[AGRIOVATHRA BAY] (LENA)

  -?-

  Ugh. This guy. THIS GUY!

  We were about to become fish-paste. Two shiny heroes fell from the sky. My ribs were a cracked anvil. And he was complaining about my weight?

  "Le-na! Move already, you are crushing me!"

  An eye twitched. Every one of his stupid, bony ribs dug into my back. Always like this when he was bleeding out—fussy, sarcastic martyr.

  The shiny silver guy—Pher-whatever—stared at us, judging like we were some kind of sculpture contest. The other one on the flying horse just... hovered. Weird. And Nihl. Wouldn't. Shut. Up.

  A low growl rumbled in my throat. I'd had it. Officially had it with this day, this beach, this infuriatingly stubborn druid.

  He wants me to move? Fine. I'll move him.

  A fluid shift. A pivot on my knee. The side of my fist chopped down—short, precise. A spark of Promethean force right onto the pressure point at his neck.

  His eyes widened in betrayed surprise. Then they rolled back. His body went limp beneath me.

  "There." I dusted my hands as I stood, finally free. "Moved."

  I turned to face Pheren and Belleric, fists planted on my hips, knuckles still smoldering. "Right." A thumb jerked at the unconscious Nihl. "I'm Lena. The snoring log is Nihl. The incursion is that screaming cliff hole that's been spitting nightmare fuel for almost three days."

  I glared at Pheren, ember-eyes challenging his calm gray ones. "Status is we're still standing. Mostly. You gonna help seal this thing or just stand there looking pretty?"

  The two heroes stared. Belleric's face twitched. A snort escaped. His shoulders shook with barely contained laughter.

  Pheren's composure cracked into pure confusion. The scene froze. Awkward.

  Belleric broke first with a full-bellied laugh. "By Athena's owl... she knocked him out." He looked from Nihl to my defiant stance, getting it immediately. "Lady Hebe's retainers are... direct."

  It snapped Pheren back to reality. A throat cleared. His expression forced itself to neutrality, though a faint flush remained on his cheeks.

  "An unorthodox method of resolving a tactical dispute." His voice was carefully measured. A step closer, analytical eyes scanning Nihl to confirm he was just unconscious and not, say, dying.

  He looked back at me. "I am Pheren, Captain of Athena's Owl Legion. This is Belleric, my Sky Rider."

  "We caught the tail end of your warden fight," Belleric added, sliding off the gryphon with practiced ease. A pat to its flank. The beast let out a soft chuff, utterly unimpressed. "Hebe's report reached Thessaly. She was... persuasive. We came as fast as the winds allowed."

  Pheren's gaze turned to the screaming Mouth, his brow furrowing. The strategist was already working. "A three-day siege against adaptive phantom and beast swarms, culminating in engagement with a corrupted coastal guardian..." He looked back at me, a first flicker of genuine respect showing in his steely eyes. "Your tenacity is commendable. The reports from Amazon Herse did not do you justice."

  A gesture to Nihl. "But we require a full briefing on the Labyrinthos's internal structure and corruption patterns. Preferable if your strategist was... conscious... for that."

  Belleric grinned, stepping forward with a waterskin. "Here." He offered it to me.

  My head snapped toward Pheren at the mention of Herse. A vertebra cracked.

  "Herse?" A growl. Eyes narrowed to ember-slits. "That bronze-plated show-off talked about me? Tell her the rematch offer stands. No holds barred."

  My reputation—for brawling—reaching Athena's gleaming halls? Absurdly satisfying. Currency I understand.

  But then Pheren called Nihl a "strategist." My brain stuttered to a halt.

  A blink. I looked down at Nihl, drooling on seaweed, dead to the world. A snort. Then another. Then I was laughing—loud, bark-like laughs that echoed across the beach.

  "Him? A strategist?" A wheeze, clutching my bruised side. "He's the guy who talks to seagulls for tactical advice! His big plan is usually 'Lee, hit that thing really hard!' or 'Lee, I'm turning into a badger, cause a distraction!'"

  A thumb jabbed at his unconscious form. "He's not a strategist. He's my... my..."

  I struggled for the right word, my laughter dying. "He's my shield. The annoying voice in my ear that tells me when I'm about to do something really stupid. Which is always."

  My gaze softened for a fraction of a second. Just a fraction. Then my attention snapped back to the Athena pretty-boys, bravado returning full force.

  I snatched the waterskin from Belleric. "Thanks." A grunt. I uncorked it and dumped the entire contents directly onto Nihl's face.

  A splutter. A cough. His eyes cracked open halfway—unfocused, confused. Then closed again. A groan.

  Still mostly out. Crap. Hit him too hard. But he was being really annoying. His fault.

  I tossed the empty waterskin back to a stunned Belleric and planted my hands on my hips.

  A wave of panic hit. Nihl remained unconscious, a twitching, seaweed-covered lump at my feet.

  A nervous glance at Pheren and Belleric. Pheren seemed to be deciding between calling a medic or just surrendering. Belleric stared with amused concern that made my skin crawl.

  Right. Damage control. A throat clear. I projected a nonchalant competence I didn't feel.

  "Okay, so..." A vague gesture toward the cliffside. "The, uh... Nightmare Mouth. Like a pissed-off god's stomachache. Except instead of burping, it's barfing shadow monsters and sea-foxes that want to steal your socks."

  A pause. Realization that wasn't helping. "It's a Labyrinthos." Slow, deliberate enunciation, like talking to dense children. "Like... a dungeon. But alive. Makes monsters from your feelings. Or the god's feelings. Or something."

  A frown. I struggled for the right analogy. "Imagine your brain having a really bad day. Then throwing up copies of your worst memories. Except now they have teeth and drain your strength." Hand gestures accompanied this. "And sometimes it makes fog. Whispers at you. If you don't seal it, it explodes. Turns the countryside into a giant, monster-filled toilet."

  Belleric scratched his head with a sheepish smile. "So it's... a magical, monster-spewing... uh... feeling-toilet?"

  Pheren closed his eyes. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Opened them, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the horizon.

  "YES! Exactly!" I pointed at Belleric like he'd solved the world's hardest riddle. Finally, someone got it! "See, Pheren? He gets it!"

  Full attention to Belleric now, eager to elaborate with a captive audience. "Okay, shadow-ghosts." Hands up like claws. "Spindly, sad. Whisper your bad memories. Like guilt grew legs and tries to stab you. Cold. Not snow-cold—empty-cold. Gets in your bones. Makes you tired and dumb."

  A mime of something scuttling. "Then the shell-fox things! Fast, annoying. Spit nasty saltwater goop. Stings your eyes. No feelings, I think. Just mean. Like seagulls with teeth and bad attitude."

  A chest puff, my deepest, gurgliest voice. "And Fish-face! Big guy. Coral armor. Super strong. But brain all... swirly." A swirling motion next to my head. "Mouth made him forget who he was. Now he smashes anything near water. Sad, but really annoying when he's making kebabs out of you."

  A look between their faces, satisfied with my comprehensive briefing. "So yeah. Spooky guilt-ghosts, salty spit-foxes, brain-washed fish-man. All from the feeling-toilet."

  "I think," Pheren said, his voice tight, "that we should focus on stabilizing your... 'shield'... and then assess the structural integrity of the... 'Nightmare Mouth.'" A pause, like swallowing glass. "Perhaps a more... conventional approach to information-gathering would be beneficial at this time."

  He clearly had no idea what I was talking about. But more than that—he looked like he'd just bit into a rotten lemon. Oh well. I thought it was funny.

  A shrug. "Alrighty then... what should we do next, oh wise warrior?"

  But we still had a big problem snoring in the sand. A poke at Nihl with my toe. No reaction. A harder nudge. Nothing but a soft groan.

  Ugh. He's really out.

  A brilliant idea struck. I planted my foot against his side with a solid shove, rolling him over like a heavy log. Exactly how Finnik taught us to move unconscious comrades—efficient, if not gentle.

  He flopped onto his back, arms splayed, mouth open to the sky. Still out cold.

  "Wow," Belleric muttered, his voice filled with horrified awe. "She's... kicking him."

  "I am not kicking him!" A defensive snap. "I'm... repositioning strategic assets!" See? I can use their fancy words too.

  I tried again, both feet working to scoot him a few inches toward our makeshift wall. Like trying to push a boulder uphill. Dead weight.

  Pheren watched this entire display with the expression of a man watching someone solve complex math by headbutting a chalkboard.

  Finally, he let out a long, slow sigh that carried the weight of the entire Titanomachia. "Belleric." His voice was dangerously calm. "Perhaps you could assist the... uh... 'asset'... before she attempts to 'reposition' him into the sea."

