Chapter 25

     The storm was closer now, the sky a swirling mass of black and grey, shot through with lightning that cracked against the horizon like fractured glass. The Atlantic raged, the waves rising higher, threatening to swallow the marshland whole, while the earth beneath our feet pulsed with the same dark energy that Ava had been drawing from for hours. The air was thick with the scent of salt and rot, a smell that clung to everything, like the very land itself was decaying from within.

     Ava stood at the shoreline, her back still turned to us, her arms outstretched as though she were holding the storm in her hands. The power radiating from her was almost unbearable now—an intoxicating blend of beauty and destruction, as though she had become a vessel for something older, darker, something that defied the very fabric of the world.

     There was a strange rhythm to her movements, a kind of elegance in the way she swayed with the rising tide, her voice blending with the sound of the wind and the crashing waves. But there was something else, too—something beneath the surface that felt wrong. The warmth she had been drawing from the land was no longer steady. It flickered, like a candle guttering in the wind, as though the power she was channeling had begun to slip through her grasp.

     For a moment, she stopped chanting, her arms lowering as she let out a long, slow breath—a soft yawn that seemed to echo across the shore. It was the first sign of fatigue, of strain, that I had seen in her since this whole ordeal had begun. And in that moment, something changed. The ground beneath us trembled, but it wasn’t the violent tremor of before. This was different—subtle, insidious. I looked down and saw the earth moving in tiny, almost imperceptible shifts, as though the very soil was teeming with life.

     Ants.

     They crawled from the ground in swarms, their small bodies writhing and twisting as they spread across the wet earth. It wasn’t just a few ants—there were thousands of them, maybe more, all moving with a kind of frantic energy, as if something deep beneath the soil had disturbed them, driven them out of their hidden tunnels. I watched, mesmerized, as the ants moved in waves, their tiny legs churning through the rot that had begun to seep from the land, the decay that Ava had unwittingly unleashed.

     Tony saw them too, his face pale in the fading light. “What the hell is happening?” he muttered, his voice shaking.

     I didn’t have an answer. The ants—like everything else in this place—were a symptom of the deeper forces at work, the decay that had been building beneath the surface for centuries. Ava’s power had stirred it up, had unleashed something primal, and now even the smallest creatures were being pulled into the storm.

     Ava turned then, slowly, her eyes wide and gleaming with a strange, feverish light. Her mouth curled into a smile—a smile that was both foul and beautiful at once. There was a madness in her gaze, but also something more—a kind of joy, as though she had finally become one with the power she had been seeking.

     “Do you see it?” she said, her voice soft but filled with an unsettling reverence. “Do you feel it? The land is alive, it’s always been alive.”

     Her words hung in the air, thick with meaning. There was no longer any doubt in my mind—Ava wasn’t just drawing power from the land. She was becoming it. She had fused herself with the decay, with the rot that had been festering beneath the surface for centuries. And now, as the storm raged around us, she had become the living embodiment of that decay—both foul and beautiful, destructive and alive.

     “The ants,” she whispered, her eyes flickering down to the swarming mass at her feet. “They’ve always known. They’ve been here, beneath us, waiting. Just like the land. They thrive on the rot, on the death that feeds the soil. And now, they cheer it. They welcome it.”

     I felt a chill crawl up my spine as I watched her, the madness in her voice growing with every word. There was something almost tender in the way she spoke, as though she believed the decay she had unleashed was something to be celebrated, something that could bring new life. But I knew better. This wasn’t about life—it was about destruction. Ava’s connection to the land had gone too far, and now the forces she had awakened were beginning to consume her.

     “We have to stop her,” Tony said, his voice low and urgent. “She’s losing control.”

     I nodded, but my eyes stayed on Ava. She was swaying again, her arms moving in slow, deliberate arcs as though she were conducting some invisible orchestra. The storm crackled above, lightning illuminating the sky in brilliant flashes, but Ava seemed to glow from within, her power radiating out in waves. She was beautiful in her madness, but there was something so foul about it too—something that made the air around her thick with the stench of death and rot.

     “Ava!” I called out, stepping forward. “You have to stop! You’re tearing the land apart!”

     She laughed—a soft, almost melodic sound that was carried away by the wind. “Tearing it apart?” she repeated, her voice lilting with amusement. “No, I’m not tearing it apart. I’m making it whole. I’m bringing the land back to life, feeding it, giving it what it needs.”

     Her words sent a wave of nausea through me. I knew what she meant—the rot, the decay, the ants swarming beneath the soil. She wasn’t just pulling power from the land. She was feeding it with death, with the destruction of everything that had come before. And in her madness, she believed she was creating something new, something better.

     But I could see the cracks. I could see the way her power was slipping, the way the warmth she had drawn from the land was no longer steady. She had overreached, and now the forces she had awakened were starting to unravel.

     “We need to act now,” I said to Tony, my voice firm. “Before she loses control completely.”

     Tony nodded, but his face was pale, his hands trembling at his sides. “How?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

     I didn’t have an answer. But I knew one thing—Ava’s power was tied to the land, to the decay she had awakened. If we could sever that connection, if we could stop her from feeding off the rot, we might be able to save what was left.

     Ava turned back to the shoreline, her arms rising once more as she let out another soft yawn. The ants continued to swarm beneath her feet, but they weren’t cheering anymore. They were frantic, confused, as though they too had sensed the shift in the air.

     The storm rumbled overhead, the clouds swirling faster now, and I knew we didn’t have much time.

     “Ava,” I called out again, my voice steady. “You can still stop this. You don’t have to let the land consume you.”

     She didn’t respond. She only smiled, her beautiful, foul mouth curling into a grin as the storm swallowed us whole.

