Page 12 of Heroines of Olympus

The piece at the top of the pile is heavy and she grunts, using as much strength as she can muster to get it to fall to the side.

She stares at the unconscious form before her, mouth agape, blinking. AHero?

Clinging to debris, with a sizable wound above his temple, is a Hero of Olympus. His eyes are closed and his mouth is clenched in pain. His tawny skin is clammy and ashen.

What to do? The moral dilemma looms over her head like a storm sent by Poseidon. This man was here to help that monster take her, keep her,controlher.

He is also unconscious, helpless. Has she become so callous that she would leave a defenseless person to die? Even with the hood on, she still stares death in the face, forced to be the grim reaper against her will. But this time… this time she has a choice. Can she, for the first time in eight years, have a conflict not end in death? The thought is so sweet, so lovely. But is it a reality?

Fates damnit. Maybe she can put down that scythe this once? If she can do it this time, maybe she can in the future too.

Despite her pain, despite the wreckage, and her enemy before her, for the first time in a long time, hope truly blossoms before her with the genuine possibility that she may yet have days filled with life and joy, not frozen death and horror.

She loops one of his arms around her shoulders and swims the rest of the way. With his added weight, she really has to put her legs to work. She sets her sights on Yiorgos and Alec at her destination, trying not to focus too hard on the still form lying beside them.

Keep moving.

This shall not break me.

“Lyra!”

She hears Alec’s voice when he spots her headed his way, but she stays focused on getting there. The weight of this man is so much to bear. She should have removed some of his armor, but too late for that now.

When she is finally within reach, her two companions pull the man up from her by his chest plate, freeing her of his mass. They drop him unceremoniously and focus on helping Medusa out of the water.

“What happened?” Medusa asks, sputtering and coughing up seawater. “Is she alright?”

“Psyche’s fine.” Alec answers. “She’s resting after going nova. It saved our hides with Poseidon, but it really takes a toll on her.”

“So, what do we do now?” She asks.

“The Leviathan is coming to pick us up. Should be here soon, and then we can discuss the next steps when Psyche wakes up.”

“And what do we do about him?” She gestures to the man.

“Eh, I say we keep an eye on him. If he stays out cold, Captain Nicodemus will have him brought on board, given medical treatment, and then assessed.”

Medusa raises an eyebrow at the casual treatment of someone who sought her death.

“Will you keep him in a cell at least? He’s the enemy!”

“Not my call, kiddo.” He puts his hand on her shoulder and she huffs, but decides it is not worth the argument. Plus, if she has to, she has already proven that she can handle a lone hero on her own.

A light appears on the horizon. A ship.

She closes her eyes and silently pleads to the Fates that this is the Leviathan and not Poseidon.

Did they hear her? As the ship draws nearer, she has to wonder.

When the vessel is finally in full view, she heaves a sigh of relief, and thanks the cosmos… just in case.

When a rope ladder down to them, Medusa steps back and allows Alec and Yiorgos to help get Psyche and the Hero up. Once everyone else has cleared the railing, she makes her ascent.

The ship is large, its deck a flurry of activity as people rush about manning their stations. Once she has both feet down soundly, she straightens her shoulders and faces what she knows will come.

As expected, mouths drop open, and a few gasps make it to ears. She even spots one man, out of the corner of her eye, backing down the stairs he had just come up, careful to get out of her line of sight.

So this is how it is going to be. Everywhere she goes. Stares. Shock. Horror. Was this worth leaving her island?

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