The room Jackson had assigned me felt like stepping into another world—one I'd only ever seen in fleeting dreams. My own room. My own space. That thought alone made me hesitate at the threshold. It seemed impossible, unreal, that I could have a place this nice, let alone one I could call mine.
Pushing the door open, I took my first proper look around. The room wasn't huge, but it was perfect. A small kitchen stood to my left, with a single burner cooker, a miniature fridge humming softly, a sink, and a counter that gleamed under the faint light. Above the counter were shelves stocked with clean, shiny utensils—plates, bowls, cups, and cutlery. The fridge, I discovered after yanking it open, was fully stocked. Milk, eggs, fresh fruits, and a few containers of what smelled like butter and yogurt. My stomach grumbled at the sight, but I wasn't sure if it was hunger or disbelief.
To my right was the bathroom. Peeking in, I found sparkling white tiles, a hot shower, and even a small rack with clean, folded towels. My reflection in the mirror startled me—I hadn't realized how haggard I looked, with dirt smudges and weary eyes that seemed older than my years. But that was a problem for later. For now, I moved on, marveling like a tourist in some luxury hotel.
The main area of the room had a study table and chair tucked neatly in one corner, with a small lamp perched on it. Opposite that was a bed—my bed. It was neatly made, the blanket folded with precision I'd only seen in magazines. A bedside table held a lamp and a small wardrobe stood against the wall. When I opened it, I found gray sweatpants, a gray hoodie, and a matching shirt. They weren't exactly my size—slightly too big—but after years of wearing clothes that barely clung together, they felt like luxury. There were slippers too, and a pair of rubber shoes, both of which, by some miracle, actually fit me.
I checked every corner, touching everything as if to prove it was real. I couldn't believe it—this was mine. No one was going to take it away, no one was going to shove me out into the cold. For once in my life, I wasn't sharing a crammed, freezing room with a dozen other kids. I had space to breathe.
I headed to the bathroom, peeling off my worn and dirty clothes. The sight of my bony arms and scarred knees in the mirror made me wince, but the thought of the shower beckoned. When I turned the knob and the water came on, hot and steaming, I nearly laughed out loud. A hot shower. I stepped in, and the warmth hit me like a hug I didn't know I needed. For years, we'd been forced to bathe in ice-cold water at the orphanage. Now, as the heat soaked into my skin and eased muscles I didn't even realize were tense, I felt like I was melting.
By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a soft towel, my whole body hummed with relaxation. I put on the gray clothes they'd provided, ignoring the slightly baggy fit, and slipped into the slippers. For once, I didn't feel like a walking disaster.
The bed called to me next. I sat down cautiously, as if it might vanish, but the mattress was firm and soft, cradling me like nothing else ever had. My head hit the pillow, and I didn't even care that it was still early in the evening. My eyelids grew heavy, and sleep tugged at me.
---
I was back in the orphanage dining hall. The long table stretched out before me, exactly as I remembered it—scarred with scratches and sticky from years of neglect. But something was off. The air felt heavy, charged with an unnatural energy.
Across from me, Poseidon sat slouched in his chair, his trident leaning casually against the table. His ocean-blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my stomach churn.
"Don't forget to choose the trident," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "It's my symbol, kiddo. The only logical choice."
Before I could respond, Zeus materialized at the head of the table to my right, his golden eyes flashing. "Don't listen to him. You know I'm the better option. The power of the sky, the storms—think of what you could do with that kind of strength."
Then, as if on cue, Hades appeared at the opposite head of the table, his dark presence casting an eerie shadow across the room. His smile was sharp and predatory, his black robes rippling as though moved by an unseen wind.
"Again with the bickering," he said, rolling his eyes. "The boy doesn't need your sales pitches. Let him decide for himself." He turned to me, smirking. "Though I'm sure he already knows who the superior choice is."
Their voices overlapped as they began arguing, the words blending into a cacophony of demands and promises. I clenched my fists, anger bubbling in my chest. Where had they been when I needed them?
"Where were you?" I shouted, my voice cutting through their bickering. "Where were you when the sphinx attacked? Or when the cyclops was chasing me? Why didn't you show up when Matt was killed?" My voice cracked, raw with the weight of the memories. "You only show up now, when it's convenient for you!"
Poseidon opened his mouth to respond, but the dining hall began to dissolve. The walls melted away, replaced by swirling darkness. The gods vanished, their faces frozen mid-argument.
In their place stood the three witches. Their eyeless faces loomed over me, black pits where their eyes should have been. Their voices rose in a haunting chant, the words drilling into my mind:
"To choose one would be the worst mistake.
One cannot survive without the other."
They repeated it over and over, their voices overlapping into a sinister melody. Their presence pressed down on me, suffocating, as if the air itself had turned to lead. My skin prickled with cold sweat as their chant grew louder, their faces drawing closer until I could see every crack and crevice in their ancient skin.
The chant abruptly stopped. Their mouths hung open in a silent scream, and a deafening ringing filled the void. The sound pierced through me like a blade, making my ears ache and my head throb.
---
I shot upright in bed, gasping for air, my heart thundering in my chest. The nightmare still clung to me, the echoes of the witches' chant reverberating in my skull. My breath came in ragged bursts, and I could still feel the coldness of their presence lingering around me like a suffocating fog.
I blinked rapidly, trying to push the remnants of the dream away. The room around me was calm, serene, not the haunting, suffocating place from my nightmare. The bed beneath me was still warm, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting a comforting light over the small, familiar space. It was real. The room, the bed, everything—this was real.
But the dream, the vision, it felt just as real.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I frantically scanned the room. It was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the bedside clock. The ringing continued, though it was different now—soft, distant. It took me a moment to realize it was the dinner bell.
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady my breathing. My clothes clung to me, damp with sweat. The dream—or vision, or whatever it had been—lingered in the back of my mind, a sharp reminder that there was no escaping the gods and their games.
Shaking off the lingering terror, I glanced at the clock. It was 6 p.m.—time to head to supper. My stomach twisted, not from hunger, but from dread. Whatever lay ahead, I knew it would only bring more questions.
Shaking, I swung my legs out of bed. The dream—or vision, or whatever it was—still clung to me like a shadow. My hands trembled as I tried to steady my breathing.
Dinner. That's all the bell meant. But as I stood, the witches' words echoed in my mind.
"To choose one would be the worst mistake."