They moved without speaking, instinct guiding them into place. The triplets triangulated, their powers weaving together in perfect harmony. The world sharpened. Magic surged through the air, a living current humming against their senses. Reality seemed to tighten, focus narrowing until only the truth remained.
Then it appeared.
A brilliant white lightning sigil split into existence—visible only to them—burning above the arguing basilisks. It flickered with raw, unmistakable divine energy, its radiance pulsing like a heartbeat.
A mark of Zeus.
Zara stared. “Oh gods…at least three of them are demigods.”
The basilisks kept at it, blissfully unaware.
“We need to talk to them,” she said, “but how do we get their attention?”
Elian gestured toward the growing crowd of phones. “Too late for subtle.”
“I can handle that,” Hektor said.
Zara snapped her gaze to him. “Oh no,” she whispered. “Not that.”
His chest was glowing, ruby-bright, molten, and alive. And then a column of fire roared upward from his mouth, blazing past the awning and lighting the night sky in brilliant red gold. Phones dropped, screams echoed, and the courtyard cleared in seconds.
When the smoke drifted away and the heat faded, only the basilisks remained, stunned, impressed, and mildly offended.
One blinked and muttered, “…okay, that was excessive.”
Another shrugged. “Well, I’m awake now.”
All attention shifted to Pythorus.
Straightening, voice calm and authoritative, he said, “We’re here because some of you are not just basilisks. You are demigods descended from Zeus.”
Silence fell, charged and electric.
“With a statement like that,” one of the basilisks said dryly, “we should take this inside.”
Liora glanced at him. He looked older than the rest, his yellow scales dulled with age. His voice carried the calm authority of someone who had witnessed enough foolishness to no longer be surprised by it.
A younger basilisk, smooth-skinned, green-eyed, hair tied in a too-casual knot, lifted a hand. “I’m going to need a drink for this,” he muttered.
Another one, taller, bulkier, and absolutely radiating eldest-child energy, caught Liora’s eye. When he noticed her watching, he nudged the younger one aside with a firm shove of his tail, the gesture equal parts command and quiet reprimand. “Be respectful,” he scolded…then added under his breath, “But yes. Definitely inside.”
The group of them headed back toward the bar, now mostly cleared out thanks to Hektor’s dramatic fire display.
Pythorus eased alongside the older basilisk, voice low and diplomatic. “If you’ll allow us a private corner, we can explain everything without an audience.”
Hektor motioned subtly for the siblings to follow, eyes sweeping for threats.
Liora caught the moment as Zara moved to follow, how Hektor reached for her sister’s hand. Zara stilled, and Hektor’s usually guarded expression softened as he looked at her. The sight tugged a quiet warmth from Liora’s chest. After everything, after all the chaos and stubbornness, she was genuinely happy for her sister.
Still, she couldn’t resist. “Oh, come on,” Liora sighed loudly, dramatic as a stage actress. “This is happening now?”
Elian elbowed her sharply. “Let them have their moment.”
Liora only grinned, entirely unrepentant.
The basilisks led the way into the bar’s private lounge, stone walls glimmering with vein-like gold, ancient carvings catching firelight. It felt secret and dangerous.
Liora lingered near the entrance, allowing the others to step forward first. She folded her arms loosely, observing rather than speaking. This part of the work—explanations, negotiations, careful persuasion—often fell more naturally to Hektor.
