Book idea

So this is the first four chapters (2nd draft) of a book I'm writing.

A mountain wreathed in fog.
A city beneath - silent, lifeless, waiting.
She walked down the same path each time.
Down through the mountains throat.
Past the empty streets and shuttered windows.
Until she stood on the platform.

The woman was always there.
Midnight blue dress.
An owl perched on her shoulder.
A lion’s head and mane woven into her headdress.
Obsidian Throne.
Corpses at her feet.

She never spoke.
She only watched.
Eyes like polished stone, weighing something unseen.

Just as her mouth began to move -
Blinding light.
Waking breath.
Confusion.
And the feeling.

Not fear.
Not Awe.
But recognition.

Velthira - I was named before I was born
Ulrethen - I was seen, and I remain
Zunelith - The echo hides itself

She didn’t know the words.
But they knew her.















Chapter One

Theia was woken by the creaking of the boat as it put in to harbor on Thera.

Even though she was still feeling the after affects of the wine, she struggled to focus as footsteps came closer.

"Oh my head."

"Priestess your awake, i came to tell you we have docked, although why you wanted to sail with us is beyond me."

Theia pulled herself up and tried to look commanding.

"Are you questioning me sailor?"

She said, staring him down. All the while feeling queasier by the minute.

"N..no priestess" stammered the sailor, bowing. "it must be temple business."
"
Hm?, oh yes temple business."

She repeated, holding a hand up to her mouth.

"ill be on deck shortly, now leave me."

The sailor bowed again and left just as Theia threw up all over the floor, carrots? I haven’t eaten carrots, she thought as her knees went under her.

Closing her eyes she took some deep shuddering breaths and pulled her self back up. After taking a while to compose herself and collect her things – which consisted of all the money she owned, some food, a cracked mirror and a bracelet from Ari, she stepped out on deck.

The sea air was sharp, briny.
The main deck was a hive of work.
Men were unloading amphora onto carts. Shouting insults and heckling each other in the local language and Sumerian.
The noise was cacophonous in Theia’s head.
The rain wasn’t helping matters, and the way the boat was rocking against the dock made her stomach turn. Swerving about people she made her way down the gangplank.

As she stepped onto the dock, the air changed.
Not colder, nor warmer - just aware. Like it had been holding its breath.
She paused.
Someone or something was watching. Not eyes. Not presence. Just..attention, folded wrong.

She turned to fast, the world tilted. A flicker - movement behind a cart, or maybe a mistake.
Her vision blurred at the edges, like a memory trying to rewrite itself.

She reached out blindly, hand landing on something solid and warm.
The Ox blinked at her unimpressed.

Shaking her head more slowly this time, the world settled back into focus. Theia exhaled and resolved to find somewhere - anywhere - to stay. she wandered the town’s winding streets, only then realizing she hadn’t thought far enough ahead to account for the language barrier. Still, she could at least tell the taverns from the shops. Spotting one that looked moderately cleaner than the rest, she drew a deep breath and stepped inside.

A sound that might have been music drifted from one corner, but most of the room turned to stare as she passed. Whispers followed her like a breeze brushing the back of her neck. She felt painfully conspicuous.

A sharp shout cut through the murmur. Theia flinched, turning to see a red-faced woman behind the bar - smiling.

The woman rattled something off in a language Theia didn’t recognise. She took in the woman’s sun-darkened skin, brown hair tied back, hands calloused with work. Her clothes were simple, practical. She waved. Theia blinked, then smiled and shrugged. “I don’t understand”.

The woman frowned, then turned to address the room. A few voices shouted back - one or two drew laughter that sounded crude - but a single glare from the woman silenced them.

Still smiling she gestured up and down with her arm, then pointed to a seat. Theia took it to mean wait here. She sat. The woman disappeared.

Nearly an hour passed before she returned. This time with a scruffy-looking youth in tow. The girl took one look at Theia and froze.

Her mouth opened, then closed again. She blinked, as if trying to reconcile something.
Then, softly:

“A priestess?” she said, bowing her head.

Theia tilted hers. “You speak my language?”

The girl nodded, still wide-eyed. “Yes, priestess. I.. I ran away. I wanted to see the world.”

Theia smiled, a little sadly. “I find myself doing the same thing, lately”

All the while, the ruddy faced woman hovered nearby, eyes bright with curiosity, trying to follow the exchange. Theia turned to the girl again.

“Could you ask her if she knows of any rooms For rent?”