  Belleric finally stopped laughing and hopped down. "Allow me." He scooped Nihl up like a sack of potatoes.

  Show-off. He asked, "Where to?"

  A shrug. I dusted sand off my hands. "Just prop him against the wall. Maybe a seagull'll poop in his mouth. Wake him up faster."

  Pheren looked ready to have an aneurysm. Belleric laughed openly now as he carried Nihl toward our crude fortifications.

  The situation was completely absurd. BUT funny!

  Watching Belleric haul Nihl away was vaguely satisfying, like seeing a chore get done. With the "strategic asset" handled, I turned my full attention back to the two walking statues from Athena.

  My curiosity—a force as potent as my fists—started bubbling over.

  A march right up to Pheren. I stopped just a foot from his gleaming chest plate, tilted my head back to look him in the eye, completely unabashed.

  "So." A finger tap on his shiny silver armor. Clink. Clink. "You guys came from Thessaly, right? Did you see Hebe? Is she okay? She didn't get lost or anything?"

  The questions tumbled out, worry for our goddess momentarily overriding everything. Before he could form a response, my brain zipped to the next shiny thing.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  "And that thing you did! With the shield! 'En-kra-tay-ya'." I butchered the pronunciation horribly. "What was that? Like... super strong blocking? Or a magic word? Can you teach me?" A flex of my own arm, Promethean Flame flickering around my fist. "I'm a real fast learner."

  My gaze drifted to the screaming hole in the cliff. "Also, are all Labyrinthoses this... loud and whiny? Or is this one just a big baby? Nihl said something about 'Labyrinthos of Lethe'—sounds fancy, but just seems really rude to me."

  Arms crossed. Waiting for his answers. I'd laid out my entire world view in four simple questions. To me, it all made perfect sense.

  Belleric finished propping Nihl against the wall, walking back. His face was a masterpiece of contained mirth.

  Pheren looked mentally assaulted by a hurricane armed with a child's boundless curiosity.

  For a long moment, Pheren just stared. The gears turned in his head—smoking, straining, like an owl trying to solve a rubix cube.

  Belleric saved him with a hand clap on Pheren's pauldron, grin wide and easy. "See?" Belleric's voice was full of amusement. "Told you Hebe's retainers would be interesting. Direct. Refreshing!"

  Pheren shook off the stupor, addressing my points with forced patience—a scholar lecturing a hyperactive squirrel.

  "First." A single, gauntleted finger up. "Goddess Hebe—Dia—is safe. Under Athena's protection in Thessaly. She was... remarkably persistent securing aid." A faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Described you both with... passionate detail."

  My chest swelled with pride. Yeah, she better had.

  "Second." Another finger up. "Enkráteia isn't a 'magic word.' It's mastery's pinnacle—will and power as one flawless instrument. Cannot be 'taught' in a moment. Earned through years of discipline and trial."

  A scowl. "Sounds like fancy 'practice.' I practice punching a lot."

  Belleric chuckled. "Bit more than that, but spirit's there!"

  Pheren pressed on, voice strained. "Third, no. Not all Labyrinthoi are this... 'whiny.' Each reflects divine origin. Labyrinthos of Lethe, river of forgetfulness, naturally manifests as psychic noise and memory-based torment."

  "So it is a big baby." A firm nod. "God-baby with a tantrum."

  Pheren closed his eyes with a deep, centering breath. A tiny vein throbbed near his temple.

  Belleric jumped in smoothly, saving his captain. A knuckle rap on his own lighter gear. "Pheren is the anvil. Stands firm so others can be the hammer." A wink at me. "Like you."

  I considered this. Anvil and hammer. That... actually made sense. I looked at Pheren with newfound respect.

  "So." Pheren seized back conversation control. "The tactical situation. You are both wounded and exhausted. The guardian is temporarily neutralized but will likely return. The Labyrinthos mouth remains active. Our priority must be securing this beachhead until you are recovered and we can plan a proper incursion."

  His strategic mind was back online, building a plan. Belleric nodded, his expression turning serious for the first time.

  Belleric winked. Weird. Why was his eye doing that? Whatever. More important things to look at. Like the gryphon.

  My gaze snapped from Belleric's face to the magnificent beast preening its feathers a dozen yards away. My eyes went wide. All thoughts of tactics and anvils vanished.

