WEEEEEEE-HAAAA!

  Gasping, panting, Mimi shot upright—only for gravity to yeet her right back on her ass. Classic. The world swayed around her in the dark, wood creaking, wheels whining beneath her.

  Blinking the sleep from her crusty eyes, she squinted into the dark until three familiar silhouettes sharpened into focus. Ellia, Galia, and Dante—better known by their masks: the raven, the falcon, and the owl.

  The council.

  Her groggy mouth opened to ask where in Hades are we—but before she could get a word out, the trio simultaneously pressed fingers to their lips. Mimi obeyed, eyes darting around as she pieced together her surroundings.

  A jolt, a creak, a sway.

  She was in the caravan. That noise she’d heard was—

  “Wow-wow-wow!” bellowed a voice outside.

  “WEEEEEEE-HAAAA!” came another, wild and unrestrained.

  The mules came to a hard stop. Mimi bounced in her seat.

  The councilors each nodded at her once, then stood and bowed their heads in unison. One by one, they donned their masks and stepped out. Ellia paused at the doorway, glancing over her shoulder. Even through the raven mask, Mimi could feel her smile—steady and fierce, like a campfire daring the night to come closer.

  Without a word, Ellia turned and tapped her butt pocket three times.

  Mimi blinked. What in the... She checked her own fanny pouch. Sure enough, a folded scrap of paper sat inside, labeled in slanted script: Little Bird.

  She looked back to where Ellia had stood—but the doorway now held nothing but darkness.

  Unfolding the note, Mimi read:

  Dearest Mimi,

  You passed out while packing. Guess that recovery sedative kicked in faster than expected—nothing we could do to wake you. So, I packed what I think you'll need for the ceremony, got your sacrifice caged and loaded... and yes, we got your fat ass loaded too. I’m calling B.S. on you being only 90 lbs.

  You owe us, squirt.

  As for your offering—I really hope you’ve got it. Because I don’t know where it is... or what it is.

  P.S. You're going to kill your trial.

  Immediately, Mimi's hand shot to her neck. Panic prickled under her skin as she fumbled, reaching beneath her collar until her fingers grazed the familiar cool of a dainty chain. A breath—sharp, then soft—left her lips. Relief. She tugged gently, drawing out the pendant.

  Even in the dark, the stone glowed—a quiet, haunting green.

  Most of the time, it was dim, like moonlight drifting through an emerald sea. But now? Now the surface shimmered, translucent and alive, like a bubble moments from bursting.

  Inside, a universe spun.

  At its core: a green star, pulsing as a heartbeat. But it wasn’t just green. It was every green. Sea-foam and mint. Chartreuse and pine. Lime and basil. Prisms within prisms, all swirling in a slow, cosmic dance, like Poseidon stirring his cauldron of tides.

  Threads—web-thin and glistening—ran between facets, connecting and vanishing in flickers of motion and light. It reminded Mimi of a diagram Ellia once showed her. Neurons, firing. "Neurons send signals in your brain," Ellia had said. It was more complex than that, obviously—but this pendant had them. It pulsed with something ancient and alive.

  It had belonged to her mother. A parting gift. A legacy wrapped in green fire. That made it worthy of the gods... she hoped. Because it meant everything to her.

  A soft sound pulled her back—a gentle pattering, like summer rain tapping on leaves. It grew louder, then stopped. Silence. A breath later, it returned. Three repetitions, just like the ceremony drills. That was her cue.

  Mimi tucked the pendant back beneath her charcoal shirt, stood, and faced the caravan’s door.

  Outside, the flock had assembled—cloaked silhouettes flanking either side of the path like sentinels in the dark. No drums marked the moment, but Mimi’s heart pounded loud enough for a whole procession. Each beat felt like a war mallet slamming her chest.

  She'd practiced this walk a thousand times. Alone, with Ellia, in dreams and daylight. Still, fear fluttered in her gut.

  It wasn’t the ceremony. That part she had down cold.

  What scared her—really scared her—was the chance that no god would come.

  The idea of being unclaimed. Unchosen.

  What if no god came for her offering? What if she stood there, open-palmed and hopeful... and got nothing? What if she didn’t receive a feather? Worse—what if she had to face her own sacrifice alone? The Lythera wouldn’t hesitate. No divine bond. No blessing. Just her, the beast, and a silence that echoed rejection—or death.

  Worse—what if she let Ellia down?

  That thought struck deeper than any god’s silence ever could. Her jaw tightened. No. She had been chosen. Trained by the best of the best. The Raven herself had seen something in her. She wouldn’t fall apart. She wouldn’t break.

