"This is where we say goodbye for now."
Alex stood in front of his daughter, his hands shoved into his pockets. He tried for a smile, but it felt fragile on his face. "Don’t look like that. I’ll be back. We’ll do... dad stuff. I don’t know what that is, honestly. Fishing? Terrible movies? We’ll figure it out."
Annabeth’s eyes were already shimmering. She blinked hard, trying to stop the tears before they fell. "Why do you have to go? You can stay. We just found each other. We could... we could go see mom. Together. You don’t have to leave right now."
The hope in her voice was the hardest part. Alex looked away for a second, gathering himself. Then he met her gaze again, his own expression softening into something sad and firm.
"I can’t stay, Beth. Not yet." He let out a long breath. "It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I can’t."
"But why?"
"Because of what I am," he said, his voice dropping. "It’s not a title. It’s not a job. I am Existence. Not a god of it. I am it. The whole thing. The possibility that lets anything—a person, a star, a thought—be real at all. I’m the foundation. The ’is’ in ’is there.’"
He saw the confusion and hurt in her eyes and pushed on, trying to make her understand.
"You’re still too young to get it," Alex said, his voice gentle but strained. "Hell, I don’t even get it all myself. But I can’t stay. I will come back. That’s a promise."
His smile was sad, the kind that doesn’t reach the eyes.
Annabeth just nodded, swallowing hard. She was trying to be brave and it was breaking Adam’s heart a little.
"Don’t worry," Adam said, stepping closer. He reached out and ruffled her hair, messing it up. "I’ll make sure he keeps his promise. If he drags his feet, I’ll beat him up for you. You have my word, favorite niece."
Annabeth managed a small, wet pout. "I’m your only niece, uncle."
Adam’s smile softened. "Exactly. So you’re automatically the favorite." He gave her head one last pat before turning.
His gaze landed on Fatimah. She stood apart, a statue of simmering resentment.
"Take care of her," Adam said, his tone shifting into something quieter, more direct. "The power she has... it can twist people. I’ve seen it happen. You’re here because I trust you to make sure it doesn’t twist her. You were Heaven’s last real judge. The only one who saw things clearly, without the dogma. That’s why you’re the only one left. I hope I didn’t read you wrong."
Fatimah met his eyes. There was no warmth in her, only a cold, sharp hate.
"You can leave," she said, each word clipped and precise. "Every second I look at you just stokes the fire. My fight is with you. Not the girl. I will guide her. I’ll show her the right path, because she deserves one. But know this. The moment I have the power, or the moment I sense even a flicker of weakness from you... I will not hesitate. I will not waste a second. I will try to kill you."
The air hung heavy with the threat.
Then, a sudden, bright peel of laughter shattered the tension. Kahdijah was bent over, cackling as if she’d just heard the funniest joke in the cosmos.
"Oh, that’s rich!" she gasped, wiping a non-existent tear from her eye. "You are either the boldest creature I’ve ever met, or the most foolish. There is no ’trying’ with him. You can see him right now because he allows it. If he ever got truly tired of you, of your existence, he could unmake you with a thought. Less than a thought. A sigh. A sneeze. Poof."
She straightened up, her chaotic energy simmering down to a wry amusement. "So maybe put the grand revenge plans on a shelf. He’s not your enemy. None of us are. As for your old man... he made a series of very, very poor choices. He picked a fight with a conclusion. Don’t take it personally. It was just... cosmic arithmetic."
Fatimah didn’t flinch. She just snorted, a sharp, dismissive sound, and looked away, her jaw set. The hatred didn’t fade. If anything, Kahdijah’s words just made it burn with a colder, more stubborn flame. She wasn’t being persuaded. She was just being reminded of the scale of the mountain she’d vowed to climb.
"Let’s go. I’m getting bored over here."
The voice was flat, impatient. Rebecca pushed herself off the pillar she’d been leaning against, her expression one of profound disinterest. The emotional goodbye was clearly cutting into her schedule.
Alex didn’t look at Rebecca. He kept his eyes on his daughter for one last, long second. A thousand words seemed to pass in that silence—apologies, promises, love. Then he simply turned and walked a few steps toward Adam. With each step, his form grew less distinct, not vanishing in a flash, but fading, like a memory losing its focus, until there was nothing left but empty space.
Annabeth stood there, staring at the spot. For a few heartbeats, she held it together. Then her face crumpled. A sob broke from her chest, raw and helpless, and she sank to her knees, tears streaming freely. The weight of it all—finding him, losing him, the impossible responsibility left on her shoulders—crashed down at once.
She cried for her father. She cried for the uncle who was more like an older brother. She cried because she was sixteen and suddenly in charge of everything, and she was terrified.
A shadow fell across her. She didn’t look up.
"Get up, kid."
Fatimah’s voice wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either. It was matter-of-fact. A hand appeared in Annabeth’s blurry vision. "It was always going to happen. Crying won’t change it. Now is not the time to dwell."
Annabeth took a shuddering breath, wiped her face messily with her sleeve, and grabbed the offered hand. Fatimah pulled her to her feet with a firm, easy strength.
"Now they’re gone," Fatimah said, her own face settling into a grim frown. "The old world is waking up. The things my father kept locked away, the powers he suppressed or made deals with to keep the peace... they’ll feel his absence. They’ll stir. They’ll come out of their holes and their hidden realms, testing the new limits. Seeing what they can take."
She looked at Annabeth, her gaze assessing. "With God gone, and your uncle... otherwise occupied, that duty falls to us. To you. To make sure they don’t tear this world apart fighting over the scraps."
Annabeth took another deep, shaky breath, then another. She straightened her shoulders, pushing the lingering sadness down into a tight, hard knot in her stomach. She met Fatimah’s eyes.
"Okay," she said, her voice still thick but clear. "Let’s do it, then. My uncle left me in charge. I won’t... I won’t fail him."
A faint, surprising change touched Fatimah’s stern features. The corners of her mouth lifted, just a little. It wasn’t a warm smile, but it was an acknowledgment. A sign of respect.
"Good," Fatimah said. The almost-smile faded, replaced by her usual severe expression. "Because what’s coming? It’s not going to be easy. It’s going to be the toughest challenge you’ve ever faced."
She turned, looking out at the world beyond, as if she could already see the ancient shadows beginning to move. "Let’s get to work."