try to be nice, but never fail to be kind. ”

She frowned, confused. He continued.

“Being nice is easy. It’s smiling, using polite words, playing along even when you want to scream. But kindness? That’s deeper. Kindness is putting yourself between someone you love and danger. Kindness is fighting with everything you have for those who can’t. It’s not always pretty. It’s not always gentle. But it’s real.”

She let out a shaky breath, her glass finally raised to her lips. The Firewhisky burned as it went down, but it grounded her. “I don’t think they’ll ever see me like that.”

“Tonks does,” Sirius said, and that finally made her blink.

“She’s one of the few who does,” he continued, his tone softening. “She understands. She sees you. Defends you when the others get nervous, when they start whispering behind closed doors. They don’t understand that you’re not becoming something dark—you’re becoming something stronger. Sharper. She reminds them of who you’re fighting for. And she’s proud of you, Elysia.”

The words hit deeper than she expected. A soft warmth built in her chest that no Firewhisky could have sparked. She looked down into the amber liquid, swirling it slowly, watching the firelight glint off its surface. “I don’t know what I’d do without her,” she whispered. “Without you.”

“You won’t have to find out,” Sirius said, resolute. “You’re not alone, even when it feels like it.”

They sat in silence after that, the fire crackling low and steady, wrapping them both in its flickering glow. And for the first time in days, Elysia let herself lean into the quiet comfort of her godfather’s presence, feeling—for a moment—like a girl again. Not a soldier. Not a weapon.

Just a daughter, held steady in the eye of the storm.

~~

A month had passed since Elysia had found herself among the Hunters of Artemis, and in that time, the rhythm of her days had shifted into something softer, quieter. The change was subtle but undeniable. The girls had taken to her, and she to them. They laughed with her, trained with her, teased her gently as if she'd always been one of them. The ones she had rescued in the past gravitated to her with natural ease, and the others followed their lead. The campsite felt like a strange echo of home—a home built on shared strength and soft kindness.

Now, the last days of November were giving way to the early edge of December. The nights arrived faster, darker. The morning frost clung to everything, glittering like scattered diamonds beneath the pale light of the rising sun. The forest surrounding the camp had grown still and hushed in the way only winter could make it, cloaking the world in a serenity that begged for silence.

That morning, Artemis had approached Elysia without a word, a soft look in her moonlit silver eyes. She merely inclined her head, a silent invitation. Elysia, who had come to know the goddess better over these quiet weeks, stood and followed without needing to ask why.

They walked side by side through the winter forest, their steps muffled by the snow underfoot. The world around them felt suspended in time—branches heavy with frost, the sky stretched wide and silver above, and the air laced with the cold bite of snow and the faint tang of pine. It wasn’t silence born of awkwardness; it was reverence. The sort of stillness that wrapped around them like a cloak, warm and thick despite the chill.

Artemis didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Every so often, her shoulder would brush against Elysia’s, a subtle nudge as if to say, "I’m here." She would point out tracks in the snow—a fox, a deer, a hare—and Elysia would nod, admiring the sharpness of Artemis’s perception. Once, Artemis tilted her chin upward, and Elysia followed her gaze to an owl nest tucked high in the boughs of an ancient tree, dusted gently with snow.

The goddess seemed to glow beneath the pale light, her auburn hair catching the frost-lit shimmer like strands of starlight. Her expression, usually guarded and composed, was relaxed here in the hush of the forest. There was a softness to her movements, a vulnerability not often seen, even among her Hunters. Elysia walked in quiet awe, not just of the forest, but of Artemis herself. Her strength. Her grace. Her quiet vulnerability. Because in every glance, every touch, every breath, Elysia understood: she was being let in.

Eventually, they stepped through a narrow corridor of trees, where the boughs parted into a small, sacred glade. The snow here was undisturbed, the clearing pristine and bathed in moonlight. At the center, a single flower—icy silver and violet—had begun to unfurl its petals, shimmering like crystal as the full moon reached its zenith.

Elysia drew in a breath. "It's beautiful," she murmured.

Artemis didn’t respond with words. Instead, she walked forward with silent reverence, kneeling beside the rare flower as it bloomed. Carefully, delicately, she picked it, cradling it in her hand as though it were something sacred. Her fingers lingered over the delicate petals, her expression unreadable but full of emotion.

Then she turned, stepped close, and with fingers that trembled only slightly, she reached up and tucked the flower into Elysia’s braid. Her hand lingered for a moment, brushing the dark strands streaked with white. Her touch was soft, almost reverent, and her fingers traced a path down Elysia’s cheek, stopping just short of resting against her jaw.

Elysia’s heart caught in her chest. The gesture was simple. But from Artemis, it was monumental.

She met the goddess’s gaze, saw the softness there, the quiet hope, the words unspoken but loud in meaning. The luminous silver of Artemis’s eyes shimmered in the moonlight, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips—tentative, vulnerable, but real.

"Thank you," Elysia said softly, a breath on the wind.

Artemis nodded. And they stood there together in the moonlit stillness, the only sound the sighing of the wind through the trees—a melody of understanding, of trust, and the beginning of something more. Their shadows leaned together, faint on the snow, as if the forest itself bore witness to something just beginning to bloom between them.

~

The early afternoon sun glittered off the fresh layer of snow blanketing the glade, turning the world into a sparkling, icy dreamscape. The scent of pine and frost lingered in the air, crisp and clean, with the occasional flurry drifting down in lazy spirals from the canopy above. Elysia had just finished helping one of the younger Hunters gather firewood, her breath fogging in the chill air, when a snowball smacked squarely into her back with a satisfying thwump.

She spun around with a sharp inhale, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Zoë Nightshade stood several feet away, wearing an expression of mock innocence that didn’t fool anyone. Snow clung to her gloves and the faintest smirk played on her lips.

"No regrets," Zoë called impishly, ducking behind a snow-laden log.

Before Elysia could retaliate, another snowball struck her thigh, and then another grazed her shoulder. A shriek of laughter erupted from somewhere to her left. All around the clearing, Hunters were diving for cover, forming teams without a word, snowballs already flying through the air in wild, chaotic arcs.

The quiet winter day had officially transformed into a battlefield.

From the shadows of a nearby pine, Melinoë stepped forward with a mischievous glint in her heterochromatic eyes—one dark as onyx, the other bright as fresh ice. Snowflakes clung to the ends of her long black hair as she lifted her hand, summoning a whirling cloud of snow. The flakes swirled around her fingers and solidified into perfectly round snowballs, levitating in a tidy orbit around her.

"That’s cheating!" Elysia shouted, already laughing as she crouched low behind a snowbank.

"Divine advantage," Melinoë said sweetly, loosing her projectiles with almost lazy elegance.

Elysia yelped as the snowballs homed in on her, diving behind her makeshift wall of snow. She conjured a barrier with a flick of her wand, compacting snow into a curved shield, her dark hair streaked with white flaring around her as she returned fire.

Then, without warning, Artemis joined the fray.

The goddess appeared with the quiet grace of a snowflake landing on a still lake. Crouched low in the snow, silver eyes gleaming with amusement, she hurled a snowball with perfect aim that struck Melinoë square in the back. Her auburn hair, braided neatly, shimmered beneath a dusting of frost.

"Artemis!" Melinoë shouted in mock offense, her laughter bubbling out.

Elysia could hardly believe her eyes. To see Artemis—the goddess of the Hunt, so often reserved and stoic—letting loose among her Hunters with laughter on her lips and mischief in her gaze was nothing short of wondrous. There was a wild joy in her expression, something free and almost ancient, like the joy of running barefoot through untamed woods.

The snowball fight turned into glorious chaos. Artemis and Melinoë briefly teamed up against Elysia, pelting her with divine precision as she scrambled for cover, breathless and laughing harder than she had in months. Hunters ducked and rolled across the clearing, giggling and shrieking with each hit.

Even Zoë cracked a grin as she launched a snowball with unerring accuracy.

By the time the flurry of playful combat died down, the clearing was pocked with craters of disturbed snow. Elysia collapsed backward into a snowdrift, her cheeks flushed from cold and exertion, strands of her hair clinging to her face. Melinoë dropped beside her, arms stretched wide, her laughter tapering into soft, satisfied giggles.

Artemis sat cross-legged on Elysia’s other side, eyes half-lidded in serene contentment. Snowflakes clung to her lashes like glittering pearls. When Elysia looked over, Artemis reached forward, brushing a flake from her braid, her fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

The quiet that followed felt sacred. The sounds of the younger Hunters playing nearby faded into the background. In the warm hush of their shared bubble, Elysia let herself relax completely, the corners of her mouth still curved in a soft smile.

"You’re better at dodging arrows than snowballs," Artemis said in a teasing murmur, her voice low and fond.

Elysia chuckled, turning her head just enough to meet Artemis’s gaze. "I wasn’t expecting divine warfare."

"I warned you not to trust her innocence," Melinoë added with a smirk, nudging Elysia’s arm lightly with her shoulder.

A pause stretched between them—comfortable, lingering. Then Melinoë’s hand found Elysia’s in the snow, her fingers twining gently through hers. The touch was wordless but warm, a quiet affirmation of how much the bond between them had grown.

They lay there together, wrapped in frost and laughter, their breaths rising in soft white plumes toward the pale blue sky. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long golden shadows through the trees, Elysia felt something deeper settle in her chest.

Not just warmth. Not just happiness.

Belonging.

Here, surrounded by Hunters and goddesses alike, Elysia knew she wasn’t just passing through this place. She had become a part of it. And in the hush of twilight, with Melinoë’s hand in hers and Artemis’s steady presence by her side, she realized she didn’t want to leave it behind.

~~

The fire crackled quietly in the hearth of Artemis’s tent, its soft warmth driving back the winter chill that clung to the air like a second skin. Outside, snow dusted the trees in a glittering hush, the light of the late afternoon sun casting long golden beams through the seams of the tent’s flap. Inside, the world felt smaller, quieter—like a moment suspended in time.

Elysia sat cross-legged on a thick woolen rug, her cloak folded beside her and her sleeves rolled to her elbows. Strands of her dark hair, streaked through with pale white, had fallen loose from the braid she wore, framing her face in soft waves. Before her lay a constellation of small amulets, each one unique and clearly made with painstaking care. Some were carved from pale moonstone or warm sun-bleached driftwood, others gleamed dully with burnished copper or dark obsidian polished to a near mirror sheen. A few shimmered faintly, magic still settling into their delicate frames like dew in the early light.

Her wand hovered just above her hand, tip aglow with magic as glowing runes threaded into the grooves she’d etched earlier. Quiet enchantments flowed from her lips—protective spells, subtle wards, soft blessings for clarity, peace, or resilience. Each charm bore specific intent, tailored to the girl who would receive it. None of them were flashy or overly powerful, but all were deeply personal. Useful magic. Thoughtful magic. Magic that said, without needing to say it: I see you. I care.

She had just finished whispering a final protection into a charm shaped like a crescent moon when the flap of the tent rustled. Artemis stepped inside with the silent grace of a stalking predator, her silver eyes immediately catching on the scatter of amulets and Elysia’s posture. The goddess looked windswept, her auburn hair pulled back with a leather tie, and snow still clinging to the edges of her boots. For a moment, she simply stood in the doorway, watching.

Elysia startled slightly, her wand lowering. She blinked up at the goddess with a sheepish flush blooming across her cheeks. “Oh—hey. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Artemis stepped closer, her sharp eyes roaming over the amulets. “What are these?” she asked softly, kneeling beside Elysia.

Elysia hesitated, then picked up one of the amulets—a disc of lapis lazuli engraved with spiral runes and ringed in delicate protective etchings. She turned it over in her palm, the firelight catching on the silvery sigils.

“They’re gifts,” she murmured. “For the Hunters. And a few others at Camp Half-Blood. I’ve been working on them the last few weeks.”

Her voice grew quieter, uncertain. “Not because I think they need protection. I know they can handle themselves. They’re fierce, brave, incredible. But… I just wanted to give them something. Something useful. Something that might help in a moment where it counts.” She paused, looking down. “I know how much they mean to you.”

For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of the fire crackling and the whisper of snow outside.

Then Artemis reached out, picking up a charm carved from birchwood, shaped like a falling star. She turned it slowly in her hands, reading the sigils engraved in curling, almost musical script. A faint smile tugged at her lips—rare, soft, and achingly beautiful.

“You made all of these?” she asked, her voice touched with something like awe.

Elysia nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. It felt right. They made me feel like I belonged. I just wanted to return the kindness.”

Artemis’s hand shifted, fingers brushing gently against Elysia’s wrist, the contact light but deliberate. Her gaze met Elysia’s, silver eyes glowing like moonlight on water. “You don’t have to explain. They’ll love them. I love that you thought to do this for them.”

Elysia’s breath caught slightly at the quiet warmth in her voice, and she offered a small, crooked smile, shy and a little unsure. “It’s silly, maybe, but… it felt important.”

“It isn’t silly,” Artemis said, her voice velvet and unwavering. “It’s exactly the kind of strength I admire.”

She lingered close, the edge of her thigh pressed lightly to Elysia’s as the firelight bathed them both in its glow. A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the final spark of magic humming into the last charm.

As it began to glow softly, its enchantment settling into place, Artemis leaned in just a touch more, her shoulder brushing Elysia’s. Her fingers still gently cradled the star-shaped amulet as she added, with surprising softness, “You think so much about others, even when you’re tired yourself.”

Elysia looked down, blinking against the warmth that bloomed in her chest. “Someone has to.”

Artemis smiled again, the expression blooming like moonlight on still water—rare, ethereal, and full of quiet meaning.

Beside them, the fire danced and the amulets glowed faintly, the spellwork settling like blessings over everything they touched.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

XVI

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The morning air was brisk and full of anticipation as Elysia carefully wrapped the last of the rune-engraved amulets. Each one had been tailored for a specific Hunter, her magic lovingly woven into every loop and swirl of protection. She tied the final ribbon with steady hands and carried the small, neatly bundled package to Zoë Nightshade, who stood near the command tent overseeing the day’s preparations.

"For the Hunt," Elysia said simply, handing over the bundle. "To be opened on Christmas morning."

Zoë gave a rare, approving smile, nodding as she accepted the gifts. “They will be cherished, Elysia. You have made an impression here."

Elysia offered a small, bashful smile before glancing skyward as Hedwig swooped down gracefully, landing with a soft hoot. She extended her arm, and Hedwig nuzzled affectionately against her before allowing Elysia to secure the small satchel of carefully labeled gifts.

"For the campers," she murmured. "You know the way."

Hedwig blinked with intelligence and took off, her wings cutting through the winter air like parchment across silk.

But one gift she kept close—Percy’s. A compact, enchanted compass made from storm-polished driftwood and celestial bronze, charmed to always point toward safety. It was tucked safely in her cloak, nestled close to her heart. As she stood there, the cold breeze brushing over her, she turned toward Melinoë, who waited quietly nearby with her usual calm presence.

Elysia opened her mouth, then hesitated. Her fingers brushed self-consciously through the loose strands of her white-streaked hair as she gathered the nerve. Her voice, when it came, was tinged with a breezy tone that didn’t quite hide the nerves underneath. "I'm going to drop this off in person," she said, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of her cloak. "And then I thought… maybe you’d both like to come back with me? To my home. Spend Christmas with my family. You've introduced me to yours, so… it only seems fair."

The moment the words left her mouth, uncertainty crept into her chest. She had never invited anyone to her home before—let alone goddesses. This wasn’t just a return gesture; it was a vulnerable reach outward, offering a piece of her life she had always kept fiercely protected.

Melinoë’s soft smile deepened into something almost radiant, her expression full of warmth. "I’d like that," she said immediately, her tone rich with reassurance. "And I’ll come with you to drop off Percy’s gift."

Artemis, who had approached silently, paused beside them, folding her arms with a composed elegance. Her silver eyes flicked over Elysia’s face, reading the emotions she didn’t voice. There was something tender in her gaze, a quiet fondness that made Elysia’s chest ache. "I will meet you there," Artemis said softly after a breath. "It sounds… nice."

Just as they began to prepare, the soft crunch of boots on snow announced the arrival of the Hunters. The group Elysia had rescued years ago was at the forefront, their cheeks pink from the cold, eyes shining with emotion that tugged at something deep inside her chest.

They didn’t say a word. They didn’t need to. The bond they shared transcended words, born of fire and fear and survival. With unhesitating steps, they closed the distance and enveloped her in a collective hug. Arms wrapped around her shoulders, her waist, her back—an uncoordinated, overwhelming embrace. One of the youngest, barely more than twelve when Elysia had pulled her from the ship’s hold, sniffled softly as she clung to her waist, trembling slightly.

"Will you come back?" another girl asked, her voice small, hesitant, the kind of question asked more with the heart than the tongue.

Elysia’s breath caught. Her gaze lifted over the top of their heads to where Artemis stood, snow collecting on her auburn hair, her expression serene but watchful. Elysia’s eyes met hers, seeking something—permission, reassurance, perhaps even comfort. The goddess inclined her head in a gesture so subtle it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but to Elysia, it was everything.

Emotion surged in her chest. Her throat tightened as she pulled the girls tighter against her. "Yeah," she whispered, her voice thick, but steady. "I’ll be back. Promise."

She felt their relief in the way they held her just a little closer.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, blurring the snowy camp into soft white smudges. She didn’t let them fall. Not yet. Not while so many young faces looked up to her with hope.

But her heart whispered something she wasn’t quite ready to say aloud: this place—these people—felt like home, because here she was seen not as a weapon or a symbol, but as a person. There was no expectation to be perfect, no fear of her darkness—just acceptance, fierce loyalty, and affection. The girls she had helped looked at her with trust instead of fear, Artemis and Melinoë offered warmth and quiet understanding, and for once, she didn’t feel like she had to earn her place—she simply belonged.

Elysia's cloak whispered against the snowy earth as she stood beside Melinoë at the edge of the clearing. The sky above shimmered with pale winter light, the kind that promised snow but held back just enough to let the world breathe. Her arm slipped naturally through Melinoë's, and together they stepped into the shadows.

Their travel was quiet and spectral, a dance through the folds of death and twilight. Melinoë moved effortlessly, her connection to the underworld turning shadow-stepping into something graceful, almost ghostlike. Elysia moved with her, her magic responding to Melinoë's presence, both of them weaving through the liminal spaces that clung between life and death until the dark gave way to the mundane hum of the mortal world.

They emerged in a quiet alley near Percy and his mother's new apartment in New York, the streetlights casting golden pools on the snow-dusted sidewalks. Elysia took a moment to adjust, the transition from shadow to city always slightly disorienting. The sharp bite of the winter chill was a welcome reminder of where they were. Melinoë glanced sideways at her, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as Elysia subtly tightened her grip around her arm.

They walked in comfortable silence, boots crunching softly against salted concrete, until they entered the apartment building. The warmth inside was immediate and stifled the cold clinging to their cloaks. Elysia led them with practiced familiarity, navigating the stairs with a quiet confidence, her heart beginning to beat a little faster as they approached the right door.

She knocked twice.

The door swung open moments later, revealing a surprised Percy Jackson, dressed in sweatpants and a Camp Half-Blood hoodie. His sea-green eyes widened as he blinked at the unexpected sight before him.

"Elysia? Whoa… hey!" he said with a grin that quickly morphed into a mix of curiosity and delight. His gaze slid to Melinoë, who stood calmly beside Elysia, dark robes whispering softly with her movements, her mismatched eyes watching him with composed interest. Percy blinked again. "And… uh, hi. Come in! Come in."

He stepped aside to let them in, the warmth of the apartment and the scent of cinnamon and pine wafting out to greet them. Elysia stepped through first, offering a smile that was both grateful and a touch self-conscious. Melinoë followed with the poise of someone used to being observed but rarely questioned. Percy, unaware of exactly who his other guest was, simply chalked it up to Elysia keeping mysterious company—something he had figured was usual for her.

"Wasn't expecting visitors today," Percy said as he closed the door behind them, rubbing the back of his neck. "But it’s good to see you. Really good."

Elysia smiled more fully now, the nervous edge fading. "I had a gift to deliver. Thought I’d do it in person."

She reached into her cloak and pulled out the small wrapped box—Percy’s compass, carefully sealed and tied with sea-blue ribbon. His expression softened with a flicker of surprise and warmth as he accepted it.

"Thanks," he murmured, then glanced between the two of them. "You want some hot chocolate? Or tea? Mom made a whole batch this morning."

Elysia chuckled softly. "Only if you're sure we're not interrupting."

"Never. And besides, you've got to tell me who your friend is."

Melinoë arched a brow in subtle amusement but said nothing.

Sally entered the living room a few moments later, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she rounded the corner with a curious look that immediately shifted into a bright, warm smile when she saw Elysia standing near the doorway.

"Elysia!" she exclaimed, joy lighting up her face as she crossed the room and pulled the other woman into a firm hug. "Oh, it's so good to see you. I wasn’t expecting you, but I’m so glad you came."

Elysia returned the embrace with equal warmth, her smile genuine and touched by a fleeting vulnerability she quickly tucked away. "I hope it's alright. I had something I wanted to drop off for Percy, and I figured it was time I stopped by."

Sally pulled back slightly, still holding Elysia’s shoulders as she looked her over with maternal affection that visibly softened Elysia’s expression. "More than alright. I’ve been meaning to thank you. That contact you gave me—Andromeda? She's been such a blessing. It’s been a relief to have someone to talk to about... well, raising a child who constantly finds himself in trouble with gods and monsters."

From the kitchen, Percy groaned theatrically, poking his head around the corner. "I'm standing right here , Mom."

Elysia chuckled, the sound soft and melodic, her eyes gleaming with affection. "That’s exactly why Andromeda and Sally get along so well. She’s had to put up with me and Nymphadora over the years. Percy, you’re practically tame in comparison."

"Hey!" Percy protested again, mock wounded. "I object to that slander."

"Objection overruled," Elysia teased, then turned slightly and gestured to Melinoë, who had been quietly observing the exchange with an air of polite amusement and a small, intrigued smile.

"This is my friend, Mel," Elysia said, the nickname slipping from her lips with surprising ease, her voice softening in a way that made Melinoë’s head tilt ever so slightly.

Melinoë blinked at the abbreviation of her name, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing her ethereal features. No one had ever shortened her name like that. But rather than being off-putting, it warmed her in a place she hadn’t expected. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, her eyes lighting with something unspoken. It made her feel... seen. Familiar. Accepted.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you," Sally said warmly, extending her hand with the same easy kindness she always carried. Melinoë accepted the handshake with a gentle grip, her other hand resting lightly against the hem of her cloak.