  She was Mimi—youngest of the flock, apprentice to Ellia, daughter of a Kynigoi.

  Even if she didn’t fully understand what that last title meant. Kynigoi-born. A word whispered like a prayer and a warning, laced with mystery and fire. But she carried the mark. Artemis’s mark. Hidden, like her mother had asked. Hidden even from Ellia, even from those she trusted most.

  A secret written in her skin.

  The caravan door opened, and Mimi stepped into the world.

  Her boot sank into the mud with a soft slurp—last night’s rain still clung to the earth like a secret. The ground resisted her step, but she pressed forward, planting herself atop a gnarled root that jutted from the earth like a crooked finger.

  She stood firm, eyes scanning the cloaked figures lining her path. Shadowed faces. Hidden hands. But beneath their robes, each figure tapped their sides in quick, rhythmic succession—a soft cadence like summer rain falling on wood. The sound she’d heard earlier. A ritual, a send-off. Her send-off.

  Mimi bowed her head.

  “Strength,” she whispered to no one and everyone.

  Then she moved.

  As she passed, the tapping ceased. One by one, the flock vanished into the woods, melting into shadows. Where the caravan had parked, the trees were spaced wide—fifteen feet apart at least—but ahead, the forest thickened. The jungle’s second level, where the trees grew like siblings in a crowded room—only three, maybe five feet between them.

  These trees weren’t native to Delos.

  Nothing was, really. Not anymore.

  After the Forgotten Wars, the world had changed—reshaped by catastrophe and divine upheaval. Gaia had responded to the carnage, the bloodshed, the chaos. The planet’s frequency shifted. Life itself cracked open and something ancient stirred.

  The Gods called it GOD DNA. Mimi just called it weird.

  She wasn’t a scientist. She didn’t have time to explain this new world—she lived it.

  Name of the game? Survival.

  Having passed the entire flock, Mimi now stood alone at the base of a staircase carved into the mountain itself—a stone spine stretching upward into the void. The cicadas had gone quiet with the sun’s retreat, and now the night chorus began: rustling, hoots, a low, distant growl. Creatures of the moon, waking hungry.

  Her sacrifice would summon one of them. And not just any. The predator that came would be equal to—or greater than—the offering she made.

  And her offering? A Tier IV.

  Risky. Ambitious. Maybe even reckless.

  Monsters that high on the ecological pyramid didn’t just wander around like loose change. They were rare, deadly, and heavily regulated. Towns and clans put bounties on anything Tier III and up to keep the wilds safe.

  Which meant capturing one wasn’t just dangerous—it was a statement. A bet. A dare thrown at the gods.

  Staring up the staircase, Mimi took her first step. The rest came slowly, her mind chewing on the decision with each stride. If all went well—if the beast that came accepted her offering—she might walk away with a bond stronger than any the flock had ever seen. Stronger than even Ellia’s.

  That would guarantee her a spot on the High Council.

  For-suresies.

  But that was a best-case scenario. Worst case? A beast of matching or greater rank appeared... and decided to rip her to shreds before the offering ever left her hands.

  Mimi gnawed her lip. Maybe she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

  Then again, when didn’t she?

  She always carried an extra-tall glass of confidence to wash any wild idea down. A glass her mother had poured full every day of Mimi’s life. Until the very end. And when she left, she didn’t just top off the glass—she let that bitch overflow.

  “Mimi,” her mother had said, “we are Kynigoi. Not man, not woman, not Demi. Kynigoi. We carry Artemis’s spark. That makes us gods. And gods don’t hesitate. They act. They burn bright. They cast light into the dark and never look back. Now go, godling. Cast your light.”

  Mimi clutched the pendant at her throat, feeling its familiar warmth pulse through her fingers.

  Tonight was going to be freaking awesome.

  “I hope you’re watching,” she whispered skyward, only to be met with the rustling hush of trees and a blanket of leaves blotting out the stars.

  The stairs wound through towering, ancient trees, roots curling like sleeping serpents across stone and soil. Lush foliage brushed against her shoulders, close and reverent, as if the forest itself watched in solemn silence. As the last fingers of sunlight withdrew from the canopy above, the queen of the night ascended her throne—moonlight casting its silvery decree upon the world below.

  Bioluminescent plants bloomed to life, bathing the path in an otherworldly glow. Hints of blue, green, and soft violet shimmered in the underbrush, the light pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. It wasn’t just beautiful—it was sacred. A quiet corridor carved by time and touched by divinity.

