Page 16 of Invoking Ruin

Besides, I’m not concerned with the allies Nyx is letting me know about as much as the ones she’s keeping hidden.

It’s hard to imagine, given Nyx’s goal of bringing about the end of existence, anyone would willingly work for her. But family bonds run deep, and Nyx is mother and matriarch to so many of us.

I’ve never understood filial duty, but I’m not sure Eris ever tried to instill it in us. She left us like a lizard leaves her eggs, gone before we knew what was happening.

Nyx’s other allies will have to be tomorrow’s problem. Hopefully, Nyx and I are aligned just enough in our desire to keep the rift knife out of Olympian hands that they see me in a favorable light. They won’t completely steer me wrong.

Once I’m out of Tartarus, flight becomes safe again as the patrols lessen, and I rise above the trails of the Underworld, bypassing the realm of the Dishonored Dead and the Asphodel Fields.

The Moirai should have a haunt in Elysium, but I doubt they’re still there. Persephone will see them punished for a long time. They’ll want to stay scarce.

In the emptiness of the Underworld, there are many possible options when it comes to hiding places, but they’ll want to be comfortable. They’ll likely be in a place that doesn’t make them feel as diminished as they truly are. Being the Goddess of Ruin has given me plenty of insight into the desires and vices of my fellow gods.

The Moirai are terrifying, but no different than the rest of us.

They’ll be in one place, only.

With that hope in mind, I turn into the dim greyness at the opposite end of Elysium, heading for the grand abode where Nyx once resided. It would make a certain sense. The villa is abandoned.

Sure enough, there is some dim light at the villa—flickering and eerie—and when I touch down on the roof overlooking the atrium, I spy them. Many of the other gods have adapted their personal appearances with the changing times, updating wardrobes and hairstyles. The Moirai are as unmovable as the Fate they have dominion over. They still dress like it is the height of Athens, chitons in stark white with borders of blue, red and black. All of them are grey-haired, their faces lined but ageless. If the Decay ever touched them, I can find no evidence of its toll.

It takes no time to tell them apart from each other. Clotho stands, her drop spindle twirling as it forms someone’s fate. Lachesis is sitting, bent over a measure of thread, marking it appropriately and passing it to Atropos, who makes the cuts. I shiver to see them at work. Even the Void bends to such definitive existence.

They will not appreciate me interrupting their work. My mouth twists. I would sooner bother Zeus, have sooner bothered him. But he is no longer here, and they are. Fate has proved more eternal than the gods, themselves.

Slowly, I lower myself into the atrium. Even the small disturbance alerts them to my presence. They scowl in my direction, though their work does not pause.

“Well, come on now,” Atropos snaps, with an elder’s severity. “Reveal yourself and get this over with. We have things to do.”

They’re in a cheerful mood, I see. Not that I expected anything less.

I pull off the helmet and shake out my curls, restoring them to their natural order.

Here goes absolutely everything.

“Aunts.”

“Oh ho!” Clotho lets out a chortle, nearly unraveling her thread in the process. “Look who’s come. Did I not tell you, Atropos? I told you Atê would come to us.”

“You certainly did,” Lachesis says, not looking up from her work. “But then, it was not a hard guess. Traitors always come running back eventually.”

Traitor? Seems unnecessarily harsh. “I don’t see how I betrayed anyone,” I cut in, crossing the atrium to stand before them. In a corner, a fountain tinkles sweetly, spraying droplets of milky white water into the air. I shudder. Lethe’s waters have a far reach. “I kept to myself while the betrayals were all going on, and no one sought to involve me.”

“Why would anyone involve you?” Atropos sniffs and cuts a thread where Lachesis marked it. The snick of her shears rings with the weight of an executioner’s sword. “What have you ever done to benefit others?”

Clotho snickers, guiding the thread properly once more. “Sister. You can’t expect any of Eris’ children to be loyal. Look how she turned out.”

“On her knees for the Sun God.” Atropos tuts. “We should have left her in Tartarus. If we had Seen clearer, we would have.”

Not bitter at all about their new place in the universe. Sore losers.

As though they’d ever be so lucky to be on their knees for anyone.

“I’m not sure what any of this has to do with me,” I tell them, steering the conversation away from savaging my mother. Personally, I love pointing out her many flaws, but that sort of criticism should come only from myself, and maybe my siblings.

“Nothing ever has anything to do with you. Does it, Ruin? You hid away and stole from your betters, and now when the others want to take back their toys, you’re running scared. You come here for help, but who says you deserve any?”

I grind my teeth. It’s easy for them to say I haven’t done enough to deserve aid. No one ever came and asked if I wanted to help destroy the other gods. No one even told me what was truly going on. Centuries, I spent wondering why the world was suddenly so empty. They had all forgotten about me. They’d even forgotten to harm me for sport. Everything I have learned of the Decay, the missing, and my family’s role in both calamities has come through whispers and overheard conversations.

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