HIDDEN FLAMES PAINTED THE BLACK HORIZON RED as Ophelia led the way towards the Fields of Punishment. The further they went, the more familiar it became. She'd seen these plains of barren ash in her dreams.

It's sad, isn't it. That you've become so familiar with this dreadful place.

I wish I could walk free with you, Ophelia.

At least you aren't alone.

I've not been alone for years.

Ophelia closed her eyes for a moment as she continued on. The rhythmic footsteps of Alex just behind her gave her some comfort. She knew he would stand beside her. She knew he understood the importance of their quest. To save them all.

You used to be alone, though. We all were.

Truly unfair. Even your beloved Alex was sent a Satyr guide, and he still rebelled.

Ophelia opened her eyes again. Her footsteps crunched against gravel and soot as she started up a massive hillside. Scree as black as obsidian offered precarious footholds. With each move, she sent a dozen little rocks sliding back down behind her.

Your mother believes in a child making their own choices. Even if it leads them to ruin.

She did nothing for me.

What did she do for you, Ophelia?

An icy rage filled her chest as she struggled up the hill. Her hands hit the debris. Hissing in pain, she pulled back after steadying herself to see small bloody scrapes along her palms.

"You okay?"

Ophelia paused to catch her breath. But she nodded, risking a quick glance back at Alex. "I'm fine."

Do you mean that?

We got real good at lying, didn't we?

Ophelia scrambled up the last leg of the hillside. She didn't respond to the voices, not to Eris and not to Samuel. She didn't want to admit they were right.

Mortals fell for deception far too easily. Ophelia had learned that very early on. With a father too invested in searching for ghosts and listening to what he claimed were the voices of the dead, Ophelia had quickly learned to look after herself. Middle school children weren't supposed to fend for themselves in alleyways and interstates but she'd found a way.

During the day, she spent time in bookstores. The children's section of Borders Books had been her favorite spot. She remembered vividly the dark blue, black, and purple carpet with stars and planets. She'd never advanced in math past a fourth grade level, but she could read.

She found the books in Spanish and French almost easier to read than the ones in English. Samuel had told her that was because as a child of Hecate, they could read Latin as well as Greek. So many of their spells required knowledge of the dead language, a knowledge which came easily and without training.

But at night, the stores closed. Ophelia had to find shelter somewhere, relying on her strength with the Mist to disguise herself from child services. Her father had spoken once between his gibberish of a training camp for demigods somewhere in New York. She just had to get there.

Alone. Remember it?

Of course I do.

Every frozen rainfall, every windy night. Ophelia could feel the sting on her skin even as she approached the crest of the hill. Worst had been the raccoons. Only the occasional stray dog that she befriended kept them away as she made her way across the country.

And when our mother finally spoke to you, she sent you to fight a losing war.

A child soldier, training to die for a cause you couldn't fully understand.

She never cared about us.

She wanted to win.

Ophelia blocked out the no longer distant screams from the other side of the hill. If only Luke had won. Maybe he could've overthrown Kronos too. If they'd gotten Camp Half Blood on their side, turned against the gods as a single unified force, they could've done more.

Luke had too much anger. It clouded his vision. As Ophelia took another few sliding steps up the black scree, sending tumbling rocks down behind her, she bit her cheek. That had always been the flaw with the sons of Hermes who fought for Kronos. Anger.

Ophelia controlled her anger. She froze her rage, turned it from a roiling inferno in her chest to a cold, dark mountain of ice in her gut. Silent anger. Calculating anger.

If the demigods who fought for Kronos had been given a choice, if they'd been allowed to think for themselves free of the machinations of the gods and the Titans, they could've won that war. But they'd been chained to the whims of the divine. Luke had failed them.

He wasn't worthy.

Why'd they name him a hero? And Silena? And Ethan? What did they do that we didn't?

They became cravens.

But you're not like them. We're not like them.

No, Ophelia. You're so much more.

A chill breeze hit her across the face as she crested the hill. Ophelia took one half step forward before she could move no longer. Her lungs filled with one gulp of cold air before she found herself unable to breathe.