  Rounding a bend, Mimi entered a broader clearing, the steps briefly yielding to a forest floor blanketed in leaves, twigs, and mossy stone. The trees here stood like sentinels, thick and shadow-cloaked, their boughs bending protectively above her. The air was cool and fragrant, tinged with the sharp sweetness of nocturnal blooms.

  From the darkness, eyes gleamed—animal, curious, watching.

  A branch snapped somewhere beyond the clearing.

  Another, closer.

  Mimi froze for half a heartbeat, listening. Then she kept walking. If something was out there, it could watch. She was done hiding.

  Soon the predators of the night would be on the move, their bellies gnawing for blood. And if any of them were worth their claws, they’d know the universal truth—species didn’t matter and the early bird always gets the worm.

  A little farther, and she reached the final leg of her ascent. The moment felt charged, electric. She hadn't even meant to find this path—just overheard it in a conversation she definitely wasn’t supposed to hear. But who could blame her?

  With ears like hers and a brain that never powered down, eavesdropping was practically a survival skill. Add a few years of recon training on top, and every whisper became a breadcrumb.

  Like birds, the clan had a habit of chirping out their thoughts—loudly, constantly. A chorus of chatter, especially back at the nest. Mimi sometimes wondered if they realized how much they gave away just flapping their beaks. Thanks to that non-stop verbal avalanche, she’d picked up a dozen secrets and learned that this stretch of the path had a name: the Heavenly Ladder. Supposedly the final leg of her ascent.

  Mimi had expected something more... celestial. Instead, what lay ahead was a hulking slab of stone that looked like it had burst from the earth in protest. The surrounding trees had been bullied into bowing out of its way, their trunks tilting, branches nudging aside as if reluctant to touch the thing.

  Steps—if one could call them that—had been carved into the stone’s center. But they weren’t gentle inclines or modest risers. These were slabs stacked like the vertebrae of a titan’s spine, each one knee-high, steep and unforgiving. A staircase? No. This was a climb. A climb for the gods.

  So, of course, it was called the Heavenly Ladder.

  Mimi tilted her head back and squinted up at the ridiculous formation. “How in Hades did they get the cage up there?” she muttered. Scanning the trees, she quickly concluded what should’ve been obvious—there was another way up. One the rest of the flock had taken. She was the only one required to climb the Ladder tonight. A test. A rite.

  A statement.

  They’d be waiting at the summit. Watching. Judging. Bearing witness.

  Mimi took a breath, the canopy above finally thinning enough to let the last whispers of twilight dust the stone in a smoky glow. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. She stepped forward.

  As Mimi scaled the Heavenly Ladder, her approach shifted with every grueling step. The first few rungs she tackled with her usual grit—dropping a knee, hauling herself up, refusing to be daunted. But five steps in, the incline sharpened like a blade. The next slab rose to her hip, and brute legwork wasn’t cutting it anymore. So she adjusted—palms flat, elbows locked, she shoved upward the way she used to hoist herself onto the counters back at headquarters when no one was looking.

  That trick carried her another seven steps before the Ladder truly earned its name. The next stone loomed at chest height—four and a half feet of unyielding vertical defiance. Mimi took a pause, chest rising and falling, and glanced back.

  Now she understood the name.

  Below, the forest vanished into a sea of mist. Not high in a mountain sense—maybe thirty feet—but with the thick fog curling beneath her, it looked like she’d climbed into the clouds. Straight ahead, she was eye-level with the uppermost branches. The dense underworld of trunks, vines, and hidden eyes had given way to needles, cones, and a sky choked with shadow.

  A low, bestial hoot cracked the silence.

  Mimi flinched. Nope. Definitely not a good place to linger.

  She pushed on.

  Reaching the next ledge, now level with her shoulders—actually, a bit higher—Mimi sprang for a support hold.

  Tried to.

  Instead of a clean grip, she smacked face-first into stone. Nose to granite, cheek scraping against cold mineral, she froze. Not out of fear. Out of sheer annoyance. With her face mashed against the rock, she glanced up.

  Nothing comforting awaited.

  The next ledge was even narrower. Half the length of her foot, maybe less.

  “Great,” she muttered against the stone. “Just... fan-freaking-tastic.”

  Suspended mid-air, feet dangling, Mimi twisted her shoulder and began the graceless task of dragging her boots up the stone. Her knee finally caught the ledge—barely—but in doing so, she smushed her face even closer to the rock.

  Two important things happened.

