No one stared at the triplets. No one questioned their presence or the quiet hum of magic that surrounded them. InSolkaris, the basilisk quarter of Vale Crossing, they were simply patrons like any other.
A large shadow fell across their table. “Forgive the delay,” came a smooth voice.
Pythorus approached with effortless grace, his massive serpentine form coiling neatly as he set a round of drinks before them. His scales gleamed like polished rubies under the lantern light, each movement controlled and elegant.
“For my honored guests,” he said, placing the final glass before Liora. “A Solkarian blend. It sharpens the mind and steadies the spirit. You will find it… refreshing.”
She wrapped her fingers around the cool glass, watching the liquid inside swirl with faint, luminous currents. Gratitude stirred within her. Without Pythorus, they would have never gained access to Solkaris. Without him, their mission might have already failed.
Her thoughts turned inward once more, drifting back to the purpose that had brought them here. They had not come to Vale Crossing simply to find freedom. They had come searching for the children of Zeus.
Vale Crossing was a secret place where monsters lived, runaways from the Upperworld, hidden heirs, those who could not survive under laws that feared power beyond human control.
And the triplets possessed something no one else did.
Together, their abilities formed a single force.
Separately, their magic was strong. Elian could read magic like a language, auras, enchantments, the faint scars of tampering. Zara sensed emotions and hidden intentions, and Liora’s sight of memory and essence. But when their powers intertwined, something greater emerged. A resonance. A clarity that cut through deception and disguise.
When they combined their gifts, they could identify demigods. Not just any divine lineage, but specifically those born of Zeus.
Their father was part geryon, and through that blood, they’d always been able to recognize others like them. But after training under Hecate, their abilities deepened and sharpened. What had once been limited to geryon lineage expanded under the goddess’s tutelage until they could also sense the unmistakable current of Zeus’s blood moving through the world.
She lifted her drink but did not sip it, her thoughts heavy with the weight of their task. Somewhere in Vale Crossing, perhaps even within this crowded bar, walked the hidden children of a god whose legacy shaped worlds and destroyed them.
And they were meant to find them.
She looked at the basilisk as he lifted his cup and took a long, unrestrained swallow, throat moving as he drained nearly half the contents in a single gulp.
Elian’s brows rose. “Well,” he drawled, amusement curling through his voice, “someone looks relieved.”
Pythorus lowered the cup slowly, golden eyes narrowing with mild suspicion. “Relieved of what, precisely?”
Elian smirked. “That you didn’t actually have to kiss our sister.”
A low, rumbling sound escaped Pythorus, somewhere between a cough and a laugh.
Liora snickered into her drink.
The memory of Zara’s dramatic schemes still lingered vividly in her mind. Her sister had never believed in subtlety, and her pursuit of their co-worker Hektor had been nothing if not spectacular.
“The performance was convincing,” Pythorus said carefully, regaining his composure.
Liora couldn’t help her laughter. The lengths Zara had gone to for Hektor’s attention bordered on legendary. The Drakkon had been stubbornly, infuriatingly restrained about his feelings: silent glances, careful distance, an iron control that Zara seemed determined to shatter.
So, she had done what Zara always did.
She created chaos.
It just so happened that Pythorus was game and wanted to help Zara make the Drakkon jealous. Liora remembered the scene vividly: Zara and Pythorus working side by side, all deliberate affection, playing the part of a devoted companion with theatrical enthusiasm. The effect had been immediate.
Hektor’s composure had fractured.
The Drakkon’s normally controlled demeanor had sharpened into something fierce and territorial. His gaze had followed them relentlessly, tension radiating from him like heat from flame. Every casual touch between Zara and Pythorus had drawn a visible reaction: clenched fists, rigid posture, eyes burning with barely restrained possessiveness.
It had taken just a day before he finally admitted what everyone else had already known.
She smiled into her glass. “You should have seen his face when he saw you two here,” she said. “I thought he might actually breathe fire.”
