Cassie’s POV – Over ten years ago

  I had the whole room to myself.

  Dozens of mirrors lined the walls, each one tuned to a different moment, a different face. Some shimmered with soft light, showing scenes from Earth—the compound courtyard, the training ring, the campfire by the garden wall. Others sat dark and still, as if the memories behind them didn’t want to be seen tonight.

  I sat cross-legged on the floor, my chin resting in my hands. In one mirror, Leander was laughing as Ella nearly tripped over her own feet trying to keep up with Damian. In another, Helena and Bay were racing, their hair flying behind them like streaks of sunlight and sea foam. And in the center of it all, was Zoe.

  Smiling. Laughing. Herself.

  No one looked out of place. No one looked like they missed me.

  And maybe they didn’t.

  I told myself this was what I wanted. That I had chosen this. That Zoe belonged there, and I belonged here.

  But some days—even with the stars overhead and Olympus beneath my feet—it didn’t feel like enough.

  I watched as Zoe leaned over to help Damian tie a bandage on his arm. He grinned at her like she was the center of the universe. And for them—for all of them—she was.

  I hugged my knees to my chest.

  “They forgot me,” I whispered. The words were bitter, fragile, and real.

  A soft sound came from behind me. I didn’t need to look to know it was Hestia. She didn’t speak. She just placed a warm cup of tea beside me and sat near the hearth, her presence steady and kind.

  I didn’t say thank you.

  But I stayed by the mirrors until the stars shifted in the sky.

  And I let myself miss them.

  The council ended in a swell of applause, polite nods, and divine reassurances. They welcomed me back with open arms, called me by name, praised me for my sacrifice and strength. I bowed, accepted their gratitude, and smiled when I was told I had a place here—a home among gods.

  Athena told me I would help guide the next generation of the minor gods. Hermes beamed with pride. Hestia squeezed my hand and told me she always knew I’d find my way back.

  And all the while, I could feel the minds around me—the gods pulsing with thoughts and unspoken judgments. Curiosity, admiration, caution. Their awareness brushed against mine like currents beneath a calm surface. I didn’t listen in, not fully. But I could sense the weight of their attention, the way their thoughts moved when they looked at me.

  It was overwhelming. Like being seen by too many eyes at once.

  And through it all, I stood still, radiant and composed—because that’s what they expected. Because that’s what a goddess was supposed to be. I lifted my chin, straightened my shoulders, and let the light catch on my golden wings. I looked like I belonged there. But every beat of my heart whispered otherwise.

  Cassie stayed close as the others began to drift back into their golden halls and domes of marble. She didn’t say anything at first, but I could feel the question in her breath, just waiting. I could feel her mind too—like a mirror of my own, familiar and steady. We shared a kind of quiet understanding, like the thread between us was still humming from everything we’d just said. It was comforting and a little heartbreaking at the same time.

  Finally, she touched my arm. “Come with me.”

  I followed her through a winding corridor lined with lanterns and moonlight, until we reached a smaller wing of Olympus—quiet, tucked away, familiar.

  Her home.

  When she opened the doors, I stepped into a room of mirrors.

  Each mirror shimmered faintly with movement, flickers of the lives she had watched for years. I hadn’t known about this place, hadn’t realized that while I lived and laughed and fought on Earth, Cassie had been here, watching. Always watching. Like the big sister I remembered, still trying to look out for me.

  I moved closer and looked into one of the mirrors. The image rippled, then cleared.

  Helena was healing the others on the peak of Mount Olympus, her hands glowing softly as she worked over Bay’s burned skin. Ella stood nearby, holding a cloth to Peter’s temple. Damian sat cross-legged beside Stephen, still talking, still smiling. And Xandor…

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  His eyes were fixed on the horizon, pain carved deep into every line of his face, like he was trying to hold himself together with nothing but silence. The others moved around him, but he stayed still—guarded, distant, waiting for something that wasn’t coming. I reached toward the glass without meaning to, my fingers brushing against the mirror as if I could reach through and touch him. As if I could undo what I had left behind.

  My heart broke.

  I never thought, back when I came up with the idea to switch places, how lonely Cassie would be. But now I saw it. Fifteen years spent here, with only these reflections. No voices. No touch. Just distance.

  I understood her sacrifice in a way I never had before.

  She walked in like she always had, barefoot and sure, and grabbed a satchel from beside the hearth. “I’m bringing a few things back with me,” she said, rifling through drawers and shelves. “Not everything. Just the things that matter.”

  I nodded, watching her.

  But something cracked in my chest.

  I crossed the room slowly. She had just closed a drawer, her hand pausing for a breath too long. I touched her arm.

  “Cassie… I’m sorry.”

  She turned to me, brows drawn in surprise.

  “I never thought, when I came up with the idea to switch, how lonely this place would be. I didn’t think about what it would mean—for you. That you’d be here. Alone. Watching.”