  First, her lip split on the jagged edge, and she tasted minerals. Salty. High sodium. Fantastic.

  Second—there was absolutely, definitely, 100% another way up this stupid thing.

  With a grunt that sounded more martial arts movie than mystical ritual, she shoved her boot onto the next ledge—yes, the one that had just eaten her lip—and slammed her palm down beside it. Her fingers clawed up to the next slab with all the grace of a desperate cat on a rain-slick fence. Momentum launched her upward, and this time, forewarned, she kept her face well out of stone’s reach.

  Arms spread like falcon wings, she found purchase. With one clean swing, she hooked a heel onto a lower ledge and locked herself in place—somewhere between crouching, hanging, and praying to every god that she wouldn’t slip.

  Muscles straining, Mimi poured all her strength into the pull. Her knee scraped over the edge, her fingertips clawed against the granite—etching tiny crescents of effort—and finally, finally, she found solid grip again.

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  And just like that, she saw it.

  Bathed in moonlight, the temple spread before her like some celestial hideout carved for gods who believed in drama. Grand. Sprawling. Impossible.

  And all hers.

  "Victory is mine!" she declared, punching the air with a triumphant fist toward the heavens.

  And then promptly almost fell.

  Her foot slipped, dislodging a spray of pebbles that clattered down the face of the Heavenly Ladder, their echoes swallowed by the fog below. She scrambled, arms flinging forward to clutch the ledge just in time. Heart thudding, she glanced over her shoulder—and froze.

  There was no ground in sight. Just the ghostly arms of the treetops, half-lost in the swirling mist. She was perched high in the gods’ attic now, standing on a peak that looked plucked straight out of Olympus itself—if Olympus had been surrounded by ancient trees still trying to outgrow the sky.

  Turning back to the temple, Mimi pulled herself up onto the elevated platform that crowned the summit. She dropped to her knees with a breathless gasp, letting herself drink in the sight before her.

  A sea of grass, soft and ankle-deep, stretched out like a living carpet, each blade tipped with tiny blooms that sparkled like fireworks paused mid-burst. Dark grey stones—siblings to the rock she had just conquered—rose like islands across the greenery, moss cloaking their north sides in velvet cloaks.

  Ahead, the temple loomed—its entrance the only one facing her. Whether that was coincidence or fate, Mimi didn’t know, but it felt right.

  Surrounding it all was an amphitheater of treetops, high branches packed with birds watching like feathered sentinels. Beyond the rear of the temple, the trees gave way to open sky, the distant ocean adding its whisper to the chorus of night.

  Mimi inhaled deeply, the salt air filling her lungs and grounding her. On her lips still lingered the briny sting of rock and effort. She smiled through it. This was it.

  The summit. The stage. The beginning.

  Her gaze drifted back to the temple—no, to the monument. The structure stood shrouded in moonlight, as if Selene herself had spun silver thread across its stones, draping it in a celestial veil. It shimmered like something out of a dream… or a warning. The kind of place that whispered come closer with one breath and run with the next.

  Breathtaking. Spine-chilling. The perfect blend of awe and unease. And perhaps, she admitted, the unease was warranted—she was about to summon a predator from the deep woods with a literal blood sacrifice.

  As if the temple overheard her thoughts, a low, guttural snarl echoed from within its depths, followed by the harsh scrape of chains and a chaotic clang of metal. The sound clawed its way through her spine.

  Mimi bolted upright like she’d been shot from a catapult. The chill crawling up her back was definitely not from the breeze.

  Eyes narrowing, she approached the temple with renewed caution. Yep—her earlier gut-check had been dead-on: this place was spooky incarnate. Even without the snarls and clanking chains echoing from within, it would've nailed the vibe.

  The entrance was framed by four titanic marble columns, arranged to create three darkened passageways into the temple’s shadowy heart. Two more columns flanked the central four, receding into the gloom at either side like silent guards. But these weren't just marble columns—they were monsters in stone.

  Each was streaked with swirling obsidian veins, not the dainty tracery seen in polished halls, but chaotic, inky storms frozen mid-battle against the ivory white. It was like the stone couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. Not structure. Not symbol. Something older. Wilder.

  At the top of each column, the swirly ends curled out like fancy snail shells—Mimi remembered those from the dusty scrolls Ellia made her study. They were supposed to look elegant, and maybe they did... until you saw the bird skulls staring back at you, dead center in every spiral. Big, blank-eyed, and carved from the same pale stone. Not just for show—more like stone-faced sentries daring you to come closer.

