Chapter 2
Aletheia's POV
When they finally came to see me, I thought it might be over. That they'd decided on my punishment and I could at least know what was coming.
Instead, Father stood outside my cell, his face carved from ice.
"The Chalice of Dawn is shattered," he said without preamble.
I stared at him, not understanding. The Chalice was Aurora's welcoming gift from Lady Hera herself—a priceless artifact, a symbol of divine favor. What did it have to do with me?
"You're going to confess," he continued. "You'll say you were jealous of Aurora's return. That you snuck into the Great Hall and smashed the Chalice in a fit of mortal rage."
"But I didn't—"
"I don't care." His voice was colder than the cell. "You're mortal. Mortals are jealous, petty creatures. Everyone will believe it."
"What about Grandmother? Does Grandmother agree with this too?" My voice trembled.
His eyes grew colder. "Rhea is on a mission in the mortal realm. She's not on the mountain."
I felt the last shred of hope crumble. Grandmother wasn't here. The only person who might speak for me wasn't here.
Orion was standing behind him. When I looked at him—pleading, desperate—he just shook his head.
"You stole twenty years of Aurora's life," he said. "The least you can do is take the fall for this. Consider it repayment for all the years we fed you, clothed you, loved you like you were one of us."
I tried to argue. Tried to explain that I'd never even been near the Great Hall that night. That I'd been locked in this cell the entire time.
Orion's boot caught me in the chest. I hit the wall hard enough to taste blood.
"Confess," he said, "or I'll cut out your tongue and make you confess anyway."
So I did. What choice did I have?
The sentencing was held at the Star Altar. Public. Meant to be seen.
Lady Hera presided, beautiful and terrible on a throne of woven light. Every god in Olympus was there, watching as I knelt on the cold stone in my prison rags.
"Mortal," she said, and the word was a curse. "You have defiled Olympus with your presence. You have stolen divine food, divine shelter, divine love. And now, in your jealous rage, you have destroyed a sacred gift."
I kept my head bowed. There was no point in fighting.
"Strip her name," Lady Hera commanded. "Shatter her star. Let her be Nameless, as befits her station."
Helios climbed to the highest point of the altar. He raised his staff—the Rod of Dawn, the symbol of our family's power—and pointed it at the sky.
I felt it before I saw it. A connection I'd never known I had, suddenly going taut. Then snapping.
Pain exploded through my chest. It felt like something vital had been ripped out, leaving a hole that would never close. I screamed—couldn't help it—and the sound echoed across the clouds.
When I looked up, there was a scar across the night sky. A dark slash where my star had been.
"Send her to Cocytus," Lady Hera said. "Let her serve one hundred years retrieving bones from the frozen river. Perhaps that will teach her the proper place of mortals."
One hundred years. A death sentence for a mortal body.
But Lady Hera wasn't done.
"And let it be known," she added, her voice carrying across the assembled gods, "any spirit or servant who aids in her punishment will be rewarded. The more she suffers, the greater the divine favor they shall receive."
That was when I understood. This wasn't just punishment. It was entertainment. They were going to make my suffering profitable.
Cocytus was worse than anything I could have imagined.
The river of lamentation, they called it. The frozen hell at the bottom of the Underworld. A place where the temperature never rose above absolute zero, where the damned were locked in ice for eternity.
And I was supposed to wade into that river every day and pull out bones.
The first time I stepped into the water, I thought I was going to die. The cold wasn't just physical—it was metaphysical, reaching into my soul and freezing it solid. My skin cracked. My bones creaked. Every breath felt like inhaling shards of glass.
But I didn't die. Perhaps it was the long-term consumption of ambrosia—the food of gods. My body had already transformed.
The overseers had whips made from frozen hellfire. Every strike left a mark that never healed right—the flesh would knit back together, but wrong, leaving scars that burned with cold even when I was out of the water.
And the other spirits there... they knew about Lady Hera's decree.
The more they hurt me, the more divine favor they'd earn.
So they got creative.
