Daughter of Poseidon: Chapter One

Syrena has a chance to make a difference, and so long as there's a chance, she has to try.

Five hundred years after the Greek gods destroyed the modern world, Syrena, Daughter of Poseidon, lives under the gods' tyrannical rule. However, a centuries-old prophecy says a war will be waged on them. And if that means there's a possibility to help those the Olympians have hurt, a possibility to change things for the better, Syrena will do anything to bring this prediction to life.

Even if it means losing everything she loves.

"Daughter of Poseidon" is a short story that serves as a prequel to War on the Gods, a completed series perfect for fans of Greek mythology and dark YA fantasy. Binge it today!

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CHAPTER ONE

LETTER

Summer, Year 500 AS

Syrena tiptoed down the halls of Zeus’s palace, careful not to make any noise as she crept toward her boyfriend’s bedchamber. She clutched a parchment with shaking hands, a parchment she’d inscribed a farewell letter upon in black ink, intended for him.

She had to leave Olympus without saying goodbye to everyone else, but she couldn’t bear doing that to Spencer, Son of Hades. Not if she expected him to forgive her one day. Not if she hoped he’d eventually come to his senses and follow her lead in fulfilling the prophecy.

The prophecy, she thought as she recalled its words, her only hope: When the world is taken back, and monsters rule the trees, blood of a demigod will spill. Two mortals will rise, two from the Before, reborn from sacrifice. And when the sky is black and green, and the heavens cry, they will lead a war. A war on the gods.

For as long as Syrena could remember, the Greek pantheon had ruled the world with as much ruthlessness as the Titans before them. However, history lessons had taught her that things hadn’t always been this way. There was a period, centuries past, called the Before Time, and in the Before Time, humanity had believed the gods to be no more than myth, as false as a fictional bedtime story.

But five hundred years ago, the gods changed all of that. They harnessed a great deal of power despite not having been worshipped for so long, conjured the Storm, a disaster more massive than any other in history, and used it to enact revenge on the humans. They demolished the world as mortals knew it—killed millions, if not billions of people, annihilated their homes, and dismantled their precious “technology.” It was then that the gods rose above the destruction. They offered humanity a way to survive, but life was only guaranteed to the people who worshipped them and did exactly as they said.

Syrena didn’t know a time in which the gods had not been in charge, and although she was only nineteen, she had suffered because of them many times. If she could just escape Olympus, if she could just summon the Fates and ask them what she had to do, then perhaps she could bring the prophecy to fruition. Perhaps she could resurrect the two mortals from the Before Time and help them lead a war on the gods. Perhaps she could end all this suffering.

Just as she reached Spencer’s door, a barrier with skulls and bones carved into the wood illuminated only by the moon as it shone through the hallway’s arched windows, Diana tapped her on the shoulder from behind.

She turned to Diana; she’d almost forgotten the Daughter of Apollo was with her at all. Diana appeared ghostly white in the night, though Syrena could still make out some of the demigod’s freckles, which had always covered her from head to toe. She had to look up at Syrena because she was so tiny, shorter and slimmer than any other demigod on Olympus, with wavy blonde hair that reached her shoulders and bright green eyes just like her sun god father’s. She had a bow in hand, a quiver of arrows slung across her back, her forest-colored dress nearly black in the darkness.

Diana was the only demigod Syrena could trust and remain friends with right now. She was the only one who understood why Syrena had to do this, the only one who was coming with her.

“Are you sure you have to leave Spencer an explanation?” Diana whispered, her high, clear voice melodious against the silence.

Syrena nodded, tightening her grip on the parchment. “Yes. I can’t go if he’s left wondering whether I still love him. He has to know that no matter what, I do. I always will.” Diana seemed to understand this despite appearing less than thrilled Syrena wouldn’t change her mind on the matter. “Everyone’s still at the summer solstice party, anyway,” Syrena continued, reaching toward Diana and taking her hand, then giving it a little squeeze. “The gods included, and they’re drunk enough on Dionysus’s wine that they won’t notice we’re gone until tomorrow. This won’t take long, and then with everyone distracted, we can steal some pegasi and get out of here for good.”

And with that, Syrena released her companion, opened the door to Spencer’s bedchamber, and stepped inside. Thankfully, she was more than familiar with this room. After all, she and Spencer had been together since their early teens, and before that they’d been best friends—two-thirds of an invincible trio of demigod warriors.

The third of their group, Karter, Son of Zeus, was one of Syrena’s and Spencer’s best friends, and Syrena wished she could confide in him about her plans to fulfill the prophecy. After all, she’d told him almost everything since they’d met when they were kids. But I can’t, she thought. Not after the last time I tried to leave. I won’t risk him getting punished for me again.

She and Diana hurried across the tile floors toward Spencer’s black-canopied bed, each step they took with their sandaled feet echoing off the windowless walls. Syrena’s heart pounded against her rib cage. This was it. This was her farewell to Spencer, and afterward she might never see him again.

No, that’s not true. Don’t think like that. We’ll be reunited someday, when he realizes that what Diana and I are doing is what’s right for the world. Maybe Karter will figure it out too. Imagine. Wouldn’t it be wonderful?

She drew back the canopy and rested the letter on Spencer’s mattress. “All right, let’s get out of here.”

They turned around to leave, and Syrena’s stomach clenched. The dark figure of a man stood in Spencer’s doorway.