The Myths of Ophelia (The Curse of Ophelia #4)

Chapter 63

Chapter Sixty-Three

Ophelia

I blinked at her, the room utterly still.

Finally, I forced out, “Wh-what?”

“Fulfilling the Angelcurse, replacing those seven emblems into their statues where Annellius should have, and bleeding across the lot, will free the Warrior God.”

“Warriors do not keep the gods.” A stupid statement, clearly.

“Not anymore,” the sphinx purred. “But once, there was a seventh god. The most ferocious of them all. Strong enough to break the precious balance of power that cradles every world in the palm of its hand.”

I met Jezebel’s wide-eyed stare. Behind her, even Erista was frozen in shock at this revelation.

“H-how is that possible?” I stuttered. “What happened ?”

The sphinx’s voice turned melodic again, a story etched in truth. “Longer ago than any living memories can recall, seven gods oversaw the realms. And when they were created out of the mists of the universes, their power was equal, each with domain over a designated denomination, not unlike your Angels.

“But over time, the power warped in some.” She tilted her head—pityingly or ruefully, I couldn’t tell—and her onyx hair slid over her shoulder. “The beings they commanded on Ambrisk grew much more powerful than the rest. The Warrior, Sorcia, and Fae deities became the strongest of the gods, as their children were on land. And still, among those three, one’s power stretched bounds beyond the others. Spanned capabilities the other two could only dream of.”

The sphinx settled her chin on her paws, dreamily saying, “But oh, did he wish to use it. Oh, did he look down at his children and see how they could supremely rule this world. What other realms they could access bridges to.” She sighed, reluctantly tacking on, “This kind of thinking, this greed…it is very dangerous to peaceful existence. Especially when greed melds with such power. And so, the known gods devised a plan to entrap the rapacious Warrior God within his own power. To imprison him and lock him away.”

“They simply…trapped him?” I asked. Was he still alive? Could a god die?

Spirits, this was unbelievable.

The sphinx nodded. “Each of the six known gods and goddesses sacrificed a kernel of their magic to build the prison.”

Pushing back to her feet, the sphinx rounded the pool. Waving a paw above the water, the known gods formed above the calm surface. Their faces were blurred, but their frames highlighted one by one as she went on, “Thallia, the Witch Goddess of Sorcia, gave the most as the strongest of the six. She forged the lock that keeps the Warrior God bound.

“The Fae Goddess entwined her magic into the histories, staying the tongues of those who remember this account. Making it so that the Warrior God was wiped from texts and unable to be spoken of. Another tale left to be forgotten to the winds.” Aoiflyn’s glowing image dulled, a book snapping closed in her hand.

I gasped. “That’s why Damien could never share this. Why he looked so pained when he tried to.”

The sphinx nodded. “The Fates, even, cannot tell of the Warrior God, thanks to Moirenna’s promises to honor Aoiflyn’s tongue-tied bargains.”

“And why Vale’s magic malfunctioned,” Jezebel whispered. “She was trying to read things that are locked, until Titus broke through the block with the imbued seeing chambers.”

“And while that helped clarify most readings, the gods have still been muddled,” I said.

Spirits, it all made so much sense once we had this final piece.

A latch switched.

The sphinx continued, “Nature contains the god and does not whisper his name. Mystical beasts disappeared as their lines died out. Creatures walking in death, whom he wished to rule and who bowed to him, were trapped in their fiery realms.”

One by one, each of the gods’ images dimmed, fading into the water as the sphinx named their sacrifice.

“Every one of the six gods weakened themselves?” I clarified. “They handed over their magic in order to keep this one god away?”

The sphinx nodded.

I watched the known gods vanish into the water’s surface, mournful auras around their pristine bodies.

Was he truly that horrendous, then? His nefarious greed a possible ruin of the world?

Or was it their own jealousy that caused them to imprison their brother?

“How does this pertain to the Angelcurse? How did it begin?”

“All magic requires a loophole, as you well know,” the sphinx purred. I thought back to Kakias’s immortality ritual, to which my very life had been the loophole. “In order to seal the lock, the balance of power demanded there was a way to reopen it.”

“Why?” Jezebel asked, a bit skeptically. “If he truly is that horrible, why allow for that?”