Chapter 24

     The air around us thickened, the warmth radiating from the ground in waves, unsettling and oppressive. Ava stood at the shoreline, her back to us, her chant growing louder and more frenzied as the storm gathered above. The sky had darkened, and the Atlantic roared in response, its waves crashing harder against the rocks, as if the ocean itself had been summoned by her call. But there was something else—a presence that had nothing to do with the storm, something older and more dangerous rising from the depths of the land beneath our feet.

     And then, just as suddenly as before, I felt the world shift again. The ground wavered beneath me, and my vision blurred. I wasn’t in the present anymore. I was somewhere else, pulled back into that vision of Henry, the king of Belgium, as though the past was forcing itself into the present.

     The scene unfolded like a memory.

     Henry stood in a darkened room, his features gaunt and drawn, his eyes blazing with something akin to fury—or maybe fear. He was no longer the regal figure I had seen earlier, carefully jimming open a door. Now, his movements were sharp, agitated. His eyes darted around the room, as though he were searching for something—or someone—who had eluded him.

     And then I heard it—his voice, sharp and biting, cutting through the air like a whip.

     "How do you justify thee, parakeet's whelp, thee demented?!?"

     The words echoed in the space, thick with accusation. They weren’t directed at me—they were aimed at someone else, someone just out of sight. I could feel the weight of his words, the intensity of his anger, but also the madness that flickered beneath the surface. He was unraveling, his grip on whatever power he had sought slipping away.

     The door creaked open, and I saw the figure step into the room. It was the woman from the earlier vision—the one who had taken the vial from Henry’s hands, the one who had smiled that slow, deliberate smile. But now, her expression was colder, harder. She didn’t flinch under Henry’s furious gaze. She stood tall, her dark eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous than his anger.

     “Do you think this was ever yours to control?” she said, her voice calm, measured. “You thought you could take it, twist it to your will. But you never understood what you were holding.”

     Henry’s face contorted in rage, his hands trembling as he clenched them into fists. “I was promised power,” he spat. “I was promised control! You—your kind—led me to believe I could rewrite the world!”

     The woman’s smile returned, but it was colder now, sharper. “You were promised nothing but madness,” she said softly. “The power you sought was never yours to claim. It’s been here long before you, long before your ancestors carved their kingdoms from the earth. And it will be here long after you are dust.”

     Henry staggered back, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and terror. The madness that had been simmering beneath the surface began to spill over, his movements growing erratic. He reached for something—a dagger, perhaps—but his hand faltered, trembling as though he no longer trusted his own strength.

     “How do you justify this?” he shouted, his voice cracking. “How do you justify your madness?!”

     The woman stepped forward, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t need to justify anything,” she said quietly. “The land justifies itself.”

     And with that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Henry standing there, his face twisted in confusion and rage. The door closed softly behind her, and for a moment, the room was silent. But then Henry let out a scream—a sound that echoed through the building, through the walls, through time itself.

     The vision faded, and I was back on the shoreline.

     Ava’s chant had grown louder now, her voice rising in pitch, the air around her thick with heat and power. The ground trembled beneath us, the warmth intensifying until it was almost unbearable. I could feel the same sense of unraveling that I had seen in Henry’s eyes, the madness that came from trying to control something far older and more powerful than any one person could ever hope to understand.

     Tony stood beside me, his face pale, his eyes fixed on Ava. “What did you see?” he asked, his voice tight with tension.

     I shook my head, still trying to process the vision. “Henry,” I said quietly. “He... he was promised power, control. But he couldn’t handle it. The land—it was too much for him. He thought he could control it, but it drove him mad.”

     Tony’s jaw tightened. “And now Ava’s doing the same thing.”

     I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. “She’s drawing from the same power, the same force that’s been buried here for centuries. But she doesn’t understand what she’s unleashing.”

     Ava’s voice rang out again, her chant turning into something more primal, more urgent. The storm above us rumbled, the clouds swirling as if the very sky was being torn open. The Atlantic surged, the waves crashing harder against the rocks, and the ground beneath our feet buckled, as though the earth itself was groaning under the weight of what Ava was trying to pull from it.

     “She’s going to destroy everything,” Tony muttered, his voice shaking with fear.

     I glanced at him, seeing the fear in his eyes, but also the determination. “We have to stop her,” I said, my voice firm. “Before she loses control completely.”

     But as I spoke, I could feel something else—a presence, a memory, stirring in the back of my mind. The woman in the vision, the one who had spoken to Henry—there was something familiar about her, something that felt tied to Ava’s actions now. She had been the real power behind Henry, the one who had understood the cost of tapping into the land’s hidden forces.

     And now, as Ava stood on the precipice of that same madness, I realized that the woman’s legacy hadn’t been forgotten. It had been passed down, buried deep within the land, waiting for someone like Ava to awaken it.

     But Ava wasn’t the heir to that power.

     She was the pawn.

     “Tony,” I said, my voice urgent. “There’s something else going on. Ava—she’s not the one controlling this. She’s just following the same path Henry did.”

     Tony frowned. “What do you mean?”

     “I mean someone else is pulling the strings,” I said. “Someone who’s been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

     Ava’s chant reached a fever pitch, and the air around us crackled with energy. The storm was almost upon us, and I could feel the ground buckling beneath my feet, the warmth surging through the earth like a tidal wave.

     “We don’t have much time,” I said. “We need to act now.”

     Tony nodded, his face grim. “What’s the plan?”

     I glanced back at Ava, her figure silhouetted against the storm, and I knew that whatever happened next would determine the fate of the land, of the city, of everything that had been buried for centuries.

     “We stop her,” I said, my voice steady. “And then we find out who’s really behind all of this.”