The girl hesitated. Her gaze flickered to the older woman, then back to Theia. “She.. She thinks you’re sacred,” she whispered. “I dont know how to ask without sounding rude.”

Theia blinked. “Just ask gently.”

The girl nodded and spoke, slowly at first, the faster. The woman replied in a rush, her voice rising and falling like the tide. At one point she even looked awed.

“She says you must have her best room,” the girl translated, “though it is not fit for a woman of your stature.”

“I’m sure it will be. How should I pay? I only have money from Kutha.”

“She says its free. It is her pleasure to be of service.”

“Oh.” Theia raised her hand to her mouth, moved. “How do you say thank you?”

“Qe-re-to, priestess..”

“Qereto,” Theia repeated, carefully, inclining her head towards the woman.

The girl and woman both laughed, beaming.

“Did I say it wrong?”

“You said ‘thank me’, priestess. But it was close enough.”

The older woman reached for Theia’s hand and led her towards some stairs at the back of the room. They crossed a narrow balcony and stopped at a sturdy-looking door. Inside, a shabby but well kept room greeted them - a clean cot, small table and chipped bowl.

“Its yours for as long as you need it,” the girl translated. “Food is included.”

“Qe-re-to,” Theia replied softly. Then, turning to the girl: “May I impose two things on you?”

She blinked. “Priestess?”

“First I must know your name. And second…. I want you to teach me their language.”

The girl hesitated. Her eyes flickered to the older woman, then back to Theia. “My name is Ariadnh,” she said slowly. “And.. I would be honoured to teach you.”

Over the days and weeks that followed, it became normal to see the priestess and the girl together - Ariadnh pointing out words, gestures, signs; Theia listening intently, repeating phrases under her breath. At times Ariadnh used motion and dance to help, each word a movement, each phrase a rhythm. But it was also normal to see the priestess drinking alone each night.

———————————————————————————————————————

Ereshkigal muttered to herself as she passed through the market in Kutha, her steps aimless. “I cant believe she died. What a waste. She truly had promise.” She stopped by a fountain and sat with an annoyed sigh why am I even bothered? And where did her soul go?

A voice called out from her right. “Excuse me, can I help you?”

She ignored it, staring up into the sky. Mortals are always sticking their noses where they don’t belong.

The voice came again. “Can you hear me, old timer?”

“Old? OLD? I’m not old, you insignifi-“ she stopped herself, the sighed. “Sorry. I was just thinking about someone I lost.”

Looking down, she saw a priestess standing before her.

“Its okay,” the priestess said gently. “Part of my duties is to remember the dead. Would you tell me about them?”

Ereshkigal rolled her eyes but didn’t mover.
“Sure, why not”

The priestess settled beside her and waited.

———————————————————————————————————————

After on particularly bad night, Ariadnh knocked on the door.

“Priestess? Are you okay?”

“Leave me alone”, came the muffled reply.
“Everyone leaves me - my wife, my goddess… what even am I without those things?” a sniff followed.

“What do you mean?” Ariadnh asked, confused.

A loud thud. A groan. Then crashing sounds, and the door flung open.

Theia stood swaying in the doorway, clothes askew, one shoe on the wrong foot. She glared.

“I didn’t know you had a twin”

“I don’t priestess”

“But she’s-oh never mind. She’ll leave too”

“I… wha-pardon?”

“Did I ever tell you how I started as a priestess?”

“No, but perhaps we should sit down first”

“Good idea. Get me some food. I’ll talk to your twin.”

“But I don’t-“ her words were drowned out by a crash as Theia fell against the wall and slid down.

——

It was late. Theia had finally fallen slept, curled awkwardly on the floor where she had fallen. Ariadnh tiptoed in, setting down a bowl of broth and a folded cloth. She hesitated, then knelt beside her.

The priestess stirred, murmuring something - half-formed words, not her own language.

Ariadnh reached to adjust the cloth and paused, just above Theia’s heart, beneath the collarbone, a faint shimmer pulsed. Not a scar. Not a bruise. Something else. It flickered like a heat haze, then vanished.

She drew back, breath caught.

Later, she asked gently, “priestess… may I ask something strange?”

Theia blinked, eyes still fogged. “You may”

“Last night when you fell. You said I had a twin. Did you mean someone else?”

Theia stared past her, unfocused. “She was behind me. In a mirror”

Ariadnh frowned, “Who?”