  It felt like the temple couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a shrine or a warning sign. Fancy swirls up top, and then—bam!—death masks. It was like some old-world architect had gotten bored and decided to make history spooky on purpose.

  The base of each column echoed this motif. The swirling black-and-white pattern twisted downward into a triad of taloned claws, each gripping a stone sphere as if ready to spring. These spheres rested on the middle tier of the three broad steps that wrapped around the temple like a stone ribbon, forming its elevated foundation.

  Mimi stepped back, trying to make sense of the temple’s shape. It wasn’t a simple rectangle or square. The structure hinted at a geometric complexity—a gon of some sort. Hexagon? Octagon? Dodecagon? The angles played tricks on her eyes, refusing to settle into a single form, as if the building delighted in keeping its secrets.

  About twenty feet from the front steps, something glinted at the apex of the triangular pediment. A crystal, embedded deep within the stone, caught the moonlight and winked at her like a knowing eye. Another wildcat’s roar echoed from within, a guttural reminder that she wasn’t alone.

  Mimi’s heart quickened. As she approached the steps, the temple’s full scale revealed itself. This wasn’t just a building; it was a titan carved from stone, a monument to gods who didn’t care to be understood.

  From atop the Heavenly Ladder, the temple had seemed almost small, dwarfed by the towering treetops. But now, standing at the base of its twenty-foot columns, Mimi felt like a speck of dust before a mountain. The stone spheres at the bottom of each column reached her hips, and the marble talons clutching them were as long as her arm.

  Every detail was meticulously crafted. The talons bore avian-like scales so precise they could belong to a real bird—if that bird were a giant. The sheer scale and artistry commanded respect, speaking in a language older than words.

  Unlike the steep steps of the Heavenly Ladder, the temple's stairs were more forgiving. Each step was shallow but deep, allowing Mimi to take two strides across before ascending. Standing between the colossal columns—so wide she couldn't wrap her arms halfway around one—she craned her neck to examine the roof's gable.

  Within the triangular space above the entrance, an epic battle was carved into the stone. The level of detail was staggering: gods, each perfectly chiseled, brandished their weapons with palpable defiance toward the center column.

  Intrigued, Mimi hopped down the steps to get a better look at the other side of the central column. Another carving came into view—twelve figures, armed and braced for battle. But unlike the bold, godlike forms from before, one of these was already wounded, sinking to one knee, clutching its middle. The Titans.

  She wanted to study them all, memorize every face, trace the story chiseled in stone as it wrapped from one side of the temple to the next. But the moon was climbing, and her moment was coming. There would be time later—after the ritual, after the feathers fell. Ellia would know the whole story. They could explore it together, maybe even with snacks.

  That thought warmed her just enough to press forward. She stepped over the threshold and into the temple’s embrace.

  The dark hit her like a velvet curtain—thick and absolute. She barely had time to blink before—

  WOOSH.

  The air shifted as flames burst to life on her left, her right, and straight ahead. The temple exhaled orange light that chased itself across the vaulted ceiling. Mimi flinched, squinting as the sudden brightness painted the shadows in motion.

  As her eyes adjusted, she realized the light didn’t come from open fire-pits but from massive metal cauldrons, each etched with the face of Apollo himself. Around each rim, narrow slits formed a kind of metal crown, and the flames inside threw slanted shadows that danced across the walls like restless ghosts or beams of sunlight.

  One cauldron burned in each wedge of the temple. Eight sides. She counted them to be sure, grinning when her mental math matched the architecture.

  “Told ya,” she muttered. “Octagon.”

  As Mimi’s eyes adjusted fully, she took in the temple’s strange design—elegant and eerie in its simplicity. No walls. Just columns and a ceiling, all open to the night. The flames from the nearest cauldron roared like a living thing, casting long, flickering shadows across the stone. The thing was massive—if not for the fire, she could probably duck inside and disappear. Hide and burn, maybe. Tempting combo.

  Her grin faded as movement caught her eye.

  A hooded figure stepped from behind the cauldron, torch in hand, face hidden in shadow. One of her future flock-mates. Her soon-to-be comrade. Across the temple, others emerged in synchrony, one per segment, stepping into the firelight like players taking their marks.

  They moved as one. Each walked to the column to the right of their cauldron, slotted their torch into a narrow wall sconce or column sconce, and then vanished between the massive pillars that framed the temple’s center. The choreography was seamless—ritual etched into muscle memory.

  Mimi followed her guide’s path to the spot behind the cauldron. There, with the fire at her back, she looked straight through to the temple’s heart.

  Her breath caught.

