by Elena Monroe
“I don’t have any memories, Bolton. This all still sounds crazy, and I’ve had weeks to adjust. I need something, anything, to just make sense.” My voice was practically begging him to tell me something, like it’d spark a torrential downpour of memories.
All the things I forgot.
All the things that sounded crazy.
All the whys, hows, and whats.
My eyes welled up, drowning my perfect vision behind a veil of unshed tears. Bolton’s exterior changed from giving no fucks to not wanting to see me cry in seconds, and he rushed to my side, pulling me into him.
I didn’t know if he was being so nice simply because Nyx just admitted I’m in most of his dreams or if he was finally tolerating me enough to let me touch him in a vulnerable way.
Bolton only liked to be touched when it was either painful or sexual; anything in between was a hard pass.
His strong arms engulfed me, holding me against him, as a tear slid down my cheek just from the gesture—authentic or not. He spoke, even with my ear pressed against his shirt, and I knew he was speaking more to Nyx, not me. “Back home, you two were close. Zeus hated your friendship, and that’s when I came into the picture.”
His words fell off, flattening like there should be more. I looked up at him, pulling away enough to see him. “And?”
Nyx’s foot stomped down on a chair, silently forcing him to continue with his confession. Letting out a heavy sigh into the air above us, Bolton went on: “Zeus picked me… for you. The son of his enemy didn’t have a chance. He knew how much you loved him.”
I pulled away, feeling betrayed in a way Bolton wouldn’t have stood for. He was helping me learn how to control my powers under stress, letting me sleep in his bed, and keeping secrets that changed everything.
“How do you know that information wouldn’t have changed anything? I could have remembered or understood this shit you threw me into.”
Bolton’s hands didn’t reach me; him holding me was for Nyx’s sake, not mine. He stood there, defeated, with his hands in his hoodie pocket, looking suddenly not as strong as I once saw him.
He was powerless, in more than one way now.
“You’re an asshole—a powerless asshole who can’t use it against anyone now that we know the truth.” I felt the same kind of anger, defense, creeping up my neck and making the peach fuzz stand up at attention. I looked down at my hands that were glowing gold, outlining my veins.
Nyx took two big steps and held my wrists in place, down by my side. He was bent over, looking me at my eye level: “Relax.”
I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t be anything but pissed off and a heat-seeking missile looking for revenge. My eyes felt wild when I finally focused on Nyx before yanking my wrists out of his grasp.
I needed space to let my anger breathe, and if I did it here, the library would get a remodel that no one approved of.
I wasn’t headed anywhere in particular when I stormed past the abandoned building and for the woods. Something about the dark, foggy woods made me feel more calm, like it was home at one time.
I found a spot down by the stream that was deep enough to avoid people but still a straight shot back to campus. The stump was damp and seeping through my skirt and tights that the school made us wear. I didn’t care. I need to breathe the cool, fresh air and listen to the calming, quiet trickling of the stream long enough to slow down my pulse. I watched my veins go from being a gold illuminating through my skin back to normal in a few minutes.
Breathing through the change, I forced myself to still and focus on the sound of the stream until all my anger seemed to dissipate. Once it did, I dug in my bag for Henry Jon’s journal that I now carried with me everywhere.
It had been a few weeks since I last broke the spine; maybe his words would make more sense than my own.
Henry Jon
My precious, innocent, Rosalia was put to rest today. Her faith was shaken, and the unholy spirit had won her soul in a war we thought we won.
No matter how many Bibles you own, how many churches you step foot in, how long you pray before bed, the Devil has all kinds of tricks up his sleeve.
This time, he sent his children to torment our faith.
Rosalia’s death would not go unnoticed. In the wake of her death, the one true God came to me in my sleep, giving me purpose to my life when all felt hopeless. He showed me a path not yet taken, to forge an army to fight His white light against the darkness we don’t speak of. We would warn those of the monsters stalking our souls and their tricks.
The day I held Rosalia breathless on the dead oak, the great tree held duality in its roots, just as we would hold duality in our hearts.
I was drunk off the new power my Lord gave me, fueling every step of my mission, as we searched for the Devil’s child. The dead oak’s stump bore so many clues: the golden liquid, the tusk in the tall grass, the dark magic they used to summon their lord—all left behind like breadcrumbs.
I wanted to smite them all for taking my Rosalia. I wanted to damn them to the Hell they crawled up from.
Pastor Cotton and Blacksmith Samuel forged new weapons—both relics and arrogantly painful. The arrows points were shaved down from their own tusk, the gold liquid melted down and boned with metal to create new bullets, and the dead oak chopped up to make javelins and riffles. We spared no part of what the Devil left behind.
They possessed my Rosalia until there was nothing left of my angel. It started small with the sleepwalking doubling and her Bible studies no longer a focus. It wasn’t until their leader poisoned her mind, like all young men did when searching for a wife.
It wasn’t my Rosalia that passed on that day; it was the demon child shedding her human skin.
We searched the woods for any sign of the children for weeks, even crossing borders to other territories in our search. We came up empty-handed every sunset, and every dawn a new hope was born.
It wasn’t until Ranger Charles received word one day, two long years later, that a small town in the deep south was reporting strange activity. They reported strange settlers that came to town with no purpose or reason. Ranger Charles rode out before the sun kissed the ground, riding to chase up to the Devil’s spawn.
We rode a half day later with our weapons in tow, ready to catch up to revenge. The one true God teaches us forgiveness, but I made peace with forgiveness being at the end of my musket.
Henry Jon hunted the circle for what happened, for revenge over the body I apparently took over and left in my wake in the past. I had no memory of anything before this life; I didn’t even remember my hands holding such power.
None of this made sense, and now knowing Nyx was more than someone I trusted was making my head spin.
I trusted Nyx, yet Bolton was the first person to steal more than trust from me as soon as I walked on campus.
Luna was my only friend here, and I found a way to let trouble even ruin that before I packed up and left again.
Typing out her name with a new message, I knew hiding out in the woods wasn’t going to help… or was it? I had been virtually hiding for 14 years, and it seemed to serve everyone pretty well. As soon as I came to Arcadia, there had been nothing but trouble.
I stopped, staring down at her name and a blank text I had yet to type, as I contemplated running. The only thing stopping me was my dad, who wasn’t really even my dad, who was in some secret location off saving the world.
I deleted the text and typed out “Dad” instead: I think I’m in over my head. Call me when you can.
I knew getting to a phone in the middle of a war zone or third world country was more than hard, but I tried to stay hopeful. Something in me needed to keep burning.
I retyped “Luna” out, more stable and calm than a minute ago: Pizza? Girls’ night in? I didn’t know about Nyx, and I would never indulge it.
I felt guilty just typing out his name when it wasn't mine to claim, write, say. All of that belonged to Luna, the one madly
and quietly, in love with him.
Everyone could see their true feelings glued to their features when they were in the same room, except them.
They weren't giving in enough to just date, and I had no idea why. Now, maybe I did know: dreaming of another girl can put a damper on even the strongest motivations.
I was stubborn enough to stay in the woods until my hands felt numb and stung from the cold coming in. I pushed Henry Jon's journal in my bag and started back towards campus in the same direction.
I started walking, with every dead leaf and broken branch crunching under my boots, when I felt someone else’s presence, strong enough to make me stop in my tracks.
I knew it was stupid as soon as I shouted it: “Hello? Anyone there?”
No one answered, just as I expected. No one was stupid enough to follow someone in the woods as dusk was settling in, just to pop out from behind a tree to respond with a casual, “Hey.”
Sinister feelings gripped around my vital organs, making it hard to expand my chest enough to get the oxygen I needed. Someone was in the woods with me, and I didn't know who or why.
