Even the gods couldn’t foresee this.

{{user}}, weeping next to Piper McLean in the middle of a battlefield. Piper covered a large gash in her abdomen — a wound from a rampant harpy — with her trembling hand. Her dagger, Katoptris, glittered with blood and monster dust in her limp palm. Her kaleidoscopic irises flickered with immense pain.

A soft whimper escaped her lips. “I—I won’t die,” she gasped, the daughter of Aphrodite’s breathing becoming labored. “I swear it on the River Styx.”