Chapter 23

     The storm had gathered at the edges of the sky, thickening in dark clouds that seemed to swirl around a central point far out over the Atlantic. The ground beneath our feet was trembling now, the warmth that Ava had drawn from the land radiating up through the marsh, a slow, steady pulse like a heartbeat. But as the tide turned, I could sense that something else was stirring—something that wasn’t tied to Ava, but to the land itself.

     I blinked, and for a brief moment, I wasn’t standing on the shore anymore. I was somewhere else—somewhere older, darker, a place thick with history and the scent of iron and dust.

     A door creaked open.

     The image snapped into my mind without warning: a tall man, his features gaunt and sharp, dressed in the stiff, regal uniform of another era. He moved with purpose, but there was something furtive in his movements, something that suggested he wasn’t supposed to be there.

     I watched as he jimmied the lock, his fingers deft and quick, his movements practiced. The door groaned open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with the smell of oil and sweat. Inside, the air was heavy with anticipation, the kind of tension that came when something important was about to happen—something dangerous, something that could change everything.

     The man stepped inside, his eyes darting around the room as though he expected to find someone there waiting for him. But the room was empty, save for a few scattered objects—a table, a chair, a lantern flickering weakly in the corner. And on the table, something small but significant gleamed in the low light.

     He approached it slowly, cautiously, his breath catching in his throat as he reached for the object. His fingers wrapped around it—a small vial, no bigger than a thumb, filled with a strange, silvery liquid that seemed to shimmer and shift with every movement of the light.

     A twist, a swab—he tested the liquid, his hands moving with precision as he examined it. There was something unsettling about the way it moved, like it was alive, like it had a will of its own. And then he paused, a strange expression flickering across his face as though he had just realized the weight of what he was holding.

     He muttered something under his breath—something I couldn’t quite make out. But I caught enough: *"newness."* He wasn’t just here to take something. He was here to create something new. This wasn’t about the past. It was about reshaping the future.

     The image shifted again, and I saw him leave the room, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click. He moved quickly now, his steps more confident as he left the building, stepping out into the cold night air. The wind picked up around him, carrying with it the scent of metal—sharp and biting, like the air just before a storm.

     And then I saw the figure who had been waiting for him—a woman, her face half-hidden in shadow, but her eyes gleaming with recognition. She stepped forward, her hand outstretched, and he handed her the vial without hesitation. She smiled, a slow, deliberate smile that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

     The king of Belgium—Henry, they called him—had done his part. He had jimmied the door, twisted the swab, paid the price for a new future. But this wasn’t his game. It was hers. And the gleam in her eyes told me that she had been waiting for this moment far longer than he had.

     I blinked again, and the image faded, the room dissolving into the present as I found myself standing once more on the marshy shoreline, the Atlantic roaring in the distance. Ava was still there, her back to us, but the energy around her had shifted, growing more erratic, more dangerous. The warmth she had drawn from the land was no longer steady—it pulsed in fits and starts, like a heart struggling to beat.

     “What did you see?” Tony’s voice cut through the fog of my thoughts, and I shook my head, trying to make sense of the vision.

     “I’m not sure,” I said, my voice unsteady. “But it felt... old. Something about the past. Someone—Henry, a king—jimmied a door, opened something he wasn’t supposed to. He handed off a vial, something... important. And there was a woman. She was the real power.”

     Tony frowned, but he didn’t press me. “Ava’s not the only one playing this game,” he muttered, half to himself.

     “No,” I agreed. “She’s part of something bigger.”

     I turned my gaze back to Ava, watching the way her figure swayed slightly in the wind, her hands still outstretched as though she was holding the very air in her grasp. I could feel it now—this wasn’t just about Ava. It wasn’t just about Achilles. This was about the city itself, the land, the history that had been buried and twisted and corrupted over centuries.

     Ava was tapping into something ancient, something that had been there long before she had arrived. But she wasn’t the first to try. The vision of Henry, the king of Belgium, jimming open that door—it was a reminder that others had come before her, that others had sought to control the power of the land. And just like Ava, they had paid a price for it.

     The wind shifted, and I caught the faintest scent of metal in the air—a sharp, cold smell that sent a shiver down my spine. It was the same scent I had smelled in the vision, the same metallic tang that had clung to the air around Henry as he handed over the vial.

     “Ava’s drawing from the same place,” I said quietly. “The same power that’s been buried here for centuries. She’s not the first.”

     Tony nodded grimly. “But she might be the last.”

     Ava’s voice rose again, a strange, melodic chant that seemed to ripple through the air, twisting and distorting as it traveled. The warmth around her was intensifying, the very ground beneath us vibrating with the force of it.

     I stepped forward, my heart pounding in my chest. We were close now—closer than ever to the heart of the mystery that had been haunting us since the beginning. And I knew, deep down, that whatever Ava was drawing out of the land, whatever force she was unleashing, it wasn’t just hers. It belonged to the city, to the land, to the forgotten histories that had been buried beneath the surface for centuries.

     And just like Henry, just like all those who had come before, she was about to discover the cost of trying to control it.

 

Chapter 22

     The wind howled across the marshland, pulling at our coats and stirring the mist into twisting shapes that seemed to dance just out of reach. Ava stood at the shoreline, her back to us, but her power filled the air, making the very earth beneath our feet pulse with heat and the promise of something ancient awakening from its long slumber. Tony was tense beside me, his eyes locked on her, his fingers twitching toward the knife he always kept at his side.

     “She’s close to finishing,” Tony muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “If we don’t stop her now, we won’t get another chance.”

     I nodded, but the weight of what we were facing was growing heavier by the second. Ava wasn’t just drawing power from the land—she was shaping it, twisting it into something dark and uncontrolled. And Achilles, for all his cunning and manipulation, hadn’t counted on her being this strong. I wondered, briefly, if even he knew what Ava was truly capable of.