“The balance commands all that we are.”

“The gods cannot overrule it?” Jez braced her hands on her hips.

But it was Erista who said, voice shaking, “Even Artale cannot negotiate with the balance of power. It is a pillar of our world, something we are taught the moment we start guiding spirits.”

The sphinx nodded.

“So,” I began, fingers curling around the shard of Angelborn at my neck, “my combination of Angelblood and Godsblood and these emblems are the key to unleashing this Warrior God upon Ambrisk?” Another silent nod. “And if I don’t, this Angelcurse will transfer to the next Alabath? To Jezebel and all who come after us?”

“Yes,” the sphinx said, and there was no echo of the melodic tone in her voice. Nothing persuasive or malicious. If anything, she sounded a bit remorseful. “You must do it, Ophelia Alabath. Complete the Angelcurse, unleash the god so that my mistress and all the Angels may roam freely again.”

That struck me. “The Angels…” Damien’s stilted presence, his inability to return recently. “They’re locked away with the god, aren’t they?”

Melancholy dimmed her stare. “Ascension Day was more than the Angels assuming their full scope of power and leaving this plane. It was an immediate removal of it all and fragments left behind, though that part is left out of the stories thanks to the known gods. The day you all celebrate and honor your Angels—the one to renew your promises as warriors—was the darkest day in our history.”

My gut churned.

“The Warrior God had already been imprisoned, but he was becoming restless, so the known gods reinforced their locks. They tricked the Angels into that prison with him, as well as many creatures under their domain or with tethers to the god, using their residual magic to seal the doors. The sphinxes, the pegasus, the khrysaor, and all the others—we were all gone shortly after.”

“The khrysaor?” Jezebel gasped, anger flaming in her eyes.

The sphinx turned to her. “There were once so many more of them than the two you now know. They carry the blood of the Warrior God himself, as does the pegasus.”

“Is that how she emerged?”

“What do you mean?” Jez asked.

“Zanox bled when he crashed through Ricordan’s manner. It sprayed everywhere, triggered Sapphire’s transformation.” The searing pain that had radiated through my body echoed now.

And gradually, every piece was sliding into place, like a veil was lifted across my mind now that I had them.

“That was the last step in Kakias’s ritual. My active Angelblood was why she needed me specifically to become immortal, but that ingredient we forgot…” I racked my memory, and finally, as if the Spirits were waiting until I’d understand to allow me to remember. “The power of the fallen,” I gasped.

The Fallen God.

“He has been referred to as such, yes. The queen obtained and used his power in ways I do not understand,” the sphinx confirmed. “And when your khrysaor bled, it sealed the reversal.”

“How did Kakias find out about the Godsblood and the Warrior God?” I asked. “How did Annellius if all of the stories were rewritten?”

“As I have said, all magics have loopholes to balance them. You were able to wake me for the full story, but Annellius sought it out. He dug into myths and found tales that did not align. Rearranged the inconsistencies as if they were a puzzle to be solved.” The sphinx’s chest inflated. “Confirmed it with your Angel himself, though he could not speak of it.”

I swallowed over a dry throat.

“And Kakias?”

“Bant shed his spirit into her. It transferred unspeakable knowledge, though the queen was so singularly focused, she did not wish to use it.”

It should have soothed a piece of the uncertainty gnawing at my mind to finally have this one answer. But there were too many others to focus on for relief.

“The rest of the khrysaor and pegasus,” Jez said, returning back to that question, “they live?”

“They wait, sleeping in the stone. Lesser, now forgotten gods and beasts born of them all lurk. Slowly, so very slowly, things are unraveling. The ether seeping through the world is budging at the growing hands of the Warrior God.” She leveled us with a stare. “He is growing stronger for the reckoning.”

“The dying land,” I said, voice hollow, “the unusual Rites of Dusk, the fires, and tainted creatures. It’s all because of this isn’t it?”

“It is.” She bowed her head, seeming to appreciate our understanding of the severity.

Ambrisk itself was rebelling against this god being locked up. The known gods had each given a kernel of magic to trap the Warrior God, but magic was a force impossible to control. It was unraveling.

We’d noticed it so many months back; how long had this truly been going on? Had it been mounting since I was born? Since those first drops of Angelblood mingled with Godsblood in the Alabath line?

