Chapter 49: Chapter 49

S A V A N N A H

I DID NOT recognise the girl staring back at me in the floor-to-ceiling gilt mirrors. She had gold flecks around her eyes and long, sooty eyelashes. Her golden irises sparkled, and her curled hair flowed down to below her shoulders. She wore a deep crimson floor-length gown; designed to be a modern twist on the ancient Greek toga. The slightly revealing two-piece empire waist was fitted with golden ribbons, matching the gold cuffs above her elbows which secured a pale red gossamer cape that flowed into a train behind her. Digging into her head, was a shining golden laurel wreath; like those of the Olympians. On her feet, were intricate black sandals.

She looked devastating —a princess of death indeed. Like she was ready to be a goddess; capable of shouldering that honour.

I knew that the girl was me, but I could not figure out why I was not feeling comfortable in my own skin.

The lace scratched my skin and hugged like a leotard that was a size too big; and the netted skirts felt stiff.

This is simply a formality, I assured my nerves.

I placed my hand over my chest, where a necklace would usually be. It was the first time that I had taken it off for an occasion such as this. I would wear it again, but no longer for the reason I had before.

“…I hope this isn’t like a wedding, where it’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony. In which case, sorry —I asked Hades where you were and I was directed here,” a voice said from the doorway.

I turned around to face Søren.

He was all cleaned up —but he was still sporting his usual black jeans, leather jacket and navy blue sweater.

“What, you’re not even going to dress up a little for this?” I chuckled, stepping off of the platform and walking over to him. “I expect you to step your game if and when I get married. I can’t have my best man looking like he just stepped out of a slasher movie.”

“I can’t be the bride’s best man,” Søren pointed out. “And don’t even think about making me your maid of honour. Besides —I am dressed up,” he scoffed. “I’m wearing my best jacket,” he bragged, popping the collar, “and my jeans without holes.”

“Wow,” I deadpanned. “Now I totally see it.”

He chuckled in amusement, before sighing and reaching behind his back and handing me a beautiful yellow chrysanthemum.

My brows rose.

“This is for you,” he said. “Don’t think too much about it —it’s more of a thank you gift than a present.”

I had not spared a single thought to it.

“…Aw,” I cooed teasingly, twirling the flower between my fingers. “That’s so sweet. You remembered my favourite flower.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, averting his eyes and going slightly pink. “Anyway, like I said —thank you gift.”

“Sure,” I smiled.

“By the way. You look really…well, you look like a goddess,” he then said as a matter of fact. I blushed slightly and lifted the skirts.

“I know. But I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“Too much?” he guessed.

“No…” I frowned. “Okay, maybe a little,” I then admitted, slumping my shoulders. “I don’t know, Søren —I’m just feeling so anxious.”

“That’s completely understandable,” he assured me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Look, this is a big deal. You shouldn’t downplay it. But you’re not going into it alone.”

He offered me a smile. I huffed, but then smiled back.

“Thanks,” I told him.

“No problem. Now, let me get to the throne room before I’m told that I really shouldn’t be here,” he said quickly, turning back towards the door. “And don’t stress about it…you’ll be fine.”

I nodded and waved him off, but I wavered when he disappeared around the corner. ‘Don’t stress about it’?

That was easy for him to say. I was not even sure about the details of the ceremony. What exactly would they do? Would the process hurt?

I had all these questions which I had conveniently not bothered to ask beforehand that were now overflowing. I took a deep breath and exhaled.

One small step at a time, I internally encouraged.

“Miss Savannah?” a more feminine voice then said from the door. “The ceremony is set to start soon. Please allow me to escort you to the throne room.”

I turned to see a Dryad floating towards me. The first thing that I noticed was that her eyes were just a solid mass of green void of irises, that were outlined with long yellow lashes and small pointed spines. There were more spines all over her —on her arms and legs, making her look like more of a sea urchin than a nymph. A shower of mist and leaves swirled around her as she gently touched down onto the marble floor, making her knee length dress flare upwards. Her feet were dainty and wrapped in vines, tinging some of her pale yellow-ish skin a shade of green. Her hair was a bouquet of sticks growing out of her head from a thick vine flower crown blossoming with wildflowers. I had never seen a nymph before, so I stared in awe as she approached and stood three heads taller than me.

“I am Sych,” she smiled.

“Oh. I did not realise that Dryads could get sick,” I frowned. Then I started to wonder why she was working in the first place if she was sick.

She laughed softly; the sound like cool Spring. “No, my name is Sych,” she said. “I am a sycamore tree spirit.”

