1. THE APPARITION

THE APPARITION

The Past

T HE apparition understood that something terrible had happened —happened to it , but it was confused and felt unmoored.

It tried to feel around for something solid, like a wall or a floor, but nothing was there, not even its limbs. How could it expect to reach out and grasp objects when it could not feel its own body? It was floating in a dark void of nothingness; it knew it did not belong there. It had eyes or something comparable, as it could see fragments of light and make out shapes beyond that faint brightness to a limited degree. And it could hear, though the sounds were muffled and distorted. It took strenuous effort to remain conscious and aware.

It was madness.

The apparition felt—diminished. It knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it had once been much grander.

With considerable strain, it managed to move its vision downward until it saw its frame slowly come into focus. It saw a torso, arms and legs, but all were as diaphanous as the silk scarves of dancing girls: sheer, even ghost-like.

Am I dead? Am I truly a spirit?

No, that was not possible! It was powerful and mighty—a man. No! He was more than a man, more than mortal flesh and blood. He was a god. Yes, a Titan! Ancient and fierce—worshipped by man.

But then, what had happened to him? Where was his godly form? Where was the potent, enchanted blood that flowed through impervious flesh, granting immortality and power beyond measure? How did this terrible thing happen? He was immortal! How had he come to be imprisoned in this unnatural state?

You have cursed yourself into this state of being.

A voice in the darkness! It was clear and present in his mind and came from everywhere around him—a woman’s voice, most accusatory.

The Titan struggled to focus, to will himself to form and presence. He needed to remember who he was .

So, stilling himself, he attempted to summon the energy required to comprehend this ethereal world and new unnatural, ungodlike state of torment. If trapped in spiritual form, he would force himself to be solid, willing his body back to life to boldly walk the material plane again.

Your struggle is futile, former Lord of the Night, for your immortal body proved not so undefeatable. There is no shell to return to; it is utterly destroyed and irretrievable. You are what you are now—imprisoned in both spiritual form and Fated-existence. And it is all of your own making.

The Titan’s rage and frustration quickly illuminated that a capacity for emotional response and intelligent awareness was still his to access and not as lost as his physical body.

Who are you, witch? The venom-tipped words sprung not from his mouth but his mind, projected out into The Void. How dare you speak to me in such a manner! I am—

Confusion. Panic.

I am—I—?!

The Titan could not recall who he was! He knew what he was or what he once was, but not his name. Despite returning faculties, this new state of being continued to hold things back from him. He hated feeling incomplete—and weak. He had to regain complete control before total madness claimed him.

Who am I, you ask, cursed creature? WHO AM I?

The feminine voice laughed, creating an echo-like effect that pummelled the Titan’s ears and reverberated in his mind painfully. Or what the phantasmagorial equivalent of this once-known physical sensation was. It seemed he could sense many things as before, physically experience them, but he was not flesh and blood. Nothing made sense.

Who I am is unimportant. What I have to reveal is. You—are—dead. For even death may come to a god if circumstances are foul enough. And it was the price you paid for the enslavement of a younger god to your will. But he is free now, having done the darkest deed any god may inflict upon another to gain absolute liberty. We, the Secundus, are not yours to rule over.

Secundus! The Titan now realized an Olympian was talking down to him. But who? Though he could not recall his name, dark memories of love and betrayal flooded his ethereal mind, like a dark kiss from his sister, the Titaness Mnemosyne. They washed over him in a tidal wave of bitter recollection, a mighty battering from his brother, the Titan Oceanus.

And that he could remember his siblings’ names but not his own infuriated him.

As powerful as he was, the Titan understood that the atrocity he now recollected should not have happened. Not to one such as him. But he had let his guard down. His mighty defences—impenetrable skin, blindingly fast reflexes, superior strength—failed to safeguard. And by the time he realized what was taking place, it was already far too late to act .

Do you remember what you said, villain? Those potent words summoned The Fates to grant your dying wish, but not in a way you could have expected—or dreaded.

