As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting everything in golden hues, Seraphim—still hidden under the guise of "Icarus"—watched Heron and Lyra from a distance as they continued their search for Gorgo's grave.

Let go. The thought drifted unbidden through his mind, making him clench his fists as if that alone could anchor him to his purpose. For years he had wondered what happened to Gorgo, what became of her. He searched and tried to find any clue that might lead him to her.

Before he met her, he spent years surviving purely off of hatred and anger. When she came along, she gave him another reason to fight and not only survive, but live.

And he, like the idiot he was, threw it away in the name of revenge. For years, he couldn't forgive himself, feeling only deeper into the pit of self-hatred and let anger dictate his actions, never getting the closure he so desperately wanted.

Now, he just might get it.

Heron's voice cut through the silence, calling out.

"I found her."

Seraphim's heart jolted. He hurried forward, ignoring the dull ache in his limbs and the caution that normally guided his every step.

As he reached the grave, he felt himself freeze, his eyes locked on the simple stone bearing Gorgo's name and title. The rest of the world fell away, and he knelt, lowering his head.

Heron's hand rested briefly on his shoulder before he stepped back, respectfully giving him space. Seraphim was grateful for that, though a small part of him hated to admit it.

The man knelt down before the simple stone marker, his heart a tight knot in his chest as he traced the letters carved into the grave. Gorgo, daughter of Solon, priestess of Artemis.

His mind was a blur of memories—Gorgo's laughter, her fierce loyalty, the way she had looked at him like he was worth something, even when he felt like he wasn't.

He had finally found her resting place. The sun was sinking behind him, casting the sky in hues of orange and crimson, painting a scene far too serene for the storm that raged inside him.

He had come here to lay her memory to rest, to fulfil the last promise he made to himself. To say a final goodbye to the one thing he still clung to, the one thing that gave his life any semblance of purpose.

"You were right. About everything. But there was no turning back from the path I chose," with a sigh, he reached for the small piece of material he had tucked into his belt, tears blurring his vision as he looked at it. "I am sorry it cost you your life. You will no longer suffer because of me. Your pain will end soon. I swear it."

With great care, he tied the bloody bandage over Gorgo's gravestone and simply looked at it for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

But as he stared at the grave, all he could think of were the echoes of Zorya's voice in his mind: "Fine. Keep pushing people away, but sooner or later, you'll have no one left to push."

Those words had been a thorn in his side ever since she said them. He had wanted to dismiss her, to ignore her as he had ignored everyone else who tried to pierce the walls he built around himself, isolating himself to the point where there was no one left to reach out to.

Except... Zorya hadn't walked away. She kept coming back, her presence like an irritating itch he couldn't quite reach—yet... he was starting to realise it was not hatred he felt for her. Not truly. Not anymore.

The realisation unsettled him, almost as much as the feelings he grappled with at Gorgo's grave.

Zorya was infuriating, stubborn, and never missed an opportunity to needle him, but... she was also the only person who saw through the walls he had built, who challenged him in ways no one else dared.

And he was beginning to see that he didn't truly want her to leave. Maybe she was right. There was something oddly comforting in her presence, though he'd die before admitting that to her face.

Maybe it was time to let go, even if just a little. Maybe Zorya was right again. Maybe clinging to Gorgo's memory was doing nothing but chaining him to a past that no longer served him.

He would never forget her, of course, but... perhaps it was time to stop using her death as a shield. To stop hiding behind his bitterness.

But then... Who would he be without his vengeance? That question gnawed at him as he slowly rose to his feet, wiping at his eyes. He quickly blinked the tears away, steeling himself.

He turned around just in time to see Heron and Lyra standing a short distance away, their faces shadowed by the dying light.

Heron's eyes never left him, watching him with that same mixture of compassion and wariness that had unnerved Seraphim earlier. Lyra, on the other hand, had her face turned towards the sunset, clearly lost in thought. He wondered briefly who she was thinking of.

Seraphim stiffened, squaring his shoulders, willing himself to be calm. But he couldn't help himself. As they drew closer, something in him stirred—a flash of the old anger, the old bitterness.

The urge to strike them down was still there, like a low, simmering fire in his gut. But he couldn't summon the same hatred he once did. Not after hearing Heron's prayer, not after seeing Lyra's tears.

He glanced at the demigod, expecting to see judgment, but there was only understanding. But he also saw something else.