“I don’t know. But she touched me once. Said I would forget”

Theia’s voice cracked. “I think I did”

Ariadnh sat beside her, quiet. The shimmer still lingered in her mind.

“She marked you,” she said softly. “Didn’t she?”

Theia didn’t answer. But her hand drifted to her chest, resting over the place the ghost had touched.

A few days later Theia sat on the edge of the cot, her hair still damp from washing, her hands wrapped around a bowl of broth she hadn’t touched. Ariadnh sat nearby, scribbling words in the dirt between them - simple phrases, gestures, corrections.

Theia watched her for a long moment, then said softly, “There’s something I should tell you.”

Ariadnh looked up. “Of course.”

“It happened before the temple, my wife, and before the silence.”

She paused, searching for the shape of it.

“There was a wind. I remember that. And a figure - tall, veiled, shimmering. Not a woman. Not a shadow. Something in between.”

Ariadnh’s hand stilled.

“She stood at the edge of the alley. I asked if she was there for my parents. She said no.”

Theia touched her chest, just above the collarbone.

“She knelt. Placed her hand here. Said, ‘Not for them. For you.’ I felt warmth. Then cold. Then silence.”

Ariadnh’s voice was barely a whisper. “And then?”

“Then the temple came. They didn’t ask questions. They could see the mark - somehow. They said I had been chosen.”

She looked up, eyes distant. “They didn’t bury my parents. They bathed me. Veiled me. Took me to the altar. There was a mirror”

Ariadnh leaned in, breath held.

“I saw myself. But behind me the ghost stood again. Smiling”

She closed her eyes. “She said, ‘you will forget. But I will not.’”

Ariadnh didn’t speak. She reached out, gently, and placed her hand on Theia’s chest - where the shimmer had been.

“I think shes still watching,” Theia said.

Later that day Theia sat by the window, watching the light shift across the rooftops. Her hands were still, her breath slow. Ariadnh approached with a bowl of fruit and a hesitant smile.

“I bought these,” she said. “They’re sweet today.”

Theia nodded, but didn’t reach for them.

Ariadnh sat beside her, letting the silence settle.
Then, softly: “May I ask something… personal?”

Theia’s gaze didn’t shift. “You may.”

“You said once - your wife. Ari. I wondered… what she was like.”

Theia blinked, as if the name had stirred something long buried. She didn’t speak at first. Then:
“She was a Gar. A minstrel. Not famous. Not loud. But her songs lingered.”

Ariadnh listened, still.

“She played a stringed instrument I’ve never seen since. It looked like a lyre, but it hummed when she touched it - like it remembered something.”

Theia smiled faintly. “She used to sing in languages no body knew. Said they came in dreams.”

Ariadnh tilted her head. “Did she leave?”

Theia’s smile faded. “No. She was taken. Not by death. Not by choice. Just..gone.”

She touched her heart.

Ariadnh reached out, gently placing her hand over Theia’s.

“I’m sorry.”

Theia nodded. “She used to say I was too serious. That I needed to laugh more.”

“Would you tell me a story about her?”

Theia closed her eyes. “She once sang a lullaby so haunting the temple elder wept and declared it heresy. Ari just bowed and said, ‘Then let it echo.’”

Ariadnh laughed, softly. “That sounds like someone I’d like.”

“She was someone I loved.”

Early the next morning, Ariadnh lingered near the docks, waiting for a bundle of dried herbs the innkeeper had been promised. The air smelled of salt and smoke, and the wind carried fragments of a song from a tavern nearby.

Two sailors sat on sacks of grain, trading stories between food.

“…Kutha,” one said. “Years back. A priestess and a minstrel. Strange pair.”

“Strange how?”

“The minstrel sang in tongues no one knew. Said they came from dreams. People loved her - until they didn’t.”

Ariadnh slowed her steps.

“They said she bewitched the priestess. That her songs stirred things best left sleeping. One night, a mob came. Torches. Stones. The priestess tried to stop them.”

The second sailor shook his head. “Too late. The minstrel died in the street. The priestess ran. Some say the silence took her.”

Ariadnh stepped closer, heart thudding. “Do you remember their names?”

The sailors looked up, surprised.

“Names fade,” one said “but the song lingers.”
















Chapter Two


Theia stood outside the temple, swaying slightly as she watched the priests and priestesses go about their duties. A priest stepped out to greet passersby - just as a clay cup shattered against the temple wall.

Stunned silence.

