Page 34 of The Stars

She thought Pandora was the key to stopping Moros. From Mia’s vision, she knew who Elpis was. Not that she remembered much of what she’d seen. Maybe that was the “sleep” she was supposed to wake from?

“I thought Pandora was supposed to stop Moros?” Dante asked.

“Elpis and Pandora together, as never before,” Clotho added.

“How do we find Elpis?” Dante asked.

“Pandora will waken Elpis when it is time,” Lachesis answered.

“How do we control Pandora?” Dante asked. “Isn’t she the one who can destroy everything?”

Clotho shook her head gently, her eyes sorrowful. “Pandora is beyond your control. The forces that bind her are older than the gods themselves. You cannot change what has already been written in the threads of fate.”

Atropos stepped closer to them, her once beautiful face now a mask of age and finality. “The threads have woven themselves around you both. Epimetheus must wake Pandora from her slumber. Pandora must help Elpis. It is your destiny.”

Dante’s jaw clenched as he turned to Amy, his voice tight with frustration. “I’m not Epimetheus.”

“You are who you’ve always been,” Lachesis said softly. “Just as she is Pandora.”

“How?” Dante asked, sounding defeated.

“You know,” Atropos said, touching the hollow spot above her own heart.

Amy gasped, the weight of their words sinking in. “I’m not Pandora. I’m just... Amy.”

The Fates exchanged knowing glances, their forms now ancient, crumbling like statues eroded by time. Clotho spoke last, her voice barely a whisper. “You will remain here, bound to this time, until your fates are fulfilled. There is no escape.”

The words sent a chill down Amy’s spine. She glanced at Dante, his expression hardening as the truth settled in.

Destiny had brought them here, and destiny would see them through. Whether they liked it or not.

Chapter Twelve

This time, when they returned to Delos, they were guided to what appeared to be a temple not far from the theater at the base of the mountain. The building overlooked the small town on one side and a rocky overlook to the sea on the other. It was set apart from all the other buildings.

“You are to remain here,” the leader said and, without waiting for a response, he turned and left quickly.

Dante watched the leader walk away, his pace quickening with every step as though he couldn’t wait to put distance between them. The man hadn’t even looked them in the eyes. It was like they carried a curse no one wanted to be around now.

“At first, he seemed to be helping us,” Dante muttered, his eyes scanning the empty path ahead. “Now I think he’s afraid of us.” His voice held a bitter edge. He glanced back at Amy, who stood silently beside him, her arms wrapped around her body as if she could protect herself from the weight of everything they had learned.

The temple loomed behind them as the leader disappeared down the pathway, a grand structure compared to the simplicity of the Fates’ island, yet it carried a heavy silence, almost sacred. Dante pushed open the large wooden door, and they stepped inside. The air was thick and musty, and the only sound was their footsteps echoing across the stone floor. It was bare, except for a few pieces of old furniture—benches and a large table in the center of the room, a small bed in the room towards the back.

There was no welcome, no conversation, just a sense of isolation.

“Home sweet home, I guess,” he said dryly. “I guess they’re serious about keeping us here,” he added with a slight laugh as he ran a hand through his hair.

Amy didn’t respond, just sat down on a wooden chair in the corner. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken worries. A knock at the door broke through the tension, but when Dante opened it, no one stood outside—just trays of food that had been left on the doorstep. He glanced around, but whoever had delivered the meal had quickly gone.

“Guess we’re not exactly welcome dinner guests,” he said, lifting the trays and carrying them to the table. “Not even a hello. They’re treating us like outcasts now.”

Amy sat down across from him, her eyes distant. “Maybe that’s what we are now.” She picked at the bread in front of her, not really eating, just tearing pieces off and setting them aside. “The Fates said we’re destined for this. That we can’t stop it.”

Dante leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of the Fates from his mind—the way they had appeared young and ethereal, only to age with each word they spoke. It was like each word represented the weight of time itself.

When the sun began to set, painting the sky in streaks of red and orange, they moved outside onto the small stone balcony that overlooked the sea. The air was warm and soothing.

“At least our jail has a beautiful setting,” she said softly with a sigh. “I’ve never seen such a colorful sunset before.”