     She was the "fathom bawd"—a manipulator of the depths, a figure who thrived on the hidden rot and decay that had festered beneath the surface for centuries. She wasn’t fighting for control of the city in the same way Achilles was; she was embracing the chaos, using it to bring something even older to the surface.

     Tony shifted beside me, his frustration boiling over. “She’s not invincible,” he growled. “We just have to get close enough—”

     “Wait,” I said, grabbing his arm before he could rush forward. “We can’t just attack her. She’s feeding off the land, off the warmth. If we go in without a plan, we’ll only make her stronger.”

     Tony’s eyes flashed with anger, but there was something else in his expression—something I hadn’t seen before. Fear. For all his bravado, he was afraid of what Ava could do. And I couldn’t blame him.

     “We need to cut her off,” I said, my voice low and steady. “She’s not invulnerable, not yet. She’s drawing power from the land, but that’s also her weakness. If we can sever her connection—”

     “How?” Tony snapped. “She’s buried herself in this place, and it’s not like we have an army to dig her out.”

     I thought of Achilles, the "wounded regent," who had been orchestrating this game from the beginning, using us as pawns in his twisted bid for control. He had positioned himself as a ruler of sorts, manipulating the city’s past and present to secure his future. But now, he was losing—Ava’s power was something even he hadn’t predicted.

     “Achilles doesn’t have the upper hand anymore,” I said, my eyes still on Ava. “But that doesn’t mean he’s out of the game. He’s wounded, yes, but he’s still playing.”

     Tony’s expression twisted in frustration. “So what? We wait for him to swoop in and fix this?”

     “No,” I said firmly. “Achilles won’t help us. But we can use what we know about him. He was never about brute strength or power—he was about authorship, about controlling the narrative, shaping events from the shadows. If we can disrupt the story Ava’s trying to tell, we might stand a chance.”

     Tony frowned, his frustration giving way to a glimmer of understanding. “So, what? We rewrite her story?”

     “Something like that,” I said, glancing toward the horizon where the Atlantic roared just beyond the marsh. “We make her lose her footing. She’s drawing power from this land, from the rot she’s cultivated. But if we can force her into a position where she has to act, where she has to rely on something she doesn’t fully control... she might make a mistake.”

     Tony’s eyes narrowed. “How do we force her hand?”

     Before I could answer, the air around us grew even heavier, and Ava’s chant shifted. Her voice rose, no longer a low, rhythmic hum, but something sharp, commanding. The heat in the air spiked, and I could feel the ground beneath us trembling, as though something deep within the earth was beginning to stir.

     “She’s calling something up,” Tony said, his voice tight with dread.

     “We need to move,” I said, my heart racing. “Now.”

     We moved toward Ava, cautiously but quickly, keeping low as we approached the shoreline. The air was thick with power, a raw, untamed energy that made my skin prickle. Ava’s chant grew louder, her hands raised toward the sky, and I could see the faint shimmer of something gathering around her—something ancient, something deep.

     She was drawing on the very heart of the land, pulling from the depths, the "fathom bawd" at the center of it all. But in her focus, in her arrogance, she didn’t see us coming.

     Tony moved before I could stop him. He darted toward Ava, knife in hand, his expression set with determination. I knew it was reckless, but there was no stopping him now. He was driven by something deeper—anger, fear, maybe even guilt.

     He was halfway to her when the ground beneath him shifted. The earth rippled like water, and suddenly, Tony was thrown back, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. I rushed toward him, my heart pounding, but before I could reach him, Ava turned.

     Her eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw the full force of her power. She was no longer just a woman standing at the edge of the Atlantic—she was something more, something primal and untethered. The heat around her radiated like a furnace, and the air shimmered with the weight of the forces she had unleashed.

     “You think you can stop this?” she said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You’re too late. The story’s already written.”

     I stood my ground, my mind racing. Achilles had always been about control, about shaping events to suit his needs. But Ava—Ava was about chaos, about embracing the rot and decay that had been festering for centuries. She didn’t want control. She wanted to tear everything apart.

     But in that desire, in her need for destruction, there was weakness.

     “The story isn’t over yet,” I said, my voice steady.

     Ava’s smile widened, but there was something sharp in her gaze. “You’re a fool if you think you can change this.”

     Behind her, the Atlantic surged, the waves crashing against the rocks with a force that made the ground tremble. But I wasn’t focused on the water—I was focused on the land beneath her feet, the warmth that was fueling her, the very rot she was drawing on.

     And then it hit me. The warmth wasn’t just power. It was history. It was everything that had been buried beneath the city—the stories, the lives, the forgotten legacies. Ava was feeding on it, yes, but in doing so, she had made herself part of it. She wasn’t above the decay. She was *in* it.

     I took a step forward, my eyes locked on hers. “You’re not as untouchable as you think,” I said.

     Ava’s smile faltered, just for a moment.

     “You’ve tied yourself to this land, to the rot and decay,” I continued. “But that means you’re part of it now. And like everything else that rots, you can be undone.”

     The ground beneath her feet trembled, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She was powerful, yes, but she wasn’t invincible. She had made herself part of the story, and that meant she could be rewritten.

     Tony groaned from where he lay on the ground, but I didn’t take my eyes off Ava. The tide was turning, and for the first time, I felt like we had a chance.

     Ava’s eyes narrowed, and I could see the storm gathering behind them. But the ground was shifting beneath her, the warmth she had been drawing on beginning to falter.

     “You’re wrong,” she hissed. “This land belongs to me.”

     But I knew the truth now. She had made herself vulnerable, tied to the very thing she sought to control.

