-?-

  [PHRYGIA – MIDAS'S PALACE COURTYARD]

  The palace courtyard opened like a gilded trap.

  We stumbled to a halt, lungs burning, mud-caked and desperate. Behind us, festival music played on—oblivious, mocking. Ahead, the Hyades waited in a silent, lethal line. Between them and us: fifty feet of open marble.

  A perfect killing field.

  Down at the riverbank, Midas was already tearing off his golden robes, splashing frantically into the Pactolus. The cursed sheen faded, replaced by desperate, mortal fear. Dionysus lounged on a divan that hadn't been there moments before, a fresh goblet in his hand. He looked utterly entertained.

  "Dionysus! Stop this! Let him fix his mistake!" Hebe rushed forward, her small hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Her voice trembled with fear and outrage.

  "Oh, but I am helping, little sprout." He chuckled. "I'm providing the final act. Every good story needs one."

  Ariadne stepped forward—the true director of this cruel play. "The rules are simple." Her voice like cold silk.

  "The king is bathing. When he is clean, he will have golden water. That water must reach the statue."

  "We will stop you. You will try to pass us." She gestured to Altha Vie and Deiah, who flanked her.

  Down at the river, Midas was furiously splashing water over himself, the cursed golden sheen beginning to fade. He grabbed a large clay jar, movements frantic.

  The race was on—a brutal, divinely unfair game with a child's soul as the prize.

  Lena cracked her neck, sharp pops like kindling snapping. "So we just have to run the gauntlet."

  I gripped my spear, knuckles white. The open path from riverbank to statue was a perfect killing field.

  Hebe was still fuming, face flushed with anger and helplessness. "But that's not fair! They're experienced retainers of your guild! You can't expect us—"

  Lena stepped up beside Hebe, put a firm hand on the goddess's shoulder, gave her that look—the one that always shut me up when I was overthinking. "Hey." Her voice soft but iron-hard. "Do you believe in us or what?"

  Hebe's eyes flickered from Lena's scarred face to my own weary gaze. Then she squared her shoulders, expression hardening into something fierce. "Yes." Her voice clear as crystal. "I believe in you."

  Dionysus clapped slowly—three mocking, resonant claps. "Wonderful! Then let the games begin!"

  Down by the river, Midas stumbled out of the water, soaked and shivering but clean. The golden sheen was gone. He clutched the clay jar, water inside gleaming with dissolved fortune.

  The race was on.

  -?-

  We were already moving—no grand speech, no heroic charge. Just action. "Lena!" We snatched wooden buckets left by terrified servants, sprinted for the shore. Ravens in the trees cawed in alarm, scattered in a burst of black wings.

  We reached Midas just as he stumbled onto the bank, clean and shivering, clutching his precious jar. "They've set up a test," I explained quickly, voice low and urgent. "They're between us and the statue. We need to get this water there."

  "Fill it. Now." I shoved a bucket into his trembling hands.

  Lena was already doing the same, eyes locked on the three impossibly powerful women blocking our path. The Hyades were playing, but we were fighting for a life.

  From a gnarled oak overlooking the courtyard, I watched the Hyades—Ariadne laughing, Deiah serene, but Altha with bruised pride stalking toward the river alone. They're not taking this seriously. That's our only advantage.

  I grabbed a handful of raven feathers from beneath the tree, stuffed them into my pouch. "Lena, we go inside. Second floor balcony overlooks the courtyard."

  "Run for the statue. She'll have to stop you." I thrust the second bucket at the trembling Midas.

  His eyes widened in pure terror, but he gave a shaky nod, clutched his bucket, started a wobbly sprint along the river's edge away from us. We bolted for the servant's entrance as Altha's shout confirmed the distraction worked.

  Perfect.

  We burst through the door into a dark, dusty corridor. Our frantic footsteps echoed on cold stone as we took stairs two at a time, water sloshing over bucket rims. We reached the second-floor landing, sprinted down the long tapestry-lined hallway. At the far end, an archway led to a balcony overlooking the courtyard.

  We burst onto the balcony—

  Only to find Altha Vie already there, leaning against the railing with a predatory smile. Arms crossed, weight casually on one hip.

  She'd been waiting for us. We skidded to a halt, buckets sloshing precariously. She outsmarted us. She was fast! How?

  Altha pushed herself off the railing, eyes blazing with vindicated fury. "Clever." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

  "But not clever enough. You can't win a battle by running." She took a step forward, the loose, ready coil of Drunken Fist stance in her posture. Down below, voices drifted up clear and unconcerned.

  "...the water will come from a high place." Deiah's serene, oracular tone.

  "Then our eager sister should find the highest ground, shouldn't she?" Ariadne's reply was a silken purr.

  They fed her the answer. Altha hadn't outsmarted us—she'd been sent to the only obvious high place: this balcony.

