Page 33 of The Stars

They shoved off without any more words from the leader and watched as the island disappeared behind them.

The boat rocked gently as Amy gazed at the island ahead, surrounded by a veil of early morning mist.

The journey was a quiet one, with Dante sitting beside her. When they approached the smaller island, they spotted a dark silhouette of a temple resting atop a fog-covered hill. Large waves crashed against the wooden sides of the boat, despite the calm seas. Amy’s nerves felt anything but steady.

“I guess that is where we’re heading,” Dante muttered, pointing towards the temple.

The building seemed to blend into the dark skies, a shadow against shadowy land.

Amy nodded, her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever awaited them inside would change everything. As the boat neared the shore, the rower—a man of few words—brought them in close, letting them disembark onto the rocky beach. Without a word, he pushed off again, leaving them alone on the island.

“I guess that means there’s no turning back,” Dante said, his voice tight. He held out his hand and she eagerly put her hand in his.

They began the slow trek up the rocky hillside, the rough stone path winding beneath their feet. She’d never wished for a pair of sneakers as much as she did then. The simple leather sandals did little to protect her toes from the sharp rocks.

The wind whispered around them, carrying with it the sound of distant waves. As they climbed, she felt like something—or someone—was watching them. The temple loomed larger with each step, an ancient, imposing structure of crumbling stone and moss-covered pillars. How could this place be real?

When they reached the entrance, it was nothing but a gaping black maw. Cold air flowed from within, carrying the scent of something old and forgotten.

“Ready?” Dante asked, his hand squeezing hers, offering both reassurance and comfort.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied as they stepped inside.

The darkness enveloped them instantly, their footsteps echoing across the stone floor. Amy’s eyes struggled to adjust, but slowly, shapes began to take form. In the center of the chamber stood a large stone bowl, deep and wide, etched with intricate symbols. The bowl seemed to pulse with an energy, a presence that filled the room.

As they moved closer, a soft light flickered to life around the bowl. Then suddenly, three figures emerged from the dark shadows.

They were women—young, beautiful, with flowing gowns like the one she wore, only theirs shifted around them like mist. Each woman had long, ethereal hair, pale skin, and eyes that gleamed with knowledge far beyond human understanding.

The first woman stepped forward.

“I am Clotho, the Spinner,” she said with a delicate smile on her lips as her fingers worked invisible threads in the air. “The thread of fate is not bound by time, not by choice.”

The second stepped forward. “I am Lachesis, the Allotter.” She moved next to the other woman, her gaze sharp, calculating, as if measuring them both. “Each life follows a path, one set long ago.”

And the third moved forward. “I am Atropos, the Inflexible.” She stood behind them both, her presence heavy, as though she could end the world with a mere flick of her fingers. Her face was stern, eyes piercing. “The end has already been written. You cannot change what must be.”

Amy’s breath caught in her throat as she suddenly realized who they were—the Fates, the sisters of destiny. Greek myths had been told for centuries about these women. These… witches. No god, not even Zeus, could destroy them.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice wavering.

Clotho’s hands continued to move, weaving threads only she could see. “Pandora has always awakened.”

Lachesis’s eyes flicked to Dante. “Epimetheus has always been the key to awakening Pandora.”

Atropos stepped forward, her fingers trailing along the edge of the bowl. “The two of you will fulfill your roles. It is not a matter of if but when.”

Dante took a step forward, his fists clenched. “What does that mean? What role? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

The Fates turned their eyes on him, and as they did, something shifted. Their youthful features began to fade, wrinkles deepening, hair whitening. The air grew colder, as though time itself was unraveling in their presence.

“It has already begun,” Lachesis whispered, her voice echoing through the chamber. “Pandora has always awakened and will always awaken. You cannot stop what has already happened,” she repeated.

Amy’s heart raced. “But we’ve come to stop it—to stop Moros.”

The three crones cackled and then said together.

“Only Elpis can stop Moros,” Clotho whispered.