Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

W hen Amy woke, there was a heavy arm draped across her waist, pinning her to the soft mattress. For a moment, she forgot where, and most importantly, when she was.

She knew instantly that it was Dante beside her. The memory of him being there for her wasn't foggy at all—the quick looks he'd given her all last night, the flirting humor they'd shared between the darker topics.

He somehow made her heart flutter like no other had. Ever could.

She must have moved because his hand shifted.

"Sorry," he mumbled and started to pull away.

"No." She held him still. "It's okay." She sighed slightly. "Just… let's enjoy this for a moment."

His deep chuckle had her smiling. "I guess you didn't need any quick and witty pickup lines?"

She nudged his ribs with a finger. "Just because I like to be held doesn't mean sex is on the table."

He shifted slightly until he was looking down at her. God, he was gorgeous.

"But it's not officially off the table?" His eyebrows rose slightly.

As an answer, she lifted and brushed her lips against his. It wasn't their first kiss, but the awkward teenage peck they'd shared years before paled in comparison to the heat of his lips against hers now.

"My god," she moaned when he shifted closer.

"You gotta let me try that again," he said softly. "I need time to prepare for the kick of power your lips hold." With a grin, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers again.

This time, she relaxed into his touch and allowed him to take full control. Basically, she melted into his gentle hold of her. How could she not? He felt and tasted so good.

When his hands finally brushed her bare skin, little waves of pleasure pulsed through her.

Then he stilled.

"I… don't think we're alone," he whispered, and motioned towards the curtains.

She stilled and then heard movement in the next room. Embarrassment caused her cheeks to heat as Dante rolled off her.

She held her breath as they listened to the trays of food being replaced in the next room.

When the room was silent, Dante stood up and walked to pull the curtain aside.

"Fresh food," he said, looking back at her. "I'll let you dress." He pulled something into the room from the other room. "I'm sure they left this for you," he said, setting the yellow material down on a bench. "I'll change into whatever they brought me and meet you…" He nodded to the room.

"Dante?" She sat up, stopping him from leaving. "Where, um, how…"

He frowned in confused, then laughed. "Bathroom is there." He motioned to a large bowl on the floor in the corner. "Sink." He pointed to another large bowl on a table. "Welcome to the dark ages." He chuckled as he walked out of the room.

Amy watched as Dante disappeared through the curtain, leaving her alone in the room. The yellow fabric he had set down on the bench seemed to glow faintly in the morning light. She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

As much as she appreciated the hospitality, the reality of her surroundings hit her again. This wasn't her world—not even close. The bowls that Dante pointed out to her didn't exactly scream comfort, but she had to make do.

After she relieved herself and washed up with some fragrant powder that she hoped was soap, she splashed her face with water from the "sink"—a term she used loosely.

Then she stood and approached the gown that had been left for her, running her fingers along its soft, almost silky texture. It was finely made, more luxurious than she had expected, especially considering the rough conditions. She held it up and smiled.

Amy dressed, enjoying the feeling of the cool fabric settling against her skin. The dress fit her perfectly.

Once she was ready, she pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the main room. Dante was already seated at the table, dressed in a simple tunic that looked far more regal on him than she expected. His eyes lifted as she entered, and for a second he seemed to forget how to speak.

"You look..." He cleared his throat, his eyes lingering on her. "Amazing."

She felt her cheeks blush, though she tried to hide it. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

They shared a small smile before she joined him at the table. Fresh food had been laid out: bread, cheese, some kind of roasted meat, and fruits that looked oddly familiar yet different at the same time. She realized just how hungry she was, her stomach rumbling as she reached for a piece of bread.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, and then Dante finally spoke. "This place... it's starting to feel less like a dream and more like a reality I can't escape."

Amy chewed, nodding thoughtfully. "I know what you mean."

"Every time I think I've adjusted, something happens to remind me just how far we are from home."

"Home," she echoed.

"Feels like a distant memory."

Amy glanced at him, seeing a flicker of something in his eyes. Sadness? Longing? She wasn't sure. But she knew the feeling well. They had both been thrust into this world with no real choice and now they were trying to navigate it together.

Dante leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly before he spoke again. "I thought I'd miss modern conveniences more than I do," he said, picking at a piece of fruit. "But honestly, there's something about this place... like it's alive, watching us."

Amy felt a chill run down her spine at his words. "Yeah, I get that too. Like... we're being observed, every move we make."

"By the gods, no doubt," Dante said, his tone half-joking, half-serious. "We're not exactly off the radar."

Amy pushed her plate away, her appetite fading as the reality of their situation settled over her again. "So, what now?"

Dante sighed, looking around the room. "I guess we wait. The town's leader seemed to think we'd know when it was time to move on. For now, we enjoy the comforts they've offered... even if it feels a little too good to be true."

Amy nodded, biting her lip as her mind wandered to Moros and the dark future she couldn't shake the memory of. "Do you ever feel like, no matter what we do, it's not going to be enough?"

Dante's eyes darkened, and he set down his drink. "Sometimes. But I refuse to believe that deep down. We've already come this far, and we're still standing." He reached out, placing his hand over hers on the table. "We'll figure this out."

She looked down at their hands, his warmth steadying her as she gave him a small, grateful smile.

Before they could say anything else, the door creaked open and the town's leader stepped inside, his face solemn but welcoming. "It's time," he said, gesturing for them to follow.

Amy and Dante exchanged a glance.

"Time?" Amy asked.

"The Fates await." He motioned towards the doors.

Moments later, they were helped into a very small rowboat with a young man working the oars.