"You blame yourself for your loss. Don't," Seraphim said quietly, his voice almost lost in the wind.

He saw their surprise, the way their expressions shifted from guarded to puzzled. They turned to glance at Electra's grave behind them, confusion deepening.

"It won't bring your mother back," he added, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

Part of him wanted to leave, to disappear into the gathering shadows of the forest, but the look on Lyra's face, the way her eyes narrowed with suspicion, pinned him in place. Heron's confusion had already begun to melt into something colder, more guarded.

"How'd you know who she was?" Lyra asked, her voice low, dangerous.

She was ready to reach for her bow, to strike him down if needed.

Seraphim forced a casual shrug, barely holding back a wince. He didn't even notice the slip until they pointed it out. He was posing as a stranger to them. he shouldn't say it with such confidence.

"Lucky guess," he lied, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears.

He could feel Lyra's distrust like a blade against his skin. She wasn't buying it, and he was running out of ways to keep his mask in place.

When Alexia and Ismene joined them, Seraphim used their distraction to collect himself. He needed to leave. Now.

Before they could probe further, Alexia's voice interrupted the tension, breaking through like a blade.

"This is a fitting place," she said, joining them. "The old man chose well."

"He loved her. He wouldn't settle for less than what she deserved," Ismene added softly.

Heron's eyes flickered with sudden realisation. Seraphim watched him closely, noting the way his expression shifted.

Heron was figuring it out. Seraphim's pulse quickened, but he kept his face impassive, hoping the shadows concealed the tightening of his jaw.

Without a word, Heron turned and quickly approached Electra's grave, kneeling down by the blue markings with a renewed intensity. Lyra, Alexia, and Kofi followed, their faces etched with confusion. The air around them was charged, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade.

Seraphim stayed in the background, watching as Heron unsheathed his sword. But he didn't linger to see just what his brother was up to.

He came to say his goodbyes and he did. Now, it was time to complete the mission and keep his promise.

*****

The twilight deepened into darkness as Zorya moved silently through the dense forest, the smell of pine and damp earth filling her lungs.

Her eyes darted over the ground, searching for any signs of their chimera—footprints, snapped branches, anything that might reveal its path. But instead, the scent of blood hit her nose, sharp and metallic.

"Damn it," she muttered, quickening her pace.

It wasn't supposed to be this hard. The chimera was their best asset for quick escapes, but it had been missing for too long.

The muffled sound of voices reached her ears, rough and taunting. Zorya moved closer, her body instinctively melding into the shadows.

As she peered through the thick foliage, the sight made her stomach twist—their chimera was bound in heavy iron chains, surrounded by poachers, their laughter harsh and mocking. Every time the beast tried to struggle, a club came down hard against its side, drawing pained snarls from its throat.

Her jaw tightened. Damn it, she thought, a cold fury simmering beneath her skin. The chimera was supposed to be fast enough to evade them, and yet here it was, caged like a common animal.

No time to plan. Just act.

Without another thought, she moved. The first poacher was dead before he realized she was there, her blade slicing across his throat in a fluid motion. She melted back into the darkness before his body even hit the ground. But the next man caught a glimpse of movement, shouting a warning to the others.

"Shadows!" one of them yelled, raising his weapon.

Zorya didn't let up, darting forward, her twin blades flashing in quick, precise arcs. She moved like a ghost, her strikes deadly. She darted in, her blade plunging into his chest before he could even shout.

She was feeling good, almost exhilarated by how easy it was—until she made the mistake of letting her confidence get the better of her.

The third poacher, a hulking brute with a jagged scar running down his face, didn't fall so easily. Zorya went in for a quick strike, but he was faster than she anticipated, swinging his mace with a speed that belied his size. She tried to sidestep, but her timing was off by a fraction.

The mace caught her hard in the ribs with a sickening crunch. White-hot pain exploded through her side, nearly sending her to her knees. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to stay upright.

Too slow, she berated herself. She was fast, but they were experienced.

She tried to spin away, but another poacher was already closing in, spear at the ready. Her movements were slower now, pain dragging her down. She blocked the spear with one blade, but the impact sent a jolt through her injured side, and her defence faltered.

"You thought you could take us all on alone, huh?" one of the poachers snarled, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "Cocky little witch."

