Page 68 of Blood of Olympus

“What—” he began, but was interrupted by the hurried trudging of footsteps from deep within the treeline.

We stared as an exomis-clad man emerged a few seconds later, red in the face and huffing short breaths. His sandaled feet pulled up short, eyes widening in the usual way mortal eyes do when they land upon a god.

“Hail, my Lord Caelus! I must apologise for I did not see you there.”

“It’s quite alright. May I offer you a drink?”

He eyed the lake warily. “I had intended to replenish my waterskin at the lake… but I see now that it may not be the wisest decision.”

Charon snickered, unbeknownst to the man.

“Indeed. Here, take mine.” I pulled it off the belt at my waist, and held it out in offering.

His eyes went round even as the rest of his body froze in place.

“I assure you it remains uncontaminated.”

“I—that’s—” he stammered. “Forgive me.” His eyes landed at my feet, brows puckering at my choice in footwear — boots, always boots now. “It’s just that I am undeserving of such a gift from a god.”

“It’s hardly a gift. It’s just water.” I held it out again.

Slowly, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the soft leather.

“It is a gift,” he said softly. “This waterskin is of finer make than any royal would possess. It is clean water for a parched throat. It is the difference between life and death for a man in a trade such as mine.”

He sipped from the container while I pondered his words and profound gratitude.

“And now, it is yours.”

The man bowed low to the ground.

“Thank you, oh mighty⁠—”

“Alright, that’s quite enough,” I practically pleaded, waving off his zealousness.

Charon clutched at his belly, sniggering at my discomfort.

“Tell me, where is it you come from? And where are you headed?”

The man straightened, severity lacing the sweat-covered lines of his face.

“I come from a village called Hellespont. I relieved the messenger who crossed the strait. He was sent from the hiereis of the Dayspire.”

“The Dayspire?” I frowned. “The temple of Apollo? What do the priests require so urgently they need to send a messenger halfway across the realm?”

“You, my Lord.”

“Me?”

“Well… not just you, but all the Olympians you travelled with. The Dayspire is under attack as we speak. I journey to Ithacene to beg for your aid.”

Lykos, can you hear me?

No response.

“Fuck!”

“Call Nyssa. At least tug on the bond,” Charon suggested.