Crunch, snap, a hollow step on a rock… all were a flashing neon sign for the sinister one behind me. I was making it easy for him. I kept walking in quick steps, until I saw campus in the wood’s opening, and I sighed heavily, hopefully.
Fuck you, sinister fucking woods. Joke’s on you.
Just as my head craned back to look at campus and my foot stepped over the threshold onto the perfectly manicured grass, I felt the hand clamp over my mouth, and a strong arm encircled my waist, dragging me back into the woods.
What little movements I could make felt draining as I forced them to become big and threatening. My hands gripped the forearm of the strong person, who wasn't even moving his hand from my mouth, for good reason—they knew I'd scream. My whole body felt a focused sense of anxiety, and I noticed my hands began glowing with the gold I still wasn't even used to.
Suddenly I felt a small pinch in my side, sharp enough to steal my breath and replace it with a jagged one that added to my anxiety.
My tense, small movements became limp as my eyes fell half-mast, too heavy to hold up anymore.
I realized the person was dragging me, and my heels were creating small trails in the soft dirt, like fucked-up breadcrumbs.
Arianna
I woke up with every muscle feeling sore, every bone rattling under my skin, and my heart beating so slow I felt drowsy. I didn't recognize my surroundings as I looked all around me.
I was on the floor, on top of an antique rug, and the only light was a small lamp in the corner with a yellow glow barely illuminating anything at all.
It looked like an old study or speakeasy, with dark accents, comfy furniture that begged you to stay, old paintings hung, and the red walls gleamed like a threat.
Where am I?
I didn't realize I said it out loud until a husky voice responded, “Welcome to my place. Oh, and you’re welcome for saving your life.”
The shadow in the doorway appeared with his blonde hair pushed to one side. His arms were crossed in front of him, and his necklaces danced on his forearms.
I tried to stand up, but my body wasn't ready, so I sat up straight with my arms matching his disgruntled demeanor. “Caellum, how lovely to see you again. I thought we couldn't hurt each other? Felt pretty painful to me.”
“Maybe your tolerance for pain is just weak…” He handed me a water and smirked, knowing I was still stuck to the floor, despite my trying to get up. I snatched the water bottle, feeling the inside of my cheeks get tight without any real moisture.
I was a sack of skin, twisted in knots, and so tense it could've produced bruises from Caellum’s stunt.
“Maybe you’re just an asshole.”
He chuckled, pushing his fingers through his hair, looking attractive in all his malevolent ways.
I scolded myself for even thinking that, when he made it clear he was all about himself, only himself, and I wasn’t joining that fan club any time soon.
My legs felt less like Jell-O, and I used the chair to get up from the carpet. “What am I doing here exactly? You have my number; that’s less work you know.”
Stalking over to the desk, I looked at the map he had of the woods rolled out and held down by paperweights made out of ordinary objects: a cup of pens, as football trophy, an ashtray devoid of any ashes.
“Omari was in the woods following you. It was the only way to keep you quiet and out of trouble.” He took a marker and drew a black x over the map in a specific location next to the stream, and I wondered what he was looking for.
Me? The journal? The husk?
“And? He's circle.”
“Not everyone in the circle can be trusted. Were you not at that exclusive meeting I was forced to attend?” His voice was as sarcastic as mine, but every sentence ended in a lashing, reminding me he did it better so I shouldn’t bother to try.
“Still didn't have to stick me with… whatever that was...” I was arguing with someone out of my league, and the failure of last time was making me feel small.
“Did you die?” His eyes still shifted down to his map, not seeing me cross my arms and roll my eyes.
“No.”
“It’s adamantine sickle bore from Gaia. In small doses, it isn’t lethal for us.”
“So you poisoned me? Wow, can’t trust anyone around here.”
“Relax, it’s not strong enough to damage the immortal flesh melted down.” He was casual about almost killing me—so casual that I felt anxiety I never had before bloom inside my chest. I was sitting across from someone who was not afraid to betray those around him—his own kind.