The taunt only fuelled her anger. She dropped low, sweeping his legs out from under him. He fell hard, and she slashed his throat before he could react. But the manoeuvre had cost her—she'd twisted her side badly, and the pain was becoming unbearable.

As she staggered upright, a flash of steel caught her eye. Too late. One of the remaining poachers lunged, his dagger slicing deep across her ribs.

Zorya gritted her teeth, tasting blood in her mouth. Focus. Breathe. The pain was nothing new, she'd endured worse. It only fuelled her anger. But then, the world tilted, her vision going grey at the edges.

She tried to bring her blades up to block the next attack, but her strength was failing.

"Should've stayed down," the poacher grinned, lifting his weapon for a killing blow.

No one's coming to save you. The thought flickered through her mind, cold and resigned.

She grit her teeth. She refused to die like this.

Summoning every ounce of strength, she surged up, driving her dagger deep into the man's thigh. He howled, his grip faltering just long enough for her to twist free. She spun, slashing at his neck, ending his screams in a gurgle.

But she wasn't fast enough to notice the last poacher sneaking up behind her. She turned too late, catching a glint of steel in the corner of her eye.

"Die already!" came a hoarse snarl.

A dagger arced toward her exposed back.

Shit. She turned too slowly, knowing she was already exposed, her breath ragged.

Then, in a blur of movement, the poacher's head jerked back, his eyes widening in shock. Blood sprayed across the forest floor, and Zorya turned to see Seraphim standing behind the fallen man, his blade dripping crimson.

"You're welcome," he said, voice low and laced with a mix of annoyance and something else she couldn't quite place.

Zorya spat blood onto the ground, forcing herself upright. Her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, but she refused to let him see how badly she was hurt.

"I had him," she shot back, more out of habit than truth.

She was exhausted, her vision dimming at the edges, but she refused to show weakness. Not in front of him.

Seraphim just shook his head, wiping the blood off his bident with the edge of his cloak.

"Sure you did," he replied, eyes narrowing as they roved over her, taking in her injuries. "You look great, by the way. Bleeding all over the place really suits you."

"It's nothing," Zorya said, though she winced as she tried to take a step forward.

He didn't argue. Instead, he moved past her, severing the chains that bound the chimera. The creature growled in relief, nudging Seraphim's shoulder in gratitude before turning to nuzzle Zorya's hand.

"Can you fly?" the man asked, glancing at the way she was cradling her side.

The nymph straightened, ignoring the throbbing pain in her side. The wound was deeper than she cared to admit, but she wouldn't let him see her falter.

"I'll manage," she said, though she knew she was lying to herself.

His gaze lingered on her longer than she liked, but he said nothing more. He helped her up onto the chimera's back, his hands steadying her as she swung her leg over, despite her trying to brush him off.

"Try not to fall off," he muttered as he climbed up behind her.

"Try not to be an ass," she shot back, though there was no venom in her voice this time.

Together, they mounted the chimera. As they ascended into the darkening sky, the wind howled around them, cool and cleansing.

For a moment, it was just the two of them, the stars beginning to prick through the velvety expanse above.

But peace was fleeting in their world. Zorya's sharp eyes caught movement—a shadow darting in the corner of her vision. She craned her neck and saw it—an owl, its eyes glowing an unnatural shade of red, circling far below.

"That's Hades' owl," she muttered, then sighed. "We have to pick up the pace. We've already postponed this mission for long enough."

*****

As they soared through the night sky on the chimera's back, the wind biting at their skin, Seraphim held onto Zorya a bit tighter than necessary.

He kept telling himself it was to prevent her from falling off—she was still bleeding, after all—but there was a part of him that couldn't deny the small comfort he found in their shared warmth.

Zorya, for her part, tried to ignore the steadying hand at her waist. It felt too familiar, too intimate, especially for someone who claimed to despise her half the time.

But she was in no position to argue. The pain in her ribs flared with every breath, and she couldn't afford to waste energy on pointless bickering. Not when they were being hunted.

"Keep your eyes open for that damn owl," Seraphim muttered into her ear, his voice barely audible over the rush of wind. "I don't trust it."

Zorya nodded, her eyes scanning the skies. She could feel the weight of his gaze on the back of her neck, like he was searching for something beyond their mission.

It unsettled her, made her acutely aware of just how close he was. But she shoved those thoughts aside. Focus on the mission. That's what mattered now.

