Before dawn, Hiro had sent Phinx ahead—wings blazing low across the sky—with a sealed message to Elysia: "Mission accomplished. See you soon."

  The air over Varnokh still smelled like old fire.

  From the crumbled watchtowers to the broken iron gates, the city bore its wounds like an aging warrior—proud but battered. Blackened stones, half-rebuilt barracks, and scattered training posts marked a place caught between ruin and rebirth.

  Hiro stood near the edge of the citadel, where the high walls overlooked the training yard. Below, young men were stirring about, carrying rocks and debris.

  Heretic, Banished, Traitor. The words echoed like a song in his mind.

  Darius approached, a slow, heavy step on the stone walkway behind him.

  “Not much to look at,” he said, voice gruff as ever. “But it’s still standing. That counts for something.”

  Hiro didn’t turn. “It’s more than standing. It’s breathing again.”

  Darius folded his arms. “What’s on your mind, Phoenix King?”

  Hiro looked ahead, then finally faced him.

  “I want an alliance,” he said simply. “Between Varnokh and Athens.”

  Darius tilted his head. “Thought we already had one, after everything we bled through.”

  “This is different,” Hiro said. “I don’t just want fighters when war comes to my door. I want Varnokh to be part of the foundation.”

  He gestured to the city below.

  “This place knows pain. It knows survival. Athens was built off of the same measures—kindred in spirit. I’ll help you rebuild Varnokh—better, stronger. In return, you give me warriors. Trainers. Discipline. Not chaos. We will be bound by blood.”

  Darius raised a brow. “You want to make a city of war?”

  “I want to create a place that never bows again. Not to Olympus. Not to the Underworld. To no one.”

  A long silence passed between them.

  Then Darius stepped forward and extended his forearm. “So you’re not building a kingdom.”

  Hiro took the arm, gripping it tightly.

  “I’m building something greater.”

  "This isn't because Olympus don't want you right?" Darius asked jokingly.

  From behind them, Athena sat at the broken table, her presence quiet but undeniable.

  “That's much better than my original plan,” she said. They both looked at her, wondering what dread this witch had been planning.

  They both turned.

  Athena walked forward, eyes glinting with pride—and it was apparent she was planning out the next conquest.

  "No, you shouldn't do that," Damaric said with certainty. "If you keep pushing the gods, this won't end well."

  The air shifted—not like wind, but like pressure. The weight of a mountain pressing inward.

  Darius didn’t move. He just looked at Damaric—and let his presence expand. It was instinctive, effortless. Like a volcano humming before it speaks.

  Dust lifted from the cracks in the floor. A nearby soldier staggered back, eyes wide. Even Damaric seemed frozen in place, jaw clenched, but saying nothing.

  “Open your mouth again, and I'll put you through the floor you’re so worried about,” Darius said, voice like a blade dragged slow across stone. “You're lucky the Phoenix speaks for you. I don’t.”

  He turned back to Hiro, the storm already settled.

  “Start carrying yourself like a king. If your men don’t know their place, you’ll lose yours."

  Hiro’s jaw flexed. He didn’t look at Darius—just let his gaze drift over the yard.

  “This king stuff might take some getting used to,” Hiro said, scratching the back of his head.

  A single white owl descended from the broken beams of the citadel’s ceiling. It circled once, then glided down and landed on the war table between them.

  In its claws, it carried a small egg, its shell glowing faintly—veins of silver and gold crackling across the surface like lightning caught in a shell.

  It set the egg down gently, bowed, and vanished into the dusk.

  Athena stepped closer and looked at Hiro.

  “This is a gift,” she said. “From the owls. From wisdom itself. Not a weapon. Not a warning. An offering.”

  Hiro stared at the egg, something stirring in him that had no name.

  A fire that didn’t burn.

  A storm without thunder.

  He placed his hand on it—and it pulsed, once, like a heartbeat echoing in his chest.

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  Athena turned away from the table. "I’ll be returning to Athens ahead of you," she said, already heading toward the shadows. "Hiro, I’ll see you back in Athens. We’ll finish making plans there."

  And she was gone.

  Hiro looked back over the edge of the citadel.

