The Godsworn is a high-fantasy adventure series where ancient mythology meets epic battles. Five chosen heroes, each gifted with the powers of the Olympian gods, protect their realm from dark forces led by Hades. The story follows their journey of m...
Where Darian had stood, there was nothing. No footprints, no scorched marks from magic, not even a hint of warmth. Just the silence — heavy, cold, and final.
Alexander's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached. "She planned this from the start."
Thalor's knuckles were white around his trident. "That wasn't Luna. Not for a long time."
"She played all of us," Selene muttered. Her usually confident voice was tight and shaking. "I should've trusted my instincts. That smile was too perfect."
"She wasn't even in the mirror..." Aeris whispered, stepping toward the spot where Darian had vanished. After several failed attempts, she knelt and pressed her hand to the stone. "Finally... there's residue. The earth remembers her passage, even if shadows try to erase it."
Alexander turned to her. "Can you follow it?"
Aeris nodded slowly. "It's faint, but I can. At least for now."
They didn't need further discussion. Darian was one of them. Luna was still alive. That was all that mattered.
"Then let's move," Alexander said.
They exited the chamber and followed Aeris through narrowing tunnels, her hand occasionally brushing the walls or the floor, reading signs no one else could see. The further they walked, the dimmer the light became. Not just the torchlight — but all color, all warmth, was being drained away.
"Is it me," Selene said, twirling her staff to produce a bit more pink glow, "or is it getting colder than my ex-boyfriend's heart in here?"
Thalor gave a small huff. "You dated someone colder than this?"
"Oh, plenty," Selene replied with a wink, though her grip on the staff had tightened. "But none tried to kidnap my teammate."
Alexander allowed the humor for now. If they didn't laugh, they'd probably start breaking.
Soon, the tunnels widened again, revealing a strange, circular chamber. At its center stood a throne of thorns, and behind it, a wall of woven night — not stone, not shadow, but actual strands of dark energy, humming like spider silk.
The dark strands parted slowly — not by magic, but by will.
A woman stepped forward, her eyes pale as bone and her hair a cascade of silver thread. She was draped in layers of translucent veils, each one pulsing faintly with symbols of prophecy and time.
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"The Oracle of Dusk," Aeris whispered.
The woman did not smile. She simply raised a hand. "You seek what was stolen. And one who was hidden."