     And that was her undoing.

Chapter 21

     The wind was picking up, carrying with it the taste of salt and something darker—something that clung to the air like smoke. Ava’s chant still echoed across the marsh, a low hum that seemed to rise from the earth itself. I could feel the tension building, the storm brewing just beyond the horizon, ready to unleash whatever ancient forces Ava had called forth.

     Tony was restless. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his gaze flickering between Ava and the dark waters of the Atlantic. The weight of everything was pressing down on him, and I could see it in the way he moved, the way he couldn’t stand still. There was an energy building inside him, something that didn’t sit right, something that made him more dangerous now than he had ever been before.

     “She’s going to rip this place apart,” Tony muttered, his voice sharp with frustration.

     I nodded, but my eyes stayed on Ava. She was still at the shoreline, her back to us, her voice rising and falling with the rhythm of the waves. I didn’t know what kind of power she was pulling from the land, from the decay, but I could feel it—something warm and dark, something that surged like the tide.

     Tony took a step forward, his jaw tight. “We can’t just stand here and let her do this,” he snapped. “We’ve got to stop her.”

     I grabbed his arm, pulling him back before he could do something reckless. “We can’t rush in,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “Not yet.”

     Tony shot me a glare, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “Not yet? She’s about to tear this whole place apart, and you’re telling me to wait?”

     “She’s stronger than us right now,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “If we charge in without a plan, she’ll destroy us both before we get anywhere near her.”

     Tony yanked his arm free, his eyes flashing with frustration. “I’m not waiting for her to bring down the storm,” he growled. “I’ve seen what she can do. I’ve watched her rot everything she touches, and if we don’t stop her now—”

     “She wants you to rush in,” I interrupted, cutting him off before his anger could spiral out of control. “Don’t you see that? She’s counting on you to lose your head, to charge in like some hero, and when you do, she’ll take you down. She’s stronger when you’re angry, Tony. She *feeds* off it.”

     Tony’s lips curled in frustration, but he didn’t deny it. He knew I was right, but the tension between us was thickening, making it hard for him to think straight. He wanted action—he wanted to *do* something—but Ava’s game wasn’t about speed or strength. It was about control.

     I turned my attention back to Ava, watching the way her figure moved against the mist. The storm hadn’t broken yet, but it was coming. And when it did, there would be no turning back.

     “We need to predict her next move,” I said quietly, trying to shift Tony’s focus. “If we know what she’s planning, we can stay ahead of her.”

     Tony let out a bitter laugh. “Predict her next move? Good luck with that. She’s been ten steps ahead of us this whole time.”

     I didn’t respond right away, my mind racing as I watched Ava. She was moving with purpose, her chant growing louder, more intense. She was calling something, but it wasn’t just the storm. There was warmth in the air, a strange heat that seemed to pulse through the ground beneath us, radiating from the earth like a heartbeat.

     “She’s not just after the storm,” I said slowly, piecing it together. “She’s pulling something else out—something deeper.”

     Tony’s gaze snapped to me. “What are you talking about?”

     I stepped forward, my eyes locked on Ava’s figure. “She’s using the storm to cover her real goal. She wants us to think the storm is the threat, but it’s not. It’s the *warmth* she’s drawing up from the land—the same rot she’s been feeding off of. The storm is just a distraction.”

     Tony frowned, his anger giving way to confusion. “The warmth?”

     I nodded. “She’s been rotting the city from within, but that’s not all. There’s something buried here—something old, something that’s been festering beneath the surface for centuries. She’s using the storm to unleash it.”

     Tony’s face darkened, the realization dawning on him. “So what do we do?”

     “We stop her from drawing that warmth out,” I said firmly. “If we can cut her off before she fully taps into it, we can weaken her.”

     Tony hesitated, his gaze flickering back to Ava. “And how do we do that?”

     I was silent for a moment, my mind racing. Ava’s power was growing, and we were running out of time. But I knew one thing—Tony’s anger, his impulsiveness, would only make things worse.

     I turned to him, my voice low and deliberate. “You need to stay calm,” I said. “If we go in guns blazing, she’ll win. But if we can distract her, throw her off, we might have a chance.”

     Tony clenched his jaw, clearly struggling to rein in his frustration. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if this goes sideways, I’m not holding back.”

     I nodded, knowing that was the best I could hope for. We had a plan—however fragile it was—and now we had to execute it.

     We moved closer to the shoreline, our steps slow and deliberate. Ava’s chant was louder now, the warmth radiating from the ground like a furnace. The Atlantic loomed just beyond her, the waves crashing against the rocks, but it wasn’t the storm we had to worry about.

     It was the heat.

     Tony shot me a glance, his expression hard. “This better work.”

     I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure it would.

Chapter 20

     The storm was coming, but the air remained unnervingly still, like the earth itself was holding its breath. Ava had disappeared into the thickening mist, her figure swallowed by the approaching Atlantic, but her presence still lingered, a shadow that stretched across the marshlands. I could feel her power growing, feeding off the decay and rot that had festered beneath the city for so long. She was moving closer to whatever lay at the heart of this dark tide, and nothing seemed capable of stopping her.

    Tony and I stood in silence, the heavy fog swirling around us like a living thing. I could feel the tension radiating off him—his hand still rested on the knife at his side, but I knew he wasn’t sure whether to use it on Achilles, Ava, or himself.

    “She’s going to do it,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the low hum of the wind. “She’s going to tear it all down.”

    There was a strange edge to his voice, something almost resigned. He had known Ava for a long time, that much was clear, but I couldn’t quite tell whether he feared her or admired her—or both.

    I glanced at him. “What exactly is she trying to do?”