  “I’ll arrange for an envoy to bring you supplies as soon as I get back to Athens.”

  He paused, watching the wind move through the scorched flags below.

  “And when you're ready… send warriors.”

  Darius nodded once. “I will. But I know someone else—someone who hates Olympus more than most. He’s been waiting for a reason to step back into the world.”

  He smirked. “I’ll send him your way. He’s not kind. But he’ll drag the next version of you out—whether you’re ready or not.”

  The Way Back

  Elysia stood just outside the town gates of Velros, the light from the sun casting long shadows across the road. Beside her, Lyessa leaned against a cracked pillar, arms crossed, while Cainos paced nearby, muttering about missed signals.

  She glanced up at the sound of wings—and then she saw him.

  Phinx.

  The phoenix swooped down from the sky like a comet wrapped in gold, spiraling before landing gently a few feet away.

  Elysia rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Phinx,” she said, smiling as she buried her face in his warm feathers. “You’ve really grown. I’m so happy to see you.”

  She pulled back just enough to glance around. “Where are the others?”

  Phinx tilted his head, then lifted his claw to present the scroll—sealed with Hiro’s mark.

  Elysia’s eyes lit up as she reached for it.

  She unrolled the parchment, her lips parting in a quiet breath as she read:

  “Mission accomplished. See you soon.”

  She held the scroll against her chest for a heartbeat.

  Then glanced at Phinx, brow raised.

  “He sent you alone?” she asked softly. “Guess I’m not the only one being left out.”

  Phinx chirped once and tilted his head.

  Elysia let out a soft laugh. “That idiot… he better not have blown up the city.”

  “I bet he did,” Lyessa muttered.

  Cainos chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Elysia ignored them, scanning the rest of the scroll to herself. She looked off toward the horizon, wind catching the ends of her cloak.

  “I missed you too, stormhead,” she murmured.

  Cainos stepped beside her, eyeing the scroll.

  “Think he’s coming alone?”

  “Seems like it,” Elysia said.

  Lyessa clicked her tongue. “He better not be dragging another disaster behind him. The last one nearly cost us a district.”

  Elysia smiled, unable to help it. “Well… it’s Hiro.”

  The sky above Velros cracked with golden light as Phinx soared in wide circles, his flames trailing like ribbons of divine silk. Below, the townspeople looked up in awe. Murmurs filled the street. Some gasped. Others fell to their knees.

  Glowing symbols began to shimmer across their skin—each mark different in shape, but bound by the same divine thread. A child reached for his mother’s hand, both of them bearing a faint glyph that hadn’t been there a moment before.

  Elysia heard the noise and ran toward the square, cloak flaring behind her.

  “What’s going on?” she called, before catching sight of the phoenix overhead. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Then she saw him.

  Hiro walked at the head of a small group—his black and gold armor scorched in places, but standing tall. Damaric flanked him, face unreadable, and behind them marched warriors clad in Varnokh steel.

  “Took you long enough,” Elysia said, breathless as she reached him. “We got here yesterday.”

  Hiro grinned. “Sorry. Had a bit of a hiccup on the way.”

  Before either could say more, the village elder stepped forward, robes sweeping the dusty ground.

  “From the looks of things,” the elder said, “your mission was a success.”

  Hiro’s grin faded, replaced by a more sober nod. “Yes it was.”

  Damaric stepped aside, finally reuniting with the Ash Sentinels. Lyessa raised a brow, and Cainos crossed his arms.

  “You made it back,” Cainos said.

  “Barely,” Damaric muttered. He glanced toward Elysia, then lowered his voice. “We’ll talk later.”

  They gathered in the shattered remains of Velros' temple. Sunlight spilled through cracks in the dome above, washing the marble floor in pale gold.

  Hiro, Elysia, and the elder sat near the altar, where a map of the region had been rolled out across a stone slab.

  “Nyrion won’t be a problem,” Elysia said. “They’re willing to cooperate. Open trade, knowledge exchange, even arcane support.”

  “And Varnokh is with us now,” Hiro added. “We’ll be able to train soldiers, reinforce borders, and hold territory.”

