Chapter Three - The Reluctant Alliance
991 Words
They left Thessaly before dawn, Artemisia did not look back as Drakon walked beside his horse rather than ride it, which unsettled her more than if he had towered above her from the saddle. It suggested patience. Control. A predator that did not rush its prey.
“You do not speak much,” she said after an hour of silence.
“You speak enough for both of us.”
She shot him a glare. The early morning mist curled around olive groves and broken stone shrines abandoned after Rome’s decrees. The world felt thinner now, as if the veil between soil and something deeper had stretched too tight. She felt it pulsing under her ribs.
“You’ve known about the seal for some time,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing?”
“I maintained it.”
She stopped walking.
“Maintained it?”
“With blood. With ritual. With sacrifice.”
Her stomach tightened. “Whose sacrifice?”
His jaw flexed once.
“Not unwilling ones.”
That did not comfort her.
“You expect me to trust you.”
“I expect nothing from you,” he replied evenly.
“That is a lie.”
He looked down at her then.
Silver eyes. Cold as forged iron.
“I expect you to survive.”
Something in his tone made her pulse falter.
She hated that.
They resumed walking.
The road toward Delphi cut through hills scattered with laurel and cypress. Once sacred. Now watched.
“Rome believes it has crushed magic,” Artemisia said quietly.
“Rome crushes what it understands.”
“And what does it not understand?”
His gaze drifted toward the distant mountains.
“Us.”
She studied him in profile.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Beautiful in a way that felt almost cruel. His features were too precise, too carved. His mouth rarely softened. He looked like something that had been sculpted to endure war, not affection.
“You frighten people,” she said.
“I know.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
That unsettled her more than arrogance would have.
A sharp wind cut across the hills.
Drakon stiffened.
She felt it too , the air tightening, magic recoiling.
“We are not alone,” he said.
She rolled her shoulders back.
“Good.”
He looked at her sharply.
“You should not welcome conflict.”
“I do not welcome it,” she replied calmly. “I refuse to fear it.”
A faint sound carried across the hills.
Whispers.
Not human.
The ground trembled faintly beneath their feet.
Drakon’s expression darkened.
“They’re learning,” he murmured.
“Who is learning?”
“The fragments.”
As if summoned by the word, the earth cracked along the road ahead.
Black vapor spilled outward.
Three shapes emerged this time.
Twisted. Half-formed. Clawed.
Artemisia felt her magic surge immediately.
Drakon did not move.
“Why are you standing still?” she snapped.
“Because,” he said quietly, “they are not hunting me.”
The creatures’ molten eyes fixed on her.
Her breath caught.
“They recognize your blood,” he finished.
The first one lunged.
She flung her arm outward, sending a wave of fire across the ground. It struck the creature , but did not burn it fully. It recoiled, shrieking.
The second creature leapt.
Drakon moved then.
Faster than thought.
He caught it mid-air by the throat.
The creature convulsed in his grip.
His silver eyes flashed brighter.
Dark veins rose faintly along his wrist as he whispered something ancient and sharp.
The creature dissolved into ash.
The third one circled Artemisia.
She felt it probing , testing.
“You carry something,” Drakon said calmly.
“I carry many things.”
“Something it wants.”
Her pulse pounded.
Before she could respond, the creature lunged.
Drakon was there in an instant , but she moved too.
They collided with the creature simultaneously.
Their hands brushed.
Magic exploded outward in a violent surge of shadow and flame.
The creature screamed , then shattered into nothing.
Silence fell heavy across the hills.
Artemisia staggered back.
Breathing hard.
Drakon steadied her instinctively.
She jerked away.
“Do not touch me like that.”
His voice dropped.
“Like what?”
“Like I belong to you.”
A long pause.
His eyes held hers.
“You do not belong to anyone,” he said evenly.
The sincerity startled her.
Then he added quietly:
“But something believes you do.”
The wind died completely.
Even the birds had gone silent.
Her stomach twisted.
“What are you not telling me?”
His jaw tightened.
“There is a prophecy bound to the seal.”
Her heart skipped.
“I do not care for prophecies.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then speak plainly.”
He stepped closer , not threatening.
Serious.
“The Oracle of Delphi did not merely guard the prison beneath the temple.”
Artemisia swallowed.
“She guarded the key.”
“And?”
His silver gaze sharpened.
“The key was born again.”
The implication hit her slowly.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Her laugh was brittle.
“You think I am some divine lockpick?”
“I think your magic awakened the fragments.”
“Many witches are strong.”
“None like you.”
She felt anger rise , because part of her feared he was right.
“I am not your weapon.”
“I would never reduce you to that.”
“Then what am I?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
For a long moment, he simply looked at her.
The cold mask did not fully hold.
“You are the only person who might survive what is coming,” he said.
Not worship.
Not desire.
Recognition.
And somehow that felt more intimate.
- Writer