  The center opened like a giant amphitheater—roofless, silent, and staring up at the gods. At its core stood a heavy stone altar. Pacing on top, caged and restless, was her offering. The beast snapped and snarled, rattling the bars of its confinement. But Mimi’s eyes were drawn beyond it.

  Behind the altar loomed an obelisk—tall, stark, and black as spilled ink. A single column of obsidian rising like a dagger toward the stars. Its surface shimmered in the firelight, every angle sharp, every shadow deep. It was... beautiful.

  No, it was more than that.

  It was important—utterly mesmerizing.

  The obelisk towered above everything—a silent sentinel carved from onyx-dark stone. Each of its four faces was etched with glyphs, their lines winding together in a language that felt older than the forest, older than the gods. At its peak, the crystal she'd glimpsed earlier now shimmered with quiet power, catching the moonlight like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

  About halfway up, a break in the smooth surface: a circular metal cylinder embedded into the stone like a lock waiting for a key. Four loops jutted from its sides. One bore a chain—thick, taut, and unforgiving—leading to the collar around the beast's neck. Her sacrifice.

  As Mimi stepped fully into the moonlit arena, a new sound met her ears. A steady beat. Not drums—feet. The rhythm of flesh against stone. A percussive chant that echoed off the temple’s bones and into her own chest. It mimicked the pounding of her heart—no, it was her heart now, amplified and echoed back by the flock.

  She turned, gaze snapping to the source.

  They sat in rows along the temple’s sides, each of them silent, masked, and watching. Their feet tapped in unison, a rhythm that felt ancient, like something older than memory stirring again. A chorus of faith and expectation. The ceremony had begun. The trial was hers.

  Before her stretched a ramp—flat, wide, and impossibly straight. A carved artery leading to the altar and the waiting beast. Mimi stood at its mouth, nerves crawling up her spine like ivy.

  She inhaled.

  Then again.

  One more.

  Each breath steadier than the last... but not by much.

  Forget it. There was no calming the storm now.

  The only way forward was through it.

  As Mimi descended the ramp, each step seemed to trigger the pounding of feet on stone to grow louder—syncing, then racing, with her heartbeat. The arena floor spread out beneath her like a sacred scroll, its compacted sand etched into concentric rings—ripples around the altar like planets around a sun.

  She hesitated for half a heartbeat. The soles of her feet disturbed the perfect symmetry of the circles. Guilt nipped at her—she was smudging something sacred. But then the cage rattled. Her beast snarled, low and vicious. The circles didn’t matter anymore.

  Mimi hissed right back—feral and unafraid.

  From the shadows flanking the arena, three hooded figures emerged in silence. Their faces were veiled, but the elongated beaks that jutted from beneath the fabric gave them the look of birdlike wraiths—unblinking, unknowable, and judging.

  Mimi turned her full attention to the caged predator before her. A Lythera—Tier IV. Caged, yes, but still coiled with enough violence to shred steel.

  It was a chimera of apex design. Its coat, short and burnished like a lion’s, clung to a body shaped by evolution into something dangerously efficient. Its eyes gleamed with the high-alert cunning of a jungle cat. But its snout? All wolf—broad, wet, lined with fangs that didn’t just pierce, but crushed.

  Its legs were thick with canine muscle, built for chase—but its paws ended in feline claws, long and curved, made for clean kills. Nature hadn’t blended the two. It had fused them like a weapon in a forge.

  Even caged, it paced like it had never been anything but wild.

  To run into one Lythera was bad luck. To stumble on a pack? That was the gods telling you to write your own eulogy.

  Luckily for Mimi, this particular Lythera had stumbled into one of her traps—painstakingly designed, annoyingly tested, and miraculously successful. The creature’s pack had already ditched it, likely sensing weakness. Desperate and snarling, it had gnawed at the wire cinched tight around its paw, drawing blood in the process.

  And blood in the wild was an invitation. Not just for death—but for competition.

  Another predator had taken the bait. A clash followed—one brutal enough that by the time Mimi found the Lythera, it was barely standing. Its shoulder was torn open, the wound dangerously close to the jugular, ribs bent in unnatural angles. It looked like death, but death hadn’t claimed it. Yet.

  Mimi, ever the opportunist, sedated the beast and wrangled it into a cage using a system of pulleys and rope she'd half-invented, half-improvised. It was ugly, inefficient, and brilliant. Like her.

  She’d tried to spin a daring tale for her comrades—something with flair and panache. But every version either sounded like a drunken bard’s fever dream or a joke that never quite landed. Her best line?

