The Sixth Life of Medusa

51. Please, Testify

Instead of death reuniting her with her lost family, Medusa found herself standing before one of many bronze-framed portraits lining a pristine corridor. As she took in her surroundings, she noticed nearly everything was covered in white marble, save for the portraits, vibrant frescoed paintings spanning the high ceiling, and stained glass windows depicting... wars?

Every window was a shot in time, displaying an evolution of sorts. First, the warriors wielded crudely crafted clubs, then spears, before graduating to finely crafted swords and shields. The final window depicted soldiers, but their armour and weapons had a sleek, minimalistic appearance, and at their feet was a spread of human bones. Then the pattern repeated in other windows, on and on.

Looking away from the disturbing sight, she returned her focus to the large portrait before her. It bore a painting of a man with a clean-shaven, refined appearance, pin-straight white hair, and a thin obsidian band hovering like an orbit around his forehead. A necklace hung from his neck, holding an opal with a marquise cut. He looked no older than thirty, but his eyes seemed... ageless. Medusa cocked her head, peering deeper into those pitch black depths.

Shivering as unease crept in, she took in the corridor stretching endlessly from right to left. Is this a stop spot in the afterlife? She moved to hug herself and froze.

Holding her hands before her face, she frowned at her fingers before blinking at her reflection on the polished marble floor.

Dark hair, soft green eyes, red lips. This was her adult form.

Confusion mounting, she attempted to speak. "Hello." Her voice, light and soft, echoed around her—then someone answered from the void.

"Medusa?" It was more of a question than a call for attention.

Turning to her left, she staggered backwards when a pair of massive doors rumbled into sight. The double doors, oaken and as tall as Tartarus' gate, had intricate carvings of sundials scattered across their surface. Within each carved line, gold dust moved like desert sand disturbed by curling winds. She approached as if possessed, but just as her fingers brushed the shimmering surface, she snatched her hand away and shook her head to clear it.

Someone dangerous could be waiting on the other side, probably pulling strings or laying traps. She strained her senses and sought aether, but the air around had nothing to harvest.

"I'm a sitting duck," she whispered.

"Medusa, is that you?"

That voice! Discarding caution, she pushed the doors open and stumbled in, body tense with hope and disbelief. Her gaze zapped across the white hall and snagged an unexpected sight.

Before a tall throne was a kneeling man with arms pulled back and brass cuffs tethering his wrists to chains stretching from the wall behind. White hair curtained the sides of his face, pooled around his thighs and fanned out like curling roots.

"Come."

The whispered command, like a living thing, slid from one ear to the other before blanketing her mind. She approached in a daze and only came to her senses when she was an arm's length away.

He was much larger up close, and his exposed torso showed no signs of muscle atrophy. There was also a hum about, like the air around him wasn't as barren.

She noticed it then, the same necklace with the gem she saw in the portrait. This time it looked alive, with the black stone flaring as if holding fire in its depths.

He raised his head then. The man in the portrait stared back, with the same dark band orbiting his head and the same ageless eyes. Then, like a fever dream, his face morphed. First changing to Cuauhua's, then another from her third life, her fourth, and finally Antonii's face.