Among the many curious landmarks near the academy, Mount Delhi stood tall—almost mountain-like in its height, even though it was technically a hill.
It towered so close to the academy's mist barriers that you could almost believe it was trying to peek into the school grounds.
At its peak, a lone wooden cabin sat awkwardly in the middle of nowhere, cobbled together from planks of old, rusting wood that looked one strong wind away from collapse.
Apollo liked to call it a restricted area. But Victor? He didn't care. There was no sign saying "Keep Out" or anything dramatic like that, so as far as he was concerned, it wasn't officially off-limits.
He found himself coming up here more times than he could count. It wasn't just for the view. He'd sit his butt down on a creaky bench and talk to the oracle—or, well, try to.
The Oracle of Delphi never spoke to him. Not once. She never whispered a prophecy or gave him some divine warning.
Most of the time, she just stood there in her weird Egyptian-styled coffin, looking like a half-mummified art exhibit with a superiority complex, wrapped in faded bandages, arms crossed like she was bored out of her mind.
But she wasn't dead. Not really. Every once in a while, the oracle would just... wake up. No warning, no fanfare. She'd hike down the hill like she was out for a casual morning stroll and end up at the stream below.
Students unlucky enough to see her down there were scarred for life. They always said her eyes glowed a cursed, purplish hue—like something out of a low-budget horror movie.
Victor had never seen her awake. And honestly, he wasn't even sure why he kept coming back here. Maybe it was because the cabin felt like something out of an old western horror flick. Or maybe, deep down, he just liked flipping off the rules.
"Frustrating, isn't it?" he said, letting his head fall back against the window shade with a soft thud. "I'm sure I awakened my bloodline, but that damn power chamber acts like I'm still just some useless extra."
He rolled his eyes and groaned. "Now I'm stuck in this boring-ass school for a whole month."
His eyes shifted over to the coffin. The oracle still stood frozen in place, wrapped up like a vintage Halloween decoration. "Guess this is what it feels like to be stuck, huh?"
". . ."
Silence. Not even a cricket to offer some dramatic background noise.
"That night on Mount Etna," he continued, dragging his fingers across his chest, "I had this deep gash right here. It was so bad, I thought my guts were gonna spill out. The pain still haunts me, even now. But no scar. Nothing. Like it never even happened."
Then, a different thought hit him. One that made his brows furrow.
"That girl... who the hell was she?"
And why did she have to go and steal his first kiss?
Victor raised a hand to his lips and pinched them lightly, his face contorted in mild disgust. He always imagined his first kiss would be romantic—stars in the sky, hearts floating in the air, fireworks, maybe even a slow-motion moment.
Instead, it had been nothing but confusion, panic, and the supernatural equivalent of getting sucker-punched by Cupid.
He'd been kissed, transported to some freaky dark throne room filled with suffocating heat, thought he'd died, and then... boom. He woke up again. Back to reality.
He glanced at the oracle. "You probably know what that was, huh? Some freaky prophecy nonsense, I bet."
Still nothing.
"Well? Damn you too," he grumbled and started to turn away.
Then he heard it.
A crunch. Soft breathing.
His body froze. The sound had come from behind the oracle's coffin. A slow, deliberate footstep against the rickety floorboards.
Victor didn't move at first. The oracle hadn't shifted an inch. Still a creepy statue. But he knew what he'd heard.
He edged closer, arms out defensively. He wasn't sure what to expect—a ghost, a prankster, maybe even a student trying to get high. But what he got was so much worse.
Something lunged from behind the coffin, its foot slamming into his gut and sending him flying.
Victor hit the floor with a grunt, skidding back a few feet. His attacker stepped forward.
A girl? No, not quite. A demon.
She had flaming red hair, one bronze foot, and one hoof—a donkey's foot.
An empousa.
She charged him, shiny bronze foot aimed for his skull. He rolled aside just in time, and the floorboard exploded into splinters where his head had been.
Without thinking, Victor grabbed her donkey leg and yanked hard. She spun mid-air, slamming into the floor with a satisfying thud.
He didn't wait. He pounced and twisted her arms behind her back, locking her down.
"Who are you!?" he snapped.
But that wasn't even the important question.
This was a monster. At the academy. That wasn't supposed to happen. The Mist was supposed to keep stuff like her out.
"Who's your contact!?" he shouted, cranking her arms higher.
She squirmed beneath him, screeching like a banshee. "Filthy, unclean children of the gods! Get off me!"
"Speak for yourself, donkey legs," Victor snarled. "Who do you work for!?"
No response. Just writhing.
Then he saw something tucked into her sleeve. A scroll.
Victor snatched it, but the moment he started to unroll it, she screamed:
"FOR THE FELLOWSHIP!!!"
She exhaled her final breath, and with it came a cloud of thick, white gas.
Victor's instincts kicked in. His hand shot over his mouth and nose as he stumbled through the fog, kicking open the cabin door and diving out into the wet, grassy slope.
He landed hard, shoulder first, on the soggy earth. Gasping for breath, he stared up at the night sky—starless, silent, and dark.
What the hell had just happened?
Suicide? The empousa had taken her own life just to keep a secret?
Victor sat up, still holding the scroll. It had gotten slightly damp, but the ink was clear.
It was a blueprint. Some kind of architectural sketch.
A tunnel network.
Except it was ripped.
The title read: "THE LABYRINTH OF..." and that was it. The rest had been torn off.
Victor's heart dropped. A labyrinth? Here?
Labyrinths could bypass magical barriers. They ran underground. If someone knew how to navigate them, they could sneak into places even gods thought were safe.
Why did she have this?
Who was this "fellowship"?
A cult? A rogue faction? A bunch of edgy monster nerds trying to overthrow Olympus?
Victor didn't have answers. Just questions. Way too many questions.
But one thing was clear.
He had to tell Apollo.
Now.
Before it was too late.