  “I walked in on a buffet. Shame he was both the guest and the entrée…”

  No one laughed but her.

  She figured it was funny because there wasn’t exactly a “he” left. Just a mess—a scatter of bones, blood-matted feathers, and a pulpy heap of half-digested entrails. Whatever the Lythera had tangled with, it hadn’t just won. It had devoured its enemy. Completely.

  That part? That part nagged at her. She was supposed to summon an avian beast tonight. And knowing her Lythera had already bested something with feathers… didn’t exactly sit right.

  With Ellia’s help, Mimi had nursed the beast back to health—preparing it, and herself, for this pivotal night. The lunar eclipse. Her initiation. The moment she’d trained for.

  She was ready. Or thought she was.

  But standing there, watching the Lythera pace inside its cage, something twisted in her gut. It wasn’t fear. It was doubt. A clawing sense of remorse.

  Beasts were dangerous, sure. Especially ones like this— born predators. But did that make it right? To trap it. Heal it. Just to offer it up?

  She clenched her fists. Was divine will enough to justify cruelty?

  Her eyes flicked away from the Lythera, locking instead on the three figures watching from the periphery—an owl, a falcon, and a raven. Then upward, to the crystal-tipped obelisk. Then outward, to the sea of moonlit treetops ringing the temple.

  Tonight, everything changed. Tonight, she earned her place. Her feather. Her family.

  A single breath. In. Out.

  The raven raised her arms.

  Silence fell like a guillotine.

  No more drumming feet. Just the crackle of temple flames, the sigh of the forest, waves breaking far below, and the low, restless growl of the caged beast.

  Then Ellia’s voice cut through the hush, clear and commanding. From her place at the altar, she spoke, the Lythera snarling behind her—fur bristling, fury simmering.

  “Tonight, our sister calls upon the gods.”

  Cheers erupted from the bleachers, the sound bouncing off the marble and ringing through the night air. But as Ellia lifted her hands, the applause died instantly.

  “If they answer—and if they accept this little bird’s offering—she will earn her feather and join the flock.”

  A whistle rang out. Not a cheer this time, but a call—low and drawn out, followed by a high, clear note and three crisp mid-tone chirps. Mimi froze.

  She knew that song.

  She’d heard it in the mornings, walking the edge of the woods, always thinking it came from a bird. But now? Now she wasn’t so sure. Had they been watching her all along? Testing her? Studying her like a potential hatchling?

  Ellia’s voice rose again. “Mimi has proven herself to me and to the council.” The owl and falcon dipped their heads in agreement. “But we are not the flock.”

  A pause.

  “So now we ask you—what say you? This little bird has lived beside you, trained beside you, broken bread at your fire. You’ve watched her in the nest and roaming free. What is your verdict?”

  From the shadows came a sharp, fortissimo whistle—then a second, shorter one that cut off like a blade. Mimi blinked. That didn’t sound like a yes.

  She turned to Ellia, searching her face for reassurance—but the raven didn’t move.

  Each second dragged like an eternity.

  Did she mess up? Did someone not like her? Did she talk too much? Eat someone’s rations? Snore?

  Wait—did she snore?

  "I'm glad the council and flock are in accord," Ellia said, her voice smooth and resolute.

  Mimi exhaled—finally—her shoulders easing with the weight of relief.

  "Then we shall begin the ritual. Let us pray to our patron gods."

  All around her, arms lifted to chest height, palms turning skyward. Mimi followed suit, breath hitching with anticipation.

  In perfect unison, the prayer began:

  "Oh far-shooting Apollo, bringer of the sun, may thy beams lighten our path.

  "May your light not only guide our feet, but our mind and soul as one.

  "For the day will come whence we become but a single tune of good fortune.

  "Till then, we pray for protection by day. May your sun forever burn, so that astray we never turn.

  "Two halves, a whole, the sun takes its downward stroll as the slumber of day is but the waking of night.

  "A prance, a glance, and the twins advance.

  "At twilight's dawn comes Artemis the fawn, goddess of the night whose moon shines so bright.

  "Shadows and light are one and the same, which is why we call upon thee, Artemis the vain.

  "Quiet, solemn, only in name, as the battles within are never tame.

  "If thou don’t go within, then you’ll go without—so please, goddess Artemis, cast away our doubt.

  "In darkness and light, may the twins guide our flight."

  Their voices didn’t shout but carried—soft, resonant, and unified, like a hymn carried on the wind. Mimi spoke each line with intent, letting the rhythm settle into her bones. The words felt ancient, like a song whispered across generations, and somewhere in the cadence she found her center.

