I should be grateful. The spell was completed efficiently, as it needed to be. But my skin prickles, my magic rising as I stare at the pool of blood darkening the ritual circle.
“I could have done it.” I take measured breaths, calling on every ounce of control to not snap at him.
“You’ve only killed for a sacrifice when the animal would come back to life, or for sustenance,” he says simply. “This needed to be done without hesitation, by someone who’s completed true sacrifices before. Byme.”
“You didn’t even give me the chance,” I say, wind gathering around my hands as I return my focus to the white stone, which is getting slowly soaked by the pig’s blood, the red stain crawling under the ingredients below it.
So much for control.
Suddenly, fire erupts from Circe’s palms, silencing us both.
“Stand back,” she warns, her golden eyes reflecting the moving light. “We don’t have time for your arguing. It’s my turn now.”
Hovering over the sacrificial stone, the sorceress begins to chant in Ancient Greek, or something even older. The words crackle like the fire in her hands, and with each phrase, the blood sizzles, releasing thin tendrils of silvery vapor that coil upward like seeking fingers.
The whispers grow louder and more distinct—dozens of voices speaking over one another at an increasingly frantic pace.
Then, Circe shoots a ball of fire at the pit, turning the objects in it to ash.
The whispers quiet.Everythingquiets. It’s like we’ve stepped into another plane of existence—a dulled, eerie, nearly muted limbo that’s neither Earth nor the Underworld. I can barely feel the ground beneath my feet or see the stars in the sky.
Every bone in my body wants to getout—to get back onto solid ground. But I swallow the fear and focus.
“Go ahead,” Circe tells us. “Speak your questions. The spirits of the Underworld will hear, and the one most suited to answer will rise from the pit and share their knowledge.”
Before I can speak, Riven steps forward, his eyes gleaming in the silvery light.
“I am Prince Riven Draevor of the Winter Court and the Summer Court,” he states, his voice commanding even in this otherworldly place. “And I seek knowledge of the Star Disc, forged by the goddess Celeste. Where can it be found, and how do we get there?”
The mist churns, swirling faster, until it begins to part.
From its depths rises a silvery, softly glowing figure—an elderly man cloaked in flowing, tattered robes. When he lifts his head, there’s nothing where his eyes should be. Only empty sockets, hollow and knowing.
“Tiresias,” Circe says softly, her eyes widening with recognition. “The Blind Prophet of Thebes.”
The prophet tilts his head, as if listening to distant voices only he can hear.
Riven and I say nothing as we wait for him to speak.
“The Star Disc dwells where celestial forces meet mortal waters,” the prophet finally says, his words vibrating through the air around us. “The Cosmic Tides, where stars meet the sea and time forgets itself.”
Riven’s brow furrows slightly. “We need more specific directions,” he says, sounding urgent—like he’s afraid the prophet will disappear without giving us what we need.
“The Cosmic Tides,” Tiresias continues, his milky eyes finding Riven’s despite his blindness, “exist where the currents flow between worlds. It’s a sea that’s not a sea—a vortex where the past, present, and the future fold into one.”
A shudder rolls through me.
These Tides donotsound like an ideal vacation destination.
“Sail the path between the Lonely Star Fomalhaut and the Navigator’s Star Canopus,” he continues. “It will lead you to the Charydian Rift—the gateway to the Cosmic Tides. But be warned that the Tides do not obey the laws of mortals, supernaturals, or even the gods. They are older than the realms. Older than memory itself.”
“And once we’re there?” Riven asks, pushing further. “How do we retrieve the Star Disc?”
“Survive the Tides, and the Disc will burn through the sky,” the prophet replies. “But the Cosmic Tides test more than courage or strength. They test the essence of who you are. They strip away every illusion and lie you tell yourself, until only the unvarnished truth remains. Many have entered seeking power or knowledge, but few emerge as the same person who dared to step inside.”
He fades at the edges, becoming more transparent with each passing second.
“May the Fates guide your celestial journey,” he adds. “And remember—sometimes the greatest dangers come not from the outside, but from within.”