"Likewise," Melinoë replied, her voice as calm and composed as her demeanor, though the faint, almost bashful curve to her lips betrayed a spark of emotion. Her heterochromatic eyes held a rare softness as they met Sally’s.

Sally tilted her head slightly, something instinctual stirring behind her friendly curiosity. There was something otherworldly about the girl, something not quite spoken aloud. But she didn’t pry. Instead, she offered the kind of open smile that said the mystery could wait.

"Well, come in, come in. I’ve got cookies in the oven, and hot chocolate on the stove. It’s a bit of a Christmas prep day here," she added, turning and waving them both in.

Elysia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and exchanged a quick glance with Melinoë—half reassurance, half invitation—before they stepped further into the apartment. The air was warm and inviting, alive with the gentle hum of domestic comfort. Fairy lights lined the edges of the room like stars caught in strings, casting a soft golden glow that wrapped around them like a welcome embrace. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla drifted from the kitchen, mingling with pine and something faintly floral—homely and sacred all at once.

For a moment, the past month of gods, monsters, and darkness felt a world away. And in its place was laughter, twinkling lights, and a home she never expected to be welcomed into with such open arms.

The living room glowed with warm, golden light from the strands of fairy lights looped around the window frame and the flickering candles nestled on the mantle. The scent of cinnamon and pine clung softly to the air, wrapping the space in a comforting blanket of seasonal coziness. They were all gathered comfortably now—Sally curled up in her armchair with a fluffy blanket draped over her knees, Percy sprawled half-sideways in a beanbag chair, and Elysia perched on the couch with Melinoë beside her, both cupping steaming mugs of hot chocolate in their hands.

Conversation flowed easily, punctuated by gentle laughter and the occasional crackle from the fire. It was a scene that felt so natural that anyone passing by might think the group had always gathered this way.

"Do you remember that time you climbed out the second-story window with a pool noodle to fight a 'monster' you thought was lurking in the backyard?" Sally asked, giving Percy a playful sidelong look.

"I was eight! And it looked like a monster from that angle !" Percy protested with a dramatic groan, hiding half his face behind his mug.

Elysia laughed warmly, her eyes shining with amusement. "That sounds exactly like the kind of bravery I expect from you, honestly. Better a pool noodle than nothing."

Sally smirked. "You say that, but he broke the downspout, scraped his knees, and landed in the compost pile."

Melinoë gave a quiet snort of laughter, delicately hiding her grin behind her mug.

"Alright, alright! If we're telling childhood stories, you have to share too," Percy countered, pointing at Elysia.

Elysia smiled and leaned down to pull a worn, rune-etched leather pouch from her travel bag. From inside, she withdrew a slim photo album, the edges slightly frayed from being looked through so many times.

"I keep this with me," she said softly, placing it on her lap. "Pictures of family, friends... places I've been. Helps me feel grounded."

She flipped it open and began showing them a few pages. First came the photos of a bright, laughing toddler with a mass of golden curls, her arms thrown around Elysia’s neck in an exuberant hug. The little girl’s face was scrunched in a delighted grin, while Elysia’s own expression was one of pure, unguarded joy—a rare sight for those who knew her only through her battles and stories.

"That's Victoire," she said, fondness thick in her voice, a soft nostalgia layering her words. "My goddaughter. I've known her since she was born. She once used my hair as reins while riding on my shoulders through a festival in Morocco. She had a little flower crown and thought she was leading a parade."

Melinoë leaned in to see the picture better, smiling softly, her thumb brushing lightly against the edge of the photo. "She looks like she adores you. Like she knows you’d never let anything happen to her."

"She does. And I adore her right back. She's brave in ways people underestimate. You should see her when she sets her mind to something—it’s like trying to stop a storm."

The next few pages were snapshots of Elysia traveling—windswept cliffs, ruins bathed in moonlight, city skylines from rooftops. Percy paused her at one of the newer pages.

"That’s Camp Half-Blood," he said, his brow lifting.

Elysia nodded. "Some of the campers. There's Lou Ellen there. She’s in half of them, practically. She’s got a knack for showing up just as I’m pulling the camera out."

"And there’s me," Percy said, squinting at a group shot.

"You look so smug holding that trident," Elysia teased.

Then they turned the page again, and the mood shifted slightly. The next few pictures were of the Hunters of Artemis—moonlit gatherings, quiet training sessions, shared meals around a fire. Callista featured in several, captured mid-laugh, eyes gleaming with purpose.

"She’s strong," Elysia said quietly. "Fierce. The kind of girl who stands between others and the dark, even if she’s afraid."

Melinoë's gaze softened as she looked at the photo. "She looks up to you."

Elysia gave a small, humble smile. "I didn’t do much. Just gave her the space to find her own strength."

Sally glanced between them all, her heart warming. For someone who had lived a life forged in battle, Elysia carried such gentleness. The same kind of gentleness she saw in the quiet strength of her own son.

"You do realize, don’t you?" Sally said softly. "That you've made an impression on people. That these girls, these campers, they feel safer because you walked into their lives."

Elysia looked away for a moment, the corners of her eyes tightening.

"Maybe," she said at last. "But it was never just me."

Percy reached over and lightly nudged her with his foot. "Maybe not. But it helps knowing you’re out there."

~

Steam curled gently from the ceramic mugs as Elysia handed one to Sally and reached for the dish towel. The warm water ran over her hands as she carefully rinsed the last mug, its chocolatey traces washing away into the sink. Sally stood beside her, sleeves rolled up, eyes soft and calm, her presence grounding in the quiet kitchen.

The sounds of laughter still drifted faintly from the living room where Percy and Melinoë were talking, but here, it was peaceful—the kind of peace forged in long battles and quiet resilience. The kitchen light glowed warmly over the countertop, and the window above the sink let in a sliver of night sky, stars twinkling faintly above New York.

"You really don’t have to help," Sally said gently, watching as Elysia dried the mugs with practiced ease.

Elysia offered her a soft smile. "I like it. It’s grounding. Familiar."

Sally tilted her head, intrigued. "Familiar? I guess you don’t strike me as someone who spends a lot of time doing dishes."

"Not often," Elysia admitted with a small laugh. "But there was a time... Back when I was a child, I was made to do them constantly. My relatives—well, let’s just say the Dursleys weren’t the kindest. Washing dishes became a chore I was forced into every day. Morning, noon, and night. It was punishment, a way to remind me where they thought I belonged. But later, it changed. Nymphadora always insisted we clean up together after dinner. Said it kept us humble. And over the years... in a strange way, it became a kind of ritual. Reclaiming something once cruel and making it comforting."

Sally chuckled, her voice laced with fond amusement. "That sounds like something I'd say to Percy. Though it rarely works—he usually gives me that wide-eyed look like I’ve just asked him to do something outrageous."

They fell into a companionable rhythm, their movements fluid and easy. It was the kind of ease born not from years of friendship, but from a mutual understanding of burdens carried and battles survived. It was easy with Sally. Elysia had met many people through her life—heroes, gods, soldiers, spirits—but few had the kind of steady, quiet strength that Sally radiated. It reminded her of Andromeda, and in that familiarity, trust took root quickly and firmly.

"You know," Sally said eventually, her tone thoughtful, "watching you tonight... hearing the way you talked with Percy, with Mel... It gives me hope."

Elysia turned her head, curious. "Hope?"

Sally dried her hands slowly and leaned against the counter, looking down into her empty mug. "Hope that Percy can still come through all of this and have a good life. I worry sometimes. Not because he isn’t strong or smart or good, but because it all keeps piling up. Prophecies, quests, monsters... It takes pieces of them. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. And I try to be strong for him, but watching him carry that weight, I can’t help but wonder if it’s too much sometimes. I just… seeing you. The way you laugh. The way you carry yourself. There’s a lightness to you, even with all the weight you carry. It gives me hope that he can still find peace, too. That all of this doesn’t have to end in tragedy."

Elysia blinked, momentarily caught off guard. No one ever talked to her like that. Not even those closest to her. She had always been the weapon, the protector, the one they turned to in war and overlooked in peace. Sally’s words landed like a warm hand on her heart.

"That means more than I can say," she said softly, setting the last mug down. "I’ve wondered before if I turned out okay. With everything. If I became someone who was worth all the sacrifice."

"You did," Sally said, her voice certain and gentle. "You really did. You might not see it all the time, but the way Percy looks at you, the way Mel smiles when you talk, the way my apartment feels lighter with you in it—it says everything."

They stood there for a moment, the warmth of the kitchen pressing close around them. And in that silence, something unspoken passed between them—a beginning of something that neither would fully understand until much later. Not quite family, not yet, but a kinship formed from surviving the strange and the impossible, from loving fiercely in the face of chaos.

Elysia, who had carried the world alone for so long, felt a tether form. Something steady. Something real.

Sally smiled as she took the dish towel from Elysia. "Next time you visit, you’re cooking."

Elysia laughed, the sound soft and genuine. "Only if you promise to keep telling embarrassing Percy stories."

"Deal," Sally grinned.

And in that small moment, with dishes done and hearts just a little lighter, something like family took root in the quiet of the kitchen.

~

As the late afternoon light dimmed and the snow-dusted street outside glowed under the soft amber hue of the sun, it came time to say goodbye. Percy gave Elysia a one-armed hug, his grin still tinged with disbelief at the day's surreal turns. Melinoë lingered nearby, giving them a moment of privacy.

"Thanks for coming," Percy said. "It was... really good to see you. And to meet Mel. She’s cool."

"She is," Elysia agreed, glancing at Melinoë with a fond smile. "And thank you for letting me drop by. I’m glad we got to do this."

Sally joined them at the door, pulling Elysia into a tight embrace. "Take care of yourself. And thank you, again. For everything."

"You too, Sally," Elysia said softly, the hug lingering a heartbeat longer. "I’ll be in touch soon."

With final farewells exchanged, Elysia stepped to Melinoë’s side. Their arms brushed as Elysia reached over, hooking her arm through Melinoë’s.

"Ready?" she asked.

Melinoë nodded, eyes glinting in the soft evening light. "Always."

The shadows wrapped around them in a cold embrace, not frightening but familiar, like a second skin. The street faded, the snow and city lights falling away, and in a blink, they were gone—vanishing into ghostly darkness, bound for a quiet cottage in the English countryside.

The air outside Nymphadora and Fleur’s cottage was crisp with the scent of frost, the evening sky painted in soft hues of violet, amber, and deepening indigo. Snow clung to the edges of the stone path like lace, untouched and glistening in the golden spill of the setting sun. The soft crunch of snow beneath their boots was the only sound as Elysia and Melinoë walked side by side, their cloaks brushing, arms linked loosely, quiet anticipation rising as they neared the familiar warmth of home.

Before they reached the door, the air shifted—an almost imperceptible hum, like a held breath rippling through the fabric of reality. The shadows along the tree line deepened, coalesced, and from them stepped a figure with the grace of moonlight itself.

Elysia slowed, her breath catching as she took in the newcomer. Silver eyes, bright as the moon at its zenith, met hers calmly. Auburn hair, rich and dark, was tied into a simple braid that swayed gently against the goddess’s back. Her hunting cloak shimmered like starlight on still water, draping her in an aura of ethereal power. But there was something in her expression—a tightness in her jaw, a tentative stillness to her posture—that spoke of uncertainty.

"Diana," Melinoë murmured, bowing her head slightly in greeting.

The Roman goddess nodded in return, her voice low and clear as she stepped forward. "Forgive the unexpected visit. Artemis was summoned to Olympus. A council meeting, abrupt and... inflexible." She hesitated, eyes shifting from Melinoë to Elysia with something like restrained emotion. "She asked me to come in her stead. But I understand if the invitation does not extend to me. We are not the same—though we are... not separate either. It is difficult to explain."

Her words trailed off, unsure. For all her divinity, Diana looked for a moment simply unsure of her place.

Elysia stepped forward, instinct overriding uncertainty. She reached out and took Diana’s hands gently in her own. The touch stilled the goddess, rooted her. Diana’s eyes widened slightly as their palms met, her breath catching just faintly.

"You’re part of her," Elysia said, voice soft but sure. "And she’s part of you. That means something. That means everything. I invited Artemis because she matters to me. And so do you. You’ve both watched over me. You both care. If she is welcome in my home and life, then so are you."

Diana’s silver gaze softened. The goddess’s composure wavered, just enough to show the quiet wonder beneath. She exhaled slowly, and when she spoke again, her voice carried the weight of centuries and a deep, ancient affection.

"I have watched you a long time, Elysia. Felt what Artemis felt. Wondered... what it would be like to stand here, to be seen, not just shared. Thank you."

Melinoë stepped forward then, her smile small but full of understanding. She reached out, gently brushing a strand of Elysia’s black and white hair behind her ear, her touch lingering.

"Let’s go inside," she said softly. "Your family will be waiting."

Elysia squeezed Diana’s hands once more before letting go, her heart fluttering in a way she hadn’t expected. The three of them walked toward the golden-lit cottage, their steps slow and steady, shadows weaving together beneath the rising moonlight. Each carried different pasts and names, different pieces of themselves—but in that moment, they moved as one, wrapped in something deeper than titles or roles. Something blooming, something belonging.

As they reached the threshold, the door swung open with a creak and a wave of warmth spilled out to greet them.

Home waited inside.

The door had barely closed behind them when a high, delighted voice rang out through the cottage.

"Auntie Elysia!"

From down the hallway burst a whirlwind of energy, all golden curls and wild joy, as Victoire sprinted toward the front entrance. Her little boots skidded slightly on the polished wooden floor, but she caught herself and leapt forward with confidence born of familiarity and excitement.

Elysia barely had time to open her arms before Victoire launched into her, wrapping her small arms tightly around her godmother's waist. Elysia laughed, soft and warm, staggering a step back from the force of the impact before crouching down to properly return the hug.

"Hello, ma petite étoile," Elysia murmured, pressing a kiss to Victoire’s forehead. "I've missed you."

"You said you'd be here before Christmas—and you really came right on time!" Victoire beamed, clearly delighted that her godmother had kept her promise. Her wide blue eyes, so much like Fleur’s, sparkled as she looked up at Elysia. Around her temples, her golden curls shimmered with the faintest hues of pink and silver, flickering like candlelight—a subtle sign of her inherited metamorphmagus magic from Tonks.

"Are you staying the night? Can you read to me later? Can we make gingerbread again?"

Elysia chuckled, brushing a lock of shifting-colored hair behind Victoire's ear. "All of that and more, I promise."

Behind them, Melinoë and Diana watched with quiet amusement, both taken in by the sudden burst of domestic joy. Melinoë’s expression softened as she saw a piece of Elysia she rarely witnessed—unguarded and open, the full warmth of her heart poured into a single hug.

"Well, well," came a familiar voice from the archway to the kitchen. Nymphadora, hands on her hips, one eyebrow arched high in mock exasperation, looked between her sister-in-all-but-blood and the two divine figures flanking her.

"It only took, what, how many years of a standing invitation for you to finally bring guests to Christmas? And goddesses, no less."

Elysia straightened with an amused sigh, still holding Victoire’s hand. "Technically, two goddesses," she corrected gently, her tone affectionate. "Diana may share history and spirit with Artemis, but she’s her own person—and a goddess in her own right."

"Oh, naturally," Tonks said, clearly entertained, pulling Elysia into a one-armed hug and ruffling Victoire’s curls with the other. Victoire giggled brightly, her hair shimmering with a flash of bubblegum pink that sparked even more laughter.

"Fleur’s decided we’re sticking with the traditional takeaway dinner," Tonks explained, casting a playful glance toward the kitchen. "It’s sort of our little ritual every year when Elysia shows up a few days before Christmas. Between the excitement, the planning, and Elysia's dramatic entrances, none of us has the energy to cook."

She turned toward Melinoë and Diana with a lopsided grin. "Besides, it gives us more time to catch up instead of being stuck at the stove. Oh, and don’t worry—Fleur always makes sure the takeaway is absurdly fancy. She claims it’s still haute cuisine even if it’s delivered in a box."

Then, her expression softened slightly, sincere beneath the humor. "We’re really glad you’re both here. Anyone Elysia invites is already family in our books. Just—brace yourselves. This place gets a bit chaotic, especially with Victoire around."

Diana inclined her head with quiet grace, while Melinoë offered a more relaxed smile, clearly at ease with Tonks's easygoing energy. The cottage already buzzed with the smells of winter cooking, the promise of warmth, laughter, and family filling the air like magic.

And for Elysia, standing there with Victoire still clinging to her side, her cousin grinning at her knowingly, and her two companions at her back, it felt like a piece of something long missing had finally fallen into place.

The warmth of the cottage welcomed them as they stepped through the threshold, Victoire bounding ahead to her room to retrieve something she'd made for Elysia. Elysia followed at a more relaxed pace with Melinoë and Diana flanking her, their cloaks shimmering faintly in the golden glow of the fairy lights that crisscrossed the ceiling. The rich scent of cinnamon, pine, and warm hearthfire filled the air.

They stepped into the living room, where Fleur was adjusting the cushions on the deep blue velvet couches, arranging everything with her usual quiet elegance. She turned at the sound of footsteps, and the moment her eyes landed on Elysia, her face lit up.

"Elysia!"

In an instant, Fleur was across the room, enveloping Elysia in a graceful but tight hug. There was no hesitation, only joy in the embrace as the two women held each other with the fondness of family long cherished. Fleur's hair shimmered like moonlight, and she smelled faintly of orange blossom and winter spice.

"You're just in time," Fleur murmured warmly, pulling back just enough to look Elysia in the eye. Then, over Elysia's shoulder, she caught sight of the two goddesses standing nearby.

Her gaze flicked from Melinoë to Diana, and though she offered them both a polite nod of welcome, a distinct glint of amusement flickered in her sapphire eyes before she turned back to Elysia. With a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, she leaned in and whispered, "Interesting guests this year, ma chérie."

Elysia flushed, a faint pink blooming across her cheeks as she cleared her throat. "Yes, well. They were kind enough to accept the invitation."

Fleur's smirk deepened just slightly, but she said nothing more as she turned gracefully toward the sitting area. "Come, all of you. Sit. We were just about to sort the order for dinner."

Fleur handed the folded menu to Melinoë with a warm smile as they approached the sitting area. The group then settled into the plush couches that surrounded the low table in the center of the room. Melinoë took a seat on Elysia's left, Diana on her right, and together they gently placed the menu on Elysia's lap, leaning in close on either side as they scanned the list of offerings. Their closeness was affectionate and easy, speaking of growing familiarity. The proximity wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. Nymphadora exchanged a quiet look with Fleur, her expression equal parts amused and approving, while Andromeda, who had just stepped from the Floo, paused briefly to take in the scene with a soft, knowing smile.

She was greeted first by Victoire, who ran into her arms with a gleeful squeal. Andromeda hugged her granddaughter tightly, pressing a kiss to her golden curls before crossing the room.

She moved first to where Nymphadora and Fleur were seated together, pulling both into warm hugs, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks in turn. “My girls,” she murmured, voice tender with affection.

Then she stepped to Elysia, leaning down to embrace her as well. Her hand lingered on Elysia's shoulder with a soft, grounding squeeze, the way only someone who’d known her for years could manage.

"You made it," Andromeda said, her voice low, fond, and full of quiet relief.

Elysia nodded, a smile blooming across her face. "Wouldn’t miss it."

Andromeda turned back to Fleur, offering her a grateful smile. "And thank you, dear, as always. This place feels more like home every year."

Fleur’s smile was radiant and warm. "We are glad to have you. And I as you can see our guest list has expanded this year."

Melinoë inclined her head politely while Diana gave a gentle smile, though her eyes remained subtly fixed on Elysia, calm and content.

Drinks were passed around, the room slowly filling with the murmur of laughter and casual conversation. The flickering fire in the hearth painted them all in golden hues, and in that moment, surrounded by warmth, found family, and two goddesses who looked at her like she hung the stars, Elysia finally let herself relax into the comfort of being home.

As the warmth of the room settled deeper into their bones and the firelight flickered over the edges of the couches, Nymphadora rose from her seat, stretching lightly before grabbing her coat and scarf. Her metamorphmagus hair shimmered between rich crimson and a cool frost-blue, reflecting her festive spirit.

"I’ll go collect the food," she said casually, though her eyes flicked once toward Elysia, mischief glimmering just under the surface. "Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone."

"Only if someone lets Victoire near the fireplace," Elysia replied with a playful grin, nudging her goddaughter gently with her foot. Victoire, perched on the rug near the hearth, simply grinned back at her auntie, clearly unbothered by the accusation.

"She takes after her Auntie," Fleur chimed in sweetly, already settling deeper into the couch beside Elysia, her expression warm but twinkling with amusement.

The door clicked shut behind Nymphadora, and for a beat, the room felt just a little quieter. The tension was low, but playful and full of something else—anticipation, perhaps, or a layer of meaning unspoken.

Fleur turned slightly, resting an elbow on the back of the couch and looking far too pleased with herself. Elysia, catching the shift in posture and the familiar mischievous glint in Fleur’s sapphire eyes, narrowed her own.

"You know," Fleur began, her voice airy with feigned innocence, "I find it very curious that you never invited Daphne or Tracy to one of these Christmas gatherings. And yet here you are… with goddesses."

Elysia blinked, already feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. "They have their own families to spend the day with," she said, perhaps too quickly. She waved a hand as if brushing the matter aside. "And they always come to the big Christmas dinner. You know that."

"Mm," Fleur hummed, clearly unconvinced. "Still, I can’t help but notice that you invited your girlfriends before your closest friends."

Elysia froze at the deliberate phrasing. "They’re not—I mean, I—" She cut herself off, flustered, as her gaze slid to Melinoë and Diana, still seated calmly on either side of her. The goddesses said nothing, but their eyes shimmered with gentle amusement, and there was something incredibly grounding in their quiet presence.

"It just felt right," Elysia said at last, voice soft but sure.

Fleur’s teasing smirk gave way to a more genuine smile. She reached over and patted Elysia’s hand, squeezing it briefly. "It is right, chérie. And it’s about time."

Across the room, Andromeda had seated herself with deliberate purpose directly opposite the goddesses. She crossed one leg over the other, her back straight, and her expression settled somewhere between maternal warmth and the practiced steel of someone who had weathered too many storms.