I flushed, feeling silly. I apologised very self-consciously, but she told me to think nothing of it.

“You seem ready now,” she then said, glancing down. Her eyes then narrowed in on my chrysanthemum. “…Was that a gift?”

“Yes,” I murmured. “I thought about putting it somewhere on my outfit, but I have no idea where,” I sighed, wishing that I had pockets.

“Oh, I can help if you would like,” Sych offered. She held out her hand. I hesitantly pressed the flower into her palm. She took a step back as it then disintegrated in her hand, before she waved her hands at my gown. I looked on nervously as a green mist enveloped me. I could not tell what she had done until the magic had dispersed. I gasped as I looked down at beautiful charcoal impressions of chrysanthemums and leaves now painting the entire ensemble. I twirled around in admiration.

“Does it please you, Miss?” Sych asked.

“Are you kidding?” I breathed, suddenly darting forward and grabbing her in a hug. “It’s nothing like I imagined. It’s absolutely perfect!”

“Oh,” Sych said unenthusiastically as I then let her go. She moved backwards rapidly and flushed a dark shade of green, attempting to hide it with her hand. “…It was no trouble, Miss.”

“What is the matter?” I asked, immediately picking up on her body language. “I love what you did.”

“Well,” she mumbled. “I should never be embraced,” she confessed. “The goddess in charge of the gardens, Lady Aphrodite, instructs that personal space is imperative, and that we refrain from touching or being too friendly with our superiors.”

“Seriously?” I deadpanned. “That is the reason?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“You don’t have to call me that.”

“Yes, I do, Miss —it is the one rule that I cannot break.”

I frowned. I was finding that all very unfair. Her expression gave little away —her features were so soft and rounded and her eyes were so vacant that it was difficult to decipher what she was thinking.

“…Do you enjoy your work?” I asked carefully.

Sych paused. “No one has ever asked me that,” she murmured. “…I cannot say that I find grievances in any task that I perform. I have grown used to everything. This is all I know. What else is there?”

“Oh Sych,” I softened. “There’s so much more out there. And I’m not saying work shouldn’t be done. I know that you are a tree spirit, but you should not have to be confined like a tree.”

“But I cannot leave,” she informed me like it was as a matter of fact. “I am a palace garden Dryad. And my place is here.”

I frowned. “Are you even allowed to stay for the ceremony?”

She shook her head slowly. I looked at her sympathetically. I knew there were rules attached to Mount Olympus and how things ran, but I still could not help feeling horribly undeserving. Simply because of what ran through my veins I was automatically entitled to a high status; completely leaving those without godly anointing below. It did not feel right to me.

I wanted to do something for Sych.

She continued to stare at me, that dark green tinting her cheeks again.

I tilted my head to the side curiously. “What is it?” I asked.

She glanced elsewhere. “Nothing. You are very beautiful.”

I blinked. It then made sense to me —her actions. My own cheeks heated. No female had ever called me beautiful. I was unsure of how to react, and of what to say. Sych was beautiful, there was no question about it.

However, I was not quite that way inclined.

“…Well, let’s head to the throne room,” I suggested stiffly. “I can’t keep everybody waiting.”

“Yes, Miss,” she said curtly, turning towards the door. She rose up from the floor and then floated ahead of me. I felt slightly guilty for my unease, but she thankfully paid it no mind. I followed her out of the room, the sound of my heels clacking on marble echoing in the halls. I had my first chance to properly take it all in. But the further the walked the more I realised why Hades hated it. He was right; it was rather blinding and ornate.

When we finally reached the throne room I hesitated, the feeling of dread seeping through me. I gulped, trying to maintain my composure.

The doors were opened, and the throne room was revealed. A set of pews had been set up with an aisle in the middle like a chapel. In front of them, all twelve of the gold thrones were filled, and were regular human size. A makeshift iron throne sat at the foot of Zeus’ —and Hades was the one sitting in it.

I almost snorted.

I had not known that the thrones could be adjusted to accommodate the gods’ varying forms and sizes.

The Olympians were dressed in long cream togas and silver sandals, with golden laurel wreathes atop their heads. They all looked deathly serious, and I nearly bolted out back to the hallway as I reminded myself that this was in fact a punishment and not a reward.

My invited guests turned back to look at me as I walked forward. They were also stony faced, but not in an intimidating way like the gods. Søren and Thanatos offered me smiles, which settled my nerves. I then stood before the semicircle of thrones, just as Hera rose to her feet.

“Presenting the half-blood Savannah, daughter of Hades,” Sych introduced me, standing to the side.