"You're thinking too loud," Seraphim commented, his voice a low rumble against her ear.

She shot him a glare over her shoulder.

"If you have time to critique my thinking, maybe focus on watching for threats instead."

"Maybe I'm trying to keep you from bleeding out on me," he countered, tightening his grip slightly. "I can feel you shaking."

"I'm fine," she bit out, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

The truth was her vision was starting to blur at the edges. The adrenaline that had kept her moving was quickly draining away, leaving only exhaustion and pain in its wake.

But she couldn't afford to pass out now. Not with Hades' owl tracking them, not with Seraphim's eyes always watching for signs of weakness.

"Yeah, because you look great bleeding all over our ride," he shot back, his tone laced with sarcasm. "You'll be lucky if you don't pass out before we land."

She didn't respond, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But she couldn't hide the way her breaths came shorter, more ragged. The wound in her side throbbed with a relentless pulse, a steady reminder that her strength was draining fast.

He must have sensed it. Without another word, Seraphim leaned in closer, his hold on her tightening. She could feel his heartbeat against her back, steady and annoyingly strong, like he wasn't winded at all.

The man's hand on her waist, shifted slightly—gently, almost comfortingly. A small squeeze, as if to steady her.

It was so subtle she might have imagined it, but the heat from his touch seemed to spread through her, chasing away some of the cold.

She didn't acknowledge it, refusing to let him see how much she needed that grounding touch.

Why was he doing this? Why was he suddenly being so... careful with her? She couldn't figure it out, and it frustrated her. They were partners in this mission out of necessity, not trust. Not friendship. But here he was, acting like he actually cared whether she made it out alive.

She shook those thought off. Instead, she squared her shoulders and pointed ahead.

"There's a clearing coming up. We can land there," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, but she couldn't stop the way it wavered at the end.

He nodded, giving a quick command to the chimera, which began its descent. As they touched down, Zorya nearly slid off the creature's back, her legs giving way beneath her. She hadn't realized just how much she was relying on Seraphim's support until he wasn't there.

He was, of course, quicker than her collapse. The man was off the chimera in a flash, catching her before she could hit the ground. His arms wrapped around her, holding upright.

"Still fine, huh?" he remarked, that annoying edge of mockery returning, but there was something else there too.

Something that made her want to shove him away and lean into him at the same time.

"Let go of me," she growled, though there was no real heat behind her words.

She tried to wriggle free, but her strength had drained to almost nothing. She hated how weak she felt, hated even more that he was the one seeing her like this.

"Stop being stubborn," he said, his voice dropping to a growl. "Not until you stop swaying like a newborn deer."

She hated that he was right, hated even more that he was being annoyingly gentle with her. It wasn't like him.

But then again, ever since the graveyard, there was something different in his eyes, a quiet wariness that didn't match the biting insults he usually hurled her way.

Once she was steady, Seraphim let her go, stepping back as if her touch had burned him. But he kept his eyes on her, watching her every movement. It was like he was expecting her to collapse any moment.

"Rest for a minute," he ordered. "I'll check the perimeter."

Zorya opened her mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her short. It wasn't just annoyance or impatience—it was genuine concern. And for some reason, that disarmed her more than his usual biting sarcasm ever could.

So instead of snapping back, she gave a curt nod and leaned against a tree, closing her eyes for a moment.

As Seraphim moved away, she couldn't help but watch him. The way he moved through the trees, silent and deadly, always on guard. For so long, she had seen him as nothing more than a selfish, vengeful warrior.

But tonight... there were cracks in that armour. Cracks that she didn't understand, but couldn't stop herself from being curious about, her mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts.

Why did he care? What was his angle? She knew Seraphim wasn't the type to do anything without a reason, but tonight... tonight he was acting like something had shifted between them.

She leaned her head back against the tree, trying to steady her breathing. The night air was cold against her sweat-drenched skin, but at least it kept her awake, kept her focused.

She didn't want to think about it. They had a mission to complete, and she couldn't let herself get distracted by whatever this was.

*****

A few minutes later, Seraphim returned.

"Clear. No sign of that owl for now," he said and his eyes flicked to her side, catching the dark stain spreading across Zorya's tunic. "Let me see the wound."

"I can handle it," Zorya's eyes narrowed.

"Humour me," he replied, rolling his eyes.