"So," she began smoothly, folding her hands in her lap, "how long have you two been spending time with Elysia?"

Melinoë spoke first, calm and candid. "Not long in mortal terms. A few months, perhaps."

"But you’ve been watching her for years," Andromeda said, her tone light but her gaze unwavering.

Diana inclined her head, her silver eyes holding a quiet reverence. "Yes. We both have."

"And what are your intentions with my daughter?" Andromeda asked, her tone still polite, but undeniably pointed. It was the kind of question that bore layers—the warning of a mother, the wisdom of someone who had watched her loved ones wounded too often.

Melinoë didn’t flinch. "We care for her deeply. We’re not playing games."

Diana added, her voice as soft as falling snow, "Elysia matters to us. We wouldn’t be here otherwise."

Andromeda studied them both for a long, weighted moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded once, slow and deliberate. "Good. Just remember she’s more than her strength, more than her magic. She’s my girl."

A small silence followed, filled only by the soft crackle of the fire. Diana gave a faint but heartfelt nod. "We know. And we feel the same."

The tension in the room melted a bit more just as the Floo roared to life, and a flurry of cold air and woodsmoke announced Nymphadora’s return, arms laden with bags of takeaway containers that smelled of curry, roasted vegetables, and honey-glazed breads. Laughter greeted her as she kicked the door closed behind her with a flourish.

As plates were passed out and drinks refreshed, the room filled again with that unmistakable sense of comfort, of family forged not just through blood but through fire, loss, healing, and love. Elysia glanced at Melinoë and Diana once more—both sitting comfortably close, both watching her with soft eyes—and knew, truly, she had never felt more at home.

The warm buzz of good food and gentle conversation lingered in the air like the scent of spice and candlewax. The soft glow of the fire reflected in the windows as night wrapped itself around the cottage. Elysia leaned back on the couch, a drink in hand, her boots tucked beneath her and a smile on her face as she listened to Victoire recount stories from her first term at Hogwarts.

"And then Professor Flitwick got so excited he nearly fell off the stack of books," Victoire said, giggling. Her hair, already curled in soft golden waves, shimmered with the faint iridescence of her veela heritage as it shifted to a soft lavender in her delight.

Elysia chuckled, nudging her with her elbow. "I remember the first time I saw that happen. I thought it was staged."

Victoire grinned and nestled closer to Elysia, clearly relishing the time with her godmother. The room was steeped in warmth and familiarity. Diana and Melinoë sat nearby, speaking quietly with Andromeda, who seemed to be slowly, if cautiously, warming to both goddesses.

Across the room, Fleur stood and with a graceful flourish, tapped her wand at an enchanted music crystal on the shelf. Soft, melodic music began to play, the kind meant for slow dancing and swaying beneath fairy lights.

With a wink, Fleur turned to Nymphadora. "Dance with me, chérie."

Nymphadora grinned and let herself be pulled to her feet. The two of them began to sway gently, arms wrapped around one another, moving with the kind of ease only years of love could forge. There was laughter in Fleur's eyes as she looked over Nymphadora's shoulder and called teasingly, "Elysia, why aren't you dancing?"

Elysia's head snapped up, eyes wide as the heat of a blush crept up her cheeks. "I—I didn’t think…"

Before she could flounder further, Melinoë stood smoothly and extended a hand to Elysia with a crooked, knowing smile. Diana rose with her as if it were perfectly timed.

"Then you clearly weren’t thinking fast enough," Melinoë teased gently.

Elysia blinked, still flustered, but her heart leapt when she took Melinoë's hand. Diana stepped to her other side, silver eyes soft, as they drew Elysia up and onto the open space of the living room floor.

The music wrapped around them like silk. Elysia found herself encircled by the two goddesses, one on either side, their arms a gentle guide. They didn't press her to lead or follow, just to be there with them, letting the rhythm take over.

Melinoë's fingers brushed softly against the back of Elysia's neck, while Diana's hand rested at her waist, firm and steady. They swayed slowly together, a dance that wasn’t about steps or formality but connection. Their gazes met, lingering. Melinoë's dark, haunting eyes held warmth, and Diana's shimmered with a quiet, bashful affection.

Elysia melted into the moment, her blush still faintly on her cheeks but her smile growing soft and true.

In the background, Fleur and Nymphadora danced in sync, watching with matching grins of amusement and fondness. Andromeda, seated beside Victoire, glanced toward the trio and gave the smallest, most knowing nod.

As the music played on, Elysia closed her eyes briefly and leaned into the embrace. For the first time in a long while, everything felt simple, natural. A dance in the firelight, held gently between goddesses who looked at her like she mattered.

And in their arms, she truly felt like she did.

Laughter bubbled gently through the warm cottage, the scent of spiced cider and pine lingering in the air. Snow painted the windows outside, but within Nymphadora and Fleur's living room, the hearth blazed merrily, casting golden light over the wooden floor.

Elysia, Melinoë, and Diana moved together in a slow, affectionate circle at the center of the room. Their arms were entwined with the easy closeness of lovers long accustomed to each other’s warmth, hearts beating in time, breaths shared in the tender hush between the music's notes. Diana's forehead rested against Elysia's shoulder, her lips brushing bare skin with every soft exhale. Melinoë's fingers wove gently into Elysia's hair where it tumbled down her back, the touch reverent, almost worshipful. Elysia, caught between them, held them both as if afraid to let go, her fingers tracing slow patterns across Diana's spine, her cheek resting against Melinoë's temple.

Nearby, Nymphadora and Fleur spun with graceful familiarity, soft giggles escaping between lingering kisses and whispered endearments. The magic between them shimmered visibly, radiant and contagious. On the couch, Andromeda sipped mulled wine with a wry smile, while Victoire watched with sparkling, awestruck eyes, curled against her grandmother.

The moment held its own kind of enchantment, yet Nymphadora, always a master of subtle mischief, added a touch more. Under the guise of a stretch mid-twirl, she flicked her wand, quick and silent.

A sprig of enchanted mistletoe shimmered into being above the trio at the room's heart, glowing with a gentle golden aura.

Melinoë noticed first. Her violet-tinged eyes widened, then narrowed with playful challenge. She leaned back just enough to catch Elysia and Diana's attention, a confident smirk curving her lips, though her fingers trembled faintly where they rested against Elysia's waist.

"Looks like we've been caught in a trap," she murmured, voice a sultry purr. "Above us."

Elysia blinked, glanced upward, and felt her heart stutter. Diana followed her gaze and let out a low, melodic laugh that sent tingles down Elysia's spine.

"That was sneaky," Diana said, her voice honeyed, amused, and aching with tenderness.

Melinoë's smirk faltered for a moment, her confidence flickering like candlelight. Her eyes met Elysia's, searching, nervous despite the boldness of her words. "Well... traditions are traditions," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Elysia felt the shift in the air, the gravity of it settling into her chest. She lifted a hand to Melinoë's cheek, brushing her thumb across soft skin, then reached for Diana, cradling both their faces in her palms as if they were the most sacred things she had ever touched. The two goddesses leaned into her touch instinctively, breaths hitching.

The mistletoe glimmered above them, casting its gentle magic.

Andromeda glanced over her wine glass toward Fleur and Nymphadora, one brow raised. "You do love meddling," she murmured.

Fleur smiled. Nymphadora only winked.

In the heart of the room, the music slowed to a lullaby. Elysia drew them closer, chest to chest, breath mingling. "If I kiss you both now," she whispered, her voice rough with emotion, "there's no going back."

"Good," Melinoë breathed, barely audible, her eyes fierce and vulnerable all at once.

"Please," Diana whispered, her hands caressing Elysia's hips with aching need.

Elysia didn’t hesitate. She closed the distance between them, her kiss to Melinoë slow and deep, a promise written in lips and breath and trembling hands. Melinoë responded with a soft, desperate sound, arms tightening around her, pulling her in like a tide that refused to release the shore.

Then she turned to Diana, pressing their foreheads together before capturing her lips with a tenderness that melted the tension from Diana's shoulders. Their kiss was softer, more grounding—like a homecoming after a long and lonely journey. Diana's fingers slid into Elysia's hair, and her other hand sought Melinoë's, their fingers threading together without hesitation.

When Elysia finally pulled back, she rested her forehead between theirs, eyes closed, breathing them in. They held each other in a constellation of arms and whispered heartbeats, the firelight catching the shimmer of tears and the shine of new beginnings.

Her heart, once burdened by isolation and purpose, now beat in harmony with two others. And in their arms, she felt not just love, but belonging. She was no longer alone.

And neither were they.

~

The kiss didn’t end the moment—it only deepened it.

They remained entangled in each other’s arms, letting the world fall away as the soft music wound around them like another embrace. The gramophone's melodies played on, low and comforting, like the whisper of a lullaby passed from heart to heart. Elysia let her head rest against Melinoë’s for a long, quiet moment, their noses brushing as Melinoë exhaled against her skin. Then Elysia leaned into Diana, brushing a kiss to her temple, their slow sway guided not by rhythm but by the unspoken yearning to remain close.

They danced not for performance, but for solace—a tender affirmation of everything unspoken between them. Diana’s arms wrapped protectively around Elysia’s waist, her touch grounding, while Melinoë traced soft circles across Elysia’s back, her fingers reverent. All three of them seemed to breathe in sync, their warmth mingling with the golden hues of the hearth's glow.

Fleur and Nymphadora had slowed as well, their usual playfulness settling into fond silence as they watched the trio with knowing smiles. There was a hush in the air, like a held breath, the kind of stillness that only happened when love had made its presence undeniably known. Even Andromeda, seated regally with her half-empty wine glass, watched with a softened expression, the lines of age and wisdom around her eyes easing into something warm and reflective.

The fire crackled low in the grate, sending flickers of amber dancing across the walls. Outside, the snowfall had thickened, cloaking the world in muffled peace. The music slowed further, the notes delicate and lingering, as if the gramophone itself was reluctant to disturb the quiet magic in the room.

Victoire, wrapped in a cocoon of pillows and blankets, yawned and stretched with the exaggerated flair of a sleepy child. Her tousled golden hair glinted in the firelight as she slipped off the couch, bare feet padding softly across the rug. She approached Elysia, rubbing her eyes with one hand and reaching out with the other.

"Will you read to me before bed, Auntie Elysia? Please?" Her voice was drowsy but hopeful, her eyes wide and filled with the unwavering trust of someone who believed her hero could banish every bad dream with a story.

Elysia’s expression melted into a smile, something deep and instinctive. "Of course, little star. Lead the way."

Victoire beamed, seizing Elysia’s hand with surprising strength for someone half-asleep, and began leading her down the hallway. Her sleepy voice trailed back behind them, rambling about what she wanted to hear tonight—a tale with magic and wolves, brave girls with swords, dragons, and maybe a secret forest too.

As their footsteps faded, Fleur quietly began to tidy the space with a few elegant waves of her wand, stacking mugs, fluffing pillows, setting the blankets right. Nymphadora lingered a moment longer before grinning and turning to Melinoë and Diana.

"You two can take the guest room tonight," she said, voice laced with mischief as she guided them down the hall. "You know the one—we always keep it ready for Elysia."

Melinoë arched a brow, her gaze sweeping the room as Nymphadora opened the door. The space was cozy and softly lit, its walls adorned with warm-toned tapestries and bookshelves lined with worn spines. A fire crackled in the corner hearth, adding to the feeling of intimate comfort.

"This one?" Melinoë asked, stepping just inside.

"Mhm," Nymphadora confirmed with a smirk, leaning on the doorframe. "Just a heads-up—there's only a single bed. Not that I think that’ll be a problem for either of you."

Diana’s cheeks colored, a rosy hue blooming across her otherwise serene expression, but her gaze was steady and clear. "Not at all," she murmured, and her hand found Melinoë’s easily.

Melinoë chuckled lowly, her eyes gleaming. "It’ll just be warmer," she purred, fingers tightening around Diana’s.

Nymphadora laughed, and offered one last wink before sauntering off with a bounce in her step.

Left alone in the doorway, Melinoë and Diana exchanged a glance. There was no hesitation between them. They stepped into the room as one, still hand-in-hand, the door closing softly behind them. The gentle scent of lavender lingered in the air, familiar and comforting.

And down the hall, Elysia's voice was already rising and falling with the cadence of storytelling, weaving Victoire a world of enchantment and courage, where magic lived in every corner and every heroine was brave enough to fight for love and light.

.Victoire had fallen asleep mid-sentence, her tiny hand curled around Elysia's wrist as she drifted off somewhere between the brave girl slaying a shadow-beast and the wolf with stars in its fur. Her breathing slowed, becoming soft and rhythmic, lashes fluttering as she slipped into dreamland. Elysia lingered at her bedside, her free hand brushing a few golden curls away from Victoire's forehead before pressing a gentle kiss there. The girl stirred only slightly, sighing contentedly.

With infinite care, Elysia eased herself out of the bed, tucking the thick quilt tightly around Victoire’s small form. She whispered a protection charm under her breath, one that would keep nightmares away, and then with a subtle flick of her fingers dimmed the soft glowing lights of the room to a warm twilight. The bedtime story still lingered in her chest—a quiet hum of magic and affection that filled her bones with peace.

The quiet of the hallway welcomed her like an old friend. The house had settled into that deep silence only found in truly safe places. Floorboards creaked softly beneath her feet, and the distant murmur of the fire whispered through the stillness. Shadows flickered along the walls as she walked, and with every step toward the guest room, her heart seemed to beat a little faster.

Inside the room, Melinoë and Diana were unwinding, already halfway through their nighttime routines. Diana sat at the foot of the bed, brushing her long, moon-silver hair, while Melinoë was inspecting the shelves for something mildly interesting to read. They both turned at the sound of the door.

"She asleep?" Melinoë asked, her voice low and laced with something softer than amusement.

"Out like a light," Elysia replied, smiling as she gently shut the door behind her. "Right after the star-wolf helped the girl find her way home."

Diana smiled at that, the expression full of warmth and pride. "A perfect ending for a brave soul."

Crossing the room to the old wooden dresser, Elysia pulled open a drawer and rummaged through it before tossing two neatly folded shirts and a pair of drawstring trousers onto the bed. "I brought spares. They might be a bit big on you, but they’re clean and soft."

Melinoë smirked and picked one up, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. "Are you offering me mortal cotton?"

Elysia rolled her eyes affectionately. "I'm offering you a clean shirt that smells like lavender soap."

Melinoë laughed, already pulling off her top with no hesitation. "Well then, I accept."

Diana accepted hers with a quieter thank you. Elysia changed where she stood, her movements slow and unhurried. She peeled off the layers of her day, folding them neatly before slipping into a loose, oversized shirt and a pair of fleece-lined shorts. The clothes smelled faintly of home—lavender and parchment, a trace of tea leaves, the ghosts of spellwork.

Despite the ease between them, something about the moment had shifted. They’d undressed near each other before, changed clothing on the road, huddled together against cold. But this was the first time since that kiss. The air felt different. The silence was not awkward, but aware—a hum of quiet anticipation that danced over bare skin.

They had spent weeks now sleeping on bedrolls side-by-side, their bodies barely a breath apart, fingers often brushing in the dark. But this was different. Climbing into a shared bed, willingly, after everything that had been said and felt... it felt like a boundary had been crossed, a door opened into something sacred.

Elysia pulled back the thick quilt and climbed into the middle of the bed, the mattress sighing beneath her weight. She lay there for a moment, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, hearing the soft rustle of fabric as Melinoë and Diana joined her.

The bed dipped to her left, then her right, warmth encroaching from both sides.

For a brief moment, Elysia simply let herself feel it—the comfort of being between them, the scent of each woman settling into the quilt, the closeness that made her breath catch in her throat.

She turned toward Diana first, reaching out without thought. Her fingers brushed Diana’s arm, then curled gently around her waist. Diana shifted at once, willingly, eagerly, melting into Elysia’s side like she had been waiting for the invitation. Her cheek found its place above Elysia's heart, one leg slipping over hers.

A sigh escaped Elysia, something unburdened and warm. She tilted her head toward Melinoë, only to find the goddess already watching her with eyes full of affection and heat. There was nothing guarded in her expression now, only quiet devotion.

Without hesitation, Melinoë slid in close, her body a warm line along Elysia's back. Her arms wrapped around both women in one smooth motion, fingers threading through Diana's and resting over Elysia's stomach. Her breath stirred Elysia’s hair, her lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her temple.

"You two feel like gravity," Melinoë whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

"Then stay," Elysia murmured.

"Always," Diana replied, her voice drowsy but sure.

They lay that way in silence for a long time, a slow, steady harmony of heartbeats and breath. No more words were needed. In the safety of that bed, wrapped in one another’s arms, they didn’t need to explain or define or fear.

Elysia felt herself start to drift, not with the vigilance of someone resting between battles, but with the ease of someone letting go.

Here, in the arms of the women she loved, she finally let herself sleep.

And she dreamed not of war or loss or duty—but of starlit forests, sacred firelight, and the quiet strength of being held.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

XVII

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

Some time in the deepest part of the night, the ancient wards surrounding the cottage shifted. It was not loud or jarring—just a soft ripple in the fabric of protective magic, like a sigh through trees, like a heartbeat recognizing kin. Only a goddess could cross such thresholds unnoticed, wrapped in the quiet grace of divinity.

Diana stirred, though only barely. A breath caught in her throat as her senses brushed against something familiar—beloved. Her eyes fluttered open, vision hazy in the fire-warmed darkness, and there she was.

Artemis.

She stood in the doorway like a vision drawn from moonlight and memory. Her tunic was damp with forest mist, her braid loose and slightly windblown, and her bow hung across her back, adorned with glistening droplets like dewdrops on silver. Her expression was tired but serene, her silver eyes catching the flicker of the hearthlight like starlight on still water. Her auburn hair framed her face in soft waves, the color deepened in the low firelight.

Diana smiled softly. She didn’t need to ask.

She had come.

With infinite care, Diana eased her arm from beneath Elysia’s form, pausing when the other woman murmured and shifted but didn’t wake. She reached out a hand toward Artemis, a silent invitation. There were no words between them—none were needed. Artemis crossed the room barefoot, soundless, and set her bow gently in the corner like a sacred relic. She removed her cloak and outer tunic, shoulders sloping with the weight of long travel and harder choices.

Diana lifted the edge of the quilt. Artemis slipped beneath it, drawn close without hesitation. Their foreheads met in a quiet communion, the space between them humming with old love and silent understanding.

"You're here," Diana whispered, her voice rough with sleep and emotion.

"I had to be," Artemis replied, her hand finding Diana's beneath the covers. For the first time in what felt like eternity, her breath slowed, and her body relaxed. For the first time in far too long, Artemis allowed herself to rest.

~

Morning came slowly, lazily, wrapping the cottage in a blanket of golden light. It filtered through frost-kissed windows, slipping past curtains like the fingers of dawn, gently brushing over tangled limbs and tousled hair. The hearth crackled low, its embers still glowing from the night before.

Elysia woke with a long, quiet inhale, her body heavy with the kind of sleep she rarely allowed herself. There was a moment where she didn’t move, didn’t even think—just existed in the warmth. Diana's body was still curled against her chest, one leg hooked over hers, her breath a slow rhythm against Elysia’s collarbone. Melinoë was pressed close along her back, her arm draped possessively across Elysia's waist, her face buried in Elysia's hair.

But it wasn’t just the three of them anymore.

There was a fourth presence now. Another rhythm of breath, steady and deep. Another warmth nestled into the bed.

Elysia turned her head slightly and saw her.

Artemis.

She was curled gracefully beside Diana, her hand resting lightly over Diana's fingers, her auburn hair spilling in silver-gold waves across the pillow. Her face was softened in sleep, unburdened, beautiful in a way that stole Elysia's breath. There was something timeless about her, something that made Elysia feel like she was staring at the moon itself, finally within reach.

Elysia's heart thundered. The kiss she'd shared with Diana had changed everything, had opened doors she hadn’t even dared to name. But Artemis was a goddess twice over, distant and radiant, and Elysia didn’t want to presume. Just because Diana loved her—wanted her—did that mean Artemis did too? That the sacred bond shared between Artemis and Diana included room for her?

She stared, uncertain and reverent, her breath caught in her throat.

A soft noise interrupted her hesitation—a sleepy groan from behind her.

Melinoë, still half-asleep and with her face buried in Elysia’s hair, mumbled groggily, "Oh for stars' sake... just kiss her already."

Diana snorted a sleepy laugh, her eyes opening with a spark of mischief. She didn’t lift her head, simply shifted closer, nuzzling against Elysia's chest with all the lazy affection of a lioness in the sun.

Artemis stirred slowly, her silver eyes fluttering open. Silver met emerald green.

The silence between them stretched. Elysia didn’t move, uncertain, vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.

And then Artemis smiled.

It was a quiet thing, but it held galaxies. She lifted her hand—the one not clasped with Diana’s—and brushed her fingers gently along Elysia’s cheek.

Elysia exhaled, the last of her hesitation unraveling like mist at dawn. She leaned forward, slowly, tenderly.

The kiss was soft.

Certain.

A question and an answer, offered and returned.

And Artemis, with a sound like a sigh of relief, kissed her back.

Diana's arm tightened around Elysia, and Melinoë purred something half-intelligible against her spine.

Wrapped in the embrace of three goddesses, their breaths mingling and hearts aligned, Elysia felt something shift deep within her.

This was not a dream.

This was hers.

The morning stretched, long and quiet, as if the world outside the cottage dared not disturb what had taken root in the warmth of that bed.

None of them moved with urgency. The fire crackled lazily, golden light spilling across the quilts and bare shoulders, painting each of them in a soft, golden haze. Elysia lay at the center, her arms full and her heart fuller still.

Artemis had shifted sometime after the kiss, curling closer until she was nearly draped over Elysia, her body resting heavily, comfortably, as though she had finally let herself fall. One leg tangled between Elysia’s, her arm looped securely around her waist, and her cheek nuzzled into the curve of Elysia's shoulder. Elysia held her close, one hand pressed flat against Artemis's back, the other brushing slow, gentle circles along the nape of her neck. Every now and then, Elysia would press a soft kiss to Artemis’s temple, letting her lips linger, breathing her in.

Diana had not let go either. She was curled into Elysia’s other side, one arm across her middle, the other cradling Artemis's hand where it rested against Elysia's chest. Her head was tucked beneath Elysia's chin, lips occasionally brushing against the hollow of her throat. She would shift ever so slightly from time to time, just enough to press a kiss to Elysia's collarbone, or to Artemis's fingers, or to the soft curve of Elysia's shoulder. Her thumb traced idle circles against Artemis's knuckles in a quiet rhythm, a silent affirmation of presence and love.