  "Whoa." A breath. A few steps toward it. "Is it friendly? Can I pet it? Does it like snacks? I have dried meat!"

  I was already rummaging in my belt pouch, completely ignoring Pheren's reasonable tactical assessment. The gryphon turned its huge, intelligent head toward me. One golden eye blinked slowly.

  Pheren looked ready to implode. He laid out a perfect logical plan, and I was focused on making friends with a giant flying lion-eagle.

  "The... the gryphon is a trained mount of Athena Guild." His voice was tight. "Name is Aethon. While disciplined, I would not recommend—"

  Too late. I was already holding out a jerky strip, making encouraging clicking noises with my tongue.

  The gryphon—Aethon—sniffed the air. A cautious step forward. It delicately plucked the jerky from my fingers with its beak.

  A soft, rumbling sound came from deep in its chest, vibrating through the sand. A triumphant grin. "See? We're friends now."

  I turned back to Pheren, the tactical situation suddenly crystal clear. "So your plan is good! You two stand here, be the anvil, do thinky-stuff." A thumb point at myself, then at Aethon. "Me and my new friend do aerial patrols. Cover way more ground from sky! Spot if Fish-face is coming back, or more foam-foxes gathering."

  I looked at Aethon, now nudging my hand for more jerky. "What do you say, big guy? Wanna go for a fly?"

  Belleric leaned against our handmade wall, howling with laughter, tears streaming down his face. Pheren had his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking—impossible to tell if laughing or crying.

  The sight of the small, fiery-haired woman confidently recruiting his gryphon for an unsanctioned joyride was the final straw for Pheren. His carefully constructed composure crumbled.

  A sound escaped—a strangled mix of sob and laugh—as he finally lifted his face from his hands. He looked utterly defeated, not by a monster horde, but by a single, unmanageable force of nature named Lena.

  Belleric, meanwhile, was in heaven with a thigh slap, gasping for air. "By the gods, she's priceless! Pheren, she's your new cadet! I'm claiming her! Owl Legion could use this... directness!"

  "You will do no such thing," Pheren managed, his voice hoarse. A trembling finger pointed at me. "You. Will. Not. Mount. The. Gryphon." Each word carried the gravity of a divine decree. "Aethon is a highly-strung instrument of aerial reconnaissance and shock assault, not... not a tavern pony!"

  A pout. I stuffed the rest of my jerky back in my pouch. Aethon let out a disappointed squawk.

  "Fine." A huff. "Spoilsport. But my patrol idea is still good. You just don't like it 'cause you didn't think of it first."

  A march back over to them, energy undimmed. A poke at Pheren right in the center of his shiny silver chest plate. Clink.

  "So, Mr. Anvil. What's your big plan while we wait for Sleeping Beauty to wake up? We just stand here looking pretty? Because I'm really bad at standing still."

  I started shadow-boxing, weaving and bobbing around the two larger warriors, mock jabs at the air near their shoulders and knees. "Phantoms could come back. Sea-foxes could come back. Fish-face could come back with twenty friends! We should be doing something! Build better traps! Or I scout cliff tops! Or we could—"

  "We will secure the perimeter and establish rotating watch," Pheren interrupted, his voice regaining command steel by sheer will. He sidestepped my playful jab with supernatural grace. "You will take first rest period. That is an order."

  "An order?" My shadow-boxing stopped. Hands on hips. "You're not my captain."

  Belleric stepped between us, still grinning but now the peacemaker. "He's right, Lena. You're running on fumes. Just punched your own strategist into next week." A gesture to Nihl, still propped against the wall, blissfully unaware. "Even a hammer needs to cool off before striking true. How about this: you get some rest, and I'll tell you how Pheren once got his glorious hair tangled in a low-hanging branch during gryphon drill."

  My eyes lit up. Blackmail material? Now that's a compelling offer.

  Pheren shot Belleric a look that could curdle ambrosia. The great gryphon Aethon let out another soft cry, agreeing with me that this was all terribly boring. Now he was speaking my language.

  My fight-ready stance instantly dissolved. I plopped down right there in the sand, cross-legged like a kid at story time, looking up at Belleric with wide, expectant eyes. The rest offer was completely secondary to the promise of embarrassing Pheren.

  "Okay, deal!" An announcement. "But the story better be good. Did he cry? Please tell me he cried."

  Pheren let out a long, weary sigh that echoed off the cliffs. He turned back to the horizon, ostensibly scanning for threats, his stiff posture screaming that he was actively pretending this wasn't happening.

