Suddenly, I’m blinded, and after blinking a few million times, I spot Atlas standing below a string hanging from the center of an unkept room. It’s about half the size of the chapel above, and on the far wall, across from the staircase, are two large bookshelves.
To my right is a podium of sorts, where one could rest a book and recite poetry or partake in some religious activity. To my left is a tall, wide slab of stone.
“Is that a fucking altar?” I demand, taking a single step forward.
Atlas is peering around, taking in the room with a calm expression.
“I believe so, yes.”
“Why do you have an altar?!” My voice rises slightly, shocked and appalled by the sight.
I’m not religious by any means—this we both know—but I’m also not into sacrificing animals to demons or anything sinister like that.
“Wedidn’t build it,” Atlas says flatly. “I think one of my ancestors did.”
“Why are we down here? This feels weird as hell; I can’t lie.”
“Because the day we were told the prophecy, I saw my father enter this room with the priest and the psychic.” Atlas says it as if it’s obvious, and I’m being dramatic about the whole situation.
But… what?!
“Psychic? Prophecy?! Atlas, what the hell are you going on about?” I take another step into the creepy room and toward the man staring back at me in amusement.
“If you freak out over every little thing, we’ll never get anywhere, Julian,” he says sarcastically. “I’m about to tell you what I mean. Will you listen?”
My shoulders slump, and I wave at him, encouraging him to continue. “Fine. Sorry. Tell me.”
Atlas chuckles and turns away to observe the shelves at his back as he continues to speak. “About six months into mycondition, my father hired a priest and a psychic and invited them to Chastain Castle. He was trying to find a cure or an explanation as to why I was cursed. I was told to stay in my room, but I snuck out anyway. That’s when I saw the three of them head down here.”
“You didn’t know this place existed until then?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“Nope. I didn’t follow, as I knew my father would be upset. But later that night, they came to me with the news of the prophecy. Of the cure.”
I follow behind him, watching as he trails a fingertip over the dusty ledge of one of the shelves. “And what was the prophecy?”
Suddenly, Atlas stops, and he turns to face me. It seems I walked further than I originally realized, because as he turns, our chests almost touch. Big blue eyes stare up at me, assessing nervously.
Then, he speaks.
“In the violence of the waves, a cure will appear.
From purity and truth, salvation is born.
The boy the incubus keeps will continue to suffer
until the stipulations are met.
Wrongs must be righted; balance must be restored.
Only then can light prosper again.”
I shiver at the words, at the way he seems to recite them from memory so easily, as if he’s replayed them over and over again.
“And the cure? What did they say about the cure?” I question.
“Thatiswhat they said about the cure.In the violence of the waves, a cure will appear. That’s why I wait, why I watch from the cliff’s edge.”
Oh. That’s… really not a whole lot to go off of. But his big, hopeful eyes staring up at me keep me from saying as much.