Melinoë completed the embrace from behind, her body pressed along Elysia's back with languid, possessive ease. One arm draped over all three of them, fingers slipping beneath Diana's shirt to trace delicate lines along the curve of her waist, her other hand resting just above Artemis's hip. A leg was slung over them all, holding them tightly together. Every few moments, she would shift just enough to brush her lips against the back of Elysia's neck, or nuzzle against the warm fall of her hair, sighing contentedly.

None of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

There was something sacred in the silence. A knowing. A permission that none of them had dared to ask for until now. And in that hush, they touched with reverence, with a gentleness that belied their power. Every stroke of skin against skin was a confession.

For all her power, all her roles and names, Elysia had never imagined being held like this. Not just touched, not just wanted—but seen . Claimed by soft hands and fierce hearts, surrounded by people who had chosen her just as she had chosen them. She had never belonged in the way she did now.

And Artemis, who had spent eternity as a solitary huntress, her love always given in pieces and principles. Diana, who had walked beside her for millennia, always watching, always close. She had seen relationships blossom and grow among the Hunt, seen love take root in others, but always thought herself apart from it. Her wildness, her unyielding independence, had felt incompatible with that kind of vulnerability. She had convinced herself she was meant to stand outside that circle, to love from afar, to be a protector, never the beloved.

And Melinoë, trapped between the worlds of the living and the dead, had long felt like she existed in the in-between of everything—never fully belonging to either side. She had watched others find connection, felt the ache of distance through the veil, and believed that no one could ever truly understand the weight of her existence. Even with Artemis and Diana beside her for lifetimes, hesitation and fear had always pulled her back from taking that final step. From believing she could be part of something this whole. This real.

There had always been longing between them—between Artemis, Diana, and Melinoë—glances that lingered too long, touches that meant too much. But never the leap. Never the fall.

Until Elysia.

Until this.

And now, under soft blankets and softer breath, Artemis's guard had dropped completely, her body heavy with trust, her heart beating slow and steady against Elysia's chest.

Elysia whispered, her voice barely audible over the hearth, "Is this real?"

Artemis didn't lift her head. She only pressed a kiss to Elysia's collarbone and murmured, "It's everything I've ever hunted for."

Diana let out a quiet hum of agreement, kissing Elysia's jaw, her lips brushing just beneath her ear. "And everything I never thought I could have," she added softly.

Melinoë, still half-asleep but not unaware, pressed her lips against the curve of Elysia's shoulder and mumbled, "Shut up and enjoy it."

Elysia laughed, and the sound cracked something open in all of them. It was warm and raw and alive . Diana giggled softly, her hand rising to stroke Elysia's cheek. Artemis chuckled against her skin, then kissed her again. And Melinoë nuzzled tighter, brushing a kiss over Diana's side, as if claiming all of them in one motion.

So they stayed. Fingers tracing paths over ribs and backs, kisses exchanged in silence, breath mingling in the hush between words. For the first time in all their long stories, they simply were .

Together.

The warmth of the morning lingered, golden light spilling through the frost-painted windows and casting everything in a tender glow. The bed still held the shape of their bodies when the gentle insistence of time coaxed them from their shared embrace. It began with a languid stretch from Diana, the kind that made her back arch and her breath hitch. Melinoë followed with a soft, satisfied sigh, nuzzling into Elysia's back one last time before reluctantly sitting up. Artemis murmured something incoherent, her voice husky from sleep, as she slowly peeled herself away from the warmth of Elysia's chest.

Elysia rose first, but not without offering lingering kisses to each of them—a brush of lips to Artemis’s brow, a gentle press to Diana’s cheek, and a long, affectionate nuzzle against Melinoë’s jawline. She moved slowly, drawing on her softest house robes and tying the sash loosely, glancing back at the bed as she moved.

Diana sat at the edge of the bed, hands resting in her lap, uncertainty shadowing her expression.

"What is it?" Elysia asked, her voice low and tender.

Diana gave a slight shake of her head. "The invitation was originally just for Melinoë and Artemis. I wasn’t even sure I should come until they asked me to join them. I don’t want to make it feel like I forced my way into something I wasn’t meant to be part of."

Elysia stepped close, knelt in front of her, and took her hands gently. "You didn’t force anything, Diana. You belong here just as much as they do. I want you here. All of you."

She gave Diana’s hands a soft squeeze, and Diana exhaled slowly, the tension melting from her shoulders.

They dressed together, comfortably close. Melinoë openly admired the others as they moved, stealing small touches and kisses as she slipped into a soft oversized shirt and fitted leggings. Artemis accepted one of Elysia’s spare jumpers, worn and faded in a way that made it impossibly soft. She lingered beside Elysia, brushing fingers along her wrist now and again, the contact grounding and affectionate.

Once they were ready, the four of them descended the stairs, the scent of breakfast growing stronger with every step. Toast, eggs, pastries warm from the oven, and rich spiced tea perfumed the air.

The kitchen was alive with the quiet hum of domestic peace. Andromeda sat with a coffee in hand and the morning Prophet spread before her. Fleur was at the stove in a cozy sweater, humming as she tended a pan of sizzling food. Nymphadora, barefoot and dressed in mismatched pajamas, was perched on the counter with toast in one hand and jam smudged on her cheek. Victoire sat at the table, happily kicking her legs back and forth as she munched on a croissant, crumbs and fruit scattered across her plate like joyful chaos.

All four looked up as the new arrivals entered.

Andromeda blinked, her brows lifting in mild surprise as she took in Artemis. She gave a polite nod, her sharp gaze softening just slightly.

Fleur offered a warm smile that reached her eyes, though there was a flicker of curiosity.

Nymphadora's grin grew impossibly wide.

"Well, well," she said, voice full of mirth. "Look who decided to multiply the guest list while we were sleeping."

Elysia arched an eyebrow at her.

Nymphadora waved her toast like a wand. "For years, you showed up to Yule alone, barely hinting at a date. And now you bring three girlfriends? You do know how to make an entrance."

Melinoë laughed, sauntering past with a smirk. Diana flushed, but the corner of her mouth curved upward. Artemis raised one imperious eyebrow but said nothing, her gaze flicking over the room with quiet interest.

"You’re just mad I outdid you," Elysia said dryly, grabbing a teacup.

"Not even a little," Nymphadora replied, sliding off the counter and wrapping her in a firm, happy hug. "I’m thrilled. You deserve this. All of this. Took you long enough."

Before Elysia could answer, Victoire chirped up from the table, eyes wide with excitement. "Does this mean I have three more aunts now?"

Melinoë leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "Only if you want us."

Victoire giggled and immediately offered Artemis one of her extra pastries. Artemis blinked at the sudden offering, then accepted it with a graceful nod, visibly charmed. Diana knelt beside the girl to help her with a stubborn jam jar while Melinoë stole a bit of fruit from her plate with a wink.

Elysia just stood there for a moment, taking it all in. The kitchen alive with laughter and shared glances, warm plates passed hand to hand, chairs pulled closer to fit everyone. Her family.

She slipped into a seat as Andromeda passed her a mug of tea without a word, the older woman’s expression saying everything she didn’t need to speak aloud.

This was home.

And in the soft chaos of morning, in the comfort of being surrounded by love, it finally felt like one.

~

After breakfast, the warmth and ease of the morning continued into the living room. Sunlight filtered weakly through the frost-laced windows, casting long streaks of gold across the hardwood floor, warming the edge of the rug where Victoire sat cross-legged. The fire in the hearth crackled with a quiet, steady rhythm, casting flickering shadows along the walls. The smell of cinnamon, pine, and a hint of melting snow lingered in the air, blending with the soft murmurs of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

They were scattered in a content sprawl across the cozy space—Victoire and Melinoë lounged by the low coffee table, conjuring snowflakes in midair and competing to see whose pattern could hold the longest before melting into sparkling mist. Fleur and Andromeda sat on the sofa with several cookbooks open on their laps, occasionally pointing out elaborate desserts or discussing which old family recipe deserved a revival this year. Nymphadora had claimed the deep armchair by the fire, legs tucked under her as she sipped cocoa, while Artemis perched with casual elegance on the armrest beside her, one hand absently stroking her hair as they chatted in hushed, affectionate tones.

Elysia had curled herself into the corner of the couch, legs tucked to the side, with Diana seated beside her. Their fingers were laced loosely between them, Elysia's thumb brushing idle circles against the back of Diana's hand. Her head was leaned slightly against Diana's shoulder, eyes half-lidded in comfort, her other hand resting against her belly as she listened to the gentle rhythm of voices and laughter that filled the room.

They'd begun talking about the evening's dinner—a feast to rival any Solstice or Yule celebration. Plans swirled around main courses and side dishes, desserts that could be charmed to dance across the table, a question of whether they had enough mulled wine or if Elysia should transfigure another bottle. It was simple and sweet, the kind of domestic planning that felt like the quiet heartbeat of a family.

It was the kind of moment Elysia never let herself dream of, not truly. And yet, here she was. In the center of it.

Then the shift came.

Elysia suddenly sat up straighter, tension rippling down her spine like a wave of cold. Her hand tightened in Diana's without warning, her other arm bracing against the couch as she inhaled sharply.

"Elysia?" Diana said at once, concerned. She turned toward her, eyes scanning her face.

But Elysia wasn’t looking at anyone in the room. Her eyes had gone distant, glassy. Her head tilted, as if she were hearing something none of them could. The air around her changed—charged with something unseen. Something ancient.

It hit her all at once. The bond.

Hedwig.

The connection between them pulsed—not like it normally did with gentle nudges or warm affection. This was sharp. Urgent. Fear, distress, anger. Images flickered through the link in flashes too fast to fully comprehend. A child. Loneliness. Cold. Something wrong. Very wrong.

Elysia surged to her feet without another word, the movement sudden enough to jolt the rest of the room into silence. She reached for her cloak with one hand, already slinging it over her shoulders, fingers moving swiftly to fasten the clasp as she turned toward the others.

"Hedwig needs me," she said, voice clipped with restrained urgency. "Something’s happened. I don’t know what, but it’s bad."

Everyone paused, eyes wide, tension rolling through the room like a chill wind.

"Do you want me to—" Melinoë started, rising, but Diana was already standing.

"I’m going with her," Diana said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. Her eyes met Elysia’s, and in them was steel. Steady. Unyielding.

Elysia didn’t hesitate. She only nodded, grateful for Diana’s instinct, her presence. She grasped Diana’s hand, the connection grounding her just enough to steady the storm beginning to churn inside.

Nymphadora moved to stand, worry etched across her features, but Andromeda reached out, gently placing a hand on her daughter’s arm. "Let them go. If it’s urgent, Elysia will need to move quickly."

Elysia threw one last look at the room—at Victoire’s worried expression, Melinoë’s half-risen form, Artemis already calculating the nature of the disturbance. No words were needed. She turned back to Diana.

With a sudden crack of displaced air, they vanished.

Only the faint scent of frost and lavender lingered behind, and the uneasy silence that follows the moment before a storm breaks.

They arrived in silence, the sharp crack of Apparition swallowed almost immediately by the thick stillness of pre-dawn.

It was cold here—sharper than the winter chill they’d left behind in England. The sky was still dark, tinged with that faint grey-blue just before sunrise. The stars hung low overhead, clear and cold, and frost clung to the tall grass that lined the edges of a quiet suburban street in the American Midwest.

Elysia stood still for a moment, her breath visible in the air, her cloak whipping slightly in the wind. Hedwig was already waiting. The snowy owl dropped from a nearby rooftop and swooped low, her wings nearly silent as she landed heavily on a weather-worn fence. She let out a sharp, insistent hoot , feathers puffed in agitation. Her silver eyes locked with Elysia's, their bond still thrumming with urgency.

The house in front of them was a modest, single-story home, its paint chipped, one window cracked and patched with tape. The blinds were drawn tightly, but through the fabric of the nearest one, faint movement could be seen—a child shifting in a too-small bed, alone.

Elysia stepped forward, but Diana reached out and gently caught her wrist.

"Wait."

Elysia turned, her expression tight. "We don’t have time. Something’s wrong."

"I know," Diana said. She took a slow breath, her gaze fixed on the house. "She’s a Greek demigod. I can feel it—the aura is faint, but it’s there."

Elysia blinked in surprise. "Greek?"

Diana nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Yes. And that means I can’t interfere. My oaths as a Roman goddess—I'm bound to keep the separation between our camps, our pantheons. I can’t cross that line."

Elysia’s jaw tensed. "But I can?"

"Yes," Diana said, her tone low but steady. "You’re not bound by those laws. I have no objection to you helping her. I want you to help her. But you need to understand—I can’t follow you inside. I can’t draw attention to this."

Elysia turned her gaze back to the house, her heart beating faster now, Hedwig’s distress still thrumming through her chest.

"Then stay here," she said quietly. "But I’m going in. I’m not leaving her."

Diana met her gaze with quiet pride. "I wouldn’t expect anything else."

Another hoot from Hedwig broke through the quiet. Elysia looked once more to her familiar, then nodded.

With dawn just beginning to kiss the edge of the horizon, she stepped off the curb and approached the house, cloak fluttering behind her like wings of midnight and resolve.

Elysia stepped forward, each step deliberate, every movement laced with quiet fury. The wooden porch creaked beneath her boots, its groan too loud in the silence that blanketed the early morning. Her wand was already in hand, tip glowing faintly with a soft white light as her other hand brushed the worn brass doorknob. The air itself felt heavy—not just with cold, but with something older, something stagnant. The kind of silence that choked.

With a whispered unlocking charm, the door clicked and swung open slowly, revealing the darkness within.

She stepped inside, closing it gently behind her. The smell hit her at once.

Rot.

The sharp, acrid tang of alcohol hung thick in the air, layered over mildew, smoke, and the unmistakable undercurrent of sweat and fear. The wallpaper was faded and peeling, a dull floral print that had once been cheerful but now clung to the walls like a bad memory. The dim light from her wand cast eerie shadows that danced across the grimy floor.

Her eyes scanned the hallway as she moved forward, taking in the small, deliberate signs of neglect. Family photos lined the walls, each one neat and smiling—but devoid of any children. Elysia's stomach sank. There were no drawings on the fridge, no toys scattered across the floor, no sign that a child had ever lived here.

Her chest tightened.

The furniture was outdated and poorly maintained, cushions sunken from years of disuse. Dust clung to every corner. A stack of half-empty liquor bottles leaned precariously behind the couch. The television sat dark and unplugged, the remote cracked on the floor. It was a house pretending to be normal, wearing the mask of stability like a costume.

Her feet carried her down the hallway before she even registered the decision. The air grew colder, more oppressive with each step, as if the house itself resented her presence. A dark stain on the carpet caught her eye—dry and flaking at the edges.

Blood.

Elysia froze, breath hitching. Her heart thundered in her chest as a sickly wave of recognition washed over her. Her magic surged in response, death stirring beneath her skin. It coiled like a living thing, hungry and furious, shadows curling inky and slow across the floor around her boots. She inhaled through her nose, grounding herself. Not yet. Not now.

At the end of the hallway stood a door, half-ajar and fortified from the outside with three heavy locks and a sliding bar. Every instinct in Elysia screamed.

She approached with shaking hands, murmuring the unlocking charms with quiet precision. One lock. Then another. Then the last. Each release rang loud as thunder in her ears.

She pushed the door open.

The room beyond was dark and small—a converted storage space, no larger than a closet. The window was boarded shut. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, its pull chain swaying. There was no blanket, no pillow. Just a thin mattress in the corner and a cracked plastic bowl tucked beneath the bedframe.

And there, curled into herself so tightly she might disappear, was a child.

Elysia's wand hand dropped. Her heart cracked open.

Lou.

She was so much smaller than Elysia remembered from camp, her bright spirit buried under bruises and grime. Her lip was split, one eye swollen. There was blood crusted along her sleeve. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees, as if trying to hold herself together by force alone.

Elysia dropped to her knees, setting her wand aside without a second thought. "Lou," she whispered, voice raw.

Lou's eyes flinched open, wild and unfocused. For a second, she didn’t react. And then recognition sparked.

She gasped.

A sob burst from her throat as she lunged forward, collapsing into Elysia’s arms like she had no strength left to hold herself up. Elysia caught her, cradling her close, wrapping both arms around her protectively as she rocked gently, whispering soft assurances.

"It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m here."

One hand tangled gently in Lou’s hair while the other conjured a warding circle around them, shielding them both in a cocoon of protective magic. Elysia pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her like she might never let go.

Lou didn’t respond with words. She simply clung tighter, sobbing quietly into Elysia’s shoulder, fingers fisting in the fabric of her cloak.

And Elysia, tears burning in her own eyes, held her as fiercely and as tenderly as she could.

No matter what it took, she would never let anyone hurt Lou again.

Elysia held Lou tightly, rocking her gently, whispering soft words and shielding them both in the comforting hush of protective magic. Lou clung to her like a lifeline, her small body trembling with exhaustion and fear, but there was a spark of hope beginning to flicker in her grip. Elysia cradled her, holding her as if willing her warmth into Lou’s frozen limbs.

That fragile moment shattered with the sound of heavy, unsteady footsteps pounding down the hall.

Elysia's head snapped up, every muscle tensing. Her wand flew into her hand without conscious thought, the protective ward around Lou thickening into a shimmering shield of silver light, flickering with the weight of her fury.

The door slammed open.

A man staggered into the room, bleary-eyed and furious. His clothes hung loose over a thin, gaunt frame, and the stench of alcohol hit like a wave. His eyes, bloodshot and mean, landed on the two of them—Lou curled in Elysia's arms on the filthy mattress—and his face twisted in rage.

"Who the hell are you ? What are you doing in my house? What are you doing with that little freak?!"

The words were a spark.

A spark that ignited a buried inferno.

They echoed too closely to memories Elysia had locked away in the deepest parts of her soul. Venomous slurs hurled at her as a child. The cold, disdainful sneer of her uncle when he called her unnatural. Cursed. Freak. The sting of isolation. The ache of being locked away, unseen and unloved. This man’s voice carried the same poison, the same weight. It transported her, for a moment, back to that cupboard under the stairs, back to bruises hidden under sleeves and cries smothered into pillows. The sheer familiarity of it ached.

Elysia rose slowly, not letting go of Lou entirely but shifting her just behind her legs, keeping her shielded. Her wand was pointed directly at the man, and the air around her shimmered and crackled. Her eyes burned—twin emerald flames beneath the growing storm of her magic.

"Say that again," she said softly. Danger laced every syllable. Her voice was calm, but death coiled around her like a cloak.

He stepped forward, chest puffed out. "You some freak too? Some kind of cult? That girl’s always been trouble. She’s wrong in the head! Always causing problems! You think you can come in here and just take her away?!"

Elysia didn’t speak.

Her magic did.

It surged out of her like a tidal wave, invisible and suffocating. The man froze mid-step as an unseen force slammed into him, lifting him off his feet and hurling him backward into the far wall of the hallway with a bone-rattling crack . The plaster split. A picture frame shattered on impact.

He gasped, struggling, pinned like an insect against the wall, arms flailing, face contorted in terror. Shadows danced in the corners of the room, curling like serpents, feeding on her fury. The entire house seemed to shiver under the weight of her wrath.

Elysia stood unmoving, her breath harsh, her wand steady. Her death magic whispered to her. Begged her. He deserves it , it hissed. Make him pay.

But then a soft sound broke through the storm.

"Elysia."

Lou.

Still kneeling behind her, untouched by the surge of raw power. Her small voice, barely above a whisper, reached Elysia like sunlight breaking through a thundercloud. She wasn’t afraid. She was watching . Her hand reached out, tiny fingers curling into the hem of Elysia’s cloak, grounding her.

Elysia blinked.

The fury dulled. Her magic slowed. The shadows retreated with a reluctant hiss. She inhaled deeply and lowered her wand.

The man dropped to the floor in a crumpled heap, groaning, too shocked to rise.

Elysia turned her back on him without a second thought. She dropped to her knees beside Lou again, brushing her hair back with infinite tenderness.

"We need to go now, starlight," she whispered, her voice husky with emotion.

Lou nodded, wiping at her face with the back of her sleeve. Her voice trembled. "I… I have some things. Important ones."

"Show me," Elysia said.

They moved quickly. Lou led her to a battered drawer with a broken handle and a floorboard so loose it nearly came up on its own. From within, she pulled out a cracked photo frame with a fading picture of a woman who looked like her—her mother, most likely—a tiny charm bracelet, two worn paperback books with curling covers, and a notebook with her name scrawled across the front in bold, stubborn letters.

Elysia conjured a small travel bag and carefully helped Lou pack the items, casting preservation and shielding charms on each one. Her movements were precise, gentle, reverent. When everything was packed, she shrank the bag with a whisper and tucked it safely inside her cloak.

Then she held out her hand.

"Ready?"

Lou looked back at the hallway only once. Then she reached for Elysia’s hand and gripped it tightly.

Together, they stepped past the groaning figure on the floor, Elysia’s magic still coiled protectively around them like a promise made flesh.

She would not let Lou look back.

Not now.

Not ever again.

The door creaked open with the softest push of Elysia's magic, the cold morning air washing over them as she stepped outside, Lou still held close in her arms. The first light of dawn had just crested the horizon, painting the world in soft gold and grey-blue. Snow crunched under Elysia's boots, the frost-laced grass sparkling faintly in the dim light, untouched and still.

Lou, just eleven years old—the same age as Victoire—clung to her like she was the last solid thing in the world, eyes half-closed, her head tucked protectively beneath Elysia's chin. Her little fingers curled tightly into the folds of Elysia's cloak, and every so often, she gave the smallest of trembles. Elysia responded each time by holding her closer, murmuring soft comforts that only Lou could hear.

Diana stood just beyond the garden gate, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her posture had been tense, every line of her body held in quiet vigilance. But the moment her eyes met Elysia’s and she saw Lou safe in her arms, the hardness in her shoulders eased. She stepped forward, her breath fogging faintly in the early morning chill.

"Is she alright?" Diana asked, voice low and gentle.

Elysia nodded slowly, though there was a haunted edge to her eyes. "She will be. She's safe now."

Lou stirred at the sound of Diana's voice and turned slightly to peek over Elysia's shoulder. Her eyes, wide and wary, landed on the goddess with a mix of curiosity and caution.