  "Lena, we fight her here!" I shouted, dropped into defensive stance. But instead of raising my shield, I deliberately let it dip, allowed Altha a clear view of the single clay vial tucked into my belt—stoppered and filled with golden water. Her eyes locked onto it instantly, a flicker of savage satisfaction.

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  She thinks that's the payload. Good.

  Altha lunged forward, focus narrowing entirely to disarming me, taking that vial. Her fist glowed with faint purple aura as she aimed a precise strike at my wrist. I smirked, tucked the vial safely back into my pouch.

  "If you want it, you're gonna have to defeat us."

  Before Altha could process the taunt, I slammed a handful of crushed Seafoam Vexling shell onto the balcony stones. The powder hissed. My chant echoed in the confined space.

  "Veil of the hidden moon, arise. O breath of twilight, conceal all beneath your shroud. Let the eyes of my foes be lost to the haze, and in silence, let the hunter walk unseen! OMICHLI!"

  Thick, billowing fog exploded outwards, swallowed the entire balcony in a 20-foot radius of opaque, damp grey mist. Visibility dropped to zero.

  "Now, Lena!"

  Through the fog, I heard the distinct swish-thump of Lena launching her improvised weapon—a cloth ball soaked through with Midas's cleansing water, soaring through the air toward where we knew Marigold's statue stood.

  Down below, Ariadne's mocking smile didn't even flicker. With a lazy flick of her wrist, a single, razor-sharp red thread of magic flashed from her sleeve. It intercepted the cloth ball in mid-air with surgical precision, wrapped around it, pulled it sharply aside. The ball burst harmlessly against a marble pillar twenty feet from the statue. Water pattered onto stone like golden tears.

  "Amateur." Ariadne purred, voice laced with condescending amusement. "Did you think it would be that easy?"

  "The water will come from a high place... but not by such crude delivery." Deiah nodded serenely.

  Damn it! They were ready for that.

  Inside the fog, Altha Vie laughed—a low, guttural sound of satisfaction. "You hear that, little rats? Your best shot failed. Now you're trapped up here with me."

  The fog began to thin, its magical duration ending. Altha's form became a blur, then cleared. Her predatory grin widened as she saw us, exposed, nowhere to run.

  No more tricks. Just a brutal fight. I pressed my bleeding thumb—bitten open in the rush—against the raven feathers in my palm. My chant was a low, urgent whisper.

  "Spirits of fur and fang, wing and claw, Answer the pact woven since dawn's first hunt! From forest's heart, from mountain's howl, from river's cry, Gather, guardians of the wild, Stride forth by my side and rend my foes! By my name, by the law of life, I summon you—guardians of the untamed! KALó!"

  The feathers dissolved into swirling motes of shadow and earth. From the coalescing energy, three large, jet-black ravens burst into existence with sharp, piercing caws—solid, real, with intelligent beady eyes and beaks like polished obsidian.

  The three ravens immediately landed in my bucket, their talons gripping the rim.

  Insurance. Backup. The real plan hidden in plain sight.

  I pointed a trembling finger at Altha. "Harass her! Block her sight!" The ravens launched as one—a whirlwind of flapping wings and raucous cries, swarmed around Altha's head, pecked at her face, tangled in her hair, forced her to bat them away with furious swipes.

  I nodded sharply at Lena.

  Altha wasn't just fighting—she was dancing. Every kick left trails, purple Sthenos solidifying mid-flight into scything waves of razor-edged energy. "You're too slow, little flame!" She taunted. Her feet glided on wine-slicked stone, movements unpredictable, dizzying.

  Lena was a maelstrom on the defensive, a furious storm of parries and desperate dodges. A crushing fist was blocked on her hardened forearm, but the follow-up wave of solidified wine sliced past her guard, tore a deep gash in her leather armor.

  The cut stung fiercely.

  She ducked under a high, whistling kick, but the arc of liquid it unleashed forced her to leap backward. Her boots skidded on damp stone, dangerously off-balance.

  She was being systematically overwhelmed. The Pyraei's pure, close-quarters fury was being perfectly countered by this mid-range, area-denying assault that turned the entire balcony into a lethal, shifting obstacle course.

  Altha pressed her advantage. A Wine-Slash Kick carved through Lena's guard—the concussive force and searing slash of energy drove a pained grunt from her lips. A follow-up strike hammered into her shoulder, the impact jarring bone. The combination drove Lena to one knee, breathing in ragged, painful gasps, the flame around her fists sputtering like a guttering candle.

  But Lena had done her job. She bought time, held Altha's complete attention. The ravens were positioning for their final dive.

  Altha saw her opponent falter, victory within reach. But she didn't press for a knockout. Instead, she ignored the ravens still clawing at her shoulders, ignored the blooming burns on her torso. Her entire body tensed—a visible aura of violent purple energy, raw mastered power, erupted from her like a shockwave.