He moved around the room, like I wasn't there, eyed my bag, and dumped it over.
“Hey! That's my stuff. What do you think you're doing?”
He seemed unaffected by my glare or yelling altogether.
His eyes met mine as he poked through my belongings flooding the table. He snatched the journal up and started flipping through, like he knew what he was looking for, like it was his.
I slumped down in a chair on the other side of the desk relinquishing any effect I had on Caellum. He was going to do what he wanted, when he wanted, and I was just an annoyance in his way.
“What are you looking for?”
“Something Henry Jon left behind: a Plan B.” He didn’t look up and continued thumbing the fragile pages.
I tried to stay neutral, even though my mind snapped to the husk in my bedroom under my bed in a Doc Marten shoe box. It was all that was left of Henry Jon: a journal, a tusk, and some part of his daughter I probably took with me when she died for me to live.
“What for?” I shrugged disinterested, when that's all I was: interested.
He slammed the book shut, slammed his palms on the table, and hung his head between his shoulders, defeated. No, probably just annoyed I existed.
“It's the God- Killer. It's a legend that Henry Jon found a tusk from your beast and used it to make weapons that kill gods.” His voice was harsh and curt, like I should know these things, but my memories were still missing.
So that's what that little tusk did. Well, what was left. No wonder it was hidden.
“Wait, my beast?”
He handed the journal back, and I shoved all my belongings back into the confinement of my bag. “Yes, your pet. Ophiotaurus. Half snake, half bull.” The one from the journal that Henry Jon sees Rosalia/me pet in the tall grass.
“Let's just add that to the pile of 'don't know’s’ and ‘now I do’s’. It's a mountain now. Did you know about Nyx?”
I watched him drag his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from falling onto his face, still hunched over the desk, slaving over this map, hoping it would take pity on him and give him answers. “I have my memories. Just like Bolton.”
I sat up even taller, not hiding how interested I was now. “I thought Bolton was the only one with memories.”
“Bolton does a lot to make shit seem one way. Let me guess he was forced to tell you about your connection to Nyx? He probably left out some parts.”
Intrigued, also cautious, I leaned forward with my elbows on the desk and looked up at him. I knew he and Bolton didn't have a winning friendship, and that alone made me question every word.
“Bolton wasn't chosen by Zeus for you,” he said. “He was chosen only after I decided I didn't want you.”
He was aiming to insult me at the same time he spilled some truth. All he really did was add to the pile of confusion sitting next to me, as tall as I was and not going away any time soon.
“You? No offense…” The shock had my tongue too loose.
Bolton, the loyal… Bolton, the king… was also Bolton, the liar.
He was holding all his memories hostage and using them to keep his throne secure.
My hands felt tingly, and the anger inside was only growing with each pause. Bolton weighed everyone’s value on how loyal they could be to him when he was just another false god glorifying secret agendas to get his way.
“Royalty marries royalty. We didn’t have a choice.”
“Who are your parents? Are Bolton’s royal too?”
You couldn’t not hear the snickering against his closed fist pressing to his lips. “Prometheus, the Titan, and Athena. Inner circle type shit. Bolton’s parent is royal; just one, not two.”
I sat back, still dumbfounded at all the information.
I was from Olympus.
My dad was Zeus.
When he died, the lightning he conquered transferred to me.
Nyx was someone I trusted.
Caellum was someone I was promised to.
Bolton was second runner up.
He made our connection seem so important, desperate to make me remember when none of my memories would work in his favor. He was ruining any chance with me after I’d remember the truth, yet he still wanted me to have a choice in who I chose without Zeus alive.
“Do you trust Bolton?”
He stopped fidgeting with the maps and his search, placing his hands on his hips. “He’s a lot of things—conniving, manipulative, selfish… but he does the right thing in the end.”