Hera nodded, prompting the nymph to turn around and head for the doors to leave. I paused, before calling out to her. Sych stopped and turned back to face me. She looked confused. I walked back to her, ignoring the whispers, and stopped as she touched down onto the floor.

“You are hereby invited to stay, as a guest,” I told her. Everyone gasped, not only the Dryad.

“Is such a thing…allowed?” Dionysus hissed.

“This girl really is something else…” Apollo smirked.

“Shut it, Apollo,” Artemis growled.

“This is not a normal ceremony,” Lady Aphrodite herself whispered. “The rules cannot be bent just for her.”

“She is allowed if she’s a friend,” I spoke up. Eyebrows were raised at my audacity. “So, I’m inviting her.”

Uncertainty ensued, and Sych started to look fearful of her very life. I frowned in worry. I knew full well that Aphrodite would not hesitate to cut her tree down for something like this.

“The Dryad may attend, if the half-blood wishes,” Hera eventually raised her voice above the hushed discussion, silencing the room. “So long as we may

finally proceed.”

Sych looked down at me curiously. “Are you sure that you wish for me to be here, Miss?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She looked surprised, but then walked over to the congregation of invited guests and sat there shyly as she endured the stares.

I then made my way back to Hera and mirrored her raised eyebrows. She sighed, but held out her hands. A thick leather bound golden book materialised between them. She opened it to the middle as she cleared her throat.

“Gathered Olympians and guests,” she began. “Welcome to a Rebirth Ceremony. This ceremony will be for half-blood Savannah, daughter of Hades. She will be transformed into a goddess —the goddess of half-bloods. Athena, please come forward to write her human name on her page.”

The goddess of wisdom rose from her throne and summoned a fountain pen. Though instead of writing in the book, she turned and beckoned me over. I glanced at Hera, and she nodded in agreement. I walked forward uncertainly and stood before them. Athena took my hand, before she suddenly slashed the sharp pen’s tip across my palm. I winced, staring at the line of silver and red blood that appeared in my skin.

Athena dipped the pen in my blood, and then wrote my name on the page that Hera was holding out to her. The letters glowed on the shimmering silk-like paper, before turning into completely silver ink.

“And now, Apollo —the cordial please,” Hera called, turning to the other side of the semicircle.

The god stood and a small crystal bottle appeared in his hand.

“This is a sacred potion used only at these ceremonies; made by mixing ambrosia and ichor in a certain ratio. It is not possible to be made by anyone who attempts to imitate it,” Hera said firmly.

Apollo popped off the cork and presented it to me. Our eyes met, and that shiver tingled my spine again. The gazing lasted too long to be casual; the glint in his bright irises too hypnotic.

I barely heard her voice as Hera then said, “Drink.”

I managed to tear my gaze from Apollo’s in order to gawk at the queen of the gods. Did she really mean for me to drink god blood?

I narrowed my eyes at the caramel coloured liquid sceptically, but took it from Apollo’s hand. The skin of our fingers brushed, and I could have sworn that the god of light also tensed at the touch.

I then took a cautious sip. It tasted like mud. I retched, sticking out my tongue. Hera raised an unamused eyebrow, making me cower self-consciously. I promptly stomached half of what was in the cordial, before handing it back to Apollo.

There was an anxious stretch of silence from the onlookers.

A tingling sensation then began to spread through my limbs. Stray tendrils of golden mist circled my feet and fluttered along the hem of my gown, as well as beneath my hair as it curled higher; enveloping me. When it dissipated, my veins popped, before being flooded by a soothing warmth —reflecting the returning mortal state my body temperature. I then gasped, starved of air, before my stomach grumbled. I flushed, feeling a stab of hunger.

And then…the drum of a heartbeat.

“Athena,” Hera then addressed her again.

The younger goddess took my other hand and cut into my palm with her pen again. And this time, golden ichor dripped from the wound. I gasped in awe.

Athena then wrote a new name with the ichor on the other side of the same page as before. Kóri.

“It means ‘daughter’,” she explained. Those letters glowed as well, marking it as mine forever.

“This is your page in the Book of Olympus, young one,” Hera then informed me. “In it your story will be written for generations in the future; like gods before you and however many to come,” she smiled, closing the book and letting it disappear. “Create a legacy for the ages.”

I curtsied. “Yes, Lady Hera.”

She then motioned for me to turn around to face our audience.

I held my head up confidently but my heartbeat was blaring in my ears. This was it. I could feel my newfound power coursing through my veins.

“All rise, for Kóri: goddess of half-bloods.”