Hadie's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

They carried Harold through the sanctuary entrance on a makeshift stretcher, his body rigid where the grey had locked his joints in place. Hadie walked ahead, clearing vines from the path while Pegi and Ace maneuvered Harold between the ancient columns. The green glow from the plants pulsed brighter as they moved deeper into the space, responding to the curse energy radiating from Harold's chest. They laid him on the stone platform at the sanctuary's center, where moss had grown in patterns that matched the symbols Hadie had seen in the ancient scrolls. Hadie placed the purified crystal on Harold's chest, positioning it directly over the grey discoloration. The crystal caught the sanctuary's green light and began to hum—a low vibration that made the vines around them shiver. But nothing happened to the curse. The grey continued its slow crawl toward Harold's jaw, indifferent to the crystal's presence. Ace stepped forward. "It's not working. The sanctuary needs something more than just the template." Hadie looked at the ancient carvings on the nearest column—instructions he hadn't been able to read before, but now the symbols shifted in the sanctuary's light, revealing their meaning. The ritual required an anchor. A bloodline connection to the divine. Someone who carried both mortal and god in their veins to bridge the gap between Harold's humanity and the curse's divine origin. Hadie pulled off his contact lenses and let them fall to the moss-covered stone. His yellow eyes reflected the sanctuary's glow as he knelt beside Harold and pressed his palm against the crystal. Heat surged through his hand—not painful, but intense, like holding flame that recognized him as its source. The crystal blazed gold, and the sanctuary responded. Vines wrapped around Harold's body, drawing the grey corruption out in threads of shadow that the blessed ground absorbed and filtered. Pegi grabbed Hadie's shoulder. "Your hand—" Hadie looked down. His palm glowed with the same gold light as the crystal, marking him with fire that didn't burn. The symbol of a bloodline he'd spent his whole life hiding behind blue contacts and careful distance. Harold's chest rose with a full breath as the last of the grey drained away, and his eyes opened. He stared at Hadie's face—at the yellow eyes Hadie had never let him see—and Hadie waited for the question he'd rehearsed a hundred answers for but never actually wanted to face. "How long have you been able to do that?" Harold asked, his voice rough but steady. Hadie looked at his still-glowing palm, at the proof he couldn't hide anymore. "Since I was born," he said. "I'm the son of Hades and Persephone. The only one here who qualifies." Harold sat up slowly, supported by Pegi, and met Hadie's eyes without looking away. "Then I guess we know who has to anchor the ritual when we reseal the Titans." The words hung in the sanctuary's green light—not an accusation, but a statement of fact that made Hadie's worst fear and his deepest hope collide. He'd proven mortals and gods could work together to accomplish the impossible. Now he had to prove he could stand as both, visible and known, with no contacts left to hide behind.