Wine ran down the stone like blood. The priest spluttered, “wh… who dares offend the gods?”

A voice rang out:
“Its only what they deserve.”

The crowd turned. A disheveled woman staggered forward, reeking of wine. Her tunic was stained, her steps unsteady. She clung to strangers as she made her way towards the priest.

“The gods are not worthy of our love,” she said. “We toil, we offer, we pray - and for what? Violence, famine, disease. Every year we lose people. You think they want that stopped.”

The person she was leaning on shook her off. She fell hard, landing in a tangle of limbs and cloth.

“What would a drunk know of faith?” sneered the priest, looking down his nose.

Theia groaned, burped and clutched her stomach.
“Faith?” she muttered. “I had faith. I was a priestess. I gave everything to my goddess. I loved her with all my heart. And what did it get me?”

She looked around at the crowd gathering.

“Obviously what you deserved,” the priest snapped.

Theia froze. The crowd froze too.

Her eyes narrowed. She rose, groggy, but burning.

“What I deserved?” Her voice rose. “What I DESERVED?”

She screamed the last word.

“My wife - murdered. My home - burnt to the ground. My life - ruined. And what did my faith ever give me? NOTHING!”

Tears streamed down her face.

“I hope you never have to go through what I have. I have a hole in my chest.” She held a fist to her heart. “I feel no joy. No happiness. I am completely hollow.”

People shifted uneasily. Children were pulled closer.

“I am cursed to remember everyone I’ve lost. To watch everything I love wither and die. So yes - I disrespect the gods. Proudly. Because they are petty, weak and indifferent to our world.”

The priest puffed out his chest. “Our gods care for us. Unlike lesser religions.”

“Lesser?” Theia spat. “What makes yours ‘higher’?”

“We sacrifice a bull each year to please them.”

“A bull? What did the bull do to deserve that?”

“It is the messenger of the gods. Through eating its meat, we show devotion.”

“So you feed the hungry?”

“Pf,” the priest scoffed. “Why would we do that? You must offer first.”

“Oh so you hoard it. ‘For the worthy,’” Theia mocked.

A hand touched her arm. A voice whispered, “I’ll take you home, priestess.”

Theia turned, blinking. “Ari… is that you?”

“Its Ariadnh.”

“Oh.”

The priest called out, “take your mother home. But tell her I expect an offering.”

“You’ll get nothing from me,” Theia slurred, tripping over a rock.

Laughter rippled through the crowd - until Ariadnh turned and screamed:
“You should be ashamed! We are meant to help those in need, not ridicule them. How would you feel if you were in her place?”

The crowd grumbled. A few stepped forward to help.

“If you aid this non-believer,” the priest warned, “you will be lost.”

“Then I guess I’m lost,” Ariadnh said. “But id rather be with her than any of you cowards.”

She helped Theia up, and together they walked back to the tavern.
——
Later that night.

Theia sat on the tavern landing, eating slowly. Music and laughter drifted up like smoke from a stove.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Ariadnh said, settling beside her.

“I’m not sorry,” Theia replied between bites. “But I wont do it again.”

She poked at something on her spoon. “What’s this?”

“Octopus.”

Theia squinted. “Huh. I like it. I think”

“I don’t,” Ariadnh said, smiling.

——

Theia woke late, her head felt clear for the first time in weeks. The tavern was quiet, the air thick with the scent of bread and woodsmoke. She sat up slowly, blinking at the light.

Downstairs, Ariadnh was already sweeping the floor. She looked up as Theia descended, and offered a small smile.

“You slept well?” she asked.

“A bit,” Theia replied

Ariadnh nodded. “I’m glad.”

Outside, the town was stirring. People passed the tavern with side long glances - some curious, some cautious. A few children peered through the doorway, whispering.

At the market, two women spoke in hushed tones:

“She was a priestess once, wasn’t she?”

“I heard she lost everything. Her wife. Her home…”

“She screamed at the gods.”

“She spoke truth.”

A baker handed Ariadnh a loaf without charge. “For her,” he said. “Shes not wrong.”

A priestess from the temple passed by, her veil drawn tight. She didn’t speak, but her gaze lingered on Theia through the tavern window.

Later a boy approached with a folded scrap of paper. “My mother said to give this to you,” he mumbled, then ran.

Theia opened it. A single line, written in careful hand:
“I hope your heart heals.”

She stared at it for a long time.

——

Theia was sitting in the courtyard, tracing patterns in the dust with a stick. The sun was high, the air still. Ariadnh approached slowly, unsure how to begin.