Diana offered her a soft, reassuring smile. "You're safe," she said again, voice warm and grounding. "No one will ever hurt you again."

Lou blinked at her, and after a beat, seemed to relax a fraction more.

Elysia pressed a kiss to the crown of Lou’s head. "Hold tight, starlight. We’re going home."

She reached out and took Diana’s hand. With a swirl of cloaks and a soft crack , the world around them disappeared.

The Tonks cottage was warm and still steeped in the scents of cinnamon, pine, and lingering traces of breakfast. The air was a balm after the bitter cold outside. Firelight flickered softly from the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the walls.

Lou gasped the moment they arrived, her body tensing as the sudden shift in air pressure and magic overwhelmed her senses. She gave a whimper and buried her face against Elysia's shoulder again, her fingers tightening with panic.

"Shh, you're okay," Elysia murmured soothingly, stroking her back in slow, grounding circles. "That was just magic. We’re safe now. You’re safe."

Footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, approaching quickly.

Andromeda was the first to appear, her sharp eyes locking onto the child in Elysia’s arms. In an instant, her demeanor shifted. The warmth of a grandmother became the fierce focus of a seasoned healer. Her wand was already in hand, spells forming on her lips as she stepped forward.

"Living room," she instructed without hesitation, her tone calm but commanding. "Bring her in. I’ll take care of her."

Fleur and Nymphadora arrived a heartbeat later. Fleur’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with sorrow as she took in Lou’s bruises and the exhausted slump of her body against Elysia.

"Oh, stars," Fleur whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

Nymphadora didn’t speak. Her expression darkened, jaw clenched, but her hand gently touched Elysia’s back as she passed in quiet support.

Victoire peeked out from behind her mother’s legs, her usual curiosity subdued by the weight of the moment. Her eyes locked on Lou, and something unspoken passed between the two girls—recognition of pain, maybe, or the spark of something soon to grow into compassion.

Elysia didn’t pause to explain. She moved with quiet determination, following Andromeda into the living room. The couch was already cleared, blankets fluffed. Elysia knelt beside it and gently laid Lou down, keeping hold of her hand even as she settled her onto the cushions.

Lou whimpered again, her eyes darting to the unfamiliar space, but she didn’t release Elysia’s fingers. Not once.

Andromeda began her scans immediately, murmuring spells under her breath as her wand glowed with steady light. She checked for broken bones, for hidden bruises, for the kinds of harm no child should ever have to carry.

Elysia sat by Lou’s side, her free hand brushing her hair back tenderly. "You’re doing so well, Lou," she said softly. "Just a little longer."

Lou nodded, barely, and pressed closer.

No one else spoke. The house was hushed but filled with presence—Diana and Nymphadora standing quietly nearby, Fleur wrapping an arm around Victoire as the little girl watched wide-eyed.

And Elysia never once looked away. She stayed there, a constant pillar of warmth and protection, until Andromeda gave the first small, satisfied nod of progress.

Lou was safe.

And Elysia would never let her feel otherwise again.

Lou remained curled on the couch, wrapped in a thick, charm-warmed blanket conjured by Fleur, her small frame nearly swallowed by the softness. The bruises and injuries that marked her skin had been carefully and expertly tended to by Andromeda, the skilled healer working with a practiced hand and a grandmother’s heart. But it wasn’t just the spells that had helped—it was her tone. Her patient, unwavering kindness. She hadn’t interrogated Lou, hadn’t forced conversation. She’d simply been there, gentle and grounding.

Now cleaned, bandaged, and dressed in a spare set of Victoire’s clothes—soft grey leggings and a wool-knit jumper that fell halfway to her knees—Lou looked more like a child again. Her eyes were still shadowed with exhaustion and haunted memory, but clarity had begun to return. She sat tucked into one corner of the couch, fingers curled around the edges of the blanket as though they anchored her in place.

Victoire, sensing the tentative stillness, had approached with quiet confidence and a tin of enchanted animal biscuits. She knelt beside the couch and slowly lifted the lid. One of the biscuits, shaped like a lion, gave a theatrical growl and flipped lazily onto its back.

Lou blinked, startled.

"They're harmless," Victoire whispered, leaning close like it was a shared secret. "Mostly. The dragon ones breathe smoke, but only little puffs. I think they think it makes them intimidating."

Lou's lips twitched.

"This one," Victoire said, pointing to a biscuit shaped like a sheep with tiny wings, "thinks it can fly. It can't. It tries anyway."

That did it. A giggle escaped Lou’s lips—small and surprised and beautiful.

Victoire beamed.

From that spark, a quiet joy began to bloom. The two girls shifted to the floor, the blanket trailing behind Lou like a soft cape. Together, they started stacking biscuits into tiny houses, building villages across a cushion-lined patch of rug. They assigned roles to the animals, made up backstories and rivalries, created alliances and patrols between the phoenixes and the wolves. The dragon biscuit became a dramatic actor, pretending to faint during missions. Lou laughed harder with every antic.

With each moment, Lou leaned more into the world around her—into safety, into friendship, into the space Elysia had fought to give her.

In the kitchen, the rhythm of family life continued.

Fleur and Nymphadora moved gracefully around each other at the counters, chopping vegetables, stirring sauces, and transfiguring ingredients with light flicks of their wands. Diana stood at the edge of the table, methodically peeling apples with a knife so sharp and clean it sliced the skins off in perfect spirals. Artemis stood beside her, dicing potatoes with the solemn efficiency of a warrior applying battlefield precision to domestic peace. Melinoë leaned near the hearth, feeding carrot pieces to a flickering flame sprite that danced cheerily from its perch on the mantel.

Elysia stood at the kitchen island, both palms braced against the polished wood. Her gaze was fixed but distant, her jaw set. There was a storm in her, held back by sheer will.

Andromeda stood across from her, hands drying slowly on a dishtowel, watching her granddaughter with the kind of understanding that didn't need words.

"She’s not going back there," Elysia said, her voice low, quiet—but unyielding. There was no room for compromise in it. Just steel and something older, deeper. A vow.

Andromeda nodded once, her eyes softening. "No. She’s not. Even if you hadn’t said it, I would have known."

Elysia exhaled slowly. Her hands tightened against the counter. "I remember what it felt like. Growing up where love was something conditional. Where fear became routine. I won't let her grow up thinking she has to earn kindness or that pain is something she deserves."

Andromeda stepped closer, her hand resting gently on Elysia's. "You won’t. If you want to make it official—guardianship, custody—I'll help. We’ll handle the legal side. Magical and mundane. Whatever it takes."

Elysia looked at her, eyes glinting with unshed tears, and nodded. "I do want that. I want her to stay. To know she’s wanted."

"Then we’ll make it so."

From the archway between the rooms came the sudden peal of laughter. Elysia turned, startled at first, before her gaze found Lou on the floor beside Victoire. The girls had finished building a biscuit fortress, and one of the enchanted dragons had launched itself from the parapet, flailed dramatically mid-air, and fallen headfirst into a cup of cocoa.

It emerged bubbling and sputtering.

Both girls collapsed into laughter, clutching their sides.

The sound filled the house like sunlight.

Elysia's shoulders relaxed. Her grip on the countertop loosened.

She had made a promise that day in a hallway—that Lou would never have to look back again.

Now, she was making a new one.

That Lou would never have to wonder where she belonged.

~

The afternoon sun cast a warm golden glow over the snow-covered garden outside, painting the frost-covered hedges and rooftops in soft hues of amber and cream. Inside the Tonks cottage, the scent of roasting root vegetables, mulled wine, and warm cinnamon filled the air. The kitchen bustled with cozy holiday magic—floating ladles stirred pots on the stove, dough rolled itself out across floured counters, and enchanted candles floated above the dinner table, casting a soft golden light across the room. There was a sense of something warm and right threading through every moment.

In the living room, laughter spilled freely. Lou and Victoire were sprawled on the rug with their half-eaten biscuit fortress surrounded by enchanted biscuit animals acting out miniature dramatic plays. The phoenix biscuit had been declared queen of the fortress, the dragon biscuit was sulking after crashing dramatically into a mug of cocoa, and the biscuit sheep were staging a rebellion. It was all ridiculous and delightful, and Lou's shy smile had blossomed into frequent giggles.

Then came the knock at the door, followed by a gust of icy air as it swung open.

"We come bearing wine, mischief, and holiday sass!" Daphne Greengrass called, sweeping into the house with theatrical flair.

"And cookies," Tracey Davis added with a smirk, lifting a large tin. "You can't throw a proper gathering without cookies."

Fleur rushed to greet them, already smiling. "You’re just in time. Come in, come in. Shoes off, coats hung, and wands holstered if you're going to help in the kitchen."

Astoria followed her sister in with practiced grace, bundled in a luxurious green cloak, her eyes curious and bright. Luna entered last, wrapped in layers of colorful scarves, her scarf bells jingling softly with every movement as she hummed an off-key carol to herself.

From the kitchen, Elysia emerged, brushing flour from her hands and apron, a fond smile curving her lips. She paused as her eyes found her friends and the wave of fond familiarity hit her like a warm breeze in winter.

"There she is!" Tracey declared with a grin. "Our ever-elusive Elysia, not hiding in the wilds for once, and no cryptic letters claiming 'urgent magical errands' this time."

Daphne stepped closer, her eyes dancing. "Nymphadora mentioned you were seeing someone," she said, teasing but affectionate. "She made it sound like it was just one. She failed to mention that someone included a literal goddess. Or... three."

Elysia flushed a soft, telltale pink, eyes flicking with quiet panic toward the archway where Melinoë, Artemis, and Diana had just stepped into view, drawn by the voices and perhaps a bit of curiosity.

Daphne took the moment in stride, stepping in to place a soft kiss on Elysia’s cheek. "Don’t look so scandalized," she murmured, voice low and affectionate. "We’ll be sad not to see you in our bed again, but..."

"We’re truly happy for you," Tracey finished, mirroring the gesture with a kiss to Elysia’s other cheek and a warm smile. "Really, we are. You’ve been wandering a long time, Ely. If you’ve found something that grounds you, we couldn’t be more thrilled."

There was more weight to their words than teasing. The three of them had been close for years. In between their adventures, missions, and magical work, they had found comfort in each other, laughter in the dark, and warmth where they could. It had never needed labels, but it had mattered.

Melinoë, Artemis, and Diana stepped further into the room. Diana looked slightly confused by the interaction, Artemis arched an elegant brow, and Melinoë looked delighted—a smirk playing on her lips like she’d just discovered an entirely new layer of Elysia to enjoy.

"Oh?" Artemis said, voice cool and curious. "Old flames, then?"

"Close friends," Elysia said quickly, her voice low but steady despite the burn in her cheeks. "And... sometimes more. Nothing serious. Just moments."

"Mmm," Diana said with a small smile. "Still sounds like fond memories."

"It was," Elysia admitted.

"Delightful," Melinoë purred, her smirk widening as she glanced between Elysia and the two women who had just kissed her cheeks. "We'll have to exchange stories sometime. I'm sure there's a tale or two worth savoring."

Elysia gave an exasperated sigh, though her eyes gleamed with affection.

At that moment, Victoire came padding in with Lou close behind, the two of them still giggling about a biscuit duel that had ended in a sugary explosion.

"C'mon," Victoire said, gently nudging Lou. "You should meet everyone."

Lou tucked her hands behind her back and gave a shy wave as she stood slightly behind Victoire.

"Everyone, this is Lou," Victoire said proudly. "She’s staying with us now."

Daphne crouched with a graceful sweep of her cloak, offering Lou a warm smile. "Well, hello there. You must be the new heart of this home. It’s lovely to meet you, Lou."

"You’ve got excellent taste in guardians," Tracey added with a wink at Elysia, who rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile.

Astoria stepped forward and offered Lou a tiny candy cane, enchanted to sparkle and change colors with the light. "This one’s good luck. And you’ve arrived just in time for the best part—the holiday desserts."

Luna took Lou’s hand last and held it gently. "The stars were quiet last night. That usually means something wonderful is about to begin."

Lou looked up at her, eyes wide, and then smiled.

With introductions made, the girls quickly vanished into the living room again, biscuit fortress in hand, their laughter ringing through the house like music.

Elysia stood in the kitchen doorway, watching them with a quiet, full expression.

Artemis slid an arm around her waist. Diana took her hand with soft certainty. Melinoë leaned up to brush a kiss to her shoulder with a knowing smile.

And Elysia, still a little pink, still overwhelmed in the best way, just laughed.

The warm glow of lantern light shimmered across the walls, the soft sounds of music drifting through the cottage as the sun dipped below the horizon. Outside, snow continued to fall gently, but inside, everything was wrapped in an atmosphere of comfort and celebration. The hearth crackled in the corner of the living room, casting flickering shadows across the gathering of friends and chosen family.

Dinner was still being prepared, but no one was in a hurry. The table was already half-set, glowing beneath the floating candles enchanted to drift lazily above the plates and silverware. Drinks had found their way into most hands—mulled wine, cider, and warm cocoa sweetened with vanilla and cinnamon. The air was thick with good food, laughter, and the warmth that only a room full of people who truly cared for each other could create.

Artemis, Diana, and Melinoë had become more than just guests. They had been drawn into the orbit of this unusual, wonderful family not by formality but by ease. At first, there had been a pause, a quiet reverence when the three goddesses entered the room—but it melted quickly. Titles were left at the door. Around the fireplace, shared history, curiosity, and affection replaced awe.

Artemis stood by the frost-glazed window with Andromeda, their conversation calm, layered with the mutual respect of two women who had seen and done much. Diana, ever poised and composed, perched on the arm of a couch, her expression soft as she answered Astoria's eager questions about Roman solstice customs and ancient myths with patient elegance. Melinoë, more languid in her posture, lounged on a chair with one leg slung over the side, sipping her wine and delighting in rapid-fire banter with Fleur and Nymphadora, their wit flying fast and sharp.

On the far side of the room, Daphne and Tracey lingered like shadows of old stories—close, poised, watching. Their smiles were easy, but their glances were sharper than polished steel. Protective to a fault. Loyal beyond measure. And entirely unwilling to see anyone, divine or not, hurt the woman they adored.

Their intent wasn’t possessive—it was familial. Protective. Love sharpened to a blade and sheathed in fondness.

Melinoë caught Tracey’s eye after one particularly pointed jest and laughed, throwing her head back with delight. "I like your friends, Ely," she called, voice rich with laughter. "They’re vicious."

"We’re charming," Daphne replied with mock innocence, arching one brow in theatrical flair. "But we bite. Especially when it comes to her."

"Sometimes literally," Tracey added, her tone light but her meaning anything but.

Melinoë raised her glass in their direction, her grin wide and appreciative. "Noted. And respected. She’s lucky to be loved like this. Not many ever are."

Her gaze lingered on Elysia, filled with something warm and deep. Then she turned back to her conversation, effortlessly folding into the next exchange, but her smile lingered, pleased and full of affection.

Off to the side, half-separated from the main conversations, Elysia knelt on the thick rug with Lou and Victoire. The three of them were tucked into a quiet little pocket of calm, away from the noise but still wrapped in the house's warmth.

Lou sat cross-legged, her face bright with curiosity, and a faint shimmer of awe in her eyes. Elysia was showing her a bit of wandless magic—soft illusions of twinkling starlight that danced above their heads, tiny shapes that morphed from constellations into animals. A wolf howled in silence. A doe leapt through the sparkling air. A cat arched its back and dissolved into mist.

Victoire watched with wide eyes, grinning each time Lou giggled in delight.

The difference in the girl from that morning was staggering. Gone was the shuttered, trembling silence. Lou's eyes were lit from within, that old spark from camp returning to her gaze, stronger by the hour. She leaned into Elysia without fear now, her trust given completely, instinctively.

Elysia smiled softly, her fingers weaving the next bit of magic as she glanced between the two girls. The weight in her chest had lessened. Lou was healing. And here, in this house filled with warmth and chosen love, surrounded by gods, warriors, mischief-makers, and starlight, she knew they were exactly where they needed to be.

This wasn’t just a holiday dinner.

It was the beginning of something whole.

The dining room was awash with golden light, the long wooden table aglow beneath enchanted lanterns that floated lazily overhead, flickering like warm stars. Outside, snow fell in a gentle hush, blanketing the world beyond the windows in soft white. Inside, warmth embraced everything—a symphony of roasted vegetables, buttery rolls, honey-glazed root pies, and spiced desserts filled the air, wrapping each guest in comfort and celebration.

Laughter echoed like music through the house, threaded with the rustling of fabric, the clinking of glasses, and the murmur of many conversations. The table was filled end to end, a tapestry of lives and stories interwoven. Old friends, new family, immortals and mortals all gathered shoulder to shoulder, their differences forgotten in the embrace of shared belonging. Artemis and Diana sat side by side, their expressions relaxed in a way rarely seen outside their own sacred groves, while Melinoë nestled close beside Elysia, their hands occasionally brushing under the table, grounding her.

Andromeda carved the roast with practiced grace, moving like the matriarch she had always been, while Fleur and Nymphadora directed serving platters with easy flicks of their wands. Astoria added delicate holly illusions to the table's center with subtle flair, and Luna enchanted the napkins to fold themselves into swans and stars, fluttering quietly beside each plate.

Elysia sat surrounded by warmth. Victoire was at her side, full of energy and storytelling, eagerly describing her newest plans for biscuit fortresses and enchanted defenses. Lou sat on her other side, pressed in close, her face lit with the glow of candlelight and joy. She giggled at Victoire's tales, joined in Luna's whimsical flourishes, and accepted Daphne's extra spoonful of cinnamon mash with wide eyes and an eager grin.

To anyone watching, Lou looked radiant—a happy, laughing eleven-year-old. But Elysia watched more closely than most.

Her eyes never strayed far from Lou, even as she smiled and conversed with the others. Because she saw it. The subtle signs. The moment Lou flinched when Nymphadora's spoon clattered too hard. The brief freeze when Daphne reached to tuck a napkin near her plate. The way she stiffened, just slightly, whenever laughter got too loud.

And Elysia blamed herself.

She had seen Lou every week at camp. Watched her play. Heard her laugh. She’d taught Lou wandless techniques, encouraged her to explore her unique divine magic. Elysia had even thought of her as one of the brightest sparks in that summer's group. But she'd missed it. The signs had been there, tucked behind a quiet voice, behind a polite distance. And Elysia, with all her instincts, with all her own experience of what it meant to hide behind strength, had still failed to see through Lou's carefully practiced smile.

Her stomach churned with guilt. That Lou had suffered so long under the same kind of cruelty she had once endured made her blood boil. That she hadn’t realized made her heart ache.

A light brush of fingers beneath the table pulled her from her spiraling thoughts.

Melinoë's hand slid gently over hers, warm and sure. Elysia turned slightly, meeting her gaze. There was no judgment there. Only understanding.

"You're here now," Melinoë whispered, her voice a balm. "That’s what matters."

Elysia closed her eyes for a breath, letting that truth sink into the cracks guilt had carved open. She nodded.

The meal moved forward with joy and color. Daphne teased Fleur about measuring pastry thickness to the millimeter, while Diana and Nymphadora engaged in a fierce but laughing debate over magical versus physical combat. Tracey and Artemis, surprisingly, found common ground in strategic precision. Lou, Victoire, and Luna joined forces to build a floating constellation of charmed starlight and mashed potato sculptures that circled the center of the table to everyone's delight.

Laughter rose again and again, echoing like warmth into the walls of the house.

As dessert was served—ginger cake, snowberry tarts, and chocolate wands—Elysia leaned down and kissed the crown of Lou's head, her hand gently cupping the girl's shoulder.

"You're safe, starlight," she murmured.

Lou looked up and smiled, eyes sparkling like frost-kissed stars.

And in that golden moment, surrounded by love chosen and earned, Elysia believed it too. This was family. And she would never let Lou fall through the cracks again.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

XVIII

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The soft gray light of early morning crept through the frosted windows, casting a gentle shimmer over the bedroom. It was Christmas Day, and the warmth of the cottage still clung to every surface, wrapping the world in a serene stillness that felt almost sacred.

In the guest bedroom, tangled in layers of thick blankets and each other, Elysia, Artemis, Melinoë, and Diana lay curled in peaceful quiet. Elysia rested in the center, a protective arm slung over Artemis, who had draped herself half atop her with a quiet possessiveness. Diana was tucked in at Elysia's other side, her forehead resting against her shoulder, while Melinoë pressed close against her back, one leg draped lazily over them both, her breath warm against Elysia's neck.

It was the kind of quiet only found in deep safety, in belonging.

And then the sound of small, fast footsteps broke the stillness.

A pair of giggles carried faintly from the hallway.

"Shhh, you’ll wake them up too fast!" Victoire whispered.

"It’s already morning! It’s Christmas!" Lou hissed back, her voice trembling with excitement.

Another bout of hushed laughter followed, then a creak as the girls tiptoed past the guest bedroom door.

Elysia stirred slightly, her eyes cracking open with a faint smile. She could hear the unmistakable rustle of a whispered plan forming.

"They’re going for Nymphadora and Fleur first," she murmured.

Artemis blinked groggily. "Warriors, the both of them."

"Do you think they always wake up this joyful on Christmas?" Diana asked with a sleepy smile, listening to the muffled giggles growing more excited down the hall.

"Not really something we’ve experienced," Artemis murmured, shifting slightly and resting her chin on Elysia’s shoulder. "We knew of it, of course. The Hunters would sometimes acknowledge the day quietly, maybe share a meal or speak of peace, but we never celebrated. No tree, no gifts. It always felt like something distant."

Diana nodded, her voice soft. "I’ve watched it over the years—families gathering, children racing to unwrap gifts, songs in front of fireplaces. It looked... warm. Inviting. But it always felt like watching from behind glass."

"It seemed like a joy that belonged to others," Artemis added. "Not something we could claim."

Melinoë's voice was a breath against Elysia's hair. "I’ve only seen fragments. Flashes of it through the veil—echoes of laughter, twinkling lights, the hush of snow through windows. But this—" she paused, listening to the muffled joy in the hallway, "this feels like something sacred. A ritual of light and warmth. Of choosing joy."

She smiled against Elysia's back. "And I think I finally understand why mortals treasure it so much."

In the room down the hall, the bedroom door creaked open.

"Maman! Mum!" Victoire called softly, climbing up between them. "It’s Christmas morning!"

"It’s present time!" Lou added, following behind.