Some days, they'd make me stay in the river until my fingers froze to the bones I was retrieving. Then they'd rip my hands free, tearing off strips of skin. Other days, they'd use the whips until my back was more scar tissue than flesh. And every night, they'd laugh and compare notes on who'd earned the most favor.
I learned not to cry. Tears froze on your face in Cocytus, and the ice would cut your cheeks when you tried to wipe them away.
I learned not to scream. It only made them hit harder.
I learned to be still. To be silent. To be nothing.
I thought I would die there.
Until ten years later, today, when they told me I'd been pardoned.
I felt no joy. Only numbness.
The ferry bumped against the dock, pulling me out of the memory. I blinked, forcing myself back to the present.
Orion was still watching me. His face had gone pale while I'd been lost in thought, and I wondered what he'd seen in my expression.
"The sentence was one hundred years. Why was I released early?" I said calmly, meeting his eyes.
His throat worked like he was swallowing something bitter. "Grandmother."
I waited.
"She went on a mission to the mortal realm ten years ago," Orion said, voice low. "The mission lasted the full ten years. When she returned to the mountain and heard what happened to you..." He paused. "She went straight to Lady Hera."
Something cold tightened in my chest. "What did she do?"
"She offered part of her own divine essence." Orion's voice was barely a whisper. "She told Lady Hera—either release you, or she'd curse the entire estate until not even weeds would grow in our domain."
My fingers curled inside my sleeves, nails digging into my palms.
"Lady Hera agreed to the pardon," he continued.
"The divine essence she gave up..." That was the only sentence in my mind.
"It's killing her." For the first time, real pain showed in Orion's eyes. "She's falling into permanent sleep, Aletheia. She has months left, maybe less."
I closed my eyes, my chest tightening. Grandmother had traded her life for my freedom. And I hadn't even known.
She was the only one who'd fought for me. The only one who still saw me as the most important person after knowing everything.
"Then let's not keep her waiting." I forced myself not to show weakness.
The ferry bumped against the dock one final time. Orion stepped off first, then turned back, offering his hand.
I ignored it and climbed onto the dock myself. My right ankle gave a warning throb—an old injury from Cocytus—but I didn't let it show. I'd learned to walk on broken things.
Beyond the dock, the Dawn Gate rose like a monument to everything I'd lost. It was exactly as I remembered—white marble veined with gold, the family crest carved above the arch, eternal sunlight making the whole thing glow like it was lit from within.
I used to love that gate. Used to run through it laughing.
Now it just looked like the entrance to a very beautiful prison.
Mother Selene was waiting on the other side. She looked exactly as I remembered—silver hair cascading down her back, divine light shimmering around her like a second skin, face carved into perfect, ageless beauty.
When she saw me, her expression seemed like a well-rehearsed mask.
"Oh, Aletheia," she breathed, taking a step forward. "My dear girl, what have they done to you—"
She stopped. Her eyes caught on my hair, my skin, the grey prison rags hanging off my frame. For just a second—so brief I might have imagined it—I saw revulsion flicker across her face.
Then she smoothed it away and opened her arms.
"Welcome home," she said, forcing warmth into her voice.
I looked at her. At the woman who'd held me for twenty years. Who'd called me her precious daughter.
I walked past her without a word, limping toward the inner gates.
"I'm here to see Grandmother Rhea," I said over my shoulder. "That's all."
Behind me, I heard Lady Selene's breath catch. Heard Orion start to say something, then stop.
The gates of the Dawn Estate loomed ahead. Beyond them, I could see the main courtyard—the place where I'd played as a child, where I'd learned to fight and dance and dream.
The place where they'd torn my life apart.
I stepped through the gates, and the eternal sunlight hit my skin like a brand. I flinched, pulling my sleeves down further, making sure every inch of exposed flesh was covered.
The Dawn Estate spread out before me, exactly as I remembered.
And off to the side, half-hidden by shadows, I could see my destination: the small pavilion where Rhea lived, separate from the main family.
The Withered Vine Pavilion, they called it now. Because even the sacred vines that had once grown there were dying, just like she was.
I started walking. My ankle screamed with every step, but I didn't slow down.
I was here for Rhea. Only for Rhea.
