The cottage appeared out of nowhere.
One moment they were trudging through English countryside, exhausted and bleeding. The next, the air shimmered and a structure materialized—timber-framed walls, thatched roof, windows glowing with warm firelight.
"What the fuck?" Maxime stopped dead, his broken ribs protesting the sudden halt.
Freyja smiled grimly.
"Safe house. I prepared several before my imprisonment, scattered across the mortal world. Enchanted to remain hidden until I specifically called for them."
She gestured, and the cottage door swung open.
"Come. It's warded against divine detection. Even Odin would struggle to find us here."
They stumbled inside, and the warmth hit Maxime like a physical thing. A fireplace crackled merrily, despite no one tending it. Furniture—simple but comfortable—filled the main room. Stairs led to a second floor.
[LOCATION: FREYJA'S SAFE HOUSE - WILTSHIRE, ENGLAND]
[WARDS ACTIVE: CONCEALMENT (RANK S), PROTECTION (RANK A), HEALING AURA (RANK B)]
[ESTIMATED DETECTION TIME: 96+ HOURS FOR LEVEL 47 ENTITY]
The moment they crossed the threshold, Maxime felt it—a subtle warmth seeping into his injuries. The Healing Aura. His ribs stopped screaming and started merely complaining.
"Healing magic?" Nyx looked around approvingly. "Impressive. Most safe houses focus only on concealment."
"I planned for recovery, not just hiding." Freyja moved to the fireplace, warming her hands. "After three thousand years imprisoned, I had plenty of time to think about contingencies."
She glanced at Maxime.
"Rest. All of you. The wards will hold for at least four days. That gives us time to plan our next move."
Chang'e immediately settled onto a cushioned chair, her pipa appearing in her hands. She plucked a soft melody—something soothing that seemed to enhance the cottage's healing properties.
Xochiquetzal remained standing, weapons still drawn.
"I'll take first watch."
"The wards—" Freyja began.
"Are excellent, I'm sure. But I don't trust anything completely." The Aztec goddess positioned herself by a window, eyes scanning the darkening countryside. "Sleep. I'll wake someone in four hours."
Nyx helped Maxime to a sofa near the fire. He collapsed onto it, and she settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.
Through their Link, he felt her exhaustion—bone-deep, soul-deep. Forcing open Odin's barrier had cost her more than she'd admitted.
"You should sleep," he said quietly.
"So should you."
"My ribs are broken. I have an excuse."
"My essence is depleted. So do I."
They sat in comfortable silence, listening to Chang'e's music and the fire's crackle. Freyja had disappeared upstairs, presumably to prepare rooms.
Finally, Maxime spoke.
"Thank you. For breaking the barrier. For saving me."
Nyx's hand found his.
"You don't have to thank me. I told you—I won't lose you again."
"Even if it means destroying yourself?"
"Especially then."
He squeezed her fingers.
"That's not sustainable, you know. You can't keep sacrificing yourself for me."
"Watch me."
Despite everything—the pain, the exhaustion, the looming threat of divine armies—Maxime smiled.
"Stubborn Primordial."
"Reckless demigod."
She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he felt her consciousness beginning to drift.
"Maxime?"
"Mm?"
"When you approach Aphrodite... be careful. She's not like Bastet or me or Freyja. She's... complicated. Beautiful and cruel and desperately lonely all at once."
"Sounds familiar."
Nyx pinched his side—gently, mindful of his injuries.
"I'm serious. Aphrodite loved Eros. Genuinely. But he broke her heart repeatedly. If she realizes you're him reborn..."
"She might kill me?"
"She might enslave you. Make you into what she always wanted him to be. And you wouldn't even fight it because your Charisma makes you naturally empathetic to desire."
The warning settled like lead in Maxime's stomach.
"Then what do I do?"
"Be honest. Like you were with Freyja. Don't try to seduce her. Don't manipulate. Just... be yourself." Nyx's voice was getting softer, sleep pulling her under. "Maxime, not Eros. She'll respect that more."
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then I'll kill her."
The words were spoken with such casual certainty that Maxime almost laughed. Almost.
"My violent, protective Primordial."
"Your... violent... protective..." Her voice faded. Her breathing deepened.
She was asleep.
Maxime sat there, holding her hand, watching the fire dance. His ribs were healing slowly—the safe house's aura accelerating his divine regeneration. In a few hours, he'd be functional again.
But functionality wasn't the problem.
The problem was power.
Level 15 versus Level 47. Even with allies, even with fragments, the gap was insurmountable. Odin could kill him with a thought. Zeus probably could too. And the Council was mobilizing fifty gods, all Level 30 or higher.
He needed more fragments. Needed them fast.
But every fragment came with a cost. The Passion fragment had made him more seductive, more magnetic—and slightly less himself. The Divine Radiance fragment had amplified that, turning his presence into something that drew attention whether he wanted it or not.
What would the next fragment do? And the one after that?
When you recover all the fragments, Nyx had asked, will anyone see your loneliness? Or will they only see the god?
He didn't have an answer.
Footsteps on the stairs pulled him from his thoughts. Freyja descended, having changed from her armor into simple clothes—a tunic and leggings that somehow made her look even more beautiful.
She'd let her hair down. It cascaded like golden water to her waist, catching the firelight.
[FREYJA'S PASSIVE: ALLURE OF THE VANIR]
[EFFECT: Appearance naturally enhanced. Observers experience mild fascination.]
[NOTE: Effect reduced on those with high Charisma]
Maxime felt the pull but could resist it. His own Charisma of 94 provided insulation.
Freyja noticed his awareness and smiled slightly.
"You can resist the Allure. Good. That means we can talk without... complications."
She settled into a chair across from him, tucking her legs beneath her.
"Nyx is asleep?"
"Yeah."
"Good. She needs it." Freyja's expression turned serious. "We need to discuss Aphrodite. And what you're walking into."
"Nyx already warned me. Aphrodite loved Eros. He broke her heart. She might try to control me."
"It's worse than that." Freyja leaned forward. "Aphrodite didn't just love Eros. She was obsessed with him. Possessed by the idea of him. When he died, she went... strange. Started collecting things that reminded her of him. Mortal lovers who looked like him. Artifacts he'd touched. Pieces of temples dedicated to him."
She paused.
"She built a shrine, Maxime. In her palace on Cyprus. A shrine to a dead god. And she visits it every day. Has for three thousand years."
Ice crawled down Maxime's spine.
"That's... unhealthy."
"That's Aphrodite." Freyja's smile was bitter. "She's the Goddess of Love, but she doesn't understand it. Not really. She confuses love with possession. Desire with ownership."
"And you want me to walk into her palace and ask for her fragment?"
"I want you to understand what you're dealing with." Freyja's eyes were intense. "If you approach her wrong, she won't just refuse. She'll try to keep you. Chain you. Turn you into her eternal companion."
"Can she do that? I'm Level 15 now. My Charisma is 94—"
"Aphrodite is Level 38. Her Charisma is 127." The number hit like a physical blow. "She could wrap you around her finger without breaking a sweat. Make you want to stay. Make you forget why you came."
Maxime swallowed hard.
"Then why are we even considering this?"
"Because she also has a fragment. A crucial one—Emotional Resonance. It governs the ability to understand and manipulate emotions." Freyja's expression was grim. "Without it, you'll never be strong enough to face the Council. With it, you might actually have a chance."
She stood, pacing to the window where Xochiquetzal stood watch.
"I can get you in. I know Aphrodite. We were... friendly, once. Before Eros died."
"And after?"
"After, she blamed me. Thought I'd failed to protect him. We haven't spoken in three thousand years." Freyja's jaw clenched. "But she'll see me. If only to gloat about outliving our shared lover."
The bitterness in her voice was palpable.
Maxime shifted on the sofa, his ribs twinges in protest.
"You loved him."
It wasn't a question.
Freyja was silent for a long moment.
"I thought I did. Or maybe I loved the idea of him. It's hard to tell with Eros. He made you feel like you were the center of the universe when he looked at you. Like nothing else mattered."