There was a muffled groan from Nymphadora, then a pillow flung half-heartedly into the air. "Give us ten more minutes and a gallon of coffee."

Fleur laughed, pulling Victoire into a warm cuddle. "Non, mon coeur, it is Christmas. Go wake the others while we get up."

Excited and freshly blessed with permission, the two girls giggled once more and turned on their heels.

Their destination was clear: the rest of the house had to be woken up, even if it meant storming the bed where four very snuggled adults currently lay half-asleep in a heap of warmth and contentment.

They'd been listening to the girls tiptoe down the hall after leaving Fleur and Nymphadora's room, their whispers not nearly as quiet as they probably imagined. Victoire’s eager energy was unmistakable—Elysia had been woken the same way every Christmas morning for the past few years. This year was no different. Except that it was.

Because this year, Lou was with her.

Wrapped in warmth and tucked between the steady heartbeats of the goddesses who had become her world, Elysia smiled as she felt Artemis stir beside her, the huntress already shifting into a protective, half-alert posture. Diana lifted her head slightly, blinking through sleep with regal calm, while Melinoë nuzzled closer against Elysia’s back, her voice a husky murmur.

"They’re coming."

"Let them try," Artemis whispered, eyes still closed, but the amusement in her voice betrayed her.

Elysia chuckled softly. "Victoire takes it as a challenge, you know. And now that she has Lou to help... we're doomed."

Sure enough, the door creaked open slowly—a dramatic pause as if they were trying to sneak in unseen.

"They're still asleep," Lou whispered, though her voice trembled with barely restrained excitement. There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes as she peeked inside. Her gaze landed first on Elysia—safe, familiar—and then swept across the bed to the goddesses curled around her. Lou didn’t shrink away, but the awe and uncertainty in her eyes were clear. She wasn’t afraid—just unsure, still adjusting to the presence of beings so ancient and powerful now made soft by the warmth of this cottage.

"We have to pounce ," Victoire whispered back. "That’s the only way to be sure."

Elysia braced herself, burying her smile against Artemis's shoulder.

"Now!"

With a squeal of delight, two small bodies launched themselves onto the bed in a tangle of blankets and laughter. Victoire landed between Elysia and Diana, snuggling immediately against her godmother with a wide grin, while Lou climbed more cautiously onto the other side. She hesitated just a breath before curling herself beside Melinoë, leaning into the goddess’s warmth. When Melinoë looked at her and smiled, Lou gave a shy grin in return and nestled closer.

"It’s Christmas!" Victoire announced triumphantly.

"We brought hugs!" Lou added, her voice steadier now, squeezing Melinoë tightly.

Artemis groaned dramatically. "Ambushed in our sleep... by the tiniest warriors."

Diana gave a regal sigh. "We never stood a chance."

Melinoë only laughed, wrapping an arm around Lou and gently tugging her closer. "This is the best kind of ambush."

Elysia opened her eyes fully now, smiling as she took it all in. Her arms full of love. Her heart full of warmth. Lou's laughter, Victoire’s enthusiasm, and the quiet amusement of the goddesses around her.

This—this chaotic, joyful moment—was exactly what she’d hoped for.

"Alright, alright," she said, pressing a kiss to Victoire's curls and then gently brushing a hand through Lou’s hair. "Let’s go see what magic the morning has in store."

The living room glowed with holiday magic. A fire crackled in the hearth, filling the space with flickering warmth and a soft scent of woodsmoke and pine. Golden garlands twined along the mantle, tiny floating lights bobbing gently in the air like fireflies. In the corner, the Christmas tree shimmered with carefully placed ornaments, delicate charms, and a soft snowfall charm cascading gently over its branches.

Everyone had gathered in their comfiest clothes—thick socks, oversized sweaters, and warm mugs in hand. Tea, coffee, hot chocolate, and fresh fruit juices flowed freely, and the air buzzed with quiet joy and the occasional rustle of wrapping paper.

Lou and Victoire sat in the center of the room on the plush rug, surrounded by neatly arranged piles of gifts. Though Lou had only arrived days earlier, her stack of presents was generous and thoughtfully curated. Each gift bore a tag not just from Elysia, but from Fleur, Nymphadora, Andromeda, and even Daphne, Tracey, Astoria, and Luna—each of whom had gone out of their way to make sure Lou had something meaningful to open. Their kindness filled the room with something even warmer than the fire.

Elysia sat nearby on the couch, curled between Artemis and Melinoë. Artemis and Diana wore oversized jumpers borrowed from Elysia’s wardrobe, the sleeves trailing slightly past their wrists, the material cozy and oversized on their normally regal frames. Artemis’s was a dark forest green, Diana's a rich midnight blue that brought out the silver of her eyes.

Diana, instead of joining them on the couch, had chosen to sit on the floor at Elysia’s feet, leaning comfortably against her legs with one arm resting along the couch, close enough to be included in every shared smile and gentle touch. Her posture was relaxed, content, and utterly at ease in this strange, mortal celebration.

Her sharp eyes softened with amusement and wonder.

Lou unwrapped a rectangular gift with a gold ribbon first, her breath catching as she pulled free a carefully bound book. Her name was etched onto the cover, and when she opened it, she recognized the handwriting inside—Elysia's. The book was filled with personal notes and exercises, explanations on channeling instinctual magic, sigil diagrams, and tips designed specifically for Lou.

"You made this?" Lou asked in a small, astonished voice.

"Every page," Elysia said gently. "It's for you to grow into. Nothing too dangerous, just... enough to start understanding your magic on your terms."

Lou ran her fingers over the cover, reverent. She didn’t speak, but her smile said everything.

Victoire's face lit up as she opened a similar package, her own journal marked with her name and filled with carefully curated spells and techniques tailored to her wandwork. Her eyes sparkled. "This is so cool! "

"You’ve got great instincts," Elysia told her. "Now you can practice precision too."

Lou moved on to another gift from Elysia—a crystal pendant set in a fine chain, catching the light in its center where a tiny flame danced. She held it up, and the flame responded with a soft shimmer.

"It responds to you," Elysia explained. "It warms when you need comfort or calm. Just... something to remind you you’re never alone."

Lou clutched it to her chest, blinking rapidly.

Then came the journal, bound in soft leather, its pages enchanted with glowing sigils and subtle, pulsing warmth. As Lou flipped through it, one of the pages glowed faintly, responding to her touch.

"It knows when you’re proud," Elysia said. "Or overwhelmed. You can write, draw, or just let it hold your thoughts."

Lou didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she leaned over and threw her arms around Elysia.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Victoire, meanwhile, had opened a sleek, hand-carved stand with a softly glowing crystal at its center—a wand training tool. She held her wand over it and giggled when the crystal pulsed.

"It gives feedback," Elysia explained. "Try different motions. It'll help you refine your form."

Then Victoire opened the last gift from Elysia: a beautifully illustrated journal labeled Magical Creatures of the World. The creatures moved and blinked from the pages, wagging tails or stretching tiny wings, their colors subtly shifting in the light. Each page felt alive with care and magic.

"This is amazing," Victoire breathed. "Did you draw these?"

"Some," Elysia said with a soft smile. "But most of the illustrations were done by Astoria and Luna. They worked together on almost every page—Astoria has an incredible eye for detail, and Luna... well, Luna sees things others miss. They made the pages glow with personality."

She flipped to a section on mooncalves, where Luna had added tiny glowing runes that shimmered when touched, while Astoria’s sketches showed intricate anatomy layered beneath playful scenes.

"They also helped with the information and structure—organizing it all, adding magical classification notes and creature behavior patterns. I added my field notes and stories. They're messier—more about how it felt to meet the creatures, or what they did when startled—but I figured it was good to have all our voices in there."

She leaned closer to Victoire and tapped the back pages. "There’s still room for your own entries too. So it can keep growing."

Victoire immediately started flipping through pages, eyes alight with inspiration. She was already murmuring about what she might add next.

Victoire immediately started flipping through pages, already brainstorming.

Then came the gifts from the goddesses.

They had never truly celebrated Christmas before, but after speaking with Elysia and watching the joy in the household, they had wanted to take part.

From Artemis, Lou received a small compass-like charm on a silver chain, enchanted to point not north, but toward the place she felt safest in the world. "So you always know where home is," Artemis said simply.

Victoire received a hand-stitched archer's glove in soft leather, enchanted to resist magic flare and enhance wand grip. "For when you want to cast and look cool doing it," Artemis added with a smirk.

Diana gifted Lou a carefully enchanted box that, when opened, created a tiny holographic display of the stars from any night she chose. "So you can always find your place in the sky," she told her gently.

For Victoire, she gifted a pair of earrings shaped like stars, charmed to twinkle faintly when someone spoke her name with affection.

Melinoë gave Lou a bundle of spellbeads—each one enchanted to hold a small emotion or memory, carefully stored to revisit later when needed. "You can fill them as you learn," she said. "A way to carry the good things with you."

For Victoire, she offered a miniature music orb, a strange, beautiful thing that sang wordless melodies inspired by those in the room around it. It glowed and shifted colors as it played.

By the end of the exchange, wrapping paper was scattered, laughter rang through the air, and the warmth in the room was so tangible it felt like a second hearth.

And as Elysia watched Lou and Victoire curled together, gifts in their laps, grinning wide and bright, she knew this was exactly the kind of memory she had always wanted to create.

A new kind of magic. One born of love, and choice, and joy.

The laughter of the girls still rang through the room as Lou and Victoire sprawled across the rug, inspecting their new treasures, their giggles weaving in and out of the warm crackle of the fire. Fleur and Nymphadora, sat nearby, sipping their drinks and watching with warm smiles as the two girls examined their presents and chatted excitedly about everything they had unwrapped.

Elysia turned away from the youthful cluster and shifted slightly where she sat on the couch, her gaze drifting to the three goddesses flanking her. Artemis leaned back with her mug of tea cradled in one hand, Diana still settled comfortably at her feet, and Melinoë lounged against the opposite armrest, one leg tucked up, her hair a cascade of dark silk over Elysia's blanket-clad lap.

"Your turn," Elysia said with a soft smile, reaching for three of the remaining gifts beneath the tree. Each was carefully wrapped in fabric instead of paper, tied with runes embroidered into the ribbon.

Artemis untied hers first. Inside was a field journal bound in supple, dark green leather. The spine was stitched with silver thread, small crescent moons running along the edge. The pages were thick and enchantingly blank—until she flipped through them and saw dried leaves, sketched feathers, and memories already nestled within. A feather from their first walk through the snowy grove. A small pressed flower from the glade behind the Tonks house.

Her fingers paused on a page Elysia had written on. Just one line: For your path. For where you've wandered and where you'll rest.

Artemis didn’t speak. She just looked up and smiled, slow and real, before nodding and whispering, "Thank you."

Diana peeled back the cloth on hers, revealing a pane of etched glass set in a silver frame. She inhaled softly. Starlight glinted across its surface, forming constellations she knew by heart. But it wasn’t just any sky—it was the one above them the night she had first truly let herself be held. The moment she stepped into warmth without armor.

As the light of the fire touched it, the stars glowed faintly. Moonlight made them dance.

"You remembered the exact alignment," she said quietly, reverently.

"Of course," Elysia replied. "It was the first night you let me see you."

Diana reached for her hand and didn’t let go.

Melinoë unwrapped her gift last, fingertips lingering over the dark ribbon. The mirror inside was unlike any she’d seen. The frame was made of pale driftwood and softly gleaming bone—light, ethereal, and ancient all at once. Its surface shimmered gently, not reflecting the room so much as soft impressions—shadows of peace, not pain. The presence of something remembered. Not gone.

She stared into it for a long moment, her lips parting slightly.

"It’s not meant to anchor you," Elysia said softly. "Just to remind you that the lives you’ve touched remember you, too."

Melinoë looked up, her eyes wide with something unspoken and deep. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Elysia’s shoulder.

After a quiet pause, Elysia reached beside her one more time. She handed each of them a narrow box, long and wrapped in matte black silk.

"One more," she said.

They unwrapped them together.

Inside were three daggers—sleek, elegant, and deadly. Each one forged from the fangs of the basilisk Elysia had slain in her second year at Hogwarts, the bone gleaming with enchantments old and new. Each dagger had a handle made from woven materials personal to the recipient: whitewood and silver filigree for Artemis; etched bronze and black leather for Diana; midnight stone and carved obsidian for Melinoë.

"These are pieces of my past," Elysia said. "Of something that once nearly killed me. I’ve reshaped them into something I trust only you to hold."

Artemis turned hers over, inspecting the weight and balance with practiced ease. Diana ran a fingertip along the flat of the blade, nodding in approval. Melinoë traced the carved runes on hers, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

It wasn’t just the weapon.

It was the trust.

The girls on the rug laughed again, Lou showing off a spellbead that now glowed pale blue. The fire roared with a happy hiss. And Elysia looked around, her breath catching on the fullness of the moment.

Family. Connection. Devotion.

Gifts not just of things, but of memory and meaning.

And in that glow, her heart beat steady, full, and finally at peace.

The day had unfolded like a dream woven in warmth and quiet magic. Outside, snow had continued to fall in a steady hush, cloaking the garden in a blanket of powdery white that shimmered in the morning light. After the flurry of presents beneath the tree and mugs of rich cocoa by the fire, the house had burst into life. The children’s laughter echoed through the halls, bright and infectious, as everyone bundled into winter coats and boots. The garden became a sparkling wonderland of enchantments and laughter. Snowball fights broke out in earnest, with spells flinging snow into perfect spheres or creating swirling flurries as shields. Victoire, ever the dramatic one, declared herself the fearless commander of "Ice Fortress Moonbeam," with Lou loyally at her side as chief strategist.

Melinoë watched from the porch for a while before joining in, casting subtle illusions that turned snow sculptures into animated creatures. Artemis leapt gracefully through the snowdrifts like a wolf unleashed, her laughter rare and brilliant. Diana, dignified but not immune to mischief, joined them only after being pelted by a magically guided snowball courtesy of Elysia. The afternoon was filled with unstructured joy—rare, healing, and deeply needed.

Later, when everyone returned inside with cheeks flushed and noses red, the house became a refuge of warmth once again. The scent of freshly baked breads and spiced stews filled every corner, wrapping around them like a cozy spell. The late afternoon sunlight spilled golden and soft through the windows, casting the kitchen in gentle hues. The table had been set, the silver and cutlery enchanted to softly hum carols in harmony with the crackling fire.

As everyone helped with the final preparations, Elysia touched Lou’s shoulder gently, her expression warm but serious.

"Can I talk to you for a moment, starlight?"

Lou looked up from where she was arranging enchanted cutlery with Victoire and nodded. Elysia led her to the side of the kitchen, tucked just out of earshot but still surrounded by the aroma of cinnamon and snow-damp wool.

Elysia knelt down to Lou’s level, her tone soft. "There’s something I want to talk about with you. Important things. First, about Artemis, Diana, and Melinoë—you may have guessed already, but they’re... different."

Lou gave a slow, thoughtful nod. Her instincts had already whispered that truth to her.

"Diana is Roman," Elysia said gently. "Artemis and Melinoë are Greek, like you. But there are very old, very complicated rules about the Roman and Greek worlds staying separate. People like Chiron take it seriously, and while you're not just anyone to me, others might not understand. So, it’s important we keep it quiet. For everyone’s safety."

Lou’s brow furrowed. "Should I swear on the Styx? That’s what Chiron would’ve made me do."

Elysia smiled softly and brushed a bit of fluff from Lou’s scarf. "No. I’m not Chiron. I trust you, Lou. I’m asking you, not forcing you. You don’t need to bind yourself with an oath. I believe in your word. Unless Artemis, Diana, Melinoë, or I say it’s okay to tell someone—or it’s a matter of real danger—you keep it secret. Can you do that?"

Lou met her eyes, steady and solemn. "I promise."

The answer pulled a breath of relief from Elysia. Trust was powerful, and she had never given hers lightly.

"Thank you," she said, voice rich with quiet pride. "Now, the second thing—two things, actually, and they’re connected, but neither depends on the other."

Lou tilted her head, curiosity overtaking caution.

"The first is this." Elysia reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded parchment, worn at the edges from handling. "I want to become your legal guardian. Andromeda has looked into the logistics. There are several ways we could do it, especially with my standing. I could say I rescued you from a dangerous Muggle household, which is the truth. Or I could register you as my apprentice. That comes with its own protections and recognition in the magical world."

Lou’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise and something softer—something like hope—crossing her face.

"You’d want to be my guardian? Even with everything?"

"Yes," Elysia said, voice low but certain. "Not because I pity you. But because I see you. I care for you, and I want to give you a home—not just a place to live, but one where you're wanted, safe, and free to grow. If you choose me, that’s what I’ll be."

Lou didn’t speak at first, her fingers curling around the edge of her jumper. Elysia didn’t push. She knew the weight of the offer. She could still remember the moment Sirius had looked at her, all those years ago, and offered her the same thing—a home, a family, a choice. It had been a lifeline when she felt adrift, and she had clung to it with all the aching hope of someone who had never dared dream it could be real. Now, she offered that same lifeline to Lou. Not out of obligation, but out of love. Freely, openly, and without condition.

"The second offer," Elysia continued, "is something else entirely. I know my life—it isn’t easy. I travel, I face danger, and while I can offer you love and safety, I can’t offer you a stable life. Not the kind a child needs day to day. So I thought... what if you went to Hogwarts?"

Lou blinked in surprise. "Hogwarts? Really? But... I’m not exactly normal."

Elysia laughed gently. "Lou, Hogwarts is filled with not-normal people. I wasn’t normal either. But I learned. And grew. And found parts of myself I didn’t know how to name yet. If you want to go, I’ll speak to McGonagall. I’ll explain just enough—your heritage can stay private. You deserve the chance to learn and belong, without fear."

Lou stared at her, torn between disbelief and cautious wonder.

"You’d do that for me?"

"I’d do anything for you, Lou."

There was silence, deep and soft. Then Lou stepped forward, throwing her arms around Elysia’s neck.

"Okay," she whispered. "Let’s do both. I want to stay. I want you to be my family. And... I want to try Hogwarts. I want to see what it’s like."

Elysia held her tightly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"Then that’s what we’ll do. Together."

Elysia and Lou lingered in the soft quiet for a few more heartbeats, the words they’d shared still settling gently in the air. Then, with a squeeze of Lou’s hand, Elysia stood and gently ruffled her hair.

"Come on," she said. "Let’s go back before they start dessert without us."

Lou grinned and nodded, practically glowing. As they stepped back into the warmly lit kitchen, Elysia caught sight of Hedwig perched silently near the window. The snowy owl tilted her head, golden eyes sharp and waiting.

Elysia smiled at her. "Hedwig, can you find Andromeda? Let her know we’re going ahead with it—both of them." She sent the thought down the bond between them with practiced ease. Hedwig blinked once in understanding, then launched silently into the snowy sky beyond the glass.

By the time Elysia returned to the others, the table had come fully alive with chatter and joy. Victoire was already leaning eagerly into Lou, wide-eyed and bright as Lou whispered with clear excitement.

Fleur and Nymphadora were watching them from their places at the table, both wearing matching smiles—warm and a little knowing.

Nymphadora’s gaze shifted to Elysia, and her grin turned sly.

"So," she drawled with mock innocence. "You show up to Christmas with three girlfriends, and now you’ve gone and adopted a child too? Should we be expecting wedding announcements and a second kid by Easter?"

Elysia groaned, but the fond exasperation in her voice was clear as she sat back down. "You’re insufferable."

"And you’re predictable," Nymphadora shot back with a wink. "I saw this coming the moment you walked in with that little shadow clinging to you like your cloak."

Fleur chuckled, her expression softer but still laced with teasing. "You’ve always had a knack for finding strays to love you fiercely. Hedwig, now Lou—it’s clearly a theme."

The teasing was easy, loving—but it shifted in the next breath.

Nymphadora’s smile faded into something gentler, more sincere. She reached out and covered Elysia’s hand with her own, her thumb brushing lightly across Elysia’s knuckles in a gesture far older than words.

"Sirius would be proud of you. You know that, right?"

The words hit deeper than Elysia expected. Her breath caught, her throat tightening, and her vision blurred at the edges. She blinked rapidly, eyes stinging as something unspoken lodged behind her ribs. It meant more than she could ever say.

Because the truth was, she did carry guilt—quiet and heavy. The kind that sat curled deep in her heart. Guilt that Sirius’s pride, his love, mattered more than the hypothetical pride of her parents. The parents she had never known—never held, never heard. They were memories borrowed from others, ideals imposed on her like a legacy she was expected to honor.

But Sirius—Sirius had been there. He had laughed with her, fought for her, bled for her. He had looked her in the eye and told her, You have a home with me.

That memory lived in her bones, in the warmth she tried to give others. And now, she had echoed those same words to someone else. To Lou.

A home. A choice. A future.

She looked down for a moment, gathering herself. Her fingers curled slightly beneath Nymphadora’s, grounding in the warmth of touch, of connection.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, a little hoarse. "Thanks, Dora. That... that means more than I can say."

Nymphadora squeezed her hand again, her expression soft with emotion she didn’t voice aloud but didn’t need to. It was all there—in her eyes, in the silence, in the bond of shared grief and found family.

The warmth returned as Lou tugged Elysia’s sleeve, pulling her into the conversation with Victoire, who was already planning which classes Lou would love best at Hogwarts. Across the table, Melinoë caught Elysia’s eye and offered her a slow, quiet nod—pride and affection in the gesture.

And as the fire crackled nearby and snow whispered against the windows, Elysia felt it again—that rare, precious sensation.

Home.

Not a place. But a people.

A promise.

A future she never thought she’d have.

~~

A few days after Christmas, with snow still clinging to the trees and frost silvering the windows, Elysia stepped into the entranceway of the Tonks house, cloaked and quiet. Lou and Victoire were giggling somewhere upstairs, likely turning the attic into a makeshift fort. Elysia smiled faintly at the sound, warmth curling in her chest—but her thoughts were already far away.

Today, she would return to Hogwarts.

She wasn’t taking anyone with her—no Diana or Melinoë, no Artemis at her side. Just Hedwig, perched silently on her shoulder, feathers fluffed against the cold, golden eyes unreadable but present.

With a soft pop of displaced air and a shimmer of dark, shadow-wrapped magic, Elysia apparated just outside the school gates. The ancient stone walls of Hogwarts loomed in the soft haze of the winter morning, softened only slightly by the dusting of snow and the watery light filtering through a pale sky.