“I went to the docks yesterday,” she said. “Heard sailors talking. About Kutha.”

Theia didn’t look up.

“They spoke of a priestess and a minstrel. Said the minstrel sang in dream-tongues. Said the mob came. That the priestess ran.”

Theia’s hand stilled.

“They didn’t say your names. Just that the song lingered.”

Silence stretched.

Then Theia said, “they got part of it right.”

Ariadnh sat beside her, waiting.

“She did sing in dream-tongues. She said the came from before language. That they were older than breath.”

She drew a slow breath. “The mob came because of a song, not because of her. Its was a lullaby. Too beautiful. Too sad. They said it stirred the dead.”

Ariadnh blinked. “Did it?”

Theia smiled faintly. “I don’t know. But it stirred me.”

——

That night Ariadnh didn’t ask questions. She simply sat beside Theia in the courtyard, a bowl of fruit untouched between them. Theia had been quiet since the story - since the sailors spoke of Kutha, of Ari, of the Mob.

“I stayed,” Theia said suddenly, voice low. “Until the silence became unbearable.”

Ariadnh looked up, but didn’t speak.

“She used to sing at dusk,” Theia continued. “Not to perform. Just to remind the world it was still turning.”

She closed her eyes. “I haven’t sung since”

Ariadnh reached out. “You could. If you wanted.”

Theia didn’t answer. But after a long pause, she began to hum - soft, broken, uncertain. A melody that felt older than breath. It waivered, then steadied. A fragment.

Ariadnh listened, tears in her eyes.

Theia sang one verse. Then another. Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop.

When she finished, she looked at Ariadnh and whispered, “I think I can sleep tonight.”

And she did.

The next evening, she didn’t even drink.

——

She first noticed it walking back from the docks one night - a whisper, soft as a lovers breath against her ear. The words were incoherent, but the warmth on her neck felt real enough to make her shiver.

The next time, she was descending the stairs from her room. As she passed the kitchen door, she heard someone say her name. She stopped, opened the door, and whispered “hello?”

Silence.

She shook her head. “I must be hearing things.”

She stood there for a moment longer, hand still on the doorframe, waiting.

But the silence held.

She closed the door gently and walked away, the hum of unanswered memory trailing after her.

After what felt like the fourth night of whispers - everywhere she went - Theia found herself on the cliff overlooking the town. Below, flickering hues of red and orange roamed the streets, like the guards on night patrol. She sighed and lay down on the grass, gazing up at the stars.

“I miss you,” she whispered, just as a shooting star streaked across the sky.

Then she heard them - voices, approaching.
She sat up.

A group of figures moved along the ridge, quiet and deliberate, as if they didn’t want to be seen. Behind them, nestled in the dark, was a hut. She blinked. That hadn’t been there before. She was sure of it.

As the group drew closer, their shapes became clearer: a short red-headed woman, a tall brunette man, and another man who looked like the night had dragged him through the brush. Their voices drifted past - fragments, half-formed, incomprehensible. Then they were gone, swallowed up by the silence.

A day or so later, Theia was walking through the market near the docks when she saw them again. The same trio, weaving through the crowd, speaking softly to themselves. As the tall man passed her, she caught a single word - “Max” - before the noise of the market drowned the rest.

She watched them for a moment, then turned away.

What ever they were, they didn’t seem to want her attention.

And for now, she didn’t want theirs.

——

It started like any other day. People milled through the market, going about their business. Then came the first rumble - low, brief, unsettling. Just as quickly as it began, it was gone. That night the taverns were full of speculation.

Over the next few days, it happened again. And again. But no one paid it much mind. Life went on. People adapted. The whispers stopped.

Then, weeks later, Theia was jolted awake by what felt like someone screaming in her ear.

“Goddess,” she muttered, heart pounding.

A knock came at the door.

“Priestess?” Ariadnh’s voice - soft, urgent. “Did you feel that?”

Theia pulled on a shawl, lit a candle, and opened the door.Ariadnh stood barefoot, eyes wide.

“Something’s wrong,” she whispered.

The flame flickered against the walls, casting shadows like dancers in a temple. Theia crossed to the window. Outside the town was quiet - just creak of ships and the occasional bleat of a sheep.

Then the rumbling began again.

But this time it was different - deeper, more insistent. A faint tapping drew Theia’s gaze back into the room. The candle holder was moving - sliding across the table.