There was none of the usual sharpness in his voice, and that alone made her relent. Without a word, she pulled aside the torn fabric of her tunic, revealing the jagged cut along her ribs.

The cold air sent a sharp sting through her, but she didn't flinch. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Seraphim's gaze darkened as he took in the extent of the injury.

"Gods, you're an idiot," he muttered, but there was no venom in his words.

Just a strange mix of frustration and... concern?

"Didn't have time to deal with it," she muttered, wincing as he pressed his fingers around the wound.

The frustrating catch to her powers—able to heal others but helpless when it came to herself. The shadows and starlight simply didn't work on her as they did on everyone else. At least not when she was using them, because when Hades or anyone else healed her, it worked just fine.

Seraphim's touch was surprisingly gentle, his hands steady as he inspected the injury.

He worked in silence, tearing a strip of cloth from his cloak to bind her wound. Zorya watched him, the furrow of concentration in his brow, the way his jaw clenched whenever she winced.

"Stay still," Seraphim said tersely, tearing a strip of cloth from his own tunic. "Unless you're aiming to bleed out before we even get to the temple."

Her eyes flashed, and she almost told him to shove his concern where the sun didn't shine. But something in the way he was focusing so intently on her injury—like it was his problem to fix—stole the words from her tongue.

"You're only doing this because you need me alive," she muttered, almost as if she were reminding herself.

This wasn't the Seraphim she was used to—the one who mocked her, pushed her buttons, always kept her at arm's length. This was someone different. Someone who... cared?

The man didn't look up as he wrapped the cloth tightly around her side.

"Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better," he replied, voice clipped.

She hesitated, a thousand sarcastic remarks on her tongue.

"Thank you," she muttered instead, surprising even herself.

Seraphim's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing as if he hadn't heard her right. For a heartbeat, he just stared at her, searching her face, maybe for a hint of mockery. But there was none.

"Yeah, well," he muttered, looking away. "Don't get used to it."

But the usual edge was missing. It sounded almost... forced, like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

Zorya couldn't quite explain the twist in her chest at that. She wasn't used to him being... whatever this was. Less hostile. Almost human. It made her uneasy, like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to jump or retreat.

He finished tying off the bandage and stepped back, giving her space.

"We need to keep moving," he said, turning away abruptly.

"Right," Zorya agreed, shaking off whatever strange spell had momentarily taken hold of her.

She turned, ready to climb back onto the chimera, but her ribs screamed in protest. The pain shot through her like a blade, and she faltered.

Seraphim was there in an instant, his hands on her arms to steady her. She glared at him, but he didn't let go.

"You're pushing it," he said, his voice low. "If you pass out in the middle of the mission and fall off the chimera, I'll just go on without you."

She raised a brow at him.

"Funny," she said, unable to resist a smirk despite the pain. "Considering you're the one who fell off first. How's that bruised ego holding up?"

His eyes flickered, the corners of his mouth twitching in what could've been a smile, but it faded just as quickly.

"Touché," he muttered.

They mounted the chimera again, this time with a new, uncomfortable silence between them.

As they soared back into the sky, Zorya couldn't help but glance over her shoulder at Seraphim. He was staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight. But his grip on her waist had softened, his touch no longer just about keeping her from falling.

Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to get through to him. Or maybe he was starting to let her in.

Either way, it terrified her as much as it intrigued her. Because if there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that the closer they got to the end of this mission, the harder it would be to keep her walls intact.

A chill swept over her, prickling the back of her neck. The air seemed to grow colder. She turned her gaze behind them, eyes narrowing as a dark shape approached, wings cutting silently through the air.

"Seraphim," she hissed, elbowing him lightly.

"What now?" he muttered, irritated at first, but then his gaze snapped to where she was looking.

He looked back just in time to see the owl closing in. The creature let out a harsh cry before swooping closer, its wings beating soundlessly as it came to hover beside them.

"Damn fool," Hades' voice echoed through the air, the words dripping with venomous disapproval. "You just squandered away our advantage. Gaia has sent the instructions to her challenge."

Seraphim's shoulders tensed. He turned his gaze away, fixing his eyes ahead, jaw tightening until Zorya could almost hear his teeth grinding.

She knew he'd been expecting this, dreading it even. They both had. The moment they veered off course, they knew Hades would not be pleased.

