David White
Stories
4
Chapters
1,771
Words
1.0 K
Comments
0
Reading
5 m
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A Titan is to an Olympian as an Olympian is to a Man. The Titan Prometheus was larger than anything I’d ever seen with my own two eyes. Large enough that it almost seemed like I could reach out and touch him, despite the dizzying distance that separated Sol and I from the peak of peaks on Kaukoso Mons. Greater than any Tyrant could hope to be, a hundred hands to the Heroic Orpheus’ twenty-five. He could have wrestled the monstrous dragon spirits of the Brothers Aetos’ epic as easily as I had the…-
92 •
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We sprang forth seven strong into the Storm That Never Ceased, and in seconds it divided us. The roiling cloud cover was as oppressive to the senses as I remembered, the roar of thunder just as deafening and the lines of lightning wrath every bit as blinding. It was unchanged since the last time I had suffered it, and it staggered me in spite of that. Beside me, Sol ducked his chin and raised an arm against the storm, marching on without pause. Our Heroic companions came rushing in behind us at speeds…
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92 •
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The city of Olympia, known to some as the Sanctuary and others as the Half-Step, is stirring from its four year slumber. The one hundred and ninety-ninth Olympic Games are in their starting motions. The final day has come for the competitors to stake their claims on the chance to compete for Olympic glory. The sun is risen, and once it falls in fullness into night, the gates of the Olympic Stadium will close. Any would-be champions still outside of it after that point will have to wait another four years…
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92 •
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Time passed, but slower every day. Niko had promised them, promised Lydia knew she had to be patient. She knew that her chances of bringing Griffon home were far greater with Niko and his crew there to support her. More than that, she knew that if she wasn’t patient, if she let her frustration show through in just the slightest of degrees, it would push her youngest cousin over the edge. He was already so close as it was. The last time she’d seen Myron had been the day he nearly killed their…
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92 •
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Three Heroes came to me in the aftermath of Alazon’s shameful defeat, and all three produced a letter written by a Roman’s heavy hand. Sol had given each of them a destination to search when he first reached out to them through Sorea. All three of them had rejected our grand mission in the aftermath of Chilon’s story, but Sol had given them the information anyway. He’d given them the option, as well as time to consider it. As it turned out, that had been enough for Alyssa and Kyno to change their…
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92 •
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“A young maiden is foraging in the woods one blind night. She’s about your age, and, oh, about your size. With eyes and mind as pure as moonlight. She is too kind to hunt, you see, but her hunger won’t be sated by kindness. While she scraps and scuffles for whatever fruits the earth has left behind for her, she finds herself a wolf. “Or, perhaps more likely, the wolf finds itself a maiden. “It is a massive beast with cruel fangs and claws the length of knives. But those fangs are stained by…
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92 •
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“Who are you, really?” The Young Griffon asked the question without suspicion or any particular heat, and his pneuma did not stir from its work - but neither did he take the small clay jar from her outstretched hand. She leaned closer with it, waving the cloth-covered top under his nose so he could smell the sweet gold therein. He ignored it. Humming, she pulled back and knelt across from him. Between them, a cultivator lay wheezing in the cool sands of the Olympic Stadium’s arena pit. The man…
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92 •
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The Roman’s name was Solus. She had never seen him before the kyrios’ funeral because he’d never stepped foot in the Half-Step City before that day. He’d brought a student with him, a young Philosopher just as young as him that called himself Griffon. They both wore the scarlet cult attire of the Rosy Dawn Cult. There was no place in the city of Olympia for an agent of Damon Aetos, to say nothing of a It would be quick. The man, the Or so she had planned. From the day that he arrived, the…
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92 •
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Cultivators lived long lives. It was known that a crude woman could live to see a hundred years if she was both healthy and fortunate. The nature of refinement was continuous growth, the changes to the cultivator made greater and greater the further they advanced - one above matched ten below. That being said, there was a reason the true climb started at the Civic cultivators tended to live longer than the average unrefined soul, but a century was still their limit. A wise woman that understood her…
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92 •
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Violence told a story. The Young Aristocrat of the Raging Heaven Cult stepped into my octagon of swords and immediately moved to end the fight. He didn’t bother shedding his twice-bronzed silks - naturally, he didn’t need a naked fighter’s mobility to beat me. He didn’t wait for my word or the word of a third party to start the match - of course, I’d forfeited all courtesies when I treated him as my lesser. And most importantly, he didn’t present his wrists to be clapped in iron chains, as was…
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