She stared, transfixed, as it reached the edge and tipped over, crashing to the floor.

That was when she felt it: the whole tavern was shaking.

She ran to the landing, where a few other guests had gathered, eyes wide with fear. Ariadnh was already steadying a child that had begun to cry.

“Is this the end of the world?” someone whispered.

“Are the gods angry with us?” another asked.

Theia raised her voice above the rising clatter of breaking pottery. “We should go outside - into the garden!”

Ariadnh nodded. “Its safer there.”

Together they led the guests downstairs, joined by the tavern owner, still half-asleep and yawning.

Outside, the night had turned to chaos. Screams echoed through the streets. People ran, shouted, wept.

And then - silence.

The rumbling faded, leaving only the sound of breath and broken things.

But the silence didn’t last.

It shattered under the weight of grief - wails, cries, the raw sound of loss.

Theia walked through the streets, candle in hand. Cracks split the walls of buildings. Some had collapsed entirely. Others leaned, groaning, ready to fall.

She passed an elderly woman covered in dust, calling out for someone. When she found them - her husband and son, half buried in the rubble - she fell to her knees.

Ariadnh knelt beside her, wrapping a shawl around hers shoulders.

“We’ll find help,” she whispered, voice trembling but steady. “Your not alone.”

The woman didn’t respond at first. But something in the way Ariadnh said it - soft, breath-bound, like a vow - made her sobs falter. She leaned into the embrace, as if the words had reached deeper than sound.

——

The town met that night to decide what should be done.

Someone shouted “we should leave - the gods are angry!”

Others cried “what about the crops? We lost half the grain store, how will we feed ourselves?”

Theia stood near the back listening, then flinched as the high-pitched whine filled the air. She clutched her ears, but nobody else reacted. As the sound faded, she saw mouths moving - but heard nothing. The silence pressed in thick and humming.

Then came the whisper.

Not behind her. Not beside her. Within.

“Run”

She spun round, heart racing. “Who-who was that/”

No answer, just the hum.

“It wont end well”

The words weren’t spoken. They arrived. Like a breath drawn from a place she didn’t remember.

“You sound different than before,” she murmured.

“Before?”

The whisper curled around her thoughts, not quite a voice. Not quite hers.

Someone bumped her shoulder. The pressure broke, sound rushed back in, sharp and overwhelming. Her head throbbed. Ariadnh stood beside her.

“Are you okay, priestess?” she whispered.

The shouting hadn’t stopped, it looked like it would go on for hours. Shrugging, Theia stepped outside, pausing only to close her eyes and let the wind pass over her.

Ariadnh fell in step talking about something. But one thought echoed in her head - ‘I think its time to go, but where?’

The question followed them back to the tavern, and lingered for days.

——

Ariadnh found her on the landing, hunched over a rough map painted on goat hide.

“What’s that, priestess?”

“It shows where we are. What’s around us.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Though I’m not sure it’s correct.”

“But why do you need it?”

“Its hard to explain. I have a feeling something bad is coming. Really bad.”

“And this will help you how?” Ariadnh’s confusion was plain.

Theia smiled sadly. “I’m leaving. I think I’ve taken up far too much of everyones time.”

“Thats not true. You’ve helped a lot of people - especially after the land shook.”

“Maybe so. But it’s time to go before..” She trailed off.

Ariadnh tilted her head. “Before what?”

But Theia was already lost in the map’s faded lines.








Chapter Three

Months later, in the market square, Ariadnh asked the question again.

“Priestess..do you really have to leave?”

“I’m afraid I do. I’m not from here, you see. I need to find where I belong.”

“You belong here. With me” Ariadnh pouted, just a a little.

“You could come with me.”

“My place is here, priestess. You know that.”

Theia sighed. “I know. But…”

“But?”

She hesitated. Then coughed. “I see you as the daughter I never had. I’m worried about you.”

“You…you see me as a daughter?” Ariadnh sniffed, eyes shining.

“Yes. I wish I could look after you.”

She didn’t finish the sentence - Ariadnh had already thrown her arms around her neck in a fierce hug.

Smiling, Theia wrapped her am around the girl.
Ari would have loved you, she thought.

——

Theia jolted upright, heart thudding. The desk lamp glowed steadily, casting soft shadows across the papers. Her fingers were curled around the book, still open in her lap.

She blinked, trying to trace the moment before - what had she been thinking? Not sleeping exactly. More like… drifting. The kind of stillness that felt like waiting.

