Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Eight: The Golden Thread

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The ornate glass quivered, catching the dim light in a dance of shifting blues and silvers, before it stilled, reflecting nothing more than the amber glow of the candlelit room. The students lingering in the hall—sleepless scholars clutching books and parchments—froze, their collective breath caught mid-syllable. But at Mount Olympus University, where magic bled into the mundane, the moment passed like a breeze over water. Attention drifted back to the rustle of pages, murmured theories, and the clatter of quills as though the shimmer had been nothing more than a stray draft.

Jace sat there for what felt like an eternity, a hollow ache spreading through him, as if the universe itself had been handed to him only to be ripped away again. The weight of it threatened to crush him, emotions roiling beneath the surface, ready to spill over and drown him. He couldn’t bear it alone anymore; the isolation gnawed at him like a living thing. He needed to talk to someone—anyone—who wouldn’t think he was insane. But how could he even begin to explain?

“Hey, I’ve been lying to you about who I am, and, by the way, I’m the son of the Dark One. My brother? Stuck on the other side of every mirror. And, oh yeah, the fate of all universes somehow hinges on me.” The words in his mind felt ridiculous, heavy as iron and just as impossible to lift. It would go over like a lead balloon, shattering whatever fragile trust he still had.

And yet, despite the crushing doubt, the need burned in him—urgent and raw. He needed to speak, to share the truth that coiled inside him like a serpent, suffocating him. He needed someone to hear him, to help carry this impossible burden, before it consumed him whole.

Jace felt it then, a tug deep in his chest, taut as an invisible golden thread pulling him forward. The sensation was familiar now, but still raw, like the memory of pain. His Affinity for Truth—so recently awakened in a blaze of revelation he barely comprehended—stirred within him. He closed his eyes and focused. For an instant, the line almost materialized before him, glistening with an ethereal, otherworldly light that tugged him forward. Jace was quickly finding that the Truth Affinity was less about revealing truths and more about pushing him toward where to look—but the looking was up to him. He was learning to follow these feelings, these perceptions, these glowing pulls toward the unknown. He followed the nudge into the courtyard outside.

His pulse quickened, each beat a metronome ticking off unfinished business. The campus sprawled around him, worn paths lined with ancient oaks and ivy-covered columns that kept stories of ages past. There was comfort in the well-trodden paths but not enough to quiet the storm in his chest.

The night stretched wide above him, deep and blue as velvet, pierced by the cold light of a thousand stars. Their fractured glow pooled in silvery puddles across the stone courtyard, painting shadows that shifted as he moved. Yet tonight, the campus felt changed, charged with an energy he couldn’t quite name. The same halls, the same air steeped in old spells and murmurs of power, but something beneath it all had shifted, an unseen ripple that refused to settle.

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He passed the statues that lined the old path, their stony expressions cast in solemn defiance. One, depicting Ares mid-battle with a lion, tilted its head ever so slightly, the marble lips curving into the barest hint of a smile. Jace blinked, his breath catching in his throat. The statues were known to shift occasionally—moving about the campus—but they largely paid no attention to the comings and goings of the students.

Shadows loomed thick around him, writhing into shapes that defied reason. Only minutes had passed since his escape from the In Between, but it felt like centuries. Time in that place bent and fractured, stretching moments until they shredded into slivers of memory that clung to him now, fleeting and ghostly.

The tug inside him tightened, gentle but insistent, like the hand of fate itself reaching through the night to guide him. He closed his eyes and let the sensation settle, feeling the golden thread of magic wind around his heart and pull eastward, towards the Hermes district. The line shimmered in his vision, an almost tangible path glittering through the gloom of archways and shadow-laced corridors.

Jace moved forward, each step striking the stone with steady purpose. The night air, cool and sharp, filled his lungs, grounding him as he tried to exhale the heavy tang of dread and hope entwined. Around him, the campus breathed with muted life. Amber lanterns hanging from wrought-iron posts sputtered, their golden light spilling over the cobblestones, casting long, swaying shadows. The laughter of late-night stragglers sliced through the quiet, brittle and quick, a reminder that even at this hour, Mount Olympus University never truly slept.

The Hermes district awaited him. The buildings glistened under the starlight, their walls painted in rich swathes of gold and deep green, etched with symbols that seemed to shift like living ink under the lanterns’ glow. The architecture was a maze of elegance and cunning—facades adorned with false windows that watched, balconies with narrow, winding staircases that disappeared into shadow. Secrets lay coiled in every nook and beneath every archway, waiting for the right ears or the right codewords.

Even now, students and messengers wove through the labyrinthine paths, their movements quick and deliberate. Boxes stacked high and heavy shifted under urgent hands; parchment-wrapped messages passed like whispers, exchanged with glances full of sly amusement and silent promises. The walls themselves seemed to hum with anticipation, their surfaces alive with shifting patterns that flickered and faded like a magician’s trick. The scent of ink, sweat, and something metallic hung in the air, sharp and thrilling.

It was as if the district itself had eyes, as if the polished stone and carved wood were watching, waiting, and breathing in the same restless rhythm as Jace. Every corner carried a sense of unspoken mischief, every hidden alley an invitation or a warning. Tonight, Hermes’ domain felt more than alive—it felt sentient, a place balanced on the cusp of revelation.