Chapter 6
Aurora's POV
I'd been watching from the colonnade when I saw her approach the tree.
Aletheia. The imposter. The mortal who'd stolen twenty years of my life.
She looked terrible. White hair hanging limp around a face that was more skull than flesh. Grey skin. Hollow eyes. She wore plain servant's clothes.
Part of me felt satisfied seeing her like this. This was what she deserved, after all. After pretending to be me. After taking my place.
But another part—a part I didn't want to acknowledge—felt uneasy.
Because I'd seen what just happened.
I'd seen the tree reach for her.
My stomach twisted into knots as I watched those vines curl around her wrist, saw the flowers brighten at her touch. The same tree that had pulled away from me yesterday. The same tree that had wilted when I tried to feed it my blood.
No, I thought desperately. No, that's not possible. I'm the real daughter. I have the pure blood. The tree should recognize me, not her.
But I couldn't deny what I'd just seen.
And suddenly, I was remembering that morning a week after I'd returned to Mount Olympus. The morning that had been haunting me ever since.
I'd been so excited. Father had explained that the golden laurel tree needed Dawn blood to bloom, and I'd been eager to prove myself.
I'd come to the courtyard alone, carrying a silver knife. The tree hadn't bloomed yet—just empty branches reaching toward the sky.
I approached the trunk.
I raised the knife to my palm, ready to cut.
And then the tree started blooming.
Just like that. No blood. No ritual. The flowers burst open all at once, covering every branch in a cascade of gold.
I'd stood there, frozen, staring at the impossible sight.
There had been no one else in the courtyard. I'd checked. I'd looked around frantically, trying to understand.
If the tree wasn't blooming for me—if it had bloomed before I'd even given it my blood—then why?
The only answer that made sense was the one I couldn't accept.
Aletheia had been feeding this tree for years. Aletheia's blood had soaked into its roots, even if it hadn't made it bloom back then.
What if the tree had finally responded? Not to me. To her.
The thought had terrified me so much I'd almost run. But then I'd forced myself to calm down. To think rationally.
I'd cut my palm anyway. Let my golden ichor drip onto the roots. I'd run to tell everyone—Father, Mother, Orion—that the tree had bloomed for me. That it recognized its true mistress.
No one had questioned it.
But I'd never forgotten that moment of doubt. That cold fear that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't the one the tree wanted.
Now, watching Aletheia stand there with vines wrapped around her wrist, that fear came roaring back.
She's mortal, I told myself firmly. The Testing Basin proved it. She has no divine power. This doesn't mean anything.
But my hands were shaking.
I stepped out of the shadows, my servant Melia following close behind me. I'd worn one of Aletheia's old dresses today—a beautiful thing of white and gold that had been tailored for her. It fit me perfectly now.
I wanted her to see it. Wanted her to know that everything she'd had was mine now.
"Aletheia?" I called out, making my voice sweet. Concerned.
She turned slowly, and when her eyes met mine, I felt a chill run down my spine.
There was nothing in that gaze. No anger. No pain. No jealousy. Just... emptiness. Like she was looking at a stranger who didn't matter.
It was worse than if she'd screamed at me.
I forced a smile and walked closer, making sure to pass near the laurel tree. "I heard Grandmother negotiated your release. That must have been such a relief." I paused, letting sympathy drip into my voice. "Though I'm sorry you had to suffer so much. If I'd known what was happening, I would have—"
"Would have what?" Her voice was flat. Dead.
I blinked, thrown off. "I... I would have asked Father to—"
"To let me out sooner?" She tilted her head slightly, and something about the gesture made me want to step back. "Interesting. You didn't seem concerned about asking him anything ten years ago."
My smile faltered. "That's not fair. I didn't know you then. I'd just returned, and everything was so confusing—"
"You knew enough to let everyone accuse me of breaking the Chalice."
The words hit like a slap. I felt my face flush.
Anger flared in my chest, burning away the unease. How dare she? After everything she'd done—pretending to be me, stealing my life—how dare she stand there and judge me?
I turned deliberately toward the laurel tree, reaching out to touch one of the golden flowers. "You know, this tree bloomed the first day I fed it. Father said it was a sign. That it recognized its true mistress."
I watched her face carefully, looking for any reaction. Jealousy. Pain. Anything.
She just stared at me with those dead eyes.
Frustrated, I pulled out the small knife I'd brought. Cut my finger just enough to draw blood. The golden ichor welled up, glowing softly in the eternal daylight.
"Look," I said, holding up my hand so she could see. "Pure Dawn blood. The tree knows the difference between real divinity and..." I let my gaze drift over her prison rags, her white hair, her grey skin. "And whatever you are."
I reached out to let a drop of blood fall on the tree's roots.
The moment my blood touched the bark, the branch I was standing near shuddered. The flowers closest to me started to curl inward.
I yanked my hand back, my heart racing. No. No, not again.
But Aletheia had seen it. I knew she had, even though her expression didn't change.
I forced out a laugh, trying to cover my panic. "The tree must be affected by the foul aura from your body. It's been blooming for months now." I turned back to her, lifting my chin. "Father says you used to feed it your blood for years. It never gave you a single flower. But I come home, and it blooms immediately." I paused, making sure she heard every word. "Fake is fake, Sister. No matter how hard you try, you can't become real."
There. That should hurt. That should make her react.
But Aletheia just looked at me for a long moment. Then her lips curved into that not-smile again.
"You're trying really hard to convince someone," she said quietly. "I'm just not sure if it's me or yourself."
My breath caught.
Before I could respond, she turned and walked away. Her back was straight, her pace steady, like I was beneath her notice.
Like I didn't matter.
I stood there, watching her disappear toward Rhea's sanctuary, my hands clenched into fists.
Rage boiled in my chest.
I needed to break through that cold mask. Needed to see her hurt, see her jealous, see something that proved I'd won.
And then I remembered.
"I'm getting married to Ares!" I called out, my voice sharp and loud.
Aletheia stopped walking.
Victory surged through me. Finally. Finally I'd gotten through to her.
"Father already arranged it. The ceremony will be in a week." I paused, letting the words sink in. "Your former fiancé chose me. He said he's grateful the mistake was corrected before he bound himself to... well. To someone unworthy."
I waited for her to turn around. To see pain in those dead eyes. To watch her composure crack.
Aletheia's shoulders didn't tense. Her posture didn't change.
She just stood there for a moment, her back still to me.
Then she looked over her shoulder. Her expression was exactly the same as before. Empty. Distant.
"Congratulations," she said. Her voice was flat, carrying no emotion whatsoever.
And then she kept walking.
Just like that.
No tears. No anger. No jealousy.
Just... nothing.
I stood there, my hands trembling, watching her disappear around the corner. The victory I'd felt moments ago curdled into something bitter and cold.
She didn't care.
She didn't care that I was marrying Ares. Didn't care that I'd taken everything from her.
She just didn't care.
"Miss?" Melia's voice was hesitant. "Are you alright?"
"Follow her," I said, my voice shaking. "I want to know everywhere she goes. Everyone she talks to. Everything she does. If anything seems... unusual, report back to me immediately."
"Yes, Miss."
After Melia left, I turned back to the golden laurel tree. The flowers I'd touched had now completely closed into buds.
I reached out to touch another branch, and it pulled away from me. Just slightly. Just enough to be unmistakable.
This doesn't mean anything.
It can't mean anything.
But as I walked away from the tree, I couldn't shake the image of those vines curling around Aletheia's wrist. The way the flowers had brightened at her touch.
