Prologue: Inevitable Eclipse

The Underbelly was gone.

What used to be a sprawling network of neon-lit corridors and defiant life was now a jagged graveyard of rebar and ash. Above didn’t look like a sky anymore; it was a fractured mosaic of Olympian dropships, their golden hulls reflecting the dying embers of the insurgent fires below.

This was the end of the war. Or, as the broadcasts would soon say, the beginning of the Peace.

Callisto stood at the edge of the blast zone, her gray cloak untouched by the soot. She felt strange, cold numbness spreading through her chest.

“You’re doing the right things, Callisto.”

The voice was like silk. General Artemis stood beside her, a towering figure of divine authority. She placed a heavy, gauntleted hand on Callisto’s shoulder, a gesture of absolution.

“She was rot,” Artemis whispered, “A beautiful rot perhaps. But the Titans would have used her to pull you into the dark forever.”

Below them, in the center of the crater, two Olympian Peacekeepers dragged a broken figure through the dirt.

Luan’s mechanical enhancements, the elegant, Aether-infused conduits that used to glow like captured starlight beneath her skin, were shattered. Shards of glass-like metal protruded from her arms, sparking with dying blue energy. She looked less like a person and more like a discarded toy.

Luan’s head snapped up. Her eyes, clouded with pain and betrayal, found Callisto’s.

“Callisto!” Luan’s voice was a ragged shadow of the laugh that used to wake Callisto up in the mornings. “Tell them… tell them they’re wrong! Tell them I’m not a weapon!”

Callisto didn’t move. She couldn’t.

“Subject confirms illegal Aether-grade modifications,” one of the Peacekeeps called out, his voice modulated and mechanical. “Removal protocol is initiated. Transport to the extraction ward.”

Luan’s eyes widened. She knew what “extraction” meant. They wouldn’t just take the metal; they would take the nerves and the memories tied to them.

“After everything?” Luan screamed, her body convulsing as the dampening shackles clamped onto her wrists. “After I showed you what they’ve done? After I showed you the truth about the spires?”

Callisto flinched, but Artemis’s grip on her shoulder tightened, grounding her.

She’s lying, Callisto told herself. The Aether isn’t stolen. The Olympians are our protectors. Luan is just…confused.

“I’m sorry, Luan,” Callisto whispered, though her voice didn’t carry past the wind. “I’m bringing you home. This is the only way to save you.”

Luan stopped struggling for a heartbeat. A terrifyingly cold realization washed over her face. The girl who had spent months in her arms, whispering secrets of a world without gods, had been the one to sign her death warrant.

“You turned me in?” Luan asked, the scream dying into a hollow, dead whisper.

As the Peacekeepers forced Luan toward the sterile white transport ship, she let out one final, haunting cry that echoed off the ruins to the Underbelly.

“THEY AREN’T HEROES...CALLISTO!”

The heavy doors hissed shut, cutting off her voice.

General Artemis let out a small, satisfied sigh and began to lead Callisto away from the wreckage, toward the gleaming spires that pierced the clouds.

“Come, child,” she spoke gently, “the eclipse is over. It’s time to step back into the light.”