  These weren’t just gods. They were the sun and moon. Beginnings and endings. The cycle of everything.

  She’d read once that Apollo and Artemis were like life itself: rising, falling, cycling back around. Her mother, ever devout to Artemis, had believed it with all her being. The huntress. The protector. The moon’s fierce and watchful eye. Now Mimi stood in that same light, surrounded by those who also believed—those who called her kin.

  And tonight, she would make her offering in their name.

  “Mimi, are you ready to undergo your trial?” Ellia’s voice rang clear, formal, but not without warmth.

  Mimi nodded once—tight, focused. No theatrics. Just intent.

  “Do you have your offering?”

  Beneath her loose shirt, Mimi’s fingers closed around the pendant at her neck. A faint green glow bled through the fabric—soft, steady. She gave another nod.

  The cloth against her skin was a small mercy after yesterday’s corset nightmare. That thing had felt like being hugged by a steel python. She wasn’t in the mood to relive that nonsense.

  Before Ellia could continue, Mimi raised a hand, asking silently for a moment. Then, in front of the entire flock, she began her last-minute ritual—no shame, no stage fright.

  She tugged her charcoal shirt into place, tucking it cleanly into her fitted black pants. The red sash around her hips got moved up to her neck, hair falling over it like a curtain. She twisted the cloth tight, securing her hair into a makeshift ponytail. One knee dropped to the sand—left first, always left first—while her hands unwound a shin wrap, pulled it taut, and refastened it with care. She repeated the process with the other.

  Then she bent, unstrapped her sandals, and placed them neatly at the altar’s base.

  The Lythera snarled inside its cage, leaping at the bars. Mimi met it with a hiss of her own—not bravado, not challenge. Just acknowledgment. They were both stuck in this.

  Straightening, she returned to her place before the altar.

  That’s when the ripple of giggles hit—subtle at first, then spreading like mischief on the wind.

  She froze. Hand shot to her backside. Had she split her pants again? No—these were the stretchy ones. Her face scrunched, half in annoyance, half in confusion.

  Then she caught a twitch from the raven—just a subtle ripple in the shoulders, but unmistakable. Ellia was holding back a laugh. Even with the mask, Mimi could feel it.

  Ellia lifted her arms, the mirth vanishing like smoke.

  “When you have time,” she said to the flock, “preparing before battle is always smart.”

  Then, turning her masked gaze back to Mimi: “I take it you’re now ready, little bird?”

  Mimi nodded again—this time with a smirk tugging at one cheek.

  “I am,” Mimi said, steady as stone.

  “Very good,” Ellia replied, then addressed the flock. “Let us proceed.”

  Her tone shifted, ceremonial now—measured and clear.

  “First, release your sacrifice from its confines. It will remain tethered to the obelisk, a direct conduit to the grid. Upon doing so, you must tire the beast and draw blood with the sacrificial blade resting on the altar. In doing so, you summon another predator. If—when—the call is answered, the summoned creature will attack you and your beast. When its attention is fully on you, that is the moment you make your offering. If it is accepted, your gift will be taken, and your summon will fight for you—now and forever.”

  She turned her gaze skyward. The flock followed.

  A shadow had begun to bleed across the moon. One-tenth swallowed. The eclipse had begun.

  “May the twins guide your flight,” Ellia finished.

  Without another word, the raven, the owl, and the falcon moved to the edges of the arena, still and watchful.

  Mimi dug her toes into the sand. It was cool from the moon’s kiss, yet held the memory of the sun beneath the surface. She stepped forward.

  Facing the cage, she gave a shallow bow. Not because she expected recognition—she didn’t. The Lythera was pacing, restless, foam curling at the corners of its mouth. It wouldn’t see the gesture as anything but weakness. Still, she offered it anyway.

  Respect wasn’t about expectations. It was about who she was. Who her mother had taught her to be.

  At the altar’s flank, she grabbed the sacrificial blade—short, curved, deadly—and slipped it into a loop on her shin wrap. Then she moved to the rope on the cage’s right side and walked backward until it snapped taut. She now stood at the midpoint between altar and crowd.

  Beyond the cage, the obelisk hummed—a low, subsonic thrum that made the hairs on her arms stand up. The grid was listening.

  Her hand gripped the rope tighter.

  She took a breath.

  Then another.

  And one more.

  “Okay,” she whispered, heart pounding. “On the count of three.”

  “One.”

  “Two.”

  “Three.”