I tightened my grip around Damien’s emblem, seeking some sort of stability.

“What does all of this have to do with the fel strella mythos ?”

“Ah,” the sphinx said, smiling, “the very legend that allowed you to wake me. To restore the creatures of myth that were lost with the imprisonment of the god.”

“It cannot be a coincidence,” Jezebel said.

I was tempted to agree with her. How was it we were blessed with these two prophetic destinies?

“It is not,” the sphinx agreed. “The stories once existed separately, but the Godsblood was the key. Only sisters with that source could revive the tale. Only they could have the power to brings the myths to life and destroy them again.”

A sister of life, a sister of death.

Not only communing with departing spirits. Jezebel had the power to execute them, too. To restore constellations to the sky by slaughtering myths, as I could pull them down to earth and wake them.

“Are Storytellers born of myth?” I asked.

“Their unique brand of magic is something of legend, yes.”

I turned to Jezebel. “That’s what happened at the pleasure house. When Brystin attacked that Storyteller, your magic reacted, Jez. Because the power of a Storyteller is something of myths, and she was dying. You have the power to destroy myths . To control them. It’s why your magic didn’t harm warrior spirits during the war, but it did that night.”

I went on, the magic buzzing in my blood, “And mine…mine is the counter. To pluck constellations from the sky and give them life. That’s what this power was trying to do in the catacombs. It was searching for a life to restore in those enchanted corpses. When it found none, it imploded. And it woke a phoenix that night in the jungle—something preserved in the trees.” I took my sister’s hand. “When we traveled to that plane—the bridge—it woke these powers fully. We are each other’s balance, Jezzie.”

She considered, eye’s gleaming with a dark promise. A true Mistress of Death. “Sisters born of myth,” she whispered.

Sisters who could conquer the gods.

The sphinx assessed us proudly. “Something stirred on the day of your birth, Ophelia Alabath. The myth magic you bear, thanks to the Godsblood, ignited something that enables you to wield the power of Angels.” Her jade eyes gleamed. “A breath and blood not seen in…long enough that even the Angels had lost hope.”

They had written us off, it seemed. I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to let them rot in that prison for eternity in retaliation. To show them the might of a warrior who held their fate in her veins.

The sphinx tilted her head, the move entirely feline. “What legacy will you leave behind Revered of the Mystique Warriors, Chosen of the Deities, Seraph Kissed by Angels?”

“I do not plan to find out soon,” I growled.

Because, while I wasn’t certain I trusted the gods or the Angels—didn’t know if I should unlock the prison or not—I was going to see the end of this bloodstained battlefield.

“We all must learn one day,” the sphinx chuckled. Then, reading the fury burning through my stare, she added, “Do not turn your back on this fate. I can see the temptation. The daring in your spirit. To do so would be catastrophic. For you, for future generations, and for all the realms.”

But which path was more daring?

To free a reckless, greedy god, or to turn my back on him?

“If I am to do this,” I began slowly, “ how do I free the god?”

Jezebel and Erista shifted beside me. In encouragement or to deter the idea, I couldn’t tell, but I needed to know. Needed all the information I’d been lacking this entire time in order to make a decision of such consequence.

For months now, my life had bent to the whim of this Angelcurse. I was supposed to be the weak thing catering to divine interventions, running without an answer as to why , just blindly taking the steps.

I was done.

Finally, I was taking that power back, with striking claws and sharpened teeth and the wings of Angels’ might beating at my back.

“There is a theater in the midst of mountains. Buried beneath stone and magic. Within it, a statue has been worn to time. Return the emblems of the Angels to their rightful bearers. Pour your blessing upon them.”

I swallowed past the ache in my chest, the tangle of relief and uncertainty, like sliding a final piece of a puzzle home.

“This theater,” I began, swallowing. “Have I been there before?”

The sphinx lowered her head, and something in the heaviness of the moment had the pressure in my chest threatening to crack. The backs of my eyes stung and my breath came in small gasps.

We had it.

We had an answer.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to navigate it, but at least we knew.

Rising, the sphinx circled back toward the archway into the Hall of Wandering Souls. “Go now, child. Complete what others before you have failed.”