    Tony didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the mist and water blurred into one. When he spoke, his voice was thick with something I couldn’t place. “She wants the city to rot,” he said. “She wants it to decay, to crumble into the sea. Achilles thought he could control it, thought he could use the city’s history to reshape its future, but Ava—she doesn’t want control. She just wants to watch it fall.”

    I shivered, the weight of his words settling in. Ava wasn’t here to save the city or stop Achilles. She was here to accelerate the destruction, to feed the rot that had been seeping through the streets, the buildings, the very foundation of the place.

    And the worst part was, she was enjoying it.

    Tony turned to me, his eyes hard. “She’s always been like this,” he said. “Always pushing things to the edge, seeing how far they can go before they collapse. The city’s been teetering for years, and now she’s going to give it the final push.”

    I swallowed, trying to make sense of the pieces falling into place. Ava had become something more than just a figure in Achilles’ web—she had become the catalyst for everything that was happening, the one who would relish the destruction, who would coo softly to the rotting city as it fell to its knees.

    “We have to stop her,” I said, my voice steady despite the growing dread in my chest. “We can’t just let her destroy everything.”

    Tony’s expression darkened. “You think we can stop her?” he asked, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “She’s been waiting for this moment longer than we’ve been alive. The rot—the decay—it’s what she wants. And if we try to stop her, she’ll only enjoy it more.”

    I could feel the weight of his resignation, the hopelessness that had settled into him after years of watching Ava thrive on the decay around her. She wasn’t just a part of the city’s history—she was the rot itself, an embodiment of the forces that had been corroding the city from within.

    But I couldn’t just stand by and let it happen. Achilles might have set things in motion, but Ava was the one who would finish it, the one who would relish every moment of destruction. And that was something I couldn’t allow.

    “We don’t have a choice,” I said, my voice firm. “If we don’t stop her, there won’t be anything left.”

    Tony looked at me, his expression unreadable, but after a moment, he nodded. “All right,” he said. “But don’t think it’s going to be easy. Ava’s not like Achilles. She doesn’t play by the same rules.”

    I nodded, though a part of me already knew that. Achilles had been manipulating everything from the shadows, but Ava—she was out in the open now, moving with purpose and confidence, as though nothing could stand in her way. She wasn’t hiding her intentions. She was embracing them.

    We started walking again, following the same path Ava had taken, the wet earth squelching beneath our boots. The Atlantic was closer now, the sound of the waves growing louder as the tide pushed inland, churning against the marshy landscape. I could feel the pull of the ocean, the same ancient force that Ava seemed to be drawing on, a force that was both natural and deeply unnatural.

    The fog thickened as we neared the water’s edge, and I could just make out Ava’s figure standing at the shoreline, her back to us. She was still, her arms outstretched as though welcoming the storm, her coat billowing in the wind like dark wings. I could hear her voice, faint but clear, cooing softly as if she were speaking to the Atlantic itself, calling it to rise and consume the land.

    Tony and I stopped a few paces away, watching as she performed whatever dark ritual she had begun. There was something almost mesmerizing about it, the way she moved, the way her voice seemed to merge with the wind and the waves. She was in control here, not Achilles, not the city. And that control was intoxicating.

    “She’s feeding off it,” Tony muttered, his voice tight. “She’s drawing power from the decay.”

    Ava’s voice grew louder, and I could hear the strange cadence of her words, a mixture of languages and sounds that seemed to echo back through time. There were elements of something ancient, something tied to the land, but also traces of other influences—colonial voices, Ashanti rhythms, a British knight’s entitled chant. It was all woven together, a tapestry of power and decay, and Ava was at the center of it.

    “She’s copying it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rising wind. “The history. The rot. She’s turning it into something new.”

    Tony’s jaw tightened. “She’s been doing it for years,” he said. “Taking pieces from the past, the things no one wants to remember, and twisting them into something she can use.”

    I felt a wave of nausea rise in my throat as I realized what he meant. Ava wasn’t just here to destroy. She was here to reclaim—to take the rotting pieces of the city’s history and twist them into something even darker, something that would give her the power to reshape the land in her image.

    And as she stood there, cooing softly to the Atlantic, I knew we were running out of time.

    “Ava!” Tony shouted, his voice cutting through the wind.

    She didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge us at all. Her hands remained outstretched, her voice rising in a strange, hypnotic melody that seemed to blend with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. I could feel the power radiating off her, a raw, untamed force that was feeding off the decay around us.

    Tony took a step forward, his hand on the hilt of his knife. “Ava, stop!”

    For the first time, she paused, her head tilting slightly to the side as though considering his words. Slowly, she lowered her arms and turned to face us, her eyes gleaming with a cold, dark amusement.

    “Stop?” she echoed, her voice dripping with mockery. “Why would I stop, Tony? This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

    Her smile widened, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

    “Let me relish it,” she whispered, her voice soft but deadly. “Let me finish what I started.”

    And then she turned back to the ocean, her hands rising once more as the storm gathered overhead.

Chapter 19

     The terrain had changed again. What had been rolling fields of damp grass and twisted woods was now turning marshy, the ground beneath us soft and treacherous, like it was waiting for a moment to pull us under. The air was thicker here, heavy with the smell of salt and decay, and I could sense the nearness of the Atlantic before I could see it—the water calling out in its slow, rhythmic pull, a vast expanse of murk and mystery waiting just beyond the horizon.

     Tony and I had been moving quickly, but there was no mistaking the change in the atmosphere. We were closing in on something—something powerful, something that had been hidden for a long time. Whatever Achilles was after, it was tied to this land, this coastal decay, and as we moved deeper into it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were walking into someone else’s domain.