  The elder’s face relaxed for the first time in days. “Then it seems we’ve survived the tide. This alliance could restore Velros’ standing. We will uphold our end of the deal and open our borders to you for trade.”

  They began to speak of routes, supply chains, guards. But Hiro's gaze drifted upward, toward the broken ceiling, where the sky spilled in like an open wound.

  This is only the beginning, he thought. And a faint, unreadable smile pulled at his lips.

  Later, in a quiet corner of the town, Damaric stood with Lyessa and Cainos, eyes darting around as he spoke low and fast.

  “You weren’t there,” he hissed. “You didn’t see what I saw. The gods have branded him. Olympus called him heretic. The Furies—the Erinyes—they came for him.”

  Cainos’s eyes narrowed. “And he survived?”

  “Barely,” Damaric said. “Because Athena saved him. Barely. Do you get it now? This is bigger than any of us.”

  Lyessa shook her head slowly. “We knew it would come to this.”

  “We have to protect the princess,” Damaric said. “Whatever Hiro’s doing… it shouldn’t involve her.”

  “We can’t tell the king yet,” Cainos muttered. “He’ll think we failed.”

  “Then we plan it out,” Lyessa said. “We get her out of here. No matter what.”

  That night, beneath the rising moon, Hiro stood with Elysia and Phinx near the edge of town.

  They said nothing for a moment.

  “Tell me what really happened,” Elysia said.

  Hiro looked at her, then slowly pulled his shirt down. In the center of his chest, etched into his skin like molten scripture, was Apollo’s Chain—a divine brand still faintly glowing.

  “They see me as a heretic,” he said. “That’s what this is. A warning. A curse.”

  Elysia’s breath hitched. “The Erinyes? And you made it out alive?!”

  “Thanks to Athena,” Hiro said. “You should’ve seen her, Elysia… it was—” he paused, eyes shining, —“it was incredible.”

  Phinx fluttered his wings beside them, heat rippling softly from his feathers.

  “And then Apollo showed up,” Hiro added.

  “The god of music?” Elysia said, voice quiet.

  “Yeah. He branded me. Said Olympus had made its decision.” Hiro chuckled faintly. “Guess I’m really not their favorite after all.”

  Elysia didn’t laugh. Her expression was quiet, distant—worried.

  Hiro saw it.

  “Hey,” he said, stepping closer, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. “I talked to Athena. She said Apollo is also the god of justice. So maybe this isn’t punishment. Maybe it’s the start of something else. And don’t worry—I have a plan.”

  Elysia's gaze lingered on the chain etched across his chest.

  “A plan, Hiro? It’s Olympus. My father, the kingdom—we were all raised to know how cruel the gods can be. Humans don’t gamble with them. And if we do, we follow through. Or we pay.”

  “I didn’t plan for any of this,” Hiro said. “But I’ll protect you, no matter what. Olympus, the Underworld—if they want war, they’ll get it. Because I won’t bow. I’ll claim it all.”

  Elysia took a step back. “Calm down. I’m not going anywhere. But Hiro, that doesn’t sound like you. 'Claim it all'?”

  Hiro’s voice was low, fire threading each word. “We’ll build a new Olympus. You and me. As king and queen.”

  Elysia shook her head, softly. “But we already have something, Hiro. We already have people, alliances, hope. Starting your own domain—that’s divine. But declaring war? That’s something else.”

  He looked her in the eyes. “That’s exactly why I said I have a plan.”

  Phinx looked to the sky—watching the clouds begin to stir. Then he let out a low, resonant cry—soft, but unwavering. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t warning. It was loyalty forged in flame—no words, no roar. Just soul answering soul.

  Far above, beyond the veil of night, a golden string shimmered across the sky—tense, silent, divine. Somewhere in the cosmos, a lyre string snapped. Olympus had heard.

  "The Storm and the Chain" marks a turning point.

  Hiro isn’t just surviving anymore—he’s daring Olympus to strike first.

  The brand on his chest isn’t a curse. It’s a declaration.

  Thank you for reading—this is the end of Volume One!

  Olympus is watching.

  So am I.

  Did you enjoy Volume 1?