Page 127 of Blood of Olympus

“Caelus,” I sobbed.

If I did this, what would become of him? What would even be the point? The prophecy couldn’t be fulfilled unless I fulfilled it — and this wasn't that. Was it?

No. Someone has to send Kronos back. It has to be me.

But how could I instead choose to let my friend sacrifice himself to fix what I broke?

I couldn’t.

Not again.

I shoved them all aside, and rolled over onto my stomach. The arch was right there, all I had to do was reach for it.

And with a cold sense of finality, with an icy wash of fear coursing through my heart, I stretched up and laid my fingers against the black stone of the final arch.

Even gods can break.

The whispered warning came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Perhaps it came from my own soul. From the Death or Life that lay within me. From my parents. From the Sisters. From Fate itself.

Heedless of the warning, I called on those last dredges of buoyant power — those last flickers of brilliant light — and begged them to finish the task.

Someone’s warm grip wrapped around my other hand, and I blinked down at where my own fingers were dwarfed by the dirt-stained, calloused grip of a blacksmith.

“Take it from me, Nyss. It’s a much better way to go out than slowly, piece by piece, with every weapon or tool I forge for this war. Allow me to make amends for the blade I created that stole Charon from you, and almost stole your soulmate.”

Arch’s handsome face fell as he squeezed my fingers.

Aphrodite clutched at his arm, sobbing, “No.” Her eyes rained tears down her cheeks, silently begging me not to do what he asked. And it was then that I understood: somewhere along the way, Aphrodite had opened her heart to another, and now he, too, was at risk of deserting her to this cold, hard world.

And I couldn’t allow it.

I wouldn’t.

“No,” I said again, tossing his hand aside.

Through gritted teeth I roared, shoving all of my mother’s power — my power — down my arm and into the stone. It scraped and clawed, desperate to remain with me. But no one else was sacrificing themselves for the greater good — or worse, for my mistakes.

“Nyssa, you can’t do this alone,” Arch tried again. “You don’t have enough power on your own. You said yourself that Life was required to fix them, and I can sense the brokenness of the weapon inside you. My power calls to it, to fix it, so TAKE IT FROM ME!”

“No!”

And just when that last tendril unwound from the blackness of my soul, winding slowly down my nerves, I knew he was right.

It wasn’t enough.

I sobbed, torn between sending it all anyway, even though I knew deep in my bones that it wouldn’t be enough to repair the gate, or holding onto it and siphoning from one of my dearest companions as he was asking me to do.

A hand encircled mine again and I looked down to see those same calloused, scarred fingers.

“No,” I cried, voice breaking on the single, devastating syllable.

A gentle finger lifted my chin, and though I was looking at familiar dark eyes and features, it was not Archimedes’ face before me, but that of his father, Hephaestus.

“Take it from me instead, my queen. Spare my son the curse he unwittingly forged for himself the day he found my old workbook from the last Titan war. Let me fix my mistakes, too. Take what you need from my soul to mend this gate, and give the rest to him, so that he may live out the rest of my days, too.”

“Papa, no!” Arch cried, throwing himself around his father’s torso.

“Archimedes.” Hephaestus smiled down at him with tear-filled eyes. “You are the greatest thing I ever had a hand in making. And you will do wondrous things in this new world that you are building. All of you.” He placed a palm on his son’s cheek and kissed the top of his head — and for a moment, I saw a glimpse of their past selves — Arch as a small boy, Hephaestus much the same as he was now. “Do better than we did. Build a world you’re proud of.”