The books cover showed an artist’s rendition of a Minoan dock, pieced together from archaeological finds and excavations. Not a bad interpretation, she thought, brushing a thumb across the edge. The dock looked familiar - not the image, but the feeling. Like something half remembered.

She set the book aside and turned back to her semester’s lesson plans. The outlines blurred slightly, her eyes dry from to many hours at the screen. She worked in quiet stretches, pausing now and then to eat, stretch her legs, or stare blankly at the wall. The hum of the radiator filled the silence, steady and low.

Outside, the light shifted. Grey clouds pressed against the windows, thick and unmoving. The air felt heavier than it should.

After dozing off for what felt like the hundredth time, the phone rang - shrill and insistent.

“Professor Darishe’s office,” she yawned into the receiver.

An imperious male voice replied, “this is Dean Lan. I didn’t wake you, I hope.”

Theia sat up straighter. “Oh-Dean Lan. No, just slogging through the lesson plan. History can’t all be exciting,” she added with a nervous laugh.

Silence. Then after a beat: “Yes.. Quite.”

Theia swallowed. “What can I help you with, Dean?”

“I’m assigning you a new TA. A Miss Patricia Copel. Straight A student. She should be a fine match.”

“Oh, great. I’ve been struggling since my last TA left.”

Another pause. “I know.”

Theia hesitated. “When does she start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I look -“ she began, but the line had already gone dead. I swear than man hates me, she thought, replacing the receiver.

She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and turned to the windows. Tiny rivulets of water traced down the glass. The sky had darkened without her noticing - clouds thick and low, the kind that swallowed sound.

A loud crack made her jump as the heavens opened. Rain lashed the windows in sudden sheets.

When she turned back, a hooded figure stood outside - breifly illuminated in a flash of lighting, staring into her office.

She didn’t move. The figure didn’t either. Just the rain between them, and the hum.

Another flash and the figure was gone.

She blinked, heart thudding. The book on the desk had shifted slightly. She frowned, brushing her fingers over the cover.

Had she moved it?
She couldn’t remember.
Probably nothing.


Chapter Four

She’d been at this for - well frankly, far to long. Lately, she found herself drifting into memories. That night - the one that changed her - kept surfacing. As old as she was, things that far back got hazy, like the mists of time had begun to reclaim them. She chuckled at the irony and shook her head.

She had been walking home from - where was it again? The temple. Yes. She remembered the pride of being a priestess, the joy, the lightness, she had been happy. Carefree, almost. No clue of the hellish pain and suffering that was about to rain down on her - and on the city.

The market had been alive that day: laughter, spices, the click of shekels changing hands. She’d bought dates, honey, bread and water. Then flash - the same market but burning. Screams. Ash. Death.

She shook her head again, trying to push the image away. She remembered walking to the hill outside the city to watch the sunset with Ari. Had she known it would be the last time they’d sit like together like that, she would’ve memorized every detail. But the image was blurred now - faded by time, or something deeper.

That night, the horns sounded. Sentries shouting. Mules braying. Her first thought was the temple. Ari was there, it would be safe. Nobody would attack the temple.

Rounding a corner she saw two soldiers fighting a lone attacker. His brethren lay blooded around him. Then - movement. One of the fallen soldiers twitched. Not violently. Just a flicker, like a jolt before sleep.

She thought nothing of it. She’d seem many dead. Death was her mistresses domain, after all.

But then he rose.

The helmet fell away, long black hair spilling out. And she realized - he was a she. The most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. But something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

A voice echoed in Theia’s head

“Run, my child. I will protect you.”

She jumped, startled by the voice that felt like it came from right beside her. Baskets toppled. Bowls shattered.

The rising soldier turned. Her head snapped toward Theia. Then she leaped - landing directly in front of her.

Theia screamed.

The woman hissed, baring her teeth. Nothing like the beauty she’d been moments before. But what stayed with Theia - the only memory of that night - were those eyes, full of hate.

She blinked, the memory fading like smoke. The drink in her hand was real. The blood was not.

She walked to the bar, poured another glass, and tried to remember what happened next. But it was gone. She only remembered waking in the temple the next day - moonlight on her face, blood on her skin, priestesses rushing to clean her.

Wait. No. It wasn’t right. It was day. The sun had been shining through the linen canopy. How had she forgotten that?

She tried to sit up. “Ugh.”

The words escaped before the stiffness hit her. A priestess beside her jumped.

