The basilisks settled in a loose semicircle, their massive coils shifting against the polished stone floor. Their earlier bravado had faded, replaced by wary curiosity. Slitted eyes tracked every movement.
Pythorus inclined his head respectfully, voice smooth and measured as he began. “My guests,” he gestured to the triplets and Hektor, “Are searching for certain demigods, specifically the children of Zeus.”
“Is that what that magic thing they did just now was?” the youngest-looking of the three asked.
“Exactly,” Pythorus confirmed. “But they aren’t looking for just any kind of demigod. They need to find the children he sired with shifters and monsters.”
The eldest-looking one crossed his arms over his chest. “What for?”
Hektor spoke up. “We believe they are in danger. No, we do not know from whom or what. But whoever they are, they have already struck before. They send evil beings from another world or perhaps another realm, assassins we call hunters to execute their plan. These hunters can take on different shapes and attack at any moment. They nearly killed another of Zeus’s children back in the Upperworld.”
“What do they want?” another asked.
“There was a prophecy,” the Drakkon continued. “The intent or meaning wasn’t clear, but it states that the half-creature child of Zeus will either free him from his prison and restore him to the throne or take his place. Either way, whoever wants the children of Zeus dead doesn’t want that to happen.”
Liora watched the basilisks closely as the words settled over them.
Unease flickered across their faces. Some exchanged glances. Others shifted restlessly, tails tightening against the stone. A murmur passed through the group before one basilisk moved forward. His scales bore the dull sheen of age, and his presence carried a quiet authority that silenced the others without effort. His gaze swept over the triplets, thoughtful and measured, before he introduced himself as Makron.
“We don’t know who our fathers are,” he said at last.
The admission hung in the air.
“Our mothers,” Makron continued, “are away on a mission beyond Solkaris. They will not return for several days.”
His slit-pupiled eyes settled briefly on her, as if sensing the watchful awareness behind her quiet stance.
“If you seek answers,” he finished, “you will find none from us.”
The basilisk who had caught her eye earlier slipped quietly from the group. Deep green markings traced intricate patterns along his scales, sharp against their darker base, and his strikingly red hair fell loose around his shoulders like living flame. There was an ease to him, a careless self-assurance that set him apart from the others’ uncertainty. He didn’t look afraid. He didn’t look surprised. He looked…amused.
While the others continued speaking with Pythorus and Hektor, he drifted back toward the small bar tucked into the corner of the lounge, reaching for a bottle with casual familiarity.
She watched him for a moment. Then, without giving much thought to it, she followed.
The stone floor was cool beneath her steps as she crossed the room. Up close, she noticed the subtle strength in the way he carried himself, the controlled precision of someone accustomed to his own power, someone who had never learned to shrink or apologize for existing.
He poured himself a drink without looking at her. “I was wondering how long it would take,” he said lightly, voice edged with quiet amusement.
Liora stopped beside the bar.
He finally turned, golden eyes sweeping over her with open curiosity. “All this talk of prophecy,” he continued, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Divine blood. Storm gods.” A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “You arrive in our home, tell us we may be in terrible danger, and expect us to simply nod along.”
He took a slow sip. “Very dramatic,” he added. “Impressive, even.”
She studied him, meeting his gaze without hesitation. There was something restless beneath his humor, something guarded, probing, waiting to see how she would respond.
“You don’t believe us,” she said.
His smile sharpened slightly. “I didn’t say that.”
The distinction hung between them.
She tilted her head, watching the subtle tension in his posture, the way his fingers tightened ever so slightly around the glass. His expression shifted again, the flippant amusement softening into something more thoughtful, more guarded.
“Danger,” his gaze returned to her, searching.
“And you,” he said, voice quieter now, “walk into Solkaris claiming you can see truths no one else can.”
