Page 128 of Blood of Olympus

“You know… what you’re… giving up?” I forced out.

Hephaestus nodded. “I do.” He looked down at his son, a soft smile tugging on his lips. “And it’s no hard task, knowing that he will live. Live well, Archimedes — my beautiful son. I’m so proud of the man that you have become.”

And with tears tracking down my own cheeks, I whispered, “Thank you.”

Hephaestus just held his son closer and closed his eyes, that easy smile still in place.

And then I did the second-most abominable thing I’d ever done, and Death reached out to the Primal god of craftsmanship. She cupped her hands around his soul, caressing it, cradling it gently between her fingers, and dragged him back to the well within my body.

Hephaestus collapsed in Arch’s arms. Arch’s screams overrode the wailing of shades, and my heart broke at the sound I would never forget.

Hephaestus’ soul bolstered that last tendril of Life within me and she met him joyfully in my chest. Together, they flowed down my arm and through my fingertips, blazing brilliantly into the stone — and together, they filled every last remaining crack in its facade.

The air within the arch shimmered as Hephaestus died.

“No!” Arch cried. “Not for me! Never for me! It was my mistake,” he sobbed. “Mine.”

“Archimedes.”

And despite the sounds of his own anguish and that of the souls hovering above his head, he heard me.

I lifted a heavy hand toward him.

He jerked back, shaking his head furiously.

“Arch,” I tried again, pausing a foot in front of him.

His eyes fell to the body lying across his knees, arms still clutched around him.

“Your father wanted to give you this,” I spoke around the lump of sorrow lodged within my throat. “It’s a gift, Arch. Don’t waste it.”

Exactly three heartbeats later, he relented. Nodding a tear-stained face, his head fell and gold-tinged droplets fell on the face of the great Hephaestus.

I pressed my palm to his chest, and Life bloomed beneath it.

That white glow burned my retinas as Hephaestus’ last gift rushed to bequeath itself to his son.

Arch inhaled sharply as their two souls twined together, healing the fracturedness of his own.

He was whole. And he was absolutely broken.

And as the darkness finally rushed up to meet me, I smiled at the thought that Hephaestus’ final act was to fix the person he loved most in all the worlds.

CHAPTER 32

Caelus

The second I set foot on the Isle, I knew something terrible had happened.

There was my heart, in the arms of Evadne. There was Hephaestus lying across the lap of his son. And between us all was Aphrodite, caught in the maelstrom of displaced souls as they swirled around her — frenzied and pouring through each of the three archways.

The three repaired archways.

She cried out, dropped to her knees and threw her hands over her ears, as she wept. She could not see the shades but none would mistake their torrential feel — icy, melancholic, wrong. Until the storm passed and the majority cleared out, I would be unable to reach Nyssa. Which pained me greatly — my stomach lurched at the sight of her: ichor-stained and unmoving. The only reassurance I had was that I still lived, therefore she must, too.

So, I did the one thing I could do — the one thing Nyssa would want me to do, given the circumstance. I crawled over to Aph and pulled her into my arms, waiting for a break in the tempest of souls.

“Caelus?” She blinked through red-rimmed eyes, barely audible over the howling. “What are you doing here?”