The Titan struggled to understand the Olympian’s enigmatic statements. Potent words? A curse? What had happened? What had he said? What had he done to create this torturous state halfway between the Elysian Plain and Tartarus? He had to remember!

When the strenuous effort paid off, and the words finally came, he recognized them as terrible and brutal, but ones meant with all his dark heart.

His beautiful immortal body had been ravaged beyond recognition and drained almost entirely of its enchanted blood, leaving him hanging on by the thinnest thread of consciousness. Still, it had been enough to grant him time to condemn the assassin in a near-silent voice but one sufficiently audible to a god’s enhanced hearing.

May you be forever damned, my dark child! I curse you with a shattered heart for this wicked betrayal and for spurning my love and devotion. May you never know peace. May you discover your truest love if I am not the one, and may happiness and passion quickly sour. To wither and rot. May you ever be separated from purest love by endless mistrust and loathing. For destroying me, may you live for all time tormented, alone, and never whole .

Everything returned to the Titan like a harsh slap across his face: all memories, experiences, delights, and betrayals, including that one act he considered the foulest of disloyalties.

He was the Titan Coeus, Lord of the Starry Firmament, twin brother of the Titaness Phoebe, who is The Lady of the Bright Moon. And he had been betrayed by his dearest creation, his beloved—a mortal he made a god and renamed in honour of a most favoured city. Traitor. Usurper. Cannibal.

Olympius —w hat have you done to me?!

The mocking laughter of the unknown goddess rang once more throughout the Titan’s incorporeal mind.

Olympius did nothing but free himself from bondage. You are responsible for your current condition and these circumstances. The Moraie have smiled upon you this night, Titan, in your darkest hour. They have granted you your dying wish, but as the Wheel of Destiny turns, all outcomes present the possibility for fortune or misfortune. And everything has a price. Death is no refuge from payment.

To fulfill your curse, The Fates have decreed you must be the agent of that directed malediction, for you did not call out to The Erinyes to enact your vengeance. For your spite, you shall haunt Olympius, a constant plague upon him, a spirit composed of hate and fog, smoke and dark purpose, all to ensure his heart never knows peace.

In time, to aid this wicked revenge, you will learn to control this ghostly form, manipulate its shape, size and colour, and even add substance—for a limited duration. You shall endure terrible pain should you ever strive to undo your current circumstances. Seek not, apparition, for it is an unchangeable, unattainable feat—for you.

Apparition? Yes, that was what he knew he was now, for to claim the title of Titan, with superior flesh and blood, would be blasphemy in this incorporeal state. He— It —was a cursed thing.

It was also fixated on the goddess’ last two words. For you? What do you mean, witch? What trickery is this? How may I be released from this horror? Tell me, Secundus-filth!

The goddess ignored the supposed insult.

I am but the messenger, cursed shade, though not fair Hermes, who couriers for the gods. I am the harbinger of fate and fortune; my name and title are not your concern. Though I foresee much, I did not predict this outcome, nor could I have prevented it. For Olympius’ sake, of course, not for you! Opposing The Fates brings forth their vengeful aspect, The Erinyes, and no mortal or immortal should ever seek to anger them.

But I know many things, the answers to mysteries and secret knowledge long forgotten. I know the winding ways around Destiny and how to break curses once enacted.

Love is the key this time, as trite as that may sound to you. But not the treacherous love you once professed to sweet Olympius, for you know no other kind. True love. A hard thing for many to discover, yes, but fortune and luck favour me. I see the time when Olympius finds his soulmate, and I believe their love will break the curse.

You will move against them, as The Fates have decreed, but I am confident Olympius and his true love will outlast your tricks and schemes to live on through Eternity, forever connected in passion, devotion, and peace. You, however, shall remain a ghost until the end of time, forgotten by history.

Unable to locate its pompous tormentor, robbed of the pleasure of focusing its vitriol directly upon the bodiless voice, the apparition sneered, directionless, into The Void.

Anxious and excited to begin experimenting with the potential of its unwelcome form, this newly revealed possibility of controlling it, the shade concentrated hard to project its form of voice loudly across the ethereal plain.

We shall see, little goddess. We shall see.