  Cassie blinked, and for a second, I saw the years in her eyes. Not bitterness. Just weight.

  She shook her head gently. “Zoe, I would’ve chosen this life a hundred times if it meant you’d grow into the goddess you are now. Don’t carry this like it was a punishment. It was a gift.”

  Her words hit deeper than I expected. I swallowed hard.

  “I’m the goddess,” I whispered. “I was supposed to be the strong one. The one who protected her mortal sister.”

  Cassie smiled then—soft and certain. “Maybe you were. And maybe you still are. But being strong doesn’t mean being alone. Not for you. Not for me.”

  She gave my arm a gentle squeeze, her eyes warm. Then, without another word, she turned and started to walk out of the room, her footsteps quiet against the stone.

  I stood there for a moment, watching her go.

  When she ducked out of the room to speak with Hestia, I slipped away.

  I walked the outer edge of Olympus, where the stars met the stone and the air shimmered with ancient quiet. The wind was gentler here—not wild like the skies of Earth, but soft and reverent, like it carried the hush of prayers never spoken aloud. I paused at the edge, looking out at the curve of the world below, and let the silence settle into me like snowfall.

  Below, the world stretched far and wide—endless forests, curling rivers, the distant shimmer of the sea.

  Somewhere down there were the others.

  Helena, healing someone with gentle hands. Bay, her eyes stormy and steadfast. Damian, laughing too loud. And Xandor—

  The wind stirred differently when I thought of him. Like it remembered his name—like it carried the echo of every moment we shared. The way he looked at me like I was real before I even knew who I was. The way he held me steady when the ground was falling apart. The wind curled around me then, not cold, not warm—just knowing. And I knew, without question, that it missed him too.

  Olympus had raised me in name.

  But the demigods had raised me in spirit.

  And here, now, in this place of marble and starlight, I didn’t feel complete.

  I felt like a shadow in my own skin.

  I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  But I knew I couldn’t stay here pretending this was enough.

  “You don’t have to.”

  I turned.

  Hecate stood beside me, her presence quiet as moonlight, her gaze steady but not cold. She hadn’t appeared with a flourish or dramatic shift in air. She had simply… arrived. Like she’d always been there, waiting for me to see her.

  She didn’t speak in riddles. Not this time.

  I could feel the bond between us—ancient, quiet, and constant. The way a thread hums when someone you love pulls gently on the other end. I could feel her mind, too—not pressing against mine, not trying to sway me—but open, aware. She wasn’t just here as a goddess. She was here as my mother.

  And I felt that more clearly than ever before.

  “We do not bind our daughters in gold and prophecy, Zoe,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You came here of your own will. You may leave the same way—with your heart intact and your head clear. You are not chained to this place. We raised you to choose. And now, that choice is yours to make.”

  I didn’t answer. My throat ached with the weight of everything I couldn’t say. There was so much to consider—what staying here would mean. I could live among gods again. I could walk these golden halls beside my mother and father. I could help rebuild trust between Olympus and the world below. I could become something lasting, something celestial. But even with all those possibilities before me, my heart still turned toward the world I left behind.

  She stepped closer, and for once, she didn’t look like the goddess of thresholds and magic and mystery. She just looked like my mother—tired, knowing, and proud. There was warmth in her eyes, a flicker of quiet strength that made my chest ache. I felt the pull of her love not just in her presence, but deep in my spirit. Like it had always been there, quietly waiting for me to come home. The magic in her didn’t overshadow the softness. And for the first time since returning, I felt like a daughter again.

  “The gods will not stop you if you choose Earth,” she said. “No one here will. But it must be your choice. Not mine. Not theirs. Yours.”

  The wind swept between us, silent and waiting.

  I closed my eyes.

  And I let her words settle deep.

  I didn’t move.

  I didn’t answer.

  Not yet.

  But something inside me—something raw and aching and impossibly quiet—finally began to breathe again. It didn’t rush or roar. It stirred gently, like a flame rekindled after too long in the dark. The heaviness in my chest loosened just a little, enough for hope to settle in beside it. And for the first time since stepping back into Olympus, I didn’t feel trapped by the weight of legacy. I felt… free to choose.

  And in that moment, I knew.

  The choice was mine.

  And I was almost ready to make it.

  I stayed there for a while longer, the wind wrapping around me like a secret. I thought of everything I’d gained and everything I’d lost. I thought of Cassie and what she had given up so I could live. I thought of Xandor—his eyes, his steadiness, the way he waited without asking me for anything.

  And I thought of myself.

  Not Zoe the goddess. Not Zoe the prophecy. Just Zoe.

  The girl who wanted to fly.

  The girl who had learned how to stand, how to fall, how to heal.

  The girl who had found a family not in marble halls, but in shared meals and campfire songs and battle scars.

  And I knew.

  I could love Olympus for what it had given me.

  But I could not belong here.

  Because the place I truly belonged… was still waiting.