Echoes of Olympus; The Return of the Forgotten Gods

Chapter 20

Seraphina's Pov 

I watch as Avaia finishes dusting off the last few crates in the corner of the warehouse, her face glowing with satisfaction at a job well done. The place looked better than it had in weeks, like a real hideout instead of just a junkyard of failed plans and desperation. I stretch my arms out lazily, leaning against the cold concrete wall, content with our progress for the day. Across the room, Atlas giggles softly as he rolls his makeshift toy — a chestnut with stick legs Mr. Asterion crafted for him — along the floor. It's strange, seeing something so simple bring a bit of light to this grim place.

Mr. Asterion, Avaia's dad, sits in his wheelchair, patiently weaving tiny flowers he gathered from the cracks in the warehouse floor into a crown. He hums a soft tune under his breath, the only real melody we've heard since we got here. His hands are rough and scarred, but delicate in how he ties the stems together, like this flower crown is the most important thing in the world.

Avaia plops down beside me, her usual tension relaxing a little. We chat casually, our voices bouncing off the empty walls like echoes of a simpler time. She jokes about how "Seraphina and Avaia's "cleaning service" might need to go professional", and I roll my eyes with a grin, ready to fire back a snarky comment when the enormous warehouse doors suddenly slam open with a loud bang.

Zephyr. Of course, it's Zephyr, always making an entrance like he owns the damn world.

He stomps in, his face flushed with frustration, his eyepatch slightly askew as if he hadn't bothered to adjust it before storming in. He barely pauses before bellowing, 

"This motherfucker wants to befriend them!"

Avaia and I glance at each other, totally confused. "Who the hell are you talking about?" I ask, squinting at him.

Zephyr flings his arms dramatically. "Dorian!" he spits out. "He wants to befriend the Crudares!"

My mouth hangs open for a second before I burst out laughing. Avaia, on the other hand, blinks in stunned disbelief. "Wait, wait, wait," she says, her voice sharp. 

"What the hell did you just say?"

Zephyr throws his hands up, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. 

"I'm telling you! This idiot," he points back toward the door where Dorian is surely lagging behind, "wants to cozy up to the Crudares! You know, those jerks who think spray-painting statues makes them heroes!"

I feel my blood start to boil. Avaia's face hardens, and I can already sense she's about to go off. And hell, I'm not holding back either.

"What kind of brain damage did you get, Dorian?" I shout before Dorian even has a chance to step inside. "You're seriously telling me you wanna be buddy-buddy with those amateurs?"

Zephyr jumps in immediately. "Exactly! The same group that hasn't done anything but get a couple of villagers riled up because they defaced a damn statue!" 

His voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I can tell he's as pissed off as I am.

Finally, Dorian walks in, his emerald green eyes gleaming with determination, his muscular frame stiff like he's ready for a fight. He looks between the three of us, not even flinching at the insults flying his way. 

"Will you let me explain—"

"No, I won't let you explain, you moron!" Avaia interrupts, standing up. "We're not making friends with those idiots!"

Zephyr points a thumb at Avaia. "What she said! They're nothing but attention-seeking idiots. We've done way more damage to the Operators than they ever will!"

Dorian's jaw tightens, his eyes flashing with frustration. "If you'd just let me speak—"

I cross my arms. 

"Speak? What is there to say? You seriously think we should just team up with those posers? What's next, a joint picnic? Maybe they'll bring the snacks!"

Zephyr snorts, adding, "Yeah, I'm sure they'll bring some nice, stale bread to the revolution."

Dorian snaps, stepping forward, his voice rising. "You guys are unbelievable! You're letting your ego run the show. I'm telling you, the Crudares and The Defiance want the same thing — to take down the Operators!"

Avaia rolls her eyes. "Oh please, Dorian. The only thing those guys want is attention. They aren't like us."

"You're right," Dorian shoots back, his tone sarcastic. 

"They're not like us. They're not wanted. They haven't lost family. They haven't been beaten to the ground and still stood up to fight. But they're trying. And all you care about is your pride."

"Pride?" I repeat, seething. "This isn't about pride, Dorian. This is about us not aligning ourselves with a bunch of reckless idiots who'll get us killed because they think spray-painting walls is revolutionary."

"Yeah!" Zephyr agrees, pointing at me. "What she said!"

Dorian's fists clench, and I can see the fire in his eyes.

"You're so blind. You think you're the only ones who've sacrificed something? You think your pain is the only pain that matters?"

Avaia glares at him. "Don't act like you know everything, Dorian."

Before things can escalate further, Mr. Asterion's calm voice cuts through the tension like a blade. 

"Alright, enough. Let the boy speak. You're all wound up over nothing." 

His hands are still working on that damn flower crown, but his gaze is sharp, demanding respect.

Dorian takes a breath, his muscles tense but his voice steady now. "I'm not saying we have to be best friends with them. But they have resources we don't. And whether you like it or not, we need allies. We're barely hanging on, and if we don't start thinking smart, we'll all end up dead."

There's a moment of silence.

Then Avaia snorts. "Dead because we trusted the wrong people."

Zephyr adds, "Dead because some of us can't tell the difference between an ally and an idiot with a paint can."

Dorian's eyes narrow. "Dead because we were too stubborn to see the bigger picture."

The argument flares up again, louder and messier, curses flying back and forth like arrows in a battle, until Mr. Asterion clears his throat again, and we all reluctantly settle down, simmering like boiling pots ready to spill over.

The warehouse feels smaller now, the tension thick in the air.

But this was far from over.