Cassandra of Troy had seen the end of worlds before.
She'd witnessed the fall of her beloved city in dreams that burned behind her eyelids for centuries. She'd seen plagues that devoured civilizations, wars that reshaped continents, and heroes who beca monsters. Apollo's curse had gifted her with visions of every tragedy, every catastrophe, every mont when hope died screaming.
But this... this was different.
The dream shattered around her like broken glass, each fragnt cutting deeper than the last. Her body convulsed as consciousness slamd back into her with the force of a mountain, she tore herself from sleep with a sound that wasn't quite a scream, wasn't quite a sob—sothing raw and primal that clawed its way up from the depths of her soul.
The sheets were soaked through with sweat that felt like ice water against her burning skin. Her throat was raw—had she been screaming? Her heart hamred against her ribs like a caged animal trying to escape.
She rolled off the bed, hitting the hardwood floor with a bone-jarring thud. Her legs wouldn't hold her. They shook like autumn leaves as she scrambled backward, her spine scraping against the wall until she wedged herself into the corner like a broken doll.
The visions clung to her consciousness like tar, like poison, like the last mory of sothing beautiful before it dies.
Two nas. Two faces. The dream clung to her like smoke, like blood, like the last breath of dying stars. Two futures that split reality down the middle and left nothing but ash in their wake.
And beyond them, in the spaces between dreams and nightmares, she'd seen more. Futures layered upon futures, each one worse than the last. Each one ending in the sa cosmic silence.
"No, no, no," she whispered, her voice breaking as she rocked back and forth. Her hands shook as she pressed them against her temples, trying to hold the visions together even as they threatened to slip away like water through her fingers.
She'd heard of terrible dreams before. As a seer cursed by a god, nightmares were her constant companions. But this was the first ti she'd seen sothing that couldn't be contained, couldn't be stopped, couldn't be reasoned with or bargained away.
"In Nyx's na, not again," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. Her hands clawed at her temples, trying to hold the fragnts of prophecy together even as they threatened to slip away like smoke. "Not like this. Not them."
She'd seen terrible dreams before—apocalyptic visions were her bread and butter, courtesy of Apollo's twisted gift. But this was the first ti she'd witnessed sothing that felt... inevitable. Sothing that couldn't be reasoned with, bargained away, or stopped by clever heroes with noble hearts.
This was fate wearing the face of innocence, and it was hungry.
Her bedroom door creaked open, and Cleopatra's voice drifted through the darkness. "Cassandra? You okay in there? I heard..." The words died as she took in the sight of her friend huddled in the corner, shaking like she'd been electrocuted.
"Fuck," Cleopatra breathed, rushing forward. "What happened? Another vision?"
The mont Cleopatra's arms wrapped around her; Cassandra collapsed into the embrace like a drowning woman grabbing a lifeline. Her whole body shook as she buried her face in Cleopatra's shoulder, whispering broken fragnts of prophecy that tasted like blood and regret.
"The nas... can't change the nas... if they keep them, it seals the fate... Parker... chains... his daughters... don't let them change the nas, Cleo... that's when it all goes to hell..."
"Whoa, slow down," Cleopatra murmured, stroking her hair. "What nas? Whose daughters?"
But Cassandra couldn't slow down. The visions were still there, still burning, still promising that everything she'd ever cared about would turn to cosmic dust.
Then, as suddenly as the breakdown had begun, clarity struck like lightning.
Cassandra pulled back, her eyes sharp with desperate purpose. "We have to go. Now."
"Go where?" Cleopatra blinked, startled by the sudden shift.
"To Parker's." Cassandra was already standing, her movents sharp and urgent. "Beverly Hills. We have to get there before it's too late."
"Too late for what?" Cleopatra's voice rose with alarm. "Cassandra, what the hell did you see?"
The question hung in the air like a loaded gun. Cassandra's mouth opened, then closed. How could she explain? How could she make Cleopatra understand that she'd seen the birth of sothing that would make the Trojan War look like a playground scuffle?
Cassandra was already shaking her head, her expression closing off. She knew no one ever believed her. Apollo's curse ensured that her warnings fell on deaf ears, that her prophecies were dismissed as the ravings of a madwoman.