She walked slowly up the path, each step a murmur of history. The very stones beneath her boots remembered—whispered. Her magic, ancient and strange, braided with the Deathly Hallows and her bond to the Morrigan, stirred in her veins. She could feel it—not just the memory of battle but the echo of it, like a distant drumbeat beneath the surface of reality.

This place had soaked in so much death, and the magic within her resonated with it. Not in hunger, but in reverence. In recognition. The magic of endings, of passage, of choosing when to stand and when to fall.

It was her first time back since the school had been fully rebuilt. The shattered towers and scorched stone had been replaced. New walls, new windows, new wards. But her soul still saw the gaps. The absences. The ghosts.

Before she entered the castle, she turned toward the smaller memorial nestled beside the path—a circular platform of black granite, polished until it reflected the snow-speckled sky. Names were etched across its surface in shimmering silver magic.

This was the memorial meant for the students and staff. Not the grand one near Hogsmeade carved from white marble and framed by laurels and speeches. No, this one was personal. Intimate. It belonged to the castle itself—grown from grief and memory, shaped by those who had stayed behind to rebuild, to mourn, and to remember.

She stepped close, her breath misting before her like a whispered offering. Her fingers twitched at her sides, magic stirring beneath her skin. The death magic—the part of her forever tied to endings—stirred at the edges of her awareness, brushing against the names like ghost-light on still water. It ached. It remembered.

Her eyes moved slowly across the names—Colin Creevey. Terry Boot. Amanda. Michael. Names that echoed in her bones. So many more. Each one etched into her memory as surely as they were carved into the stone, into the very soul of this place. She did not need to read them to recall them. She saw their faces. Heard their laughter. Remembered the determination in their eyes when they chose to fight.

Many of them had been hers. Her students. Her friends. Her allies.

They had trusted her.

They had followed her.

They had died.

She had taught them to fight—because no one else would. Because someone had to. She’d shown them how to hold their wands like weapons, how to cast shields and throw hexes with desperate precision. She’d taught them to find the cracks in armor, to listen to their instincts, to trust in each other.

She had given them tools to survive.

But she had also taught children how to hurt. How to kill. How to walk into battle knowing they might not walk back out. She had taught children to die .

Even now, she didn’t know if that made her a protector or a monster. Or both.

And she had been a child too.

A girl raised by pain and fire, shouldering the weight of prophecy and war before she could vote, standing in the Room of Requirement with chalk-stained hands and trembling breath, pretending she knew what she was doing as she carved lessons into the hours between curfew and catastrophe.

She had taught with urgency, with fury, with love. Because she couldn't bear the thought of losing even one more. And yet—

Many of them had still died.

Sometimes she woke in the night remembering the last time she saw them. Sometimes, she couldn’t remember their voices and it hollowed her out with guilt. Sometimes she whispered their names into the darkness like a prayer or a curse.

This place remembered with her. This stone. This soil.

It bore witness.

And in her magic, braided with the Hallows and kissed by the Morrigan’s shadow, that remembrance was sacred.

Elysia clenched her jaw, her hands tightening in the folds of her cloak. Her magic rose, unbidden—a shimmer of cold, violet-edged power beneath her skin, the breath of death magic rippling like wings in her blood. Her connection to the Hallows hummed low, reverent, and mournful. Her tie to the Morrigan—the goddess of death, fate, and war—stirred gently, not urging her onward but bearing silent witness.

Hedwig let out a soft, low hoot and nudged her cheek.

"I know," Elysia whispered. "I know."

She reached out and laid her gloved hand against the granite. It was cold, but the magic pulsing within it thrummed against hers like a heartbeat. Like memory.

She stood in the silence a while longer, letting her magic and her grief settle in harmony.

Then, with one final glance at the names that were never truly gone from her, she turned toward the castle.

She had come for Lou.

And she would not let any more children be lost to the dark.

The great doors of Hogwarts creaked open before Elysia, welcoming her into the familiar, ancient corridors of the castle. The stone beneath her boots was warm compared to the chill outside, but the air still held the sharpness of winter, drifting in from high vaulted windows and echoing through the quiet hallways.

She paused just inside the threshold, taking it all in.

The main entrance hall had been restored with care. The walls still bore the banners of the four houses, their colors deep and vibrant. Enchanted torches flickered gently against the stone, casting soft light that danced across the familiar staircase ahead.

Her heart ached. So much had changed. And yet, it all felt the same.

She passed a pair of first-years bundled in scarves, their laughter hushed and eyes wide as they noticed her. A few students had remained for the holidays—those without homes to return to, or who preferred the quiet magic of the castle in winter. They watched her with curiosity, likely sensing something different in her, though they couldn't name it.

Elysia offered them a nod and a small smile as she walked deeper into the school. Her footsteps echoed through the halls she had once haunted as a student, now somehow both smaller and more sacred than she remembered.

Portraits whispered as she passed. A few nodded in solemn recognition.

She moved with purpose but not haste, letting herself absorb the memories with each step—past the Great Hall, where the doors stood closed but golden light spilled from the crack beneath. Past the courtyard where she and her friends once practiced spells in secret. Past the alcove where Luna had once pinned paper wings to her robes.

Finally, she reached the familiar stretch of wall where the stone gargoyle sat, guarding the staircase to the Headmistress’s office. The creature stirred as she approached.

"Headmistress McGonagall is expecting you," it said with a gravelly voice, then stepped aside with a low rumble.

The spiral staircase revealed itself, slowly turning upward.

Elysia stepped on, letting it carry her upward with the steady rhythm of enchanted stone.

This was her first time back as more than a student. More than a weapon.

She was here as a guardian.

For Lou.

And she would make sure the girl had a future worth fighting for.

Elysia stepped off the moving staircase and found herself standing in front of the familiar wooden door, worn smooth by time and generations of knocks. Her hand hesitated, suspended mid-air, fingers flexing slightly before she knocked—three firm raps, each one echoing with a strange weight. Memory clung to the sound like cobwebs.

"Come in," came the crisp voice from within, unmistakably familiar.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the Headmistress’s office.

It was like stepping into two different times at once. The bones of the room remained the same—the high, arched windows looked out across the snowy expanse of the grounds, the shelves still groaned under the weight of old books, and the ever-present ticking and whirring of magical instruments could still be heard, though muted now. But the atmosphere had changed.

Gone were the whimsical silver contraptions that spun without reason, the peculiar objects that Dumbledore had insisted on keeping despite their mysterious functions. Gone, too, were the half-empty dishes of lemon drops and the shimmering bits of starlight that always seemed to hover just beneath the surface of the room.

In their place was order. Simplicity. Practicality.

The office was now defined by sharp lines and warm tartans. A polished oak desk stood where it always had, but now it bore carefully stacked papers, a tidy array of enchanted quills, and a steaming pot of tea. A framed Quidditch pitch design hung proudly beside an antique calendar of school events, and a tartan shawl was neatly folded over the back of a visitor’s chair. It was still a place of magic—but also one of discipline and quiet strength.

Behind the desk, Minerva McGonagall looked up from her writing, her keen eyes softening as they landed on Elysia. Her hair was streaked with a bit more silver than the last time Elysia had seen her, but her presence was as steady as ever.

"Elysia," she said, standing slightly. "Please, come in. Sit."

Elysia nodded silently and stepped inside, closing the door behind her before settling into the offered chair. She moved with a quiet grace now, the war still etched into her shoulders and spine. There was a carefulness to her, a poised readiness that never quite left.

"Thank you for seeing me, Headmi—Minerva," she corrected quickly, though the word felt foreign in her mouth. She winced slightly at the slip.

McGonagall smiled with understanding. "Old habits," she said, voice gentler now. "I imagine it’s difficult to unlearn them, even after all these years."

They hadn’t truly spoken since the war. There had been nods across rooms, brief correspondence, and mutual allies, but never like this. Never face-to-face, alone, with time to speak freely. Elysia didn’t bear resentment—far from it. She respected McGonagall deeply, even during the hardest years, even when she was too proud or too overwhelmed to seek help.

Minerva had always done what she could. She had supported Elysia in the Order of the Phoenix, advocated for her quietly within the walls of Hogwarts, and when the world was cracking at its seams, she had stood beside her at the final battle, unwavering.

It had been in those final months that she had told Elysia, plainly and without fanfare, to call her Minerva. A gesture of respect. Of equality.

And yet, Elysia still struggled with it. There was something permanent about the title of Professor McGonagall, something that felt more real than time itself.

Minerva regarded her with a discerning expression and then folded her hands neatly on the desk.

"Your letter surprised me," she admitted. "Though I suppose not as much as seeing you standing here. You’ve kept your distance from this place. From... most places, really."

Elysia gave a soft, almost wry smile. "I have. It’s easier. Fewer memories that way. Fewer expectations."

"And yet here you are," Minerva said.

"Here I am," Elysia agreed. She sat up a little straighter, her expression shifting to something more resolute. "But this isn’t about me. I came to talk about a student. Or rather... a future one."

That piqued Minerva’s interest. Her posture adjusted slightly, and the flicker of a spark entered her gaze. "I see. Go on."

Elysia exhaled, drawing strength from the presence of Hedwig perched silently on the back of her chair. The snowy owl gave a soft, almost imperceptible hoot.

"Her name is Lou Ellen Blackstone. She’s eleven years old. She’s... unique, and she’s been through a lot."

Minerva didn’t interrupt. Her expression remained calm and attentive, but Elysia saw the way her fingers relaxed slightly, signaling a quiet willingness to listen.

"I’ve taken her in," Elysia continued. "I’m becoming her guardian. But I know I can’t give her everything she needs. Not the structure. The... stability. I travel too much. My life isn’t exactly tame. So I thought—maybe—she could come here. To Hogwarts."

Minerva leaned back slightly, thoughtful.

"You understand what that would mean?"

"I do," Elysia said quietly. "I’m not asking for exceptions. Only a chance. She deserves a future. A place to grow. A home where she can learn and be safe."

There was a long pause as the Headmistress considered this. Then, finally, she gave a small nod.

"Then tell me everything," she said. "And we will see what we can build for her."

And so Elysia did.

~

The next day, the snow still crisp and untouched in the early morning light, Elysia returned to Hogwarts—this time not alone.

Lou stood close at her side, bundled in a soft, navy-blue cloak that matched the quiet excitement in her eyes. Her hand was tucked into Elysia’s for warmth and courage, though she didn’t say it aloud. Victoire trotted a few steps ahead, barely able to contain her energy, her own cloak billowing behind her like a cape as she proclaimed she would give Lou the best Hogwarts tour ever.

But they weren’t the only ones who had come.

Melinoë, Artemis, and Diana walked just behind them, their presence graceful and composed, though their curiosity was as vivid as Victoire’s enthusiasm. Each of them had expressed a desire to see the school that had shaped so much of Elysia’s life. Melinoë's gaze flicked from turret to window with thoughtful interest, Artemis walked with silent reverence, and Diana looked eager to compare the architecture to the temples she had once known.

Elysia tried not to feel self-conscious under the company she now traveled with—but it was difficult when the entrance doors to the castle opened to reveal Headmistress McGonagall waiting for them.

Minerva McGonagall’s gaze swept over the group quickly and efficiently, pausing for a breath longer on the three unfamiliar women walking just behind Elysia. Her expression didn’t change, but one eyebrow lifted in a way that said more than words could. She didn’t know who they were—not exactly—but it was immediately clear to her that they mattered to Elysia. Deeply.

Elysia felt her face warm under the weight of that glance. The subtle arch of Minerva’s brow wasn’t judgmental—merely observant. A quiet recognition. The kind of knowing look only a professor could give their former student, now grown and accompanied by something far more significant than mere friends.

"Good morning, Miss Potter," Minerva said with an inflection just dry enough to carry gentle humor. "I see you’ve brought quite the entourage."

Elysia cleared her throat, cheeks faintly pink. "Good morning, Minerva. I thought it might be helpful for Lou to see the school with some support... and Victoire insisted on giving her the full tour experience."

Victoire gave an enthusiastic wave. "I have a whole route planned!"

Lou looked up at McGonagall, a little shy but holding her ground. "Hello, Headmistress."

Minerva's eyes softened at that. "Welcome, Miss Blackstone. I'm pleased to meet you."

She turned her gaze briefly to the three women at Elysia’s back and offered a polite, respectful nod. "Guests of Miss Potter are welcome, of course."

Diana inclined her head with courteous grace. Artemis gave a small, quiet nod, her eyes scanning the stone and sky. Melinoë simply smiled.

Elysia felt the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding begin to ease. This—this felt right.

Together, they stepped into the school, the great doors swinging closed behind them with a soft hum of enchantment. The tour had just begun.

The tour of Hogwarts progressed smoothly, snow gently falling beyond the windows as Victoire led the way with dramatic flair, pointing out every statue and secret passage she could remember. Her enthusiasm was infectious, her voice bouncing with cheerful energy as she guided Lou through the familiar corridors. Lou stayed close to Elysia, absorbing it all with wide eyes and a quiet sort of awe, asking thoughtful questions that made even Artemis nod with quiet approval. Diana occasionally added little details about Hogwarts architecture or compared them to ancient designs, while Melinoë lingered near enchanted statues with a curious, wistful look.

Their first encounter with staff came near the Charms corridor, where they crossed paths with Professor Flitwick. The tiny professor nearly dropped the stack of enchanted parchments he had been levitating in front of him.

"Elysia Potter!" he squeaked with a delighted smile, his frame practically bouncing. "It’s been far too long!"

"Professor Flitwick," Elysia greeted with warmth, bowing her head respectfully. "Or should I say Deputy Headmaster now?"

He beamed at her, his eyes twinkling. "Yes, well, someone had to step up once Minerva took on the full reins of Hogwarts. I imagine you’ve heard the stories."

"I lived some of them," Elysia replied with a wry grin, earning a knowing chuckle from the Charms professor.

He then noticed Lou. "And who might this bright spark be?"

"Lou Ellen Blackstone," Elysia said, giving the girl a gentle nudge forward. "A future student, hopefully."

"A pleasure, Miss Blackstone," Flitwick said, bowing low with a flourish of his wand that produced a small bouquet of glowing paper flowers. Lou's eyes widened in delight, a shy smile forming as she accepted the gift.

They moved on from there, walking the upper halls as Victoire kept up a lively commentary. Eventually, they arrived at the Astronomy Tower, where Professor Aurora Sinistra was calibrating a set of enchanted telescopes despite the daylight.

"Elysia," she said warmly, brushing back a lock of windblown hair and smiling. "I had hoped I’d get to see you while you were visiting."

"Aurora," Elysia said, and the use of her first name made Lou glance up in surprise. "I hear you’ve upgraded the star maps."

"Twice," Aurora replied with a playful wink. "Some of the newer constellations tend to shift if you don’t keep your spells sharp."

Artemis and Diana both stepped forward, intrigued by the telescopes and the softly glowing constellations mapped above. Artemis murmured something about the stars being old friends. Sinistra gave them a tour of the observatory before they continued on their way.

Near the Ancient Runes classroom, they found Professor Bathsheda Babbling just finishing a discussion with a fifth-year student. She turned and broke into a grin when she saw Elysia.

"Elysia," she greeted warmly. "Still remember your runic sequences, or have they been replaced by unspeakable secrets?"

"Probably both," Elysia replied with a laugh, and they embraced briefly.

"I'm head of Gryffindor now," Bathsheda said with pride. "Scared them a bit at first, but I’m wearing them down."

Elysia smiled fondly. The two women were close in age—only nine years separated them. Bathsheda had been her Ancient Runes professor from third year onward, and Elysia had always been one of her favorites, a connection that had endured beyond the war.

"You’ll be brilliant," Elysia said sincerely. "You already were."

Lou peered curiously into the runes classroom as they passed, and Melinoë lingered to trace her fingers over one of the etched sigils carved into the stone archway.

Later, as they passed by the Arithmancy wing, they ran into Professor Septima Vector. Her sharp eyes, always alert, softened when they landed on Elysia.

"I see you’ve finally come back."

"I have," Elysia responded with a nod. "And I hear you’re head of Slytherin now."

"Yes," Vector said, her tone proud but steady. "Someone had to teach them that cunning can coexist with kindness. I’m trying to set a new tone."

Diana tilted her head slightly at that and gave a nod of respect.

Their final encounter of the day came in the greenhouses, where the scent of rich earth and blooming herbs hung thick in the air. Neville Longbottom was gently tending a winter-blooming magical herb, sleeves rolled up and dirt smudged on his hands. He looked up when he heard footsteps and broke into a grin.

"Elysia!" he called, wiping his hands on a cloth. "I thought that might be you."

"Nev," Elysia said with a warm smile as they hugged briefly. "You’re thriving here."

"I am," he said, glancing fondly around the greenhouse. "Professor Sprout’s slowly handing things over to me. It still feels surreal, but it’s good."

"She always said you’d be the one to carry it on."

Neville smiled, then his eyes landed on the girls beside her.

"And here I thought I recognized that head of hair," he said, grinning at Victoire. "You're already proving to be quite the Herbologist."

Victoire beamed with pride. "I love your classes!"

Neville turned to Lou, his demeanor gentle and welcoming. "And you must be Miss Blackstone."

Lou gave a small nod, her voice soft but clear. "Nice to meet you, Professor Longbottom."

"The pleasure’s mine," Neville said. "Hogwarts would be lucky to have you, too."

He offered to show them some of the more exotic plants in the next greenhouse, and Lou followed with wide-eyed fascination as he introduced her to fluttering flame-vines and softly humming frost blossoms. Victoire leaned in to add bits of trivia she’d picked up in class.

As they left the greenhouses and made their way back toward the castle, the light beginning to fade into early twilight, Elysia felt a quiet peace settle over her. The school had changed. And so had she. But somehow, some way, this place still welcomed her home.

And now, maybe it could do the same for Lou.

Maybe it could be her beginning.

After the tour wound down and they had wandered through nearly every hallway and courtyard—marveling at secret staircases, enchanted suits of armor, and even the room of requirement's hidden door that appeared only briefly before vanishing again—Minerva invited them all to the Headmistress's office for a final stop: the Sorting Hat.

The castle was quieter now. The afternoon sun was starting to dip lower, casting golden slants of light through the tall windows of the spiral office. Shadows stretched long and soft across the floor, painting everything in a warm amber hue. Lou walked close to Elysia, her fingers nervously brushing the edge of her cloak, her steps small but determined. She kept glancing around the room, her eyes darting to every portrait, every object, taking it all in.

Victoire, on the other hand, practically bounced beside her, her excitement practically radiating off her in waves.

"I can’t believe I get to see your Sorting!" she said with a wide grin, her braids swinging as she turned to Lou. "I’ve never watched one outside the feast before. You’re going to love your house, no matter which one it is. Though—" she added with a sly wink, "I’m hoping it’s Hufflepuff. No pressure."

Lou gave a small, hesitant smile. Her shoulders were still tight, her eyes flicking from the others to the Sorting Hat perched atop a shelf like a sleeping sentinel. Her fingers twisted the edge of her cloak tighter.

Elysia leaned down slightly to speak low and gentle, her voice wrapping around Lou like a soft blanket. "You’ll be brilliant no matter where the Hat places you. Every house is good, Lou. Every single one. This isn’t about passing or failing—it’s about where you feel most like yourself. Most like home."

Lou nodded slowly, breathing a little easier. She didn’t say anything, but her fingers eased their grip slightly.

The office was warm and welcoming in a way that surprised Lou, the fire crackling gently in the hearth, its warmth filling the circular room. Books lined the walls and soft ticking noises came from enchanted devices in the corners. The Sorting Hat sat quietly on its perch, the worn leather brim still and weathered, but somehow alive.

Artemis approached Lou and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, her silver eyes soft. "The stars align more easily when you choose your own sky," she said, her voice calm and certain, as though she were speaking a cosmic truth.

Diana knelt beside Lou next, placing a hand on hers. "You’re stronger than you know," she said, her voice lower, steadier. "The Hat will see that, too. Just remember who you are."

Melinoë didn’t say anything at first. She simply leaned in and wrapped Lou in a quick, warm hug, whispering something in her ear that only Lou could hear. Whatever it was made Lou blink once and straighten up just a little more. Her chin lifted slightly.

McGonagall stepped forward with a composed, knowing expression. "You may sit on the stool, Miss Blackstone," she said gently, with a gesture toward the tall chair beneath the Sorting Hat’s perch.

Lou turned to glance at Elysia one last time. The older witch gave her a small, proud smile and a subtle nod of encouragement, the same kind of quiet support she had offered since the day they’d met.

Taking a steady breath, Lou walked to the stool, her small boots echoing softly against the floor. She climbed up and sat down, her hands folding tightly in her lap.

The Sorting Hat was gently lowered onto her head, and immediately, a voice spoke in her mind.

"Ah... interesting. Very interesting indeed," the Hat murmured with thoughtful amusement. "Clever, yes... very clever. Magic pulses in you like a song—ancient, instinctual. You already sense how to follow it, even when it isn’t written down. RAVENCLAW would suit you. A sharp mind, a thirst for understanding the old and arcane... oh yes, you would thrive there."

Lou sat very still, her thoughts swirling. Ravenclaw. It made sense. She liked questions. She liked strange magic and understanding things no one else could. The idea of being among people who valued that—who might understand her magic—was tempting.

But the Hat hadn’t stopped.

"And yet... such kindness. Such heart. You hold on, even when the world doesn’t hold you back. Loyalty. Resilience. A yearning not just to know , but to belong . HUFFLEPUFF calls to you, too. There, you would be safe. Treasured. Whole."

The Hat’s voice was quiet now, almost gentle.

Lou’s throat tightened, but not from fear. She thought of Victoire, of the days since the rescue, of laughter and stories and warmth. She thought of Elysia’s arm around her, the magic journal, the promise of something that felt like home.

She didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“Please... Hufflepuff.”

There was a brief pause.

Then a warm chuckle in her mind. "So be it."

The Hat’s voice rang out through the room, loud and clear:

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Victoire practically exploded with joy, clapping and bouncing on her toes. "I knew it!" she squealed, grabbing Lou into a huge hug the moment she stepped off the stool.

Elysia’s heart swelled with pride and something deeper—relief, joy, maybe even awe. Lou’s shoulders had dropped, her posture more relaxed now, pride blooming quietly on her face.

Melinoë and Diana shared a look and smiled, while Artemis gave a rare, serene grin that touched her eyes with warmth.

