Page 29 of Immortal Sun (Dark Olympus)

CHAPTER 29

CYRUS

“We often regret saying too much and seldom regret saying too little.”– The Saga of Hrafnkel Freysgothi, ch.7.

D aggon is on his knees worshiping the skies.

He never was one for worship of anything other than himself, so I’m confused when I get to the beach to teach Cleo a lesson.

Icicles are formed around Daggon’s kneeling form.

Tears of ice.

Why is he crying?

I walk over to him, my black silk robe blowing in the wind, my hair loose around my shoulders, touching and teasing my body as if to remind me that Cleo’s hands could be there if I would let them.

After all, sex is sex. I don’t need her love, or my heart. It’s primal, basic in every form.

I clench my fists and keep walking through the sand, gritting my teeth.

It would feel so good, wouldn’t it?

What is it like?

I shake my head.

“Brother…” I put my hand on his shoulder. “What is it?”

His eyes are blood red, tears of water turned to ice slide down his cheeks as he stares at me like we’re strangers. He grips my shoulder with one hand. “I never thought it would come.”

“What?” I ask.

“Peace.” He nods and looks up at me with eyes blazing. “I think it will be peaceful, don’t you?”

“What?”

“My death.” His voice sounds wrong, sad, pathetic, weak. “I can finally rejoin our family in the sea, I can eat and drink with them. I can go back.” He points to the sea and starts to sing. “Down into its depths I fly, where heroes go to die.”

“No!” I pull him to his feet. “Who told you this? Apep? Inti?”

He doesn’t fight me; he just shakes his head again and again and keeps singing.

“Daggon!” I slap him across the face. “Snap out of it!”

He starts laughing and then turns to me and grabs my face with both hands. “You don’t know yet, but you’ll see, it’s going to be over with and you’ll suffer the most. What an ending. I think I’ll just go stand by the water now, maybe let it drown me since I know what I know.”

“What did you do?”

“I touched her.” He looks away. “I saw. I fell.” And then his eyes lock on mine. “We always say not to look at our eyes, but I saw my own reflected in the chaos of hers. Interesting, isn’t it? Because I became lost. And the worst part? I wanted it. I wanted it all to end.”

“She’s chaos, she can’t help but show you horrors like that.”

“She’s going to destroy us all,” he says sadly. “But maybe you can enjoy the fall in the meantime.” He pats me on the shoulder and walks toward the water then drops to his knees again in the sand.

I’m so pissed I can’t think straight as I stomp toward the mouth of the cave.

Cleo is there, obviously, and she’s already on her knees, palms up as if she’s ready to worship. My steps falter.

I trip twice before actually making it to her.

Her head is bowed.

It’s so pretty.

So serene.

So weak.

Me. Not her.

I feel weak.

So instead of telling her how beautiful her hands are, how soft her hair is, and how much I want to touch it. I pull open my robe and I pause.

I see the scene set before me. The violence. Me shoving myself in her face, telling her to take me deep. Me shouting at her demanding she service me. Me. Me. Me. It’s all about me.

Not her.

Sick to my stomach, I watch in my mind’s eye as she tries to push me away.

I feel nothing but anger.

Hatred.

Want.

I hate that my heart is cold and all I want is violence, that I want to wrap my hands in her hair and tug so hard she cries.

What has happened? What is this vision? I would never. Would I? In my obsession to ascend have I become the very thing I hate?

A tear runs down her cheek.

She gives in.

She lowers her head.

No. Not this way. Not this way.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

I stare into her eyes.

I drown.

And lose myself more than I should.

I hate myself in that moment of hesitation. Forget my frozen heart, my soul screams out for me to stop, that this isn’t how it began—this isn’t how it should end.

I preach not to look too close to us, and yet forget not to look into the sacrifice, into her fathomless blue and green eyes. I see the future. I see myself so fully as the monster I’ve become.

I’m haggard.

I’m broken.

I’m doing a job for humanity but really, it’s for myself. At what cost? I swear as she’s tasting me, tears coursing down her face, I hate myself for the first time in my existence.

I truly hate.

And it’s not the gods.

It’s me.

What even am I?

My heart clenches as ice breaks around me, crumbling, falling, dying.

I jerk away from her and fall to my knees.

And for the first time in a century…

I, the creator of worlds, Ra, God of Gods, after seeing a vision of what I will become if I stay on this journey.

Weep in blood---of those I’ve killed.