Quote: "A heart that beats for others carries the heaviest burden." — Khaimah Peter
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Owen collapsed.
His body, battered and torn, sprawled across the forest floor. Blood soaked into the soil beneath him, his fur matted with streaks of crimson. His chest barely rose, each breath shallow and uneven, ribs trembling with the effort.
Karl loomed over him, his obsidian blade dripping with Owen's blood. He crouched, grabbing the wolf's jaw and lifting his head with cruel gentleness.
"You should've run," Karl whispered, voice almost pitying. "All this pain, and for what? A half-blood who doesn't even know what he is?"
Owen's golden eyes, dimming, still burned with defiance. He tried to snarl, but the sound came out as a broken rasp.
Karl let go, letting Owen's head fall to the ground with a dull thud. "Killing you would be merciful," he mused, wiping his blade clean. "But mercy isn't what he wants."
The shadows behind Karl shifted — twisting unnaturally, curling like living things. A low hum filled the air, ancient and cold, vibrating through the soil like a heartbeat.
Owen shivered. He felt it. Something watching. Something ancient.
"Take him," Karl ordered, stepping back as the Hematoi — Hades' twisted creatures — slithered from the shadows. Their skeletal forms, barely more than silhouettes, latched onto Owen's limbs, dragging him into the darkness.
And Owen didn't fight.
Because he knew this wasn't about him.
They were still alive.
And that meant he had done enough.
---
The Forest —
Gravill stumbled, clutching his chest. Pain lanced through him, sharp and sudden, stealing the air from his lungs. He collapsed against a tree, fingers digging into the bark.
Nicholas skidded to a stop. "Gravill?"
"He's —" Gravill gasped. "Something's wrong. Owen — he's —"
Elsa's face paled. She grabbed Gravill's arm, shaking him. "We can't go back. He told us to run!"
Gravill's heart pounded wildly, every beat echoing with Owen's pain. He felt it like an anchor, pulling at his soul, dragging him down.
"I can feel him," Gravill whispered, voice breaking. "He's dying."
Nicholas' jaw clenched, his magic crackling faintly around his fingers. He turned back toward the distant clearing, eyes flickering with indecision. "I can fight him," he muttered. "I can —"
"You can't!" Elsa snapped, voice sharper than before. She stepped between them, eyes blazing with frustration and barely hidden grief. "Do you think Owen would want that? For you to throw yourself into the same trap?"
Gravill's fingers curled into fists, his knuckles white.
He hated this.
The helplessness.
The weight of their sacrifice crushing him.
"Why?" he rasped, voice shaking. "Why would he do this for me?"
Elsa's expression softened, her shoulders sagging. "Because he believed you were worth saving," she whispered.
Gravill pressed his forehead against the tree, teeth gritted.
But in the quiet that followed, something else stirred.
A voice.
Soft. Velvety. Seeping into his mind like ink.
"Is that what you believe?"
Gravill froze, his body locking up. The voice wasn't his. Wasn't Nicholas'. Wasn't Elsa's.
It came from nowhere.
From everywhere.
"Would they still fight for you if they knew the truth?"
Gravill's breathing hitched.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered, eyes wide.
"Hear what?" Nicholas asked, glancing around.
Gravill shook his head, pushing himself off the tree, wiping at his face like he could brush the voice away.
"I'm losing it," he muttered. "I — I just need to get to the Isle. Maybe it'll stop."
Elsa bit her lip but nodded, tugging him forward. "Then we keep moving," she said.
Gravill didn't argue.
But the voice didn't leave him.
It lingered.
Patient.
Amused.
"Keep running, little heir," it whispered, echoing through the cracks in his soul.
"The sea can't save you from me."
And deep in the Underworld, Hades smiled.