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Finally, the fierce life that had driven his hatred for decades began to fade into the ash. The living current that had moved through him all these years faltered, returning to the ground with his spilled blood. There was no triumph in it. The Endless Forests received what came back to them, exactly as they’d received the innocent people he had killed. That acceptance didn’t absolve him.

His eyes found mine one last time. I didn’t know whether he could even recognize me through the pain. He mouthed a word I couldn’t make out. He let out a final, ragged exhale.

He stopped trying to draw breath.

The silence that followed the execution was somehow worse than the cries. I stood with Eryx’s hand crushed in mine and waited for a rush of relief. There was some, buried deep beneath the exhaustion. I had the cold certainty that Nessos would never send another assassin to our door. But Father was still buried beyond the village limits. The blood on the ground didn’t rewrite the past.

The shrine elder lowered her dripping spear. “The judgment is carried out. Now we have the living to care for.”

People began to move, their voices low and urgent as they headed toward the ruined houses. I stepped back, pulling away from the crowd, and turned to Eryx. He looked toward me, sensing the exhaustion in my posture. He didn’t offer empty platitudes, and he didn’t ask if I was all right. He just waited.

“I want to go to Father,” I said, my voice cracking. “I want to see him.”

He shifted his grip, holding my hand more securely. “I’ll come with you.”

Father’s grave lay beneath the quiet winter trees just beyond the last houses. The dirt mound had settled a little since the hasty burial. Someone from the village had arranged fresh pine branches beside the wooden marker.

I knelt in the dirt and brushed a wet leaf from his carved name. For two days, I had come to this exact spot, knowing what lay beneath the earth and unable to make my mind understand it. I still expected to hear his voice calling my name when I walked past the council hall.

Eryx knelt slowly beside me, his broad shoulders a shield against the wind.

I rested my bare hand flat on the grave. The living current of the forest moved beneath my palm, quiet and familiar, roots and soil continuing their relentless work. That natural cycle had comforted me before. And the priests at the shrine had taught me death was a part of it.

But not murder. And not like this.

“In Asphodelia, the death energy of our loved ones lingers even after they’re gone,” Eryx said. “Talk to him. He may be able to hear you still.”

I didn’t know if that was true. But my mate knew the ways of death, not me. I had to try. “Father… I’m back. I wish I could talk to you. One last time.”

At first, nothing happened. The only thing that answered me was silence. But then, something else stirred within the soil.

My breath caught. A week ago, I might have missed it completely, mistaking it for the winter frost. But now I knew that feeling. I knew it through Eryx, and through the mate bond that had opened my mind to the vast beauty of death.

He lowered his head toward the grave. He could feel it, too. “Reach deeper, Thalia.”

I closed my eyes, letting the chaotic hum of the living woods fade into the background. Beyond the frost, beyond the roots, there was a familiar presence waiting for me.

The awareness was faint, fragile enough that I was terrified to reach for it too quickly. I kept my hand anchored to the earth and followed it. “Father?”

The answer didn’t come as a spoken word. It rose through the damp earth and settled deep in my bones. “Thalia. I thought I had lost you forever before I died. I wanted you to know I was sorry.”

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. “I know,” I wept, my shoulders shaking. “I’m not angry with you anymore. Please, you have to hear me. I forgive you.”

Eryx leaned in closer to me, and the spirit’s presence grew stronger. His mastery of death energy anchored my father in a way even I could not. “The gorgon came with you to the grave,” my father said.

I wiped my eyes, wishing we could have had this conversation while he was still alive. “Yes. Eryx is right here.”

“Is he kind to you?”

The simple question held so much desperation it made my chest ache. But I had an answer for my father, one that wouldn’t fill either of us with grief. “Yes,” I said. “He is so kind. He is my mate, Father. We bonded, and I am truly happy. I have a home.”

The presence in the earth changed. The terrible strain in my father’s death energy finally began to ease.

“A home. Oh, Thalia… That’s exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you, my child.”

I felt him begin to drift. There was no pain in it. The crushing grief that had kept his spirit chained to the surface was gone. I bent low over the grave, pressing my lips to the freezing dirt.

“I love you, Father.”