I had barely finished speaking when I felt it.

  A gnawing emptiness. A hole in my mind.

  Something was missing.

  I couldn’t say what—that was the problem.

  But the more I tried to grasp it, the more it slipped through my fingers.

  Chiron must’ve seen the look on my face, because his expression turned grave. “It seems, Marcus, that we must consult the Oracle of Dodona.”

  My stomach dropped.

  “Dodona?” I echoed. “You mean the oldest oracle? The one that drives people insane?”

  Chiron’s gaze didn’t waver. “It won’t destroy you.”

  That wasn’t exactly comforting.

  “But be warned,” he continued, his tone heavy. “Focus on what you need, not what you want”

  The Grove of Dodona wasn’t like Delphi.

  There was no cavern. No swirling mist. No throne for a priestess to sit on while channeling some half-conscious prophecy.

  There were only the trees.

  And the moment I stepped inside, they spoke.

  A thousand voices. No—more.

  They whispered, muttered, laughed. Some pleaded. Some promised. Some knew things about me that they shouldn’t.

  They tugged at my mind like greedy hands. Like they wanted something from me.

  I gritted my teeth. Focused.

  Then—

  Silence.

  And a single voice rose from the darkness.

  —

  "When the sky grows dark and the stars do fall,

  The earth shall tremble, gods heed the call.

  The oceans will rise, the mountains will weep,

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  The silence of Titans will no longer sleep.

  The heroes of old shall fade into night,

  Their strength undone, their flame lost to light.

  But in the hand of one, a weapon shall gleam,

  The Spear of the Fallen Star, forged in a dream.

  Its point shall strike where darkness does creep,

  And shatter the doom that the world dares to keep.

  But beware, O child of the blood of the gods,

  For wielding it is to defy their cruel odds.

  To retrieve the spear is to walk the knife’s edge,

  For each step will bring you closer to ruin or redemption.

  The path winds through peril, marked by forgotten sins,

  And shadows that hunger for the blood of the bold.

  One life shall be given, one soul must decay,

  For the world to survive, a price must be paid.

  The hero shall fall, their name whispered low,

  Yet the sun shall rise where the ashes do flow.”

  —

  I sucked in a breath.

  And everything collapsed.

  Darkness rushed in. My mind felt like it was being turned inside out.

  Then—

  I stumbled out of the grove.

  The air was different. Wrong.

  Why was it dark?

  I had only been inside for—

  Oh, gods.

  I looked up and found all of Camp Aegis gathered.

  Chiron’s eyes locked onto mine. “Marcus,” he exhaled. “Thank the gods. You were gone for hours.”

  The basement of the Big House was cold. The walls pulsed with old magic, runes glowing faintly in the dim torchlight.

  Twelve figures sat in a half-circle—the senior counselors.

  Not just any demigods.

  The strongest in camp.

  Chiron gestured for me to stand before them. “You all know Mark from our journey to the grove.” He nodded at me. “Mark, you already know Finn, son of Poseidon.”

  Finn gave me a look like don’t screw this up.

  “To your right,” Chiron continued, “the sons of the Olympian gods: Elijah West (Zeus), Aaron Mitchell (Apollo), Max Harris (Ares), Jack Evans (Hermes), Victor Miller (Hephaestus), and Evan Brooks (Dionysus).”

  Each of them had the kind of presence that made the air feel heavier. Stronger than most. More experienced than all.

  “To your left, the daughters of the Olympian goddesses: Chloe Reed (Aphrodite), Damien Stone (Athena), and Luna Davis (Demeter).”

  Chloe caught my eye first.

  She was pretty—obviously. Dangerously. The kind of pretty that wasn’t just about looks, but about presence. Like she could tell you to jump off a cliff, and you’d consider it.

  Then again, she was a daughter of Aphrodite.

  Of course she had that effect.

  I forced my attention back to Chiron. “What about Hades?”

  Chiron sighed. “Hades is a major god, yes. But since he does not reside on Olympus, he is not considered one of the Twelve.”

  I bit back a comment. That didn’t seem fair.

  “Now,” Chiron said. “The prophecy, Marcus.”

  I took a deep breath and spoke it aloud.

  The words felt heavier than before. Like they didn’t just belong to me anymore. Like the room itself had absorbed them.

  Silence followed.

  A silence thick enough to suffocate.

  I saw Finn go pale when I reached the second stanza, but before I could call him out, Damien—my own brother—leaned forward.

  “‘The Spear of the Fallen Star’…” He frowned. “It’s clearly a weapon, but which one? There are hundreds of cursed spears.”

  I clenched my jaw. “It’s the Spear of Romulus.”

  Damien’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re sure of that?”

  Of course he doubted me.

  Even my own siblings—children of Athena—thought Rome was nothing more than a barbaric empire.

  They knew nothing.

  I kept my voice calm. Steady. “Because the Spear of Romulus is the reason I made it here in the first place.”

  I was about to explain. About to tell them the part that terrified me the most.

  Then—

  A voice cut through the air like a blade.

  Cold. Calculated. Familiar.

  “Well, well, well,” she said. “Look who finally woke up.”

  My blood ran cold.

  I turned.

  And standing at the threshold—impossibly real, impossibly present—was my mother.

  The goddess Athena.