Page 41 of The Stars

They had packed some of the fruit and cheese from breakfast into a bag to take with them, and they stopped for lunch and a drink of water at what appeared to be the halfway mark. At least she hoped they were halfway.

When they had walked for another two hours, she caught herself from falling and grew frustrated.

“How much farther, do you think?” Amy asked, her voice breathless but steady.

Dante wiped the sweat from his brow and looked ahead. “Not much, I hope.” He could see a clearing ahead and could sense an almost magnetic pull. “We’re getting close.”

“I miss my tennis shoes,” she said when he helped her over a fallen tree trunk.

He chuckled. “I miss coffee.”

She groaned. “The tea they give us is close. But I could go for a Frappuccino right about now.”

They rounded a bend, and there it was—an old, weather-beaten temple nestled against the side of the mountain. Its stone pillars were cracked and crumbling, moss creeping up the sides, but it was still standing. An air of ancient power surrounded it, pressing against Dante’s skin, making the hair on his arms stand up.

“How long do you think this has been here?” she whispered

“Hundreds, maybe thousands of years.”

Amy stepped up beside him, her eyes wide. “It’s... beautiful, in a way.”

They walked through the stone archway entrance, and the long shadows immediately cooled their skin. Inside, however, the air was still, thick with dust and the scent of time long forgotten. The chamber was huge, and the ceiling was arched. There were faded murals along the walls—scenes of battles, gods, and figures that felt eerily familiar.

At the far end of the building sat an altar.

“Do you think they used to sacrifice things there?” she asked, and he felt her shiver.

“Most likely. Look at the writing.” He moved closer.

Above the altar, carved deep into the stone, were pictures and ancient writings. His eyes immediately focused on the words, and despite their age, he was surprised that he could read them clearly, as though the text had been waiting for him.

“The time will come when Pandora awakens, guided by Epimetheus. From the future they return, souls reborn, destined to battle gods and save all worlds.”

He read the words aloud, his voice echoing through the empty chamber. Amy stepped closer, her breath hitching as she traced the carvings with her fingertips.

“It’s our story,” she whispered. “It’s all right here. The two of us meet the djinn, Mia. Us, fighting the gods over and over.” She motioned to the walls and, when he focused, he could see the many scenes of battle etched in the stones, though they were faded and covered with vines. The murals told the same tale thousands of times.

“Reincarnations. We’ve been here before. We’ve fought many times before,” he said as his eyes scanned the images.

One mural showed a man and woman—him and Amy, he realized with a shock—standing before the gods, weapons in hand. Another depicted a massive battle, the two of them at the center, circled by almost a dozen others who fought beside them.

“This is what we’re supposed to do,” he muttered. “Fight the gods. Save... everything.” His throat tightened at the thought of the monumental task ahead. They had been destined for this all along, even when they didn’t know it. Dante clenched his fists. “I’m not afraid to fight. But how do we change the outcome? The answer to that has to be here.”

Amy’s hand slid into his, her grip firm and steady. “The answer is here somewhere,” she said, her voice filled with a conviction that calmed him. “We’ve come this far. We’ve been through too much to fail now.”

They stood there together, absorbing the enormity of it all, as the mountain winds whispered around them.

The air in the temple shifted around them suddenly. Instantly, they both sensed that there was a presence nearby. Dante felt a tingling in his skin, an electric charge that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He glanced at Amy and saw her eyes dart around the room, searching the shadows for something they couldn’t yet see.

Then a figure stepped from behind the altar, tall and imposing. His features were sharp, carved with an otherworldly intensity, his eyes glowing with ancient wisdom and fury.

Prometheus.

The Titan who had defied Zeus to give fire to humanity. Prometheus’s gaze settled on them, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“So you’ve found your temple, together again,” he said, his voice deep, echoing through the temple. “Pandora and Epimetheus, reborn.”

Amy gripped Dante’s arm, her knuckles turning slightly white. Dante’s muscles tensed, ready for whatever was coming next. The last time he’d had an encounter with Prometheus, he’d been warned. This time, he sensed that this wasn’t going to be a friendly reunion.