They shoved off without any more words from the leader and watched as the island disappeared behind them.

The boat rocked gently as Amy gazed at the island ahead, surrounded by a veil of early morning mist.

The journey was a quiet one, with Dante sitting beside her. When they approached the smaller island, they spotted a dark silhouette of a temple resting atop a fog-covered hill. Large waves crashed against the wooden sides of the boat, despite the calm seas. Amy's nerves felt anything but steady.

"I guess that is where we're heading," Dante muttered, pointing towards the temple.

The building seemed to blend into the dark skies, a shadow against shadowy land.

Amy nodded, her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn't shake the feeling that whatever awaited them inside would change everything. As the boat neared the shore, the rower—a man of few words—brought them in close, letting them disembark onto the rocky beach. Without a word, he pushed off again, leaving them alone on the island.

"I guess that means there's no turning back," Dante said, his voice tight. He held out his hand and she eagerly put her hand in his.

They began the slow trek up the rocky hillside, the rough stone path winding beneath their feet. She'd never wished for a pair of sneakers as much as she did then. The simple leather sandals did little to protect her toes from the sharp rocks.

The wind whispered around them, carrying with it the sound of distant waves. As they climbed, she felt like something—or someone—was watching them. The temple loomed larger with each step, an ancient, imposing structure of crumbling stone and moss-covered pillars. How could this place be real?

When they reached the entrance, it was nothing but a gaping black maw. Cold air flowed from within, carrying the scent of something old and forgotten.

"Ready?" Dante asked, his hand squeezing hers, offering both reassurance and comfort.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied as they stepped inside.

The darkness enveloped them instantly, their footsteps echoing across the stone floor. Amy's eyes struggled to adjust, but slowly, shapes began to take form. In the center of the chamber stood a large stone bowl, deep and wide, etched with intricate symbols. The bowl seemed to pulse with an energy, a presence that filled the room.

As they moved closer, a soft light flickered to life around the bowl. Then suddenly, three figures emerged from the dark shadows.

They were women—young, beautiful, with flowing gowns like the one she wore, only theirs shifted around them like mist. Each woman had long, ethereal hair, pale skin, and eyes that gleamed with knowledge far beyond human understanding.

The first woman stepped forward.

"I am Clotho, the Spinner," she said with a delicate smile on her lips as her fingers worked invisible threads in the air. "The thread of fate is not bound by time, not by choice."

The second stepped forward. "I am Lachesis, the Allotter." She moved next to the other woman, her gaze sharp, calculating, as if measuring them both. "Each life follows a path, one set long ago."

And the third moved forward. "I am Atropos, the Inflexible." She stood behind them both, her presence heavy, as though she could end the world with a mere flick of her fingers. Her face was stern, eyes piercing. "The end has already been written. You cannot change what must be."

Amy's breath caught in her throat as she suddenly realized who they were—the Fates, the sisters of destiny. Greek myths had been told for centuries about these women. These… witches. No god, not even Zeus, could destroy them.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice wavering.

Clotho's hands continued to move, weaving threads only she could see. "Pandora has always awakened."

Lachesis's eyes flicked to Dante. "Epimetheus has always been the key to awakening Pandora."

Atropos stepped forward, her fingers trailing along the edge of the bowl. "The two of you will fulfill your roles. It is not a matter of if but when."

Dante took a step forward, his fists clenched. "What does that mean? What role? I don't even know what you're talking about."

The Fates turned their eyes on him, and as they did, something shifted. Their youthful features began to fade, wrinkles deepening, hair whitening. The air grew colder, as though time itself was unraveling in their presence.

"It has already begun," Lachesis whispered, her voice echoing through the chamber. "Pandora has always awakened and will always awaken. You cannot stop what has already happened," she repeated.

Amy's heart raced. "But we've come to stop it—to stop Moros."

The three crones cackled and then said together.

"Only Elpis can stop Moros," Clotho whispered.

She thought Pandora was the key to stopping Moros. From Mia's vision, she knew who Elpis was. Not that she remembered much of what she'd seen. Maybe that was the "sleep" she was supposed to wake from?

"I thought Pandora was supposed to stop Moros?" Dante asked.

"Elpis and Pandora together, as never before," Clotho added.

"How do we find Elpis?" Dante asked.

"Pandora will waken Elpis when it is time," Lachesis answered.

"How do we control Pandora?" Dante asked. "Isn't she the one who can destroy everything?"

Clotho shook her head gently, her eyes sorrowful. "Pandora is beyond your control. The forces that bind her are older than the gods themselves. You cannot change what has already been written in the threads of fate."

Atropos stepped closer to them, her once beautiful face now a mask of age and finality. "The threads have woven themselves around you both. Epimetheus must wake Pandora from her slumber. Pandora must help Elpis. It is your destiny."

Dante's jaw clenched as he turned to Amy, his voice tight with frustration. "I'm not Epimetheus."

"You are who you've always been," Lachesis said softly. "Just as she is Pandora."

"How?" Dante asked, sounding defeated.

"You know," Atropos said, touching the hollow spot above her own heart.

Amy gasped, the weight of their words sinking in. "I'm not Pandora. I'm just... Amy."

The Fates exchanged knowing glances, their forms now ancient, crumbling like statues eroded by time. Clotho spoke last, her voice barely a whisper. "You will remain here, bound to this time, until your fates are fulfilled. There is no escape."

The words sent a chill down Amy's spine. She glanced at Dante, his expression hardening as the truth settled in.

Destiny had brought them here, and destiny would see them through. Whether they liked it or not.