Page 65 of Blood of Olympus

“What are they doing?”

I met his gaze and his brows lifted. He waved a hand in front of my face.

“You can see me, can’t you?” His tone was wondrous and awe-struck. His hand hovered in front of his face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

I nodded, my lip tugging up into a half-smirk. “One. A very particular one,” I laughed.

“Tartarus, that was quick.”

“Can you hurry up and tell me what’s wrong with my eyes before I lose whatever hold I have over this power?” I grunted.

It wasn’t difficult, exactly, to hold onto this new power, but it felt skittish. Foreign.

I didn’t trust it.

“The black ring around your irises is thicker. Like it’s trying to overpower the silver.”

“That’s exactly how it feels in here too,” I said, patting my chest. “Like the new power is trying to overthrow my lightning. I don’t like it.”

“Hmm. Try to wield it. I know you can form shadow doors now, but that’s minor⁠—”

“Minor?! Travelling anywhere in any realm is a minor use of power?” I scoffed, disbelief raising my tone half an octave.

Charon levelled me with his steady, colourless gaze. “Yes. Nyssa devours entire souls with this power. If she wanted to, she could raze an entire realm’s worth of them with barely any effort at all.”

“She’s that powerful?” I breathed, ice creeping through my veins.

“Yes. And she’s given you a sliver of it, whether she meant to or not. So, wield it. Let’s see what you can do.”

He stepped back, crossing his ghostly arms.

“Form a dagger in your palm,” he instructed.

I lifted my right hand, palm up, and willed a dagger to appear.

None appeared.

I stared harder; willed harder.

Shadows pooled in my palm, then slipped between my fingers — but still no dagger.

“Agh!” I roared, throwing my hands up in frustration, pivoting as if to storm off. “It’s no use. This power was never meant to be mine.”

“And yet, it is!” Charon yelled back, stepping in my way, shoulders squared. “You got to live, Caelus, and the only apparent downside is an extra tether to death? I know what I’d prefer,” he seethed, eyes dark.

Bitter regret burned the back of my throat, but I held my tongue. He was right.

I was alive and he wasn’t. I was alive — and the cost was his own death.

Fate had claimed him instead.

My own brother.

I dropped roughly into the sand, plagued with concern. I worried: that Nyssa had saved the wrong son; that I wasn’t worthy of the sacrifice; that Charon was now suffering.

Of course he’s suffering — he’s supposed to be in the Fields right now, in paradise. Instead he’s stuck here in the mortal realm with my ungrateful ass.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured.