The cold wind that howled at the far edge of the circus was no ordinary wind—it was laced with spells of silence and misdirection, woven into the very fabric of the circus to hide what lay ahead. Torchlight flickered strangely here, dancing across the veiled fabric of a massive black-and-silver tent tucked in a forgotten corner behind illusion-shielded stalls.
"This is it," Artemis whispered, tightening her grip on her silver bow. "The Whispering Tent."
Dozens of invisible wards hummed in the air like the strings of a violin—some magical, some celestial, some darker than either.
Athena frowned. "This tent is sealed by multiple layers of protection."
"Not for me," Harry muttered, stepping forward.
With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a quiet surge of magic, channeling his devine powers, and murmured an incantation in an ancient tongue he had learned from his training. The wards rippled—resisted—then crumbled like mist caught in sunlight.
The goddesses blinked.
"You've been practicing," Artemis noted, raising an eyebrow.
"Let's just say I've had a few quiet nights to study," Harry said, pushing aside the curtain flap and stepping inside.
The interior of the tent was far larger than its outside appearance. Inside, the space unfurled like a coliseum, packed with a chaotic mix of beings. Goblins armed with rune-forged daggers prowled the edges. House-elves with glowing hands and glittering vials of poison stood behind counters. Wizards—some hooded, some openly displaying dark marks—chatted or bartered. And among them were demigods—tall, tense, and alert.
The moment Harry stepped in with the three goddesses behind him, weapons gleaming, the room reacted like a struck gong.
Spells flew. Shouts erupted.
A bolt of lightning soared toward Artemis. She dodged with feline grace and loosed an arrow that struck the attacker's wand clean from his hand.
A goblin lunged at Harry with twin blades. Harry didn't flinch—he raised his palm and summoned a whip of fire from thin air. One crack, and the goblin collapsed unconscious.
Athena drew a silver-edged short sword from her satchel and held it high.
"ENOUGH!" she shouted in a voice that reverberated like a goddess of war. "We are not here to fight!"
But the panic had already started. More wizards began drawing wands, more demigods took cover, and house-elves hissed in ancient languages.
Then—
"STOP!" a voice rang out, loud and commanding. "All of you—stand down!"
It came from a tall young man standing atop a stack of crates, golden armor beneath a red cloak. "Don't you see who they are?"
The crowd faltered.
"They are Olympians!" the man cried. "That is Artemis! And Athena! And that one—" he pointed to Aphrodite, "—you seriously don't recognize her?"
Murmurs rippled across the room.
"The boy," another demigod added, "he's with them. Must be someone important."
"He look familiar?."
"Some say he's Lord Black."
The tension drained rapidly, like sand through fingers. Swords were lowered, wands holstered, and the room returned to a strange, wary calm.
The tall man climbed down and bowed slightly to Artemis. "Sorry for the mess, my lady. We thought you were here to shut us down."
"We're not," Artemis said curtly. "We're here for information."
Harry nodded. "About the Bone of Crius."
The murmurs returned, more nervous now.
Then, from a dim corner, a croaky voice piped up.
"I stole it."
They all turned. A small, wrinkled house-elf stepped into the torchlight. His ears drooped, but his eyes gleamed with a strange pride.
"You stole it from the Temple of Zeus?" Athena asked, voice sharp and stunned.
"Yes, Lady Wise," the elf bowed low. "Took me many months to learn how to bypass the protections. But I did."
"And you sold it?" Harry asked grimly.
The elf nodded.
"Who bought it?" Artemis pressed.
The house-elf wrung his hands. "Don't know his name. He wore a mask. But I do know something—he is a son of a God. Said he was exiled. Powerful, but bitter."
Athena stiffened, her eyes narrowing.
"I know who it is, his name is Jerome Wilkins," she said after a pause. "Decades ago, a son of Hermes caused chaos across Olympus. He was clever—too clever. He stole relics from the minor gods, emptied vaults, even deceived divine wards. Eventually, he tried to steal from Hermes himself. That was the last straw. The gods stripped him of his blessings and banished him from Olympus and Camp Half-Blood. No one had seen him since."
Harry's eyes darkened. "But now he's back."
The elf nodded again. "He was here today said he would return to his mansion. In Italy. Deep in the Apennine Mountains. He owns an estate... hidden by both magic and old leyline curses. When I was given the task, I tailed him back to his Estate for verification."
"Where is the exact location?" Artemis demanded.
The elf hesitated. " I remember there was a crest on the estate gate also on the ring on his hand bore the insignia of a crimson falcon. A family crest long thought extinct."
The wizard who had fought earlier stepped forward. "That crest belongs to the Falcari. A fallen magical family from centuries past. No one knows much—only rumors and burnt records. They were said to have descended from both Greek and Roman."