“You’re aliv - I mean, you’re awake? I must tell the high priestess!” she ran off, shouting down the corridor.

“Wait, what do you mean, I’m alive?”

“Nonsense,” said another priestess, dabbing at her arm. “Just a slip of the tongue.”

“But -” Theia began, but a wave of exhaustion crashed over her - And then, a sound. Soft. Familiar.

Someone was crying.

She stirred again, just enough to turn her head.

Ari knelt beside her, shoulders shaking, face buried in her hands.

Theia moaned - barely audible.

Ari gasped, lifting her head. Her eyes were red, her voice trembling.

“You’re awake?” she whispered.

Theia blinked. “I think so.”

“I thought -” Ari’s voice broke. “I thought you were gone.”

Theia reached out, fingers brushing her wrist. “I’m here.”

Ari nodded, tears still falling. “You came back.”

——

She stirred again in the present, the hum of the radiator steady beneath her thoughts.

It wasn’t the first time, she realized.

It had been the ghost, the one in the alley. She had forgotten about it till now. Was that the beginning?. Not the terror. Not the hate. The hand?

The word came unbidden, “Ulrethin.”

She didn’t understand it. Not yet. But something inside of her began to spiral.

A knock at the door broke the reverie.

“Who is it?” she called, walking toward it.

“Patricia Copel, Professor Darishe. I’m your new TA.”

“A little late for a house call, isn’t it?” Theia mumbled, opening the door. “Ah Miss Copel. I thought you started tomorrow?”

“I do, Professor. But I figured there might be some reading I needed to do. Thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

“Bold commendation, Miss Copel. But there’s nothing you need tonight. I’ll see you bright and early in the lecture hall.”

“Yes, Professor. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Theia said, closing the door. Time to go home, she thought, and began packing up.

——

Her apartment was fifteen minutes from the university. Tucked in the oldest part of the city. Her colleagues always marveled that she’d found it - chalking it up to luck when they came over for drinks.

She smiled sadly as she walked. So much had changed in the last two hundred years. Shops had come and gone. Friends had died or drifted away.

She reached the grocer’s across from the old newspaper building that housed her flat. Through the window, she imagined the tea house it used to be.

“Hey Miss Theia, did you hear me?”

She turned. Frank Doyle - affectionately known as ‘chilly’ stood waving.

“Hey Chilly,” she smiled. “Sorry I was away with the fairies. What did you say?”

“Ah its okay,” he said in his thick New York drawl. “Just wondering if you wanted your usual. It’s on the house. Or I’d settle for a kiss.”

“What would your wife say?”

“She’d say -” he switched to a falsetto - “why hasn’t she found anyone yet? She’s a catch!”

“I did meet someone,” Theia said softly, fingers brushing the necklace at her throat. “And then I lost her.”

The word rippled “Eshkira”

Chilly’s heart ached. He couldn’t imagine losing his wife. But he smiled gently. “They must’ve been crazy to leave you.”

“She didn’t leave by choice,” Theia whispered.
A pause. Then she asked, “how are the kids?”

Chilly brightened. “Firecrackers, every one. Except little Siobahn. I think she takes after her godmother. Loves your stories.”

“I was never much of a firecracker,” Theia said, thinking how strange it felt to hear her past called stories.

The oven dinged. It smelled divine.

“Here you go, Miss Theia. On the house. But I might need you to babysit Siobhan this weekend.”

“Thank you. I’d love to spend more time with her. Someone has to feed her properly.”

“Hey! Leftover pizza is proper food!” he laughed.

“See you at the weekend,” she said, waving as she left.

——

At her front door, she juggled the pizza and keys, finally getting inside.

“Honey, I’m home - and I brought dinner,” she mumbled, then laughed at herself.

She hung up her coat, walked into the living room, and collapsed onto the sofa. After a moment, she got up, poured a glas of wine, and settled in with the pizza to watch a documentary on Roman emperors.

She lasted ten minutes before she was fast asleep.

——

The alarm went off like a siren in her head.

She groaned. One glass of wine shouldn’t feel like this.

Huh. I’ve never been drunk enough to see triple, she thought, even as her head throbbed like a sledgehammer.

Reaching forward, she knocked one bottle into another. The clink ran like bells in her ears.

Why? She thought, then looked up. The TV was paused on Roman ruins.

Oh. Thats why.

She grumpily turned off the TV, dragged herself to the shower, and began to get ready.