She turned to face Maxime.
"But it was a lie. A beautiful lie. Because everything mattered to him. Every person, every connection, every desire. He was incapable of loving just one person."
"Is that why you're helping me? Because you want to see if I'm different?"
"Partly." Her smile was sad. "And partly because I've been in a cage for three thousand years, and revenge sounds lovely."
Honest. Maxime appreciated that.
"What's the plan, then? We can't just knock on Aphrodite's door."
"Actually, we can." Freyja moved to a desk in the corner, pulling out parchment and a quill that wrote in golden ink. "I'll send her a letter. Request an audience. She'll be curious enough to agree—especially if I mention you're with me."
"And then?"
"Then you meet her. Talk to her. Be honest about who you are and what you need." Freyja began writing, the quill moving with elegant precision. "And hope she's sane enough to see reason."
"That's not much of a plan."
"It's the best we've got." She didn't look up from the parchment. "Unless you want to try fighting her? Level 15 versus Level 38? With a Charisma disadvantage?"
Point taken.
Maxime watched her write, his mind churning.
Twelve days until the Council's army mobilized. Three fragments collected. Five remaining—and every retrieval more dangerous than the last.
At this rate, he'd be dead long before recovering them all.
"Freyja?"
"Mm?"
"How many fragments do I actually need? To be strong enough to survive?"
She paused mid-sentence.
"All eight would make you Level 50 or higher. A match for Zeus or Odin individually. But to fight the entire Council army..." She set down the quill. "You'd need at least six. Maybe seven. And even then, you'd need allies. Lots of them."
"Six fragments in twelve days."
"Impossible, yes." She resumed writing. **"Which is why we need to consider Sekhmet's offer. The diplomatic approach."
"You think Zeus would actually negotiate?"
"I think Zeus is scared. Scared gods can be reasoned with. Sometimes." Freyja sealed the letter with a gesture, and it burst into flames—magical delivery. "There. Aphrodite will receive it within the hour. We should have her response by morning."
She stretched, joints popping.
"I'm going to sleep. You should too. Your ribs won't heal if you're sitting up all night brooding."
"I don't brood."
"You absolutely brood." She smiled. "Good night, Maxime. Try not to let existential dread keep you awake."
She headed upstairs, leaving Maxime alone with his thoughts, the sleeping Nyx, Chang'e's soft music, and Xochiquetzal's silent watch.
He stared into the fire, feeling the warmth seep into his bones.
Six fragments. Twelve days. An army of gods.
And somewhere out there, Aphrodite was reading a letter about the reincarnation of her greatest obsession.
This was going to end badly.
He was sure of it.
But maybe—just maybe—he could survive long enough to see how badly.
Maxime closed his eyes and let exhaustion claim him.
[DREAM SEQUENCE INITIATED]
He was back in the throne room. Zeus's throne room.
But this time, it was different. Eros wasn't the one in chains.
Maxime was.
He knelt before Zeus, celestial bronze biting into his wrists and ankles. The King of Gods loomed above him, lightning crackling around his form.
"You thought you could escape fate?" Zeus's voice was thunder. "You are Eros. You will always be Eros. And Eros always dies here."
He raised Gungnir—Odin's spear, borrowed again for this execution.
"Any last words?"
Maxime tried to speak, but his voice wouldn't come. He looked desperately to the shadows where Nyx should be, but they were empty.
She wasn't there.
None of them were.
He was alone.
Zeus thrust the spear forward—
Maxime woke gasping.
Nyx was shaking him, her face pale with concern.
"You were screaming. Through the Link—I felt—what did you see?"
"Nothing." He took a shuddering breath. "Just a nightmare."
But through their Link, she felt the truth. She felt his fear—that history would repeat. That he'd die just like Eros. That everyone around him would suffer for his choices.
She pulled him against her, cradling his head against her shoulder.
"It was just a dream. Just a dream."
But they both knew it wasn't.
It was a premonition.
And somewhere, in a palace on Cyprus, Aphrodite was reading a letter that would set the next piece of tragedy in motion.