"Then that's where we go," Harry said quietly. "Italy."
"Are you sure?" Aphrodite asked, eyeing the elf.
Harry turned to her. "If he's using that bone to channel Titan power... then we're running out of time."
Athena's voice was steel. "We can't allow a bitter demigod to ascend to Titanhood."
The house elf bowed. "If you go, take this," he handed Harry a silver pendant. "It marks you as one of the Crimson Ring. It'll take you somewhere near his Estate."
Harry accepted it. "Thanks."
"Good luck, Lord Black," the demigod said.
Artemis looked at her sisters. "We leave at first light."
Harry nodded. "Let's stop a Titan."
The pendant gleamed like moonlight in the palm of Harry's hand.
"It's a portkey," Harry said sharply. "Everyone, outside. Now!"
Athena immediately understood. "The wards—of course. The circus is layered in anti-teleportation enchantments. If we try to portkey from within..."
"We could tear a hole through its protection," Artemis finished grimly.
"And destroy half the circus," added Aphrodite, already turning on her heel.
Without wasting another second, the four immortals pushed their way through the crowded interior of the tent. Goblins sighed in relief, house-elves blinked at them, and one or two whispered in awe as the Olympian goddesses stormed out with power humming off their skin.
Once outside the circus grounds, Harry turned and held up the pendant.
"Grab it. Quickly."
The three goddesses each placed a hand on the shimmering silver charm.
Harry took a deep breath, closed his fingers around it, and spoke the activation word that had been silently etched into the back of the pendant.
"Portare."
The world twisted.
Colors stretched and bled together. Wind screamed in their ears like a banshee's wail. The ground disappeared.
And then—
CRACK!
They landed hard on a grassy hillside, tumbling through thick golden grass under a pale Italian sun. The air was cool, crisp, filled with the scent of cypress trees and old soil.
Aphrodite brushed herself off, grumbling, "You know, a little warning before yanking us across the continent would've been nice."
Athena shaded her eyes and scanned the horizon. "We're in the countryside. Likely Tuscany, judging by the landscape. Remote. Good for hiding something… ancient."
Harry's expression was already focused. He drew in a slow breath and then closed his eyes.
His magic uncoiled from his chest like a serpent sensing prey. The world dimmed around him, and spectral threads—thin silvery lines invisible to most—sparked into view. One of them pulsed faintly with a reddish hue.
"Found him," Harry said. "He's close."
Artemis stepped beside him. "Lead the way."
With divine speed and near-silent strides, they rushed across fields and vineyards, through narrow dirt roads that twisted like veins through the countryside. The wind howled in their ears, but none of them slowed.
Finally, they reached it.
A massive, ivy-clad estate stood behind towering black iron gates. Weathered stone walls, spiraling towers, and slanted rooftops bathed in sunset glow made it seem like a castle torn from myth. But what caught Harry's eye was the sigil on the iron gate—engraved in shimmering crimson.
A falcon with wings outstretched over a mountain peak.
"The Falcari crest," whispered Athena. "This is the place."
Harry stepped forward and raised his hand.
Without speaking, he channeled raw celestial magic into his palm—silent, focused, precise. The protective wards woven into the estate—old, powerful, multi-layered—shivered in resistance. But against a son of Thanatos, they crumbled like brittle parchment.
The barriers broke.
The gates creaked open on their own. The estate grounds were eerily quiet.
"Be ready," Artemis muttered, drawing her twin knives. "It's too quiet."
They passed through the stone halls, weapons drawn, magical senses alert.
The estate was deserted—no servants, no guards, not even magical constructs. But the closer they got to the heart of the mansion, the more they could feel it.
Power.
Dark, ancient power pulsing beneath their feet like a heartbeat in the earth.
They reached a sealed door at the base of a spiral staircase.
Harry didn't hesitate.
He blasted it open with a single push of will, sending splinters of enchanted oak flying into the gloom.
The air that poured out was hot, thick with ozone and burning herbs. The scent of blood and salt clung to the stone walls.
They rushed down into the basement.
And there—at the very center—was Jerome Wilkins.
He sat cross-legged inside a massive ritual circle inscribed with dozens of glyphs—Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and even Titan runes. Around him, five smaller circles had been carved, each glowing with a different element—water, wind, stone, lightning, and fire.
In the circle of fire, a single object pulsed with unnatural energy:
The Bone of Crius.
A jagged fragment of ancient white—etched with celestial constellations that shimmered like living stars.
Jerome Wilkins looked up and smiled.
"I knew you'd come. Sooner or later, the Olympians would show their pretty faces."