"We've all been called to the Dikteon Cave where Gaia will open the hidden realm," Hades continued, his voice like a cold wind that cut right through them. "All will be allowed to enter so that they may try and retrieve Zeus's bolts from the grand eagle, Aquila. The Stone will be embedded there. You must get there first. I'll have the Oneiroi meet you there."

Zorya's stomach churned at the mention of the Oneiroi. She fought to keep her face neutral, but inside, her thoughts were racing. If he's sending them, things are worse than we thought.

Damn it. Those nightmare creatures were ruthless, relentless, and every encounter with them felt like wrestling shadows with claws. If Hades was sending them, this mission was about to get even more complicated.

Beside her, Seraphim's expression turned darker. She knew he hated relying on anyone, especially those creatures. They were wild cards, hard to predict, and Seraphim didn't trust anything he couldn't control.

"And then use the Giant blood coursing through your veins to sneak into the hidden realm. Do you understand?" there was no room for argument, no room for anything other than obedience.

"I do," Seraphim confirmed, his voice hollow.

The owl's eyes turned to Zorya now, and she could almost feel the weight of his gaze shift to her through the owl's unblinking eyes. She straightened, refusing to flinch under that cold scrutiny.

"You," Hades' voice lashed out like a whip, sending a tremor through her. "Make sure he doesn't stray again. If he loses focus, if he falters, there will be consequences—both for him, and for you."

Zorya's jaw clenched. She wanted to fire back, to tell Hades where he could shove his threats, but she bit down on the words. Steady, she told herself. This isn't the time to argue. The last thing they needed was to provoke him further. Instead, she just nodded once, curt and sharp.

But Hades wasn't finished. His gaze turned back to Seraphim, his voice dropping to a low, venomous whisper that sent chills skittering down her spine.

"Seraphim, if you fail, we fail. And those we love will continue to suffer."

"I will not fail," he said, his voice a ragged promise that seemed to tear itself from his throat.

With that, he let out a low, guttural growl, transforming from his human guise into his demon form. The shift was quick and brutal, like a wound being ripped open.

The owl let out a piercing screech before vanishing into the darkness, leaving them alone once more in the cold night air.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the chimera's wings beating through the sky. Zorya kept her gaze forward, trying to ignore the tension thrumming between them. But she couldn't help herself.

"Great. That went well," Zorya muttered, her voice sharp, though she kept it low enough to avoid provoking him further. "You knew he'd be pissed, didn't you?"

Seraphim let out a low, bitter laugh—a sound more like a growl.

"Yeah," he bit out, his tone harsh and raw. "Well, if he cared so much about keeping our advantage, maybe he should've sent someone else."

Zorya shot him a look over her shoulder, but he wasn't meeting her gaze. His eyes were focused somewhere beyond the horizon, where the dark silhouette of the Dikteon Cave was just beginning to loom into view.

She wanted to snap back, to remind him of the weight of this mission, how much it meant to Hades—and to her.

But something in the set of his jaw stopped her. He was angry, yes, but there was something else there too. Something that looked suspiciously like regret.

"You know it's not just about him," she said quietly, her voice almost drowned out by the wind. "This is bigger than any of us."

"Spare me the lecture," Seraphim growled.

"This mission isn't just about you, you know," she snapped back. "There are others counting on us."

Seraphim's silence was a cold, heavy thing between them. Finally, he spoke, but his voice was quiet, almost hollow.

"I didn't ask you to wait for me, did I?"

"No," she shot back, the bitterness leaking into her tone despite herself. "But if you screw this up again, we're both dead. And Hades... he won't forgive you twice."

The demon tightened his grip briefly around her waist. But he didn't argue. Instead, he turned his gaze away, staring into the endless dark expanse beyond.

For a moment, she almost regretted her words. Almost. But she'd seen how Hades looked at Seraphim—how the god's disappointment had cut deep.

This mission was more than just a task—it was a chance, their best shot at finally achieving the goal they've been fighting for, wishing for years. And Seraphim's personal vendetta could have cost them all of the progress they've made. Everything.

"Fine," she said finally, her voice barely a whisper. "But just so you know, if you fall behind, I'm not waiting for you."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Seraphim shot back, though there was an edge to his tone that wasn't there before.

They flew on in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between them.

As the dark silhouette of the Dikteon Cave loomed on the horizon, Zorya couldn't shake the feeling that whatever lay ahead was going to test more than just their strength.