Lou returned to the embrace of her new— real —family. And as she clung to Victoire and looked up at Elysia and the others, she knew something had shifted.

Her beginning had arrived.

And this time, it was hers to choose.

Chapter Text

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

XIX

~~~~ Elysia The Morrigan ~~~~

The snow whispered beneath their boots, muffling the world until only the sound of wind in branches and quiet breaths remained. It was the night after Lou's Hogwarts tour, and the sky above was thick with stars, distant and sharp in the winter cold.

Elysia walked with her hands tucked into her cloak, hood up, curls spilling loose as frost kissed her lashes. She had long since grown used to the chill of shadowy corners, of battlefields and winter graves—but this? This was a different kind of cold.

"You know," she said with a wry glance at Artemis, "I thought I was good with winter. Then you dragged me into a goddess’s idea of a 'brisk stroll.' I can’t feel my toes."

Artemis huffed, her breath forming silver clouds in the air. "This is mild."

Diana chuckled softly from behind them, and Melinoë gave a low hum of amusement. The four of them moved like a quiet procession through the trees, their presence too mythic for the mortal world to notice, yet grounded in something tender and new.

Eventually, they found a clearing surrounded by tall pine and silver-draped branches. The snow glittered untouched, and moonlight filtered through the trees like silk. It felt like they had wandered into a painting, one only they were meant to see.

They settled in naturally: Artemis leaning against a tree with her arms crossed but watching Elysia with a softness that belied the stance; Melinoë kneeling by a frozen stream, idly tracing shapes in the frost; and Diana sitting across from Elysia in the snow, her cloak wrapped around her and her eyes flickering with some unreadable thought.

The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was heavy with the language they were all still learning—of glances, of breath, of the sacred weight of presence.

Melinoë glanced up and caught Diana's hesitation, then smirked. "If you wait any longer, you'll freeze before you do something."

Diana shot her a dry look, but said nothing. Her gaze flicked back to Elysia, who tilted her head with a faint smile. Then, lifting a hand, Elysia reached into the cold and conjured something delicate: a single frost-forged flower. It shimmered in the moonlight like it had been sculpted from ice and memory.

She held it out without a word.

Diana blinked once, slowly. Her eyes softened. She reached out and took the flower carefully, her gloved fingers brushing Elysia’s.

Still without speaking, Diana leaned forward and brushed a few snowflakes from Elysia’s hood with a tenderness that sent warmth spilling through her chest. Then, ever so gently, she pressed her forehead to Elysia’s.

Elysia closed her eyes and leaned into it.

Nothing else was needed.

Behind them, Melinoë smiled quietly and joined Artemis at the tree. She nudged her shoulder lightly, and Artemis glanced at her with a knowing look.

Melinoë leaned down slightly, the height difference drawing a smirk from Artemis as their foreheads met—an intimate press of shared understanding, ancient and familiar. The gesture was wordless, but said everything: we've seen lifetimes, and still this feels new.

"They're learning," Melinoë said softly, her breath ghosting across Artemis’s skin.

"We all are," Artemis replied, her voice quiet, reverent.

The night stretched around them like a blessing. They didn't have names for what they were yet—no labels, no declarations—but their touches spoke louder than any words. Fingers brushing gloved knuckles. The warmth of a shoulder leaned into. A soft kiss pressed to a temple in passing.

They rested together in that clearing as though it were the heart of the world, and for the moment, it was. Four beings learning how to love without fear, one gesture at a time.

~

The walk back was quiet. Snow crunched underfoot, but none of them spoke. The forest felt hushed, not from silence, but from peace—as if the trees themselves had witnessed something sacred and were holding their breath to honor it. Moonlight danced through the bare branches, catching on frost-dusted leaves, casting a pale glow over their path that shimmered like ancient silver. It felt like they were walking through the space between heartbeats, between worlds.

By the time they reached the warmth of the Tonks cottage, their cheeks were flushed from cold and moonlight, their bodies relaxed with the kind of tiredness that came only from stillness and truth. They shed boots and cloaks with quiet grace, movements soft, reverent. There was no need for ceremony. Just shared glances, fingertips brushing over shoulders, soft hands resting against spines or lower backs, and the slow, almost magnetic pull of sleep guiding them toward the bedroom like tide toward shore.

They changed without fuss, exchanging Elysia’s oversized jumpers and soft nightclothes, the routine now familiar, comforting in its simplicity. No one needed to ask where they would sleep—they simply moved together like celestial bodies falling into perfect orbit, knowing their places by instinct.

Elysia lay in the center, as she had for nights now. Her body, once tense even in slumber, used to sleeping like prey in a warzone, now relaxed the moment she felt the familiar weight of Melinoë press against her back—an anchoring, steady presence that didn’t need words. Melinoë curled in naturally, her chest to Elysia’s spine, a breath of cold over her shoulder.

Melinoë’s arm draped easily over her waist, fingers curling lightly against Elysia’s hip. Both their bodies ran cold—death magic in their veins like frost woven into silk—but the chill wasn’t biting. It was quiet, enveloping, like the hush of snow blanketing a battlefield after the last spell falls. Where others might shiver, they found connection. They had both lived through silence and shadow, and in each other’s cold, they felt not isolation, but belonging. The touch of death, in their case, was not a void—but a bond.

On Elysia’s front, Diana and Artemis curled together, their limbs half-tangled as they sought her warmth and one another’s. Diana’s head rested at the crook of Elysia’s shoulder, her nose brushing the hollow of her throat in an unconscious nuzzle. Artemis pressed in closer to Elysia’s chest, her arm folded across her middle, one leg draped lightly over Elysia’s thighs as though staking quiet claim.

They nuzzled in sleep—nose to neck, face to shoulder—subtle gestures born of instinct and wildness. Artemis’s breath warmed Elysia’s collarbone, and Diana gave soft hums in her sleep that vibrated faintly through her chest. The sounds were low and feral, nearly silent purrs or contented growls. Divine creatures, ancient and wild, slowly learning the soft language of affection, of trust. Elysia responded in kind without realizing it, one hand absently stroking down Artemis’s spine, the other wrapped in Diana’s curls.

It was an intimacy that had no blueprint, no clear path. But it was honest. Each night they grew closer—not in declarations, but in shared breaths and quiet entanglements.

Elysia no longer startled at the creak of the floor or the whisper of wind. She no longer slept with her wand clenched in hand or a knife hidden beneath her pillow. Her muscles, once always half-tensed, had surrendered to the rhythm of heartbeats around her, to the presence of goddesses who guarded her as fiercely as she had always guarded others.

Melinoë’s touch was grounding. Artemis’s presence was protective. Diana’s closeness was reassuring in a way Elysia couldn’t name. It was only in the middle of them—held in their arms, surrounded by cold magic and ancient warmth—that she found true rest.

She slept deeply now. Without fear. Without armor. Because for the first time in a long, long time, she wasn’t alone. And her heart, wrapped in divinity and devotion, finally believed it was safe to dream.

And somewhere in that dream, she imagined a world where this wasn’t fragile. Where it didn’t vanish with the dawn. Where four women—goddess, shadow, flame, and hunter—could remain tangled in each other until morning, and the morning after that, and the ones still yet to come.

~~

The last day of the year arrived with a soft snowfall that blanketed the cottage in silence. The sky had turned a dusky lavender by late afternoon, stars beginning to peek through the clouds even before the sun fully dipped below the horizon.

The idea of a New Year’s celebration had never been something the goddesses understood. Time, after all, passed differently for them. Seasons bled together across centuries, wars and empires marked more prominently in their memories than calendars. Still, they had seen humans make meaning of the turning year, and when Elysia suggested a small, quiet celebration, none of them hesitated.

It wasn’t extravagant. It didn’t need to be. The lights were dimmed, replaced by dozens of softly glowing candles floating in the air, casting flickering shadows along the walls. Fleur and Nymphadora had charmed them to change color every so often—gold and indigo, crimson and silver. Gentle music played from a magical phonograph in the corner, low and lilting like a lullaby of stardust.

Andromeda was seated near the fire with a cup of wine in hand, exchanging stories with Fleur. Lou and Victoire were cuddled together on a pile of cushions, watching the candlelight reflect in their drinks and whispering secrets in the hush of their own little world.

Elysia had made sure this night was one of warmth. Safe. Sacred. The kind of night that wrapped around you like a well-loved cloak.

Artemis sat beside her, a glass of firewhisky in hand, her eyes sharp but searching as she tried to understand the human customs unfolding around her. When the clock neared midnight and people raised their glasses, Artemis watched intently, then abruptly clinked her glass to Elysia’s a little too forcefully.

“To the turning of stars and... beginnings?” she offered, stiff and unsure.

Melinoë immediately snorted into her drink, covering her mouth as she burst into laughter. "You sound like a prophecy trying to flirt," she teased.

Artemis flushed, but a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Diana, standing nearby with her own drink untouched, seemed to hesitate as the countdown began. Her posture shifted, like someone caught between instinct and ritual. When the room chorused, “Three... two... one!” Elysia turned toward her.

She could see the tension, the uncertainty in Diana’s eyes.

So she didn’t assume. She just reached up, cupping Diana’s cheek softly with one hand, her thumb brushing gently along her jaw.

“May I?” she whispered, barely audible beneath the swell of music and cheer.

Diana didn’t speak. But she nodded.

Elysia leaned in slowly, giving Diana all the time in the world, and pressed their lips together in a kiss that was soft, sure, and full of promise. Diana's breath hitched just slightly before she melted into it, her fingers brushing gently along Elysia’s jawline as though trying to memorize the shape of the moment. It was a kiss that spoke of quiet yearning and trust, a promise that she didn’t have to navigate this newness alone.

As they parted, Melinoë stepped toward Artemis, her grin fond and knowing. Her touch was confident as she cupped Artemis’s cheek and leaned in. Their kiss was firm and affectionate, a communion of strength and long-held understanding—Melinoë grounding the untamed heart of the huntress in the gravity of her love. When she pulled back, Artemis’s silver eyes held a softness rarely seen.

While Melinoë turned to Diana, Elysia shifted toward Artemis. At the same moment, their partners mirrored each other: Melinoë’s kiss to Diana was gentler, slower—reverent. Their lips met like falling petals, the kiss filled with unspoken reassurance. It wasn’t about passion, but presence—a silent declaration: I see you. I always have.

Meanwhile, Elysia kissed Artemis with a kind of reverence reserved for things you never thought you’d be allowed to touch. Her fingers brushed Artemis’s wrist before lifting to her face, and when their lips met, it was like the wind stilled. The kiss was a balm, a soft unraveling of tension, a moment where Artemis allowed herself to be held—not just by arms, but by emotion. Her shoulders dropped the smallest bit, and when Elysia pulled away, Artemis stayed close, eyes half-lidded, lips parted in wonder.

Melinoë turned last to Elysia. Their kiss was something else entirely—deeper, older, charged with lifetimes of knowing. It was the kind of kiss that hummed in the marrow, that felt like two pieces of soul remembering their shape against each other. Elysia’s breath caught, her hand instinctively resting at the curve of Melinoë’s neck as though to anchor herself.

At last, Artemis and Diana turned to each other, the moment thick with everything they hadn’t said. Their kiss was brief but raw, lips meeting with trembling intensity—a mixture of ancient bond and recent ache. It was a kiss that bridged centuries and healed silences. When they parted, they lingered close, foreheads touching.

Each kiss was different. Each filled with devotion, with love, with something sacred blooming in the quiet space between breaths.

And then, without needing to speak, they all came together—arms wrapped around one another, cloaks and bodies tangled, breath mingling like morning fog. The warmth of their closeness diffused through every inch of the room, quiet and encompassing.

They sank into the cushions and blankets in the corner of the room, curling into one another like wolves in a den, like stars gathering in a constellation. Melinoë's arms draped around Artemis and Elysia, her touch protective and grounding, while Diana pressed into Elysia's side with a sigh, their legs entwining. Elysia felt the beat of their hearts like a living rhythm, slow and steady, and she exhaled into the cradle of their shared comfort.

Artemis rested her forehead to Elysia’s temple, her breath brushing her hair, while Diana tangled a hand in Melinoë’s and laced their fingers together. Their closeness was no longer tentative—it was instinct, magnetic, natural as the moonrise.

Outside, the magical fireworks lit the sky in shimmering bursts of light, their reflections dancing across the windows. Blues and golds bloomed like celestial flowers, casting soft illumination over the group nestled on the floor, catching the gleam of silver eyes, the shine of stardust still clinging to their lashes.

Inside, four hearts beat together. Each rhythm distinct but woven into harmony, into something rare and fragile and utterly theirs.

They didn’t have to name what they were. Not tonight.

This was enough.

And perhaps, it always would be.

~

The first days of the new year passed in a cocoon of warmth and joy, slow and unhurried. Snow continued to fall beyond the windows of the cottage, muffling the world in white while inside the house, everything thrummed with quiet laughter, flickering firelight, and the low murmur of shared conversation. There was no pressure to do anything—no rush, no schedule. Just moments strung together like stars in a familiar sky, soft and sacred.

Victoire and Lou spent their days tangled in one another’s energy—playing, reading, or simply talking in the language only eleven-year-olds seemed to understand. Their bond had grown fast and bright, like winter light on fresh snow, pure and untouched by hesitation. Elysia couldn’t help but smile every time she saw them huddled together under a blanket with a shared book or chasing each other through the hallway with enchanted snowballs that left little sparkling trails in their wake. Their laughter echoed down the corridors, a melody that wrapped itself around everyone who heard it.

Among the adults—among the goddesses and the witch—things shifted too, but in more subtle, instinctual ways.

Diana and Artemis had fallen into a rhythm with Elysia—one that neither of them had consciously formed, yet which felt older than any of them could name. Whenever Elysia entered a room, they would naturally circle her before settling—one at her side, the other just behind, forming a quiet perimeter. It was the instinct of huntresses, of wolves, of guardians protecting what they loved. Even indoors, even among trusted family, their awareness of her never faded. And Elysia never questioned it. It comforted her in ways she hadn’t expected, ways that reached down into the marrow of her old, lonely bones.

In return, she began to respond to them without realizing it. When she curled up to read—whether on a couch, a window seat, or even on a thick rug by the fire—she’d instinctively pick a place where Diana would drift to the floor beside her, close enough to brush shoulders, and Artemis would perch just behind her, a silent sentinel. Melinoë would often take up the opposite side, legs slung lazily over Elysia’s lap, a book balanced on her stomach, her fingers occasionally playing with the hem of Elysia’s sleeve.

It wasn’t until one night that Elysia truly mirrored them.

They were gathered in the living room, the fire low and golden, casting lazy shadows that danced along the walls. The candlelight glowed like embers on the ceiling. Artemis stood with her arms crossed, scanning the space as if instinctively evaluating the best vantage point to settle. Diana was still in the kitchen with Lou and Victoire, helping them prepare a tray of hot cocoa with marshmallows.

Melinoë, sprawled on the rug already with her braid half undone, raised a curious brow at Elysia.

Elysia looked around the room, walked a slow, deliberate circle near the hearth, then flopped down dramatically into a nest of cushions and throw blankets. She tugged one corner up over her shoulder like a cape and announced in a playful, gravelly voice, “Claiming this spot. It looks like the coziest.”

Artemis blinked, clearly caught off guard. Then, her posture eased, and the corners of her mouth curled upward in the rarest, softest smile. She crossed the room with fluid grace and sat down beside Elysia, her presence settling like moonlight across dark water.

Diana entered just as Artemis tucked herself in, and she paused with a little smile before setting the cocoa tray down. Without hesitation, she curled up on Elysia’s other side, as though she’d been summoned not by words but by gravity.

Melinoë snorted, rolled onto her side, and with a lazy stretch, draped an arm over all of them.

The four of them nestled together like it was instinct.

Words became less necessary in those days.

Artemis and Diana didn’t always speak when affection ran deep. Instead, they rumbled soft growls of contentment, low clicks of their tongues, or barely audible purrs when curled close. Artemis’s growls were grounding, steady and sure. Diana’s were lighter, almost musical, a ripple rather than a rumble.

Melinoë responded in her own way—her voice a haunting, low resonance like a melody from the Underworld itself. It wasn’t eerie. It was ancient. It wrapped around them like mist curling over a riverbank, full of memory and care.

And Elysia, without even realizing it, began to echo them.

She hummed soft, low notes when stroking fingers through Artemis’s hair or when Diana laid her head in her lap. She clicked her tongue gently when teasing or beckoning them closer. Her breaths deepened into low, even exhalations that brought stillness and ease to the room, especially when Melinoë lay across her, one hand resting over Elysia’s heart like she was keeping time.

None of it was taught. All of it mattered.

Their love had become a language of instinct—of shared warmth and lingering touches, of half-spoken sounds and knowing glances, of curling around each other on cold nights without needing to ask. It was the kind of connection that bypassed the mind entirely and lived in the body, in the soul.

They were not just learning how to love each other.

They were remembering how to belong.

And in those fleeting days before the holidays ended—before Victoire and Lou would board the train and the new year would begin in earnest—they held onto it with quiet, sacred joy.

~

The morning before Lou was due to return to Hogwarts, Elysia took her on a quiet outing away from the warm bustle of the Tonks cottage. It wasn’t a long trip—just for a few hours—but one filled with anticipation. There were hugs from Victoire, and though they’d see each other again that evening, it still felt like a small adventure. Lou had known something special was coming. Elysia had promised her one more thing—something important.

They apparated through the fading snow to a clearing nestled in a frost-covered valley, distant from the reach of others. Elysia’s cottage stood there, modest in appearance but layered with ancient protective spells and enchantments. To Lou’s divine-attuned senses, the very air shimmered with wards old as stone and sacred as temple fire. Magic clung to the place like ivy, humming softly through the snow-dusted stones and branches, old and deep and undeniably alive.

Elysia opened the door and gestured for her to enter. "This is home," she said, her voice low and warm. "Where I come to breathe. Where I keep the most sacred pieces of who I am."

Lou stepped over the threshold, and something shifted—a sense of being watched, welcomed, measured. Not with suspicion, but curiosity. As though the magic embedded in the very walls was waking to greet her, testing her presence and finding her worthy.

They passed through a narrow hallway lined with shelves of books and softly humming artifacts, wards humming in harmony as they walked. At the end stood a door sealed with silver runes that shimmered with soft lunar light, woven in with sigils older than any alphabet Lou had seen.

"Ready?" Elysia asked. Lou nodded, heart pounding.

With a touch of Elysia’s fingers, the runes parted like mist and the door swung open into a circular chamber thrumming with power.

The walls were etched in living runic arrays, their glow shifting between pale violet and starlight-blue. Crystals set into the ceiling refracted leyline light into swirling constellations. The floor was a smooth circle of black stone, marked with flowing designs that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. At the center stood a raised stone table, old as the earth, etched with crossroad symbols and moon phases. Melinoë stood beside it, calm and composed, shadows curling softly at her feet like loyal hounds.

"We’re here to craft your wand," Elysia said, her voice reverent now.

Lou blinked. "You... you’re really making it?"

"We are," Melinoë answered, stepping forward. "And it will be unlike any wand made before it. Because you are unlike any witch before you."

She drew out the components with careful, ceremonial grace.

First, the wood: Yew , dark and gleaming, with threads of silver streaking the grain. It came from a tree rooted in the Underworld—a sacred tree that stood at one of Hecate's oldest crossroads. When Lou touched it, her fingers tingled with recognition, as though the wand wood knew her, welcomed her.

Then, the core: a fragment of obsidian , perfectly smooth and shot through with faint purple veins. Inside, suspended like a frozen star, shimmered a droplet of Nightshade , enchanted to burn with latent potential. Melinoë cradled it in her palm like it was a holy relic.

"Hecate gave me this months ago," she said softly. "She didn’t say why. Just that I would know what to do when the time came."

She placed the obsidian gently beside the wood. The air thickened with the scent of earth and herbs, and Lou felt something brush the edge of her mind—an ancient, maternal presence. Watching. Approving.

Elysia conjured strands of light from her fingertips, weaving them through the air like silk threads. They formed floating sigils that shimmered and spiraled above the components. Her voice followed, speaking softly in a fluid blend of Latin and Ancient Greek—an incantatory cadence she had learned over the years, pieced together from rituals, ancient grimoires, and Melinoë’s quiet instruction. Her words wrapped around the sigils like thread stitching magic into form, anchoring the enchantments in layers of intention and history.

Melinoë joined her seamlessly, her voice resonating deeper, older. She did not echo Elysia but instead complemented her, speaking her own magic—an underworld tongue that hummed with authority and reverence. Her syllables wove around Elysia’s spells like shadow and moonlight, and the air thickened with sacred weight. The runes across the floor glowed brighter in answer, lines of power pulsing outward as the wand pieces rose slowly into the air, suspended between them by converging magics.

Together, they began the joining ritual.

The chamber trembled with silent thunder. Magic bent inward, converging around Lou. She stepped forward as instructed, heart pounding, eyes wide.

"Now," Elysia said gently. "It needs your touch. Your intent."

Lou reached forward, her hand steady despite her racing heart. Her fingers closed around the floating wood and obsidian, and in that instant, the room blazed with light.

The components fused in a rush of wind and power. Energy rippled outward. The sigils on the floor erupted in pale flame before dimming into a steady glow. The wand glowed in her hand— 10 ¾ inches , pliable yet firm, with a balance that felt as natural as breath.

Faint glowing sigils carved themselves into the handle: triple moons, crossroads, and winding labyrinths that pulsed faintly with her heartbeat. The obsidian shimmered, its core of Nightshade alive with quiet power. When Lou exhaled, the wand answered—a pulse of warmth and silver light that danced along the carved symbols.

It didn’t just channel her power. It resonated with her soul.

"It’s not like other wands," Elysia said, her eyes bright. "It’s a guide. A companion. It was made for you, not to tame you, but to grow with you."

Lou turned it slowly in her hand. She could feel how it aligned with her—not just her magic, but the pieces of her she rarely showed. Her fear. Her strength. Her divine blood.

She blinked fast, voice trembling. "Thank you. Both of you."

Elysia stepped closer and touched her shoulder. "You deserve a wand that sees you. All of you. And you deserve to never hide again."

Melinoë added, her voice low and certain, "And now it will grow with you, Lou Ellen Blackstone. You are no longer hidden."

The room slowly settled. The glow softened.

And Lou stood a little taller, her wand warm in her hand, the crossroads etched into its handle glowing faintly like the path ahead was already unfolding beneath her feet.