For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the temperature dropped. The torchlight guttered. The air thickened, pressing against his skin like ice-packed snow. Stifling magic filled the cave, coiling around his chest, and a shadow stirred at the edge of his vision.
A voice cracked through the stillness, rough as splintering ice. “You have some nerve, boy. You think a measly offering after years of neglect is enough to appease me?”
The cave trembled under the weight of the words.
Nik dropped to his knees, head bowed, as the cold cinched tighter around them.
The winged figure stepped forward. Leukos stood firm, though a cold knot twisted deep within him—rage and grief mingling in a silent scream.
He hadn’t seen the North Wind in years—not since the days after the massacre, when Agapios had smuggled him out of Megara. He had gone straight to the god’s temple in Thracia, storming through its sacred halls, demanding why his patron had done nothing to save his mother.
The North Wind had met his fury with quiet finality.
“Because she never called for help,” he’d said solemnly. “I didn’t know until it was too late.”
Now, the god appeared as a young man in an elaborate chiton, purple-feathered wings folded neatly at his back. A pulsing blue light shimmered through his shaggy hair and icicle-laced beard. A cold mirror of Leukos’ magic.
Leukos locked eyes with him. His breath hitched, chest tight with fury he could barely contain. “You’re here, aren’t you?” he spat.
The god’s shimmering gaze narrowed, glinting with glacial wrath.
“Leukos…” Nik warned. Summoning a god was one thing; speaking with contempt was another. Mortals who forgot their place rarely walked away whole.
Leukos’ fists trembled at his sides. He forced a breath through his nose and dropped his gaze in reluctant submission. “My magic is fading,” he said, “and I need it back.”
“That’s what happens when you ignore me.” The North Wind plucked the flagon from the altar, sniffed its contents, and took a long swig.
“You never cared for me—only my mother,” Leukos accused, eyes narrowing, “and yet you still Gifted me.”
“Because your mother was a faithful servant,” the god replied coolly. “She prayed to me daily. Every offering, every whispered plea was for you.”
Leukos’ jaw tensed. “I prayed, too. I gave you offerings after we came to an agreement in Thracia.”
“Ha!” The North Wind’s jagged bark of laughter scraped against his skin like frozen snow. “You think one year of half-hearted prayers and a few blood-stained trinkets earn you a lifetime of power?” His eyes gleamed. “I haven’t heard your voice in years.”
“I was busy. In hiding,” Leukos snapped, then forced his tone down. “Surviving.”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. The god tilted his head, unimpressed.
Leukos pressed on, shifting tactics. “The last time we met, I thought we were in agreement. I thought we both wanted the Emperor dead.”
“I do. Nothing has changed.” The god’s wings fluttered, a whisper of feathers edged with menace. “But that’s the problem,little prince. After many years of hiding and scheming, you have nothing to show for it.”
Leukos bristled. “I made an alliance with the Westerners, and soon, with Tiryns.”
“And yet the Emperor still lives!” the North Wind roared. His wings snapped wide, unleashing a gust that struck the cave walls and sheathed them in frost. “His legions are at my borders, destroying my temples and killing my priests!”
Ice bloomed in fractal patterns across the stone, sharp and glimmering.
Leukos didn’t flinch, his Gift shielded him from the cold, but beside him, Nik hunched lower, arms wrapped around himself, breath coming hard and white in the frigid air.
Leukos forced his voice steady. “As long as your winds sweep down from the mountains each winter, freezing rivers and fields, the Achaeans will not forget you.”
The god prowled closer, his face carved with wrath enough to make most mortals crawl. Leukos held his ground. He hadn’t feared the North Wind ten years ago when he’d hunted him in the mountain depths of Thracia, and he wouldn’t start now.
The North Wind had protected his mother’s family for generations. He would never harm Zeuxippe’s boy, and they both knew it.