     Tony slowed, his gaze scanning the shifting landscape. “She’s here,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

     “Who?” I asked, though I already had a guess. This place, this moment—it felt like the culmination of everything Achilles had been leading us toward. But it wasn’t Achilles who held the power here. It was someone else.

     “She goes by many names,” Tony said, his voice tight. “But she’s always been here, waiting. Achilles didn’t create this. He’s just trying to harness it.”

     I frowned. “Madeleine?”

     Tony shook his head. “No. Madeleine’s tied to this, but she’s not the one in control.” He gestured toward the foggy horizon, where the marshland seemed to disappear into the dark expanse of the Atlantic. “This is her land. Her power. She’s been watching it rot for centuries, and now she’s ready to claim it.”

     I stared at him, trying to piece together what he was saying. “Who are you talking about?”

     But Tony didn’t answer. Instead, he pointed toward a figure moving through the mist, just barely visible against the backdrop of the darkening sky. She was walking toward us, her silhouette strong and deliberate, like someone who had nothing to fear from the world around her.

     As she approached, I could see her more clearly—a tall woman, dressed in a long, tattered coat that billowed out behind her as she walked. Her hair was wild, dark curls tangled with the wind, and her eyes gleamed with a fierce, unsettling energy. She moved with the confidence of someone who had long since given up pretending to be anything but herself.

     “Who is she?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

     Tony’s face was pale, but his expression was hard. “They used to call her a hoodlum, a criminal. But that was long ago. Now she’s more than that—more than a name, more than history. She’s the one who will uncap what Achilles can’t control.”

     The woman stopped a few paces away from us, her gaze sweeping over me with a kind of detached amusement, as though I were a curiosity, something to be studied and discarded. But when she looked at Tony, her expression shifted. There was recognition there, and something darker.

     “Tony,” she said, her voice smooth, with an edge that suggested she knew more than she was letting on. “Still trying to play the hero?”

     Tony didn’t flinch. “I’m not here for you, Ava,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m here to stop Achilles.”

     She laughed—a low, throaty sound that seemed to echo across the marsh. “Achilles thinks he’s in control,” she said. “But he’s nothing. He’s just a child playing with toys he doesn’t understand. This land was never his to claim.”

     She turned her gaze back to me, her eyes narrowing. “And you. You’ve been following him, haven’t you? Chasing shadows, trying to piece together a puzzle that was never meant for you.”

     I took a step forward, my heart pounding. “Who are you?”

     Ava’s smile widened, but it was a smile without warmth, a predatory grin that sent a shiver down my spine. “I’m the one who’s been waiting,” she said. “Waiting for this place to rot, waiting for Achilles to stumble into something he can’t control. Waiting for the right moment to make my move.”

     Her words hung in the air, thick with meaning, but I couldn’t make sense of them. “What does Achilles want?” I asked, my voice sharp. “What is he trying to control?”

     Ava tilted her head, her smile fading. “Power,” she said simply. “But not the kind you’re thinking of. Achilles wants to rewrite the city’s history, to bend time and memory to his will. But there’s something older here, something that’s been festering beneath the surface for centuries. The Ashanti knew it. The British tried to suppress it. And now Achilles thinks he can harness it.”

     Her eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. “But he doesn’t understand the cost.”

     I felt a knot tighten in my chest. “What cost?”

     Ava’s gaze flickered to the horizon, where the dark waters of the Atlantic lay waiting. “This land was built on rot,” she said, her voice low. “On blood and death and forgotten promises. The Ashanti understood that. Their people were taken, their legacy erased. But their spirits never left. They’re still here, in the ground, in the water, in the very air you’re breathing.”

     She took a step toward me, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Achilles wants to claim that power, to reshape the city in his image. But you can’t control what was never yours to begin with. And when he tries, it will tear this place apart.”

     Her words hit me like a physical blow, the weight of them sinking in. Achilles wasn’t just after control of the city—he was trying to reshape its very foundation, to rewrite its past and bend its future to his will. But in doing so, he was awakening something older, something darker. Something that had been lying in wait, festering beneath the surface.

     “And you?” I asked, my voice tight. “What do you want?”

     Ava’s smile returned, but it was colder now, more dangerous. “I want what’s mine,” she said simply. “This land was built on rot, and I’ve been waiting for the moment to reclaim it.”

     Tony took a step forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife. “You’re playing with fire, Ava,” he said, his voice hard. “This isn’t just about power. People will die.”

     Ava’s gaze flickered to Tony, her expression unreadable. “People always die,” she said. “It’s the price of change.”

     The air around us grew heavier, the mist thickening as the Atlantic loomed closer. I could feel it—the weight of history, the pull of something ancient and relentless, something that was awakening from a long, restless sleep.

     Ava turned her back to us, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Achilles thinks he’s in control,” she said softly. “But he’s about to learn that some things can’t be controlled. Not by him. Not by anyone.”

     As she spoke, I could hear the faint rumble of thunder in the distance, the sky darkening as the storm gathered. And somewhere, deep beneath the ground, I could feel it too—the slow, steady pulse of something ancient, something that had been waiting for this moment.

     Ava began to walk toward the coast, her steps slow and deliberate, as though she had all the time in the world. She moved like someone who knew exactly what was coming, someone who had waited for this moment for longer than anyone could imagine.

     And as she disappeared into the mist, I felt a chill creep up my spine.

     The storm was coming. And we were caught in the middle of it.

Chapter 18

     The fog began to lift as we moved farther inland, away from the rotting streets and the slurping darkness that had followed us for so long. The city was shrinking behind us, a memory distorted by distance and the strange twists of fate that had drawn us through its labyrinth. Tony and I said little as we wended our way along a narrow dirt path, a forgotten road that cut through the land like an old scar. The air here was different—cooler, quieter, with a subtle hum that vibrated just beneath the surface, like the low chanting of monks in some distant temple.