Fire pierced the night shadows as far as she could see. Rivers of lava cut through ashen plains unto infinity, punctuated by the tortured screams and a backing track of rock music. Her eyes widened. So much to take in stretched before her eyes.

The Fields of Punishment resembled some sort of apocalyptic wasteland. The ground spidered with cracks, dark shadows spilling up from under the Underworld, choking the light of flame and lava lamps.

Terrible, isn't it.

Please help us.

"Gods."

It's worse than even what I could dream up. And I am a goddess of the Underworld as well, of Strife and Discord.

Ophelia, find us.

"I don't see why we came here. It's terrible."

"Kit."

"It's called the Fields of Punishment for a reason."

The shadows will listen to you.

"O, listen—"

Please!

Ophelia couldn't tear her eyes away from the horrific view of the Fields of Punishment. A stone path ran the length of the base of the hill leading to a massive wrought iron archway. Barbed wire gleamed in the ambient firelight. It wrapped all around the arch and formed a nasty fence as far as she could see to either side.

Skeletal spartan warriors stood guard. Beyond them, Ophelia tried to ignore the writhing bodies in the shadows, or the screaming brutish demigods and mortals kept in barbed wire pens like animals. Black and sickly yellow-green cacti lined some of the sections of the Fields of Punishment. Another one of Hades' ideas of justice perhaps. Justice or revenge?

Are they really that different? Perhaps justice is merely the way those who claim to be civilized call revenge so they may sleep soundly.

Maybe.

And if those two concepts are one in the same, then Luke Castellan's crusade against the gods was just.

He failed at it.

He did. But you won't. Don't you feel it? The way Night and her progeny flock to you here in eternal dark.

"Right. We've seen it. Can we go now?"

Ophelia clenched her fists at Kitty's voice. Gods, she was so annoying. Why couldn't she just shut up? She had it so easy. Just because her godly parent had the Olympians on speed dial.

She hates you. Why should you listen to her?

Find us, Ophelia.

You don't need to listen to any of them. You don't need them. I think, child of darkness, that you know that in your heart.

Far off in the distance, silhouetted against a red and grey smokey horizon, Ophelia saw a huge black tree. As dead as the spirits inhabiting the Fields of Punishment, the branches reach up and put like boney fingers trying to find an escape.

But in the crook of the trunk, Ophelia saw it again. A sparkling golden apple that seemed to catch the last vestiges of sunlight from the world above stood out starkly against the black tree. Ophelia felt her breath catch.

"We should go, O." Alex placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come on. You don't need to see this."

Ophelia wrenched free. She glared back at him. Why was he trying to hold her back? She asked for so little. She demanded nothing. But here, she finally wanted a small favor. Why did Alex and Kitty feel the need to drag her away so quickly?

Has he finally decided to stand by his childhood friend instead of you?

Ophelia dismissed that notion. She knew him. He just didn't understand. How could he? He got his powers from a son of Zeus, an Olympian as comfortable in the overworld as mortals.

So she forced a tiny smile and shook her head. "I want to see it, Alex. Then we'll leave."

Kitty frowned. She clutched the lyre tight to her chest, up under her chin. "And I don't suppose you know a magic password to get past those guards? I'm sure Hades is real keen on you getting into his max security 80s rock prison."

Ophelia turned back to the guards. She began to descend the hill, calling the shadows to her side. Her fingers went cold and then numb as all color leached away. At a dozen places away, Ophelia threw her right hand forward.

Tendrils of liquid obsidian shadow flew forward. Like writhing spears, they dug into each of the skeletons' chests. Before they could utter a sound, Ophelia gritted her teeth and threw her left hand forward as well. More daggers of void shadows found purchase.

With barely a sweat and a flick of her wrists, Ophelia suspended the skeletons ten feet above the ground. She didn't blink. She didn't look away.

She couldn't command the Dead. Only Nico could do that. But necromancy had always been the dominion of Hecate.

A horrid crunch filled the air. Ophelia shattered them into a million bone shards. The stench of death and smoke filled her nose.

Ophelia glanced back. "Is that password enough for you, Katerina?"

I knew I chose right.