He raised his hands. "So I started the ritual without you."
"No!" Harry shouted, stepping forward. "Stop it now, or you'll—"
"I'll become something more," Jerome whispered. "Something greater than demigods. Greater than gods. A Titan reborn."
He slammed his hand into the circle, pushing the Bone of Crius deeper into the glyphs.
The circle erupted with power.
A blast of energy tore through the basement. Harry was thrown backward, smashing into a wall. The goddesses, even in their divine form, were hurled into pillars and stone.
"Harry!" Artemis cried out, coughing from the smoke.
The floor cracked. The runes shimmered blinding white. Jerome screamed—but not in fear. In ecstasy.
He convulsed at the center of the circle as the Bone of Crius disintegrated into ash and light, funneling into his chest. Muscles bulged. His body expanded. His eyes turned pitch black, constellations swirling within.
Power flowed into him like a storm made flesh.
Athena dragged herself up, blood running down her lip. "We're too late..."
The air was heavy with ash and embers, the scent of scorched earth lingering in the ruined chamber.
The ritual circle had collapsed into ruin, its once glowing symbols now etched as deep grooves in the stone. The Bone of Crius—the final piece—was gone, consumed entirely in the spell. Silence wrapped around them like a burial shroud, broken only by the labored breathing of the man at the center.
Jerome Wilkins sat there, hunched, shaking, sweat glistening on his skin. Steam rose from his shoulders. He seemed human… but something was wrong. Very wrong.
Harry tightened his grip on his wand and stepped forward cautiously.
"That's not Jerome anymore," he said quietly.
Jerome's eyes opened.
What stared back at them was not mortal.
Gone were the brown irises—replaced by twin black voids swirling with distant constellations, stars and celestial lines blinking into view within each eye like ancient maps etched in starlight. It was like staring into the night sky itself.
Then he smiled. And laughed.
The sound rolled like thunder across the broken mansion, vibrating the walls, cracking the floor. A laugh too ancient, too vast for a single human throat.
"See? I am returned."
Athena's hand shot to her spear. "Jerome Wilkins!"
The man turned his gaze toward her, eyes brimming with eternal mockery.
"Who are you calling, little goddess?"
He stood—no, rose—with inhuman grace.
"There is no Jerome here anymore."
He extended his arms, as if embracing the sky.
"I am Crius, son of Uranus and Gaia. The Titan of Constellations, Heavenly Order, and the Axis of Time. And I have finally escaped Tartarus."
Aphrodite took a step back, stunned. "That's impossible…"
Artemis's voice was sharp, cold. "How?"
Crius's expression darkened with grim remembrance.
"When the war came—when my brothers clashed against your Olympians—I saw what they could not. We were not defeated because we lacked power. We were defeated because we lacked unity."
He began to pace, slowly, as his voice took on the rhythm of prophecy.
"Kronos... proud and paranoid. Hyperion... obsessed with light. Oceanus, Rhea, Iapetus—each one isolated by their ambition. None listened. Not to me. Not when I warned them that you—you gods of thunder and hunt and wisdom—would fight not for dominion, but for each other."
His voice twisted with resentment.
"I knew they would fall. I knew I would fall."
He turned to Harry now, eyes piercing through flesh and soul.
"So I left a seed behind. I wrote a book—a single cursed tome. I inscribed it with knowledge forbidden even in Tartarus. I told the world a lie: that one could gain the power of Crius if they completed the ritual."
He chuckled bitterly.
"And I knew that one day, some greedy, arrogant soul would find it. And they would perform the ritual. And in doing so, they would become the vessel of my return."
Harry's jaw clenched. "So you used Jerome. You used him to come back."
"Of course," Crius spat. "Mortals are good at one thing—craving more."
Then he raised his hand.
A quake rippled through the air as raw magic exploded from him. The walls burst outward in a flash of blue fire. Columns crumbled. Glass shattered. The mansion was ripped apart like parchment.
The four immortals were thrown into the grass as dust and debris fell like meteors around them.
When Harry looked up—he gasped.
Crius was changing.
His form expanded. Flesh became glowing stone laced with silver veins. Constellations crawled across his skin like tattoos. Horns curved from his brow, pulsing with cosmic energy.
He grew taller.
Ten feet. Fifteen.
Twenty-five.
He now loomed above the ruins, a towering figure cloaked in starlight and shadow, his eyes twin galaxies swirling in the sockets.
He was no longer a man.
He was a Titan reborn.
"Witness me," Crius boomed, voice echoing like a hundred voices over mountaintops. "I am Crius. Astral Flame of Heaven's Axis. Titan of Time's Pillar and Cosmic Order. I have returned to conquer."
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