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Swiveling around, I stare at the frosted peaks. Where am I?
Everything felt so familiar. Whispering at my skin like I should know this place.
Kazbek.
This is Kazbek Mountain. Have I been here before? No. No. No. I couldn't have been here before. Kazbek Mountain is in the realm of the gods. Which court, I'm not sure. I must have seen a picture or painting of this place somewhere. Probably in a book. Shit, maybe I should cut back on books because this vision feels like reality.
A rush of wind sends a cool shiver down my back. My attention returns to dad.
The man is silent.
Solemn.
I could almost feel him praying for help.
“The oracles have prophesied that someone will come along and hamper my coup. My plans to regain control of my court. Of my home,” adds the stranger from the Veil who towers over dad and I. Eyes full of the familiar electricity which ripples through the clearing. “But they can’t determine who. Even your great prodigies can’t see their identity. Now, master of foresight, reveal to me the identity of this god.”
The head rolls in our direction, dad stares through me. Maybe to me? It's like he knows that I'm here.
The cool cerulean eyes of the god watch me. Like he knows I'm there. Not a word is said.
The god still has dad mixed up with the titan.
How long will Dad have when the god figures out that he isn’t immortal?
Will the god kill him?
Styx.
But when I watch my father, a sinking feeling fills my soul.
Dad knows.
Dad is trying to deceive a god.
“Just give it up!” I shout. “No secret is worth your life.”
The god’s eyes glow like lightning bugs from the creek near my home. Thankfully, it seems that he can’t hear me.
With unfocused eyes, I listen as my dad utters, “I have no heirs. I'm but a humble human hunter. No progeny as I have told you a thousand times before.”
“Drop the act,” the god warns. “Or I'll make this round of your torture particularly memorable.
“Dad! Where can I find you?” I shouted. My voice was hoarse and shaking. The snow plummeted down onto us. Sharply digging into my exposed skin like shards of ice, no matter how I attempt to block the flakes with my hands.
“Persephone,” Dad whispers. Speaking much like how Ari often communicates. Not always verbal but almost like our minds are linked.
His voice was faint. So weak.
His lips are cracked from dehydration. Even with all the snow falling around us.
My nose grows pink from the cold as I shiver.
The god snarls, “Yes, I'm aware.”
Dad’s eyes are full of hatred. Staring at the man from the clearing.
I snap my head backwards. Voices echo around me.
