The garden behind the compound had always felt like mine. Overgrown and untamed, it hummed with quiet life. I liked it that way. Every vine and flower responded to me—my touch, my emotions, my will. But now, the guardians wanted more. They were pushing me to shape things with purpose. Not just grow, but mold. Not just react—but control.

  So, I made a treehouse.

  It started as a hidden retreat, something just for me. Vines coiled and twisted up the massive oak at the edge of the property, building a sturdy platform among the branches. I formed the railing from woven ivy, and the ceiling from layered leaves and blossoms, like a living canopy. It took me a full week, shaping it bit by bit when no one was watching.

  Getting in was the easy part—my vines pulled me up gently whenever I wanted. It was my secret. My escape.

  Until Zoe and Xandor found it.

  I was lying on the floor of the treehouse one afternoon, reading by the dappled light that filtered through the leaves, when I heard a rustle below.

  Then a familiar whoosh of wind.

  Moments later, Zoe appeared through the leafy doorway, her golden wings stretched wide, the sunlight catching on them like fire. Her eyes sparkled as she grinned. “You made this?”

  I sat up, surprised but smiling. “Yeah. It’s my spot.”

  Then a gust of wind swept up from below, and Xandor launched himself into the tree, landing lightly beside Zoe with a cocky grin. His hair was windswept, his silver eyes gleaming.

  “You always did have the best ideas,” he said, glancing around with awe. “This is amazing, Helena.”

  I couldn’t stop the warmth that bloomed in my chest.

  They stayed for hours. We talked and laughed and shared snacks we’d hidden in our pockets. Zoe swung her legs off the edge and pointed out cloud shapes. Xandor showed off by balancing on the railing with wind keeping him steady.

  Word must have spread, because over the next few days, others started showing up. Ella, giggling as she clumsily floated with little light bursts. Peter, who found the entrance without help, of course. Damian brought candy. Leander climbed quietly, smiling when he reached the top.

  Even Nix came, her pale fingers brushing the leaves as she whispered to them like old friends.

  By the end of the week, all twelve of us had been there. It became more than my treehouse. It was our place—our secret. Our safe haven.

  One night, the stars blinked above us as we sat in a circle, shoulders touching, voices low. I remember thinking: this is what forever should feel like.

  And for that moment—it did.

  We followed Bay and Phoenix through the misty streets of the Oregon coast town. It was late, the kind of late where the world feels empty and still, with only the sound of waves crashing somewhere nearby and the occasional creak of wind through old shutters. The fog clung low to the ground, shrouding everything in silver.

  Bay didn’t say much as she led us uphill, but Phoenix walked beside me, her hands deep in the pockets of her coat, the faint clack of bones from the pouch at her waist oddly comforting.

  “Where are we going?” Helena asked quietly, her voice still hoarse from sleep and tension.

  “Home,” Phoenix replied. “It’s not much, but it’s safe. Well… safe-ish.”

  I arched a brow. “Safe-ish?”

  Phoenix gave me a half-smile. “Let’s just say, the locals think the place is haunted. They’ve thought that for years. We let the rumors do the work for us. No one comes near it.”

  Bay snorted. “In their defense, it actually is haunted.”

  I blinked. Helena paused beside me.

  “Wait… actually haunted?” I asked.

  Phoenix shrugged. “Yeah. A daughter of Hades lived there like two hundred years ago. Her spirit never moved on. We talk sometimes.”

  I stopped walking. “You talk to her?”

  “She’s helpful,” Phoenix said with a casual shrug, like chatting with ancient spirits was a normal part of anyone’s morning routine. “Bit moody. But she doesn’t mind the company.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  I looked over to Bay, who just smiled and said, “You get used to it.”

  By the time we reached the house, I could see why people stayed away. The place looked like it had been forgotten by time—shingles missing from the roof, ivy climbing up the walls, windows clouded with age. But there was a strength to it, something old and enduring, like it had chosen to remain standing.

  Inside, it smelled faintly of salt, earth, and dried herbs. There were books stacked in corners, faded maps pinned to walls, and little altars tucked into shelves. The fire crackled in a stone hearth as if it had been waiting for us.

  Phoenix tossed her coat onto a chair. “Make yourselves at home. I’ll make tea.”

  Bay stretched, groaning. “I’ll get the spare blankets.”

  Helena and I settled onto the couch, our limbs aching, our minds even more so. When Bay returned and draped a quilt over our legs, I realized how tired I really was.

  But we couldn’t rest yet. Not fully.

  Phoenix returned with tea and a bundle of dried lavender, which she handed to Helena. “For your nerves.”

  Then we talked.

  Helena and I told them everything—the monster at the bus station, its warning, the name Cole.

  Bay and Phoenix listened closely. When we fell silent, they shared what they had learned from Thalos’s spirit. The truth about Cole. How he tried to take Olympus. The way he’d survived. How he might still be trying to open the gates to Olympus.