     I hadn’t expected this, hadn’t imagined we’d leave the city at all. Achilles’ influence stretched far, but I had always thought of him as a creature of the urban sprawl, his power rooted in the grime and chaos of the streets. Yet here we were, following a path that twisted through overgrown fields and tangled woods, the sound of the city fading behind us.

     Tony was leading the way, though he hadn’t said where we were going. His pace was quick, determined, as though he was being pulled by some unseen force. I followed in silence, my mind turning over the events of the last few days, the cryptic words of the figures in the alley still lingering in the back of my mind. The image of them slurping in the dark, feeding off the city’s decay, haunted me. But now, as we moved farther from the city’s center, I felt something shift.

     The path dipped suddenly, and we found ourselves walking alongside a narrow stream, its water dark and sluggish, winding its way through the landscape like a living thing. There was something unnatural about the way the stream moved, as if it were tilting, leaning toward something just out of sight. The banks were uneven, the earth churned and muddy, and the air smelled of wet soil and old iron.

     “Where are we going?” I asked finally, my voice cutting through the stillness.

     Tony didn’t look back. “Somewhere Achilles doesn’t want you to be.”

     The answer wasn’t satisfying, but I knew better than to press him. Tony had his own reasons for keeping things vague, for holding his cards close. But I could feel that we were getting closer to something—something Achilles had tried to keep hidden.

     As we walked, the landscape around us began to change. The trees, once thick and knotted, thinned out, replaced by strange, twisted forms that seemed neither natural nor manmade. There were markers along the path—small stone pillars, some engraved with symbols I didn’t recognize, others draped in faded cloth that fluttered in the breeze. The stream tilted again, the water bending toward the markers like it was drawn to them.

     “Indian,” Tony muttered, more to himself than to me.

     “What?” I asked, my eyes scanning the strange symbols on the stones.

     He glanced at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “These markers. They’re old. Older than the city. They come from different places—some are Indian, some Buddhist, some... well, British. Colonial relics. They were left here a long time ago, back when the city was first being carved out of the land.”

     I frowned, trying to piece together what he was telling me. “Why would Achilles care about this?”

     Tony’s gaze darkened. “Because this isn’t just history. It’s power. The city was built on something—something people tried to forget. Achilles has been trying to dig it up, to control it. But it’s older than him. Older than all of us.”

     I felt a chill run down my spine. The idea that Achilles was after something more than control of the city—that he was tapping into something ancient, something buried beneath the surface—unnerved me. And yet, it made a kind of twisted sense. Achilles wasn’t just playing a game of manipulation and power. He was trying to rewrite the rules of the city, to bend its very foundation to his will.

     As we continued along the path, the stream widened, and the ground beneath us became softer, muddier. I could hear the squelch of our boots sinking into the wet earth, and the smell of damp decay grew stronger. Ahead, a flicker of light caught my eye—a lantern, hanging from a low branch, its glass cracked and fogged with age. It swung gently in the breeze, casting an eerie glow over the water.

     “British knight’s entitled lantern,” Tony muttered, half under his breath. “Left here by one of the old explorers, someone who thought they could tame the wilds.”

     I stared at the lantern, its weak light barely cutting through the gloom. There was something unsettling about it, something that felt out of place in this strange landscape. But Tony didn’t slow down. He moved past it without a second glance, and I followed, the lantern’s glow fading behind us.

     The path twisted again, the stream now cutting sharply to the right, and suddenly the ground beneath us shifted. The mud gave way to something harder, slicker, like stone covered in moss. I stumbled, catching myself just as Tony stopped in his tracks.

     “What is it?” I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.

     He didn’t answer right away, just stared at something ahead of us. Slowly, I followed his gaze.

     At the edge of the stream, half-buried in the mud, was a weathered military emblem, a metal badge that gleamed faintly in the dim light. Next to it, protruding from the muck, was a single tooth—yellowed and chipped, but unmistakably human.

     Tony crouched down, his fingers brushing against the emblem. “Unhoped wet military,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

     I frowned. “What is this place?”

     Tony looked up at me, his expression unreadable. “This is where they tried to stop it,” he said. “A long time ago. The military, the explorers, all of them. They came here thinking they could control it, that they could carve out a piece of it for themselves. But they were wrong.”

     “And the tooth?” I asked, my voice low.

     Tony’s lips curled into a grim smile. “Someone didn’t make it out. But that’s not the real mystery.”

     He stood up, his eyes scanning the horizon. “The real mystery is what they were trying to keep buried.”

     Before I could respond, there was a sharp crack, a sound that split the air like lightning. I spun around, my heart racing, but there was nothing—just the shifting fog and the steady drip of water from the stream.

     Tony grabbed my arm, pulling me forward. “We need to move. Now.”

     We started running, our boots sinking into the mud, the fog closing in around us. I didn’t know what was behind us, but I could feel it—a presence, a weight that pressed against my skin, heavy and suffocating.

     “Where are we going?” I shouted, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

     Tony didn’t answer. He just kept moving, his grip on my arm tight, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.

     And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the fog parted, and we burst out onto solid ground. The stream had disappeared, and the markers were gone. We were standing on the edge of a wide, open field, the grass wet and gleaming in the dim light.

     Tony released my arm, his chest heaving. “We’re close,” he said, his voice hoarse.

     “Close to what?” I asked, still trying to catch my breath.

     He looked at me, his expression grim. “The thing Achilles has been looking for. The thing he’ll stop at nothing to control.”

     I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Whatever Achilles was after, it wasn’t just power over the city. It was something older, something buried in the land itself.

     And we were about to find it.