  "ENKRáTEIA!" She roared, the word itself thick with divine authority.

  A thick, sweet, cloying miasma erupted from her in a palpable 20-foot wave. The Festival of Madness Aura.

  The air itself turned heavy with the scent of overripe grapes and spiced wine, so potent it burned the back of your throat. Colors smeared at the edges of vision. Down below, Dionysus threw his head back, laughed uproariously, raised his goblet in a toast.

  "YES! That is the vintage I serve! Let them taste true ecstasy!"

  The world tilted. The cloying, sweet miasma—thick as honey and twice as potent—flooded my lungs. My stomach lurched violently, muscles turned to water, thoughts dissolved into warm, syrupy haze. The stone beneath my feet seemed to sway.

  I stumbled, legs buckling like rotten wood. The heavy wooden bucket slipped from nerveless fingers, crashed against the balcony floor. Precious, golden water splashed across stone—a fortune and a hope wasted in an instant.

  Through the dizzying, euphoric fog, one thought burned with the last of my conscious will. The vial. With a final, staggering lurch, I thrust my arm skyward, the small clay vial clutched in my trembling hand.

  "Go...!" I gasped, the word a thick, slurred mess.

  The three ravens understood instantly. In a synchronized flash of jet-black wings, they broke off their harassment of Altha. The largest swooped down, talons closing with delicate precision around the vial in my hand. The other two fell into flanking positions. They didn't make a beeline for the statue—that would be too obvious. Instead, they circled above the chaotic balcony, cawing loudly, a blatant, flapping distraction.

  Altha's head snapped up, furious eyes tracking the vial now held in the raven's talons.

  A victorious, vicious smile split her face.

  She saw me down and incapacitated, saw the main water supply spilled across stones, saw our last desperate hope reduced to a simple bird she could swat from the air.

  The world swam, tilted. I was on my knees, hands splayed in a useless puddle of wasted gold. The vial. Take it—

  A raven cawed. I forced my head up, vision swimming. The largest bird had the clay vial clutched in its talons, circling overhead. Altha saw it too. Her triumphant grin said everything: One bird. One target. Easy prey.

  She took a step toward me—finishing blow.

  Then—

  The haze hit Lena like a wall. The world swam, her Flame guttered—

  She bit down hard, blood on her lip. The pain—a lifeline. Colors bled at the edges, the scent of wine made her gag. She shook her head sharp, violent. The Pyraei constitution burned through it.

  Her eyes cleared, replaced by an inferno.

  "HEY!" Lena's voice wasn't a shout—it was a whip-crack of pure defiance that echoed across the courtyard, silencing even the distant revelry. "UGLY! Your fight is with ME!"

  Altha paused, body half-turned with a condescending smirk. "The little flame still flickers. I'll snuff you out next."

  "You talk too much for someone who hits like a tired old drunk!" Lena taunted, voice dripping with contempt. But she didn't just stand and trade insults—she moved. She didn't charge Altha directly. Instead, she exploded into motion, sprinted parallel to the hulking woman, built impossible speed before leaping—light as a cat—onto the balcony's narrow stone railing.

  She ran along its precarious edge, a blur of crimson hair and ignited energy, placing her own body directly between Altha and the retreating ravens. "You want this vial?" She screamed, pointed a flaming finger at the bird carrying it.

  "You have to go through ME to get it! Or are you too scared of a real fight?!"

  She landed in a low, balanced crouch on the railing. The Promethean Flame around her fists erupted into a blinding corona of light, cast long, dancing crimson shadows across the entire courtyard.

  She was no longer just a brawler—she was a challenge made flesh, a spectacle, an unmissable, undeniable target.

  Dionysus leaned forward, amusement palpable. Hebe held her breath, hands clasped over her mouth. Ariadne's cunning eyes narrowed, recalculating.

  Altha Vie froze completely. The taunt was one thing, but this blatant, theatrical defiance—placing herself on the high ground, literally blocking the path to the objective while insulting Altha's very essence as a warrior—was a provocation her pride could not absorb.

  Her eyes snapped past Lena, tracked the three ravens now in a perfect delta formation, mere seconds from their target. She saw it—the largest raven in the middle, vial glinting in its talons.

  "Ariadne!" She barked, her voice a command that cut through the chaos. "The middle one! The big one has the vial in its talons!"

  Ariadne's smile widened. "The big one is carrying it. The bucket never was the payload."

  The target was identified. The solution was simple. A single spell from the master enchanter—a binding thread, a psychic lance—would snatch the vial from the air or shatter it to glittering dust.

  Down below, Ariadne raised her hand. Red threads of magic swirled around her fingertips.

  She smiled.

  My vision swam, hands trembling, blood and wine mixing on the stone beneath me. But through the haze, a fox-like smile touched my lips.

  You're looking at the wrong bird.