"I can't tell you," she said finally, her voice cracking. "Apollo's curse... you know how it works. Even you, Cleo. Even you wouldn't believe if I told you everything."
Cleopatra's expression softened with understanding. They'd had this conversation before—the cruel irony of a prophet who could see the future but couldn't convince anyone to change it.
"But Parker..." Cassandra continued, a spark of hope flickering in her eyes. "I know him from my visions and Atalanta told things about him. About how he's different. Apollo's curse doesn't work on him the sa way it works on everyone else. He might actually listen. He might actually believe ."
"You think he'll take you seriously?"
"He has to. I think he's the only one who can," Cassandra said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And if he does... if he believes even half of what I tell him... that might be enough. That might be enough to save everything."
Cassandra was already standing, her movents sharp and urgent. "We have to go now. The sooner I tell him, the better our chances of survival."
"Survival from what?" Cleopatra's voice rose with alarm. "Cassandra, what did you see?"
Even Cleopatra, who had co to believe her to a certain extent—who had followed her here instead of joining the other heroes because she trusted Cassandra's visions—even she might not be able to accept this. This was too big, too impossible, too much like the end of everything.
And if she told Cleopatra the truth, Apollo's curse would twist her words, make them sound like lies or madness. The burden was hers alone to carry.
Cleopatra studied her friend's face, seeing the weight of unspoken prophecy in her eyes. "Alright. Let get dressed. How far is Beverly Hills from here?"
"Twenty minutes if we push it," Cassandra said, already heading for her closet. "Maybe less if you drive like you used to race chariots. Just... trust ," Cassandra said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please. It's not far from here. Just a few minutes' drive to Beverly Hills, and we'll be at Parker's."
Cleopatra groaned, running a hand through her hair. "Why did we even leave Beverly Hills in the first place? Things would've been so much easier if we'd just stayed."
Cassandra watched Cleopatra head toward the door to get ready. She knew the truth—that beneath all her complaints and protests, Cleopatra wanted to see Parker again. The forr queen of Egypt had been affected by their encounters, though she'd never admit it out loud.
Cleopatra cracked a smile. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around." She paused at the door. "Should we call Hector and Isis? Bring them along?"
Should she bring Hector and Isis? The four of them had chosen to stay separate from the other heroes, carving out their own path in this strange new world. Leaving them behind felt wrong, especially for sothing this important.
Besides, it would be good for them to et Parker. The mysterious Prince of Existence who seed to be at the center of everything—the prophecies, the awakening champions, the shifting balance of power in the world.
Cassandra considered this, her hands stilling on her jacket. "Yeah. Yeah, we should. They deserve to et him, and... if what I saw... we're all going to need each other."
"What did you see, Cassandra?" Cleopatra's voice was gentle but insistent. "You can tell sothing. Anything."
Cassandra closed her eyes, and for a mont, she was back in the dream. Standing in a place where reality bent and broke, watching two girls who shared a na and a father and a destiny that would reshape the cosmos.
"I saw love beco chains," she whispered. "I saw hope beco ending. And I saw a choice that hasn't been made yet, but when it is..." She opened her eyes, eting Cleopatra's gaze. "When it is, either everything survives, or nothing does."
Cleopatra stared at her for a long mont, then nodded. "Alright. Twenty minutes to Beverly Hills. Let's go save the world."
As they prepared to leave, Cassandra caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked like she'd aged a decade in the span of a single dream. But there was sothing else there too—a flicker of hope she hadn't felt in centuries.
The father of the two girls who would either save everything or destroy it all.
Cassandra closed her eyes and saw them again—the Elianas. One born of love and hope, the other of power and desire. Both carrying their father's strength and their mothers' determination. One of them destined to stand at the crossroads of existence itself.
She just prayed they'd choose the right path.
Or that soone could convince them to, before it was too late.
The weight of unspoken prophecy settled on her shoulders like a shroud, and Cassandra of Troy prepared once again to deliver warnings that no one would believe until it was far too late to matter.
Parker would listen. He had to.
Because if he didn't, if Apollo's curse won this ti, then the two nas that had been spoken with such love and hope would beco the epitaph for everything that had ever existed.
And Cassandra of Troy would have to live with the knowledge that she'd seen it coming and been powerless to stop it.
Again.
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