  And that Angelina and Stephen were still alive.

  The moment those words left Phoenix’s mouth, I felt something crack open inside me. A sob rose to the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down. I hadn’t let myself think about them in so long—had buried the grief deep just to survive. But now? Now they were alive.

  A shaky breath escaped me, and before I knew it, I was pulling Bay and Phoenix into a fierce hug, tears stinging my eyes. “You’re really here,” I whispered, voice cracking. “You’re really here, and they’re alive.”

  The joy of seeing them again—of feeling whole in a way I hadn’t in years—clashed violently with the sorrow of what we’d all lost. The two feelings tangled together, messy and overwhelming.

  Bay’s hand rubbed my back gently, grounding me. Phoenix squeezed my shoulder.

  “We’re going to save them,” Bay said, voice firm.

  “All ten of us,” Helena echoed. “Together.”

  Phoenix nodded. “That’s the only way.”

  I looked at each of them in turn. Exhausted, determined, stubbornly alive.

  “Then let’s get them back,” I said.

  We stayed up late into the night. For a few hours, it was like we were kids again. Tired but safe, together, and laughing.

  Then the conversation shifted—slowly, cautiously—to the years we’d spent apart.

  “We moved seven times before I turned sixteen,” Bay said, pulling her knees up under her blanket. “Never stayed in a school longer than a year. But once, we lived right by the ocean. I’d sneak out at night and just float, let the tide carry me. I think it’s the only place I ever felt… calm. Until now.”

  Phoenix smiled faintly. “There was this cemetery we lived near once. I know, real on-brand.” She tucked her chin into her hand, her eyes distant. “There was a mausoleum on a hill, and I used to go there after school. It was quiet. No one bothered me. Spirits don’t lie. They don’t fake kindness. I liked that.”

  Helena nodded slowly. “I spent most of my time in garden centers. Pretended to help the staff, even when we moved. I always took a plant with me, tried to keep something alive… when everything else kept changing.”

  They all looked at me.

  “I didn’t fly for over a year after the compound was attacked,” I said, voice soft. “I just… couldn’t. Not after everything. But Helena—” I looked over at her “—she convinced me to try again. One night, I went out and flew above the forest that surrounded our town. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the sky until I was in it again. I cried the entire time.”

  The four of us sat there, the weight of it all pressing in around us. Eventually, we crashed. Helena and I curled up on the double bed, Bay claimed the couch, and Phoenix stretched out on a mat near the fire. The wind howled softly outside, but inside, for now, everything was still.

  Sleep found me quickly.

  And with it—the stars.

  I woke without waking—one moment drifting in sleep, the next, standing barefoot on cold marble under a sky painted with stars.

  Olympus again.

  The silver-veined floors shimmered faintly, reflecting the starlight streaming in from the open arches. The air was still, too still, and I knew—just knew—this wasn’t a dream. Not in the usual sense. I was here. My mind, at least.

  And I wasn’t alone.

  The same young woman from my last time here stood at the edge of a grand balcony overlooking a sky that stretched forever. She didn’t turn to look at me, but I knew she felt me there.

  Her long hair caught the wind, glowing with soft light, and her posture—regal, unmoving—was almost goddess-like. Almost. But not quite.

  I stepped forward, the marble cool beneath my feet. “Who are you?” I asked, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. “Why do I keep seeing you?”

  She didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was calm and low. “Because you’re beginning to remember. And because you’re the one who needs to listen.”

  I crossed my arms. “To what? You never say anything straight. You just appear and vanish and leave me with riddles.”

  A faint smile touched her lips. “You’re not wrong.”

  I was about to say more—demand more—but her expression shifted. Serious now. Somber.

  “The gods know,” she said. “They know Cole still lives.”

  I froze.

  “Zeus is furious,” she continued, eyes still locked on the stars. “He believed Cole was destroyed years ago. Buried. Forgotten.”

  My stomach twisted. “And now?”

  “Now,” she said, voice quiet, “he sees you all as a threat.”

  I stepped back. “What?”

  “If the twelve of you cannot stop Cole—if you fail to close the gates of Olympus for good—Zeus will unleash his wrath.”

  I stared at her. “What does that mean?”

  She turned, finally facing me. Her eyes were calm, but heavy with something that felt like sorrow. “It means he will destroy every demigod left on Earth. All of you. No exceptions.”

  My breath caught. “Even us? The twelve?”

  She nodded once. “Especially the twelve.”

  I couldn’t speak. My chest tightened. Fear and fury twisted in my gut.

  “The gods do not forgive easily,” she said. “And Olympus is watching.”

  “Then how do I protect them?” I whispered. “My friends. How do I stop this?”

  She stepped closer. “You are stronger than you think, Zoe.”

  The marble beneath my feet began to fade. The stars dimmed. The young woman blurred.

  “But strength alone won’t save you,” she said, her voice echoing as the vision unraveled around me. “Remember that.”

  And then I was gone.