I kept running long after my legs started to protest, long after the forest blurred into streaks of shadow and green. My lungs burned, each breath scraping like sandpaper, and my heartbeat felt too loud—an accusation rather than a rhythm. I only slowed when I heard water again—not rushing. Not violent. Just there.
I forced myself off the path and into the trees, counting steps, breaking my trail the way Cerberus had drilled into me earlier—double back, change direction, disturb the ground just enough to lie. I ducked behind a massive fallen trunk, its bark thick and split with age, moss clinging to it like old scars. I pressed my back against the wood and slid down until I was sitting in damp leaves.
My legs shook uncontrollably.
I leaned forward, hands on my knees, fighting the urge to retch as I dragged air into my chest. Every breath tasted like iron and smoke.
I forced air into my lungs and whispered, "Thank you."
Cerberus didn't respond right away. When he did, his voice was sharp, unsentimental. "Don't thank me. I'm doing this so I survive too… Don't let your guard down. He's still hunting."
I nodded even though he couldn't see me. My fingers dug into the dirt. "I know. We're lucky we survived."
"We only survived because of Hephaestus' interference," he said flatly.
That truth settled heavy in my chest. Without that meteor-like arrival, I would've been dead—or worse, captured. I stared through the gaps between the roots.
"Do you think," I asked after a moment, "we couldn't win against the three?"
"No," Cerberus answered immediately. No hesitation. "Not unless you destroyed their synchronization."
I swallowed. My throat was dry, raw from smoke and screaming air. "Their pattern was easy to read."
"Yes," he said. "Individually, they were flawed. Predictable. But their formation compensated faster than you could exploit. Every time you pressured one, another filled the gap. You were fighting one body with three minds."
I let my head rest against the tree. The wood was cool, grounding. "So I never had a chance."
"You had a chance," Cerberus corrected. "Just not a clean one."
I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them again, scanning the forest. Every shadow felt suspicious now. Every rustle set my nerves on edge.
After a pause, I asked the question that had been gnawing at me since the river. "Then why were you so eager to run when Hephaestus' flames were extinguished?"
Cerberus went quiet.
Not the usual silence—this one felt deliberate, like he was choosing his words.
"You already know the answer," he said finally.
I frowned. "Even without his flames, he was still overwhelming."
"Yes."
"That doesn't explain it."
"It does," Cerberus replied. "Even without his flames, his raw power alone can't be underestimated. Also, there might still be tricks in his sleeves."
I shifted slightly, wincing as my muscles protested. "What tricks? Because for a moment there, I thought we had him. The water dampened his flames. His aura dropped."
"You thought, but..." Cerberus said, "did he hesitate to jump into the river?"
I replayed the image in my mind—Hephaestus standing above the river, smirking, then leaping into it without a second thought.
"No," I admitted.
"Exactly, he knew he could deal with you with or without the flame," Cerberus said. "Still, you should be happy you escaped."
I pushed myself upright, legs trembling as blood rushed back into them. The forest swayed for a second before settling. I wiped my palms on my pants and forced my shoulders back.
"Next time we meet him," I said quietly, more promise than confidence, "we'll be prepared."
Cerberus stirred inside me, his presence heavy, thoughtful. "Preparation alone won't be enough. We need to find my heads."
I blinked and paused mid-step. "Your… heads?" I glanced down at my claws as if expecting them to be holding something severed. "Wait—are we talking about taking someone's head?"
"No," he said, irritation bleeding through his voice. "Not literal heads. Artifacts. Relics bound to me long before human civilizations rose."
I exhaled, half in relief, half in unease. "You could've phrased that better."
"The Serpentine Chain Armlet," Cerberus continued, ignoring me, "and the Cloak of Undying. With them, my power stabilizes. With them, you survive encounters like today without scraping death every five minutes."
I swallowed. The names alone carried weight, like old iron dragged across stone. "And where do we find them?"
"I don't know," he admitted.
That stopped me cold.
"You don't know?" I repeated. "You just told me we need them."
"Yes," Cerberus said. "And we need to find them before it starts."
I frowned. "Before the start of what?"
Silence answered me.
Not Cerberus' usual watchful quiet, but something hollow—like a word cut off mid-thought. I took another step, then another, and that was when it hit.
Pain detonated behind my eyes.
I gasped and dropped to one knee, clutching my head as if my skull might split open and spill everything inside it onto the forest floor. This wasn't a normal headache. It was sharp, invasive, like something was digging through my thoughts with claws.
"Cerberus," I hissed. "What the hell is—"
"I don't know," he snapped, and for the first time, I heard strain in his voice. "Stop—don't think about it. The more I try to remember, the pain swells."
"I feel it too," I groaned. My vision blurred. The river nearby seemed too loud, every ripple amplified.
"That confirms it," he said grimly. "Whatever is coming, it's bound to both of us now."
I forced myself to breathe through it. Slowly, painfully, the pressure receded, leaving behind a dull throb and a lingering fear that refused to let go.
"Just find them," Cerberus said more quietly. "And be ready. Worse comes to worst, and Nihilkins won't be the end of it."
That chilled me more than Hephaestus' flames ever had.
I didn't answer. I just stood there, dripping river water and blood and things I didn't want to name, until my legs felt steady enough to move again.
My backpack was still slung over my shoulder. When I pulled it around, my stomach sank. The fabric was soaked through. River water, dirt, maybe blood. I unzipped it just enough to peek inside. My phone was fine, just faint cracks. My uniform was soaked. And the notes—my notes—were damp, with pages warped and stuck together.
"Great," I muttered. "Just great."
Cerberus didn't comment.
By the time I reached the edge of the city, dusk had swallowed the sky. Streetlights flickered on one by one, their warm glow painfully normal. Cars passed.
I reverted to my normal self, kept walking while checking any passing taxi. After a couple of minutes, a taxi came and drove me home.
I slipped through the front door as quietly as I could.
The smell of food hit me immediately—garlic, oil, something simmering. It made my chest ache in a way I didn't expect.
Mom was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, humming softly as she stirred a pot. She glanced over her shoulder when she heard me.
"You're back," she said with a smile. "Go change and come back for dinner."
"Okay, Mom," I replied automatically.
Dad was in the living room, sprawled on the couch with the TV on low. He glanced up, eyes flicking over me with the practiced scan of someone who noticed everything without making it obvious.
"You're late," he said.
"Lost track of time," I answered.
He nodded once, accepting it—or pretending to.
Inside my room, I shut the door and leaned against it, finally letting my shoulders slump.
My reflection stared back at me from the closet mirror—tired eyes, paled face, dried blood all over my black hood. A monster pretending to be a son.