  Belleric grinned, settling onto a nearby rock like a master bard. "So." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "There we were, training exercise over cypress groves north of Thessaly. Young Pheren, so proud of his new captaincy and flowing, silver-blond locks..."

  He wove a hilarious tale of aerial misadventure—a low-hanging branch, sudden downdraft, a very undignified shriek. I was soon clutching my sides, howling with laughter, three-day siege exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

  Throughout it all, Belleric laid on the charm—warm smiles, leaning in slightly when speaking, finding reasons to casually compliment my fighting spirit or "refreshingly direct outlook." All completely lost on me. I just thought he was a really good storyteller.

  When he finished the story—which did not, sadly, involve crying, but did involve Pheren having to be cut free by a snickering squad of junior retainers—I was wiping tears from my eyes.

  "That was amazing!" A gasp between laughs. Then I squinted up at him. "You're way more fun than you look in all that armor." The highest compliment I could give.

  Belleric's smile faltered for just a second, clearly aiming for a different reaction. He recovered quickly. "Well, I'm glad you think so, Lena... Perhaps once this is all over we could—"

  "Hey!" I interrupted, my brain latching onto a new idea as I leapt to my feet. Any thought of 'rest' was gone. "Can you at least teach me that cool move you did when you landed? The halberd spin? Looked useful!"

  I immediately started mimicking what I saw, using my quarterstaff as a poor substitute. I nearly whacked myself in the head in the process.

  Belleric stared, utterly dumbfounded. His flirtations had been systematically dismantled and repurposed as combat tutorial requests.

  From his perimeter post, Pheren didn't turn around. Muttered words carried on the sea breeze: "I am surrounded by children..."

  The scene was utter absurdity. An unconscious druid. A flummoxed flirt. An exasperated captain. One hyperactive Pyraei girl seeing the world only in terms of friends, fights, and funny stories.

  [AGRIOVATHRA BAY – THREE HOURS LATER]

  (NIHL)

  -?-

  Grit of sand against my cheek. The taste of seawater—an aggressive Poseidon kiss. A throbbing headache, suspiciously like blunt force trauma.

  My eyes opened. The world swam back into focus. I was propped against our hasty handmade wall with a stunning view of the screaming cliff rift and a less-stunning view of Lena waving my quarterstaff like a demented conductor leading a goblin orchestra.

  A blink. Piecing together the path to my current ignominy. Ah, yes. The triton. The water. The feeling of being a crash test dummy.

  Then... nothing. A solid, merciful blank. Better this way. Some things a man was better off not remembering.

  A push upright. My head swam. Lena, bless her chaotic heart, was too engrossed in trying to decapitate herself with my weapon to notice.

  Next to me, the gryphon Aethon watched the proceedings with regal boredom. Its golden eyes held a level of disdain most philosophers spent years trying to achieve.

  I understand, brother. Humans are exhausting.

  Almost reflexively, I reached out and scratched the great beast behind its ear. A soft rumble of approval—a simple connection, a quiet understanding that transcended the nearby madness.

  Then, my gaze turned toward Lena. An exasperated sigh escaped my lips. "What have I told you about taking my... quarterstaff... you feisty small Pyraei headache!" A low grumble, mostly for my own benefit. The word "headache" was chosen well—the kind of greeting one might offer a particularly beloved, but persistently destructive, friend.

  As I watched her flailing—that infectious enthusiasm, the genuine delight she took in simply being—something shifted. The pain faded a little. The exhaustion receded. The Labyrinthos's terror lost a sliver of its sharp edge.

  I reached into my belt pouch, retrieved a small, sun-warmed stone, idly turned it over in my fingers. A grounding exercise. Center yourself amidst the storm.

  Right. Time to rejoin the circus.

  "And what," I said, pushing myself fully upright and addressing the world at large, my voice dry as desert sand, "have I missed while enjoying my unscheduled nap?"

  Belleric watched her, his flirting forgotten, now wholly focused on keeping her from dismembering herself. "No, no—less wrist, more shoulder! You'll take your own eye out!"

  Pheren had turned back to the cliff face, beginning his analysis of the Mouth. Professional distance restored.

  Then, I took a deliberate step toward the gryphon. The great beast, watching Lena's antics with avian disdain, shifted its attention to me. It lowered its head and nudged my hand with its beak, asking for more scratches.

  I complied. "There you go." A murmur, running fingers through the feathers at its neck. "You deserve a treat for putting up with this circus."

  That simple, quiet act with the beast finally broke the spell. Lena froze mid-wobble. Her head whipped around so fast I was surprised it didn't unscrew. Eyes wide—first shock, then pure, unadulterated glee.

  "NIHL!" A shriek. She dropped my quarterstaff, launching herself at me in a full-body tackle that nearly sent us and the very surprised gryphon tumbling into the surf. "You're alive! I knew you weren't that fragile!"

  The gryphon, Aethon, let out an indignant cry! It hopped back several feet, ruffling its feathers, glaring at Lena like she was some bizarre new vermin.

  That sound finally pulled Pheren from his assessment. He spun around, hand going to his sword hilt, eyes sweeping the beach expecting a new monster. And landed on me—standing calmly while being clung to by a human limpet, having apparently domesticated his gryphon.

  His jaw went slack.

  Belleric just stared, mouth agape. He looked from the pissed-off gryphon, to me, to Lena attached to my side, and back again. "He... he's petting Aethon," he said, a slow statement like he was reporting a fundamental breach of reality. "Aethon doesn't like people. Tolerates me."

  Pheren finally found his voice, several octaves higher than usual. "You... you are awake." Stating the obvious. His strategic mind was completely failing to compute this new variable: The Druid Who Tames Gryphons.

  Lena beamed up at me, completely oblivious to the shock she'd caused. "See? I told you he was tough!" A proud announcement to the two stunned heroes.

  I gently pried her arms from around my neck, gave her an open palm bonk comically on the head. "Yes, and you don't just make people sleep, Lena! And don't touch my stuff!" A dry statement, brushing sand off my tattered leather armor.

  The two champions of Athena looked at each other. The sound of my open palm connecting with Lena's head—that soft, familiar thwump. The sound of routine. Exasperated fondness.

  She yelped, more on principle than pain, scrambled back a step rubbing her scalp. Her face morphed from beaming relief to a spectacular pout.

  "Hey! I was worried about you, you ungrateful log!" A retort, her voice a mix of genuine indignation and playful offense. An accusing finger pointed at my quarterstaff on the ground. "And I wasn't using it! I was... conducting tactical research! Belleric was showing me a spinny move!"

  The justification was a predictable torrent of concern, combat-obsession, and outright denial. As reliable as the tide.

  A simple raised eyebrow. I let the sheer weight of silent disbelief hang between us—a tactic that had served me well for years.

  The two champions watched our exchange, utterly lost, as if we were performing a play in a foreign tongue. This sudden shift from near-death seriousness to... domestic squabbling had completely short-circuited their heroic protocols.

  Belleric broke first. A snort escaped, then another, until he was chuckling openly, head shaking in wonder. "Gods above." A breath, a wide grin spreading. "You two are something else." A look at Pheren. "I take it back. Can't recruit them. Never get anything done. Just be watching them all day."

  Pheren didn't share the amusement. His analytical mind was desperately trying to categorize us. "Unconscious Asset" was now "The Gryphon-Tamer." "Fiery Brawler" was also "Quarterstaff-Thief" and "Strategic Head-Bonker." His worldview was cracking.

  Finally, he closed his mouth, drew himself up to his full height, attempting to reclaim command of his rapidly disintegrating situation.

  "Your... vitality is... noted." To me, the words chosen with the care of a man walking through lit explosives. "Now that you are conscious, we can proceed. I am Pheren of Athena Guild. This is Belleric. We are here at Lady Hebe's behest."

  His gaze swept over both of us, taking in my battered state and Lena's unrepentant grin. "The immediate threat is contained. You have both endured a trial that would break seasoned warriors." A pause. His eyes lingered on the still-screaming Mouth of the Labyrinthos. "The real work begins at dawn."

  A final, solemn pronouncement. A turn back to the cliff face. The anvil was back in position.

  Belleric gave us one last incredulous but friendly head shake before following his captain.

  Lena watched them go, turned back to me. The pout was replaced by fierce satisfaction. "See?" An elbow nudge. "I told you we just had to hold on."

  A long breath let out. I hadn't realized I'd been holding it.

  For now, the beach is secure. Help has arrived. And my feisty small Pyraei headache is somehow still in one piece.

  For now, it was enough.

  Perfect.