He stiffened, slowly pulling himself to his full height and away from her touch, despite the pain that must be riddling him. “This world is dying, and I arrogantly thought I could prevent it.”
“Conceited, much?” Morgan couldn’t imagine the pressure he put on himself, and she wasn’t sure whether she should be impressed that he thought he could actually fix the world on his own, or smack him for taking the entire burden on himself.
He exhaled heavily, his stance relaxing now she was no longer trying to escape him, and gingerly leaned against the desk behind him. “What do you know of a place called Tartarus?”
“From Greek mythology?” She propped her ass on the desk next to him, then scooted back until she could lean against a box sitting at the back, trying not to wince at the mess the elves had made of his face. Even as she watched, she could see his magic working. The swelling had already gone down, the cuts slowly closing. The fast healing had to be painful, but he bore it all without protest.
“It’s not a myth.” He shifted, tentatively cupping his ribs. “Few races are old enough to remember, but this realm is what humans used to call Mount Olympus.”
“What?” Morgan was glad she was sitting down.
“War was tearing apart the human realm. Not only were the races fighting, so were the gods. When the humans rose up against them, the gods decided to retreat. The humans outnumbered the paranormals thousands to one. While we might be superior fighters, the sheer number of humans would’ve made it a slaughter. The gods offered us a place of magic.”
“Why?” Morgan couldn’t help but be suspicious.
“The gods said it was the only way to save each race.” He gave her a cynical smile. “But I suspect a different reason—you’re not a god unless you have someone to rule. Almost all the races accepted, and the portals between the worlds were closed. While a few stayed behind, their source of magic was cut off, leaving them to contend with only the magic in their blood.”
She couldn’t imagine the chaos.
“Those who caused trouble were sent to Tartarus, a darker realm built to contain the gods.”
“Troublemakers…you mean the titans.” Her voice rose at the end in stunned disbelief.
“Despite all the precautions and dire warnings, peace didn’t last. War broke out among the races again, disputes over territories. The gods decided to retreat before the rest could turn on them.”
“Wait.” Morgan waved her hand, shaking her head. “That makes no sense. They’re gods.”
“While gods might be immortal, it doesn’t mean they can’t be killed.”
Her mind flashed back to the marks on her shoulders, felt the heavy, cold weight of them against her skin. “By taking their magic, you make them vulnerable.”
“And it didn’t take long for others to discover the truth either.” His mouth flattened, his expression turning grim. “Most gods could survive and regenerate their power, but if left alive, they would retaliate. Those captured didn’t survive long. If nothing else, paranormals have a strong sense of self-preservation.”
“So Tartarus…is it a prison or a safety room?” To her, it sounded like a trap.
“It wasn’t intended to be either.” He scowled at her in frustration. “The gods were destroying this realm. It was a constant war as they pitted themselves against each other, and the other races suffered the casualties. The Council of Races decided it was best to separate, and the gods agreed.”
“Willingly?” Morgan was surprised and more than a little suspicious.
“Not all,” he admitted grudgingly. “They were given servants—”
“Let me guess—volunteers?” The more she heard about this Council of Races, the more she disliked them.
“The Council of Races eventually became the twelve ruling families, appointing themselves as rulers to fill the power vacuum. The volunteers were offered a place to start over, away from this war-torn world.” Morgan didn’t doubt for a minute that he honestly believed what he said, and she didn’t understand how a man who questioned everything, didn’t bat an eye at that load of bull.
“Until someone decided to make it a prison.” If something sounded too good to be true, it most likely was. “Is that how our myths about Tartarus became associated with it being a prison?”
“Most myths have a grain of truth in them.” Atlas began tugging at one of his bandages, absently scratching the scabs underneath. “The Council members thought they were being resourceful and clever in their bid to take over the realm, but they underestimated the gods. When the gods left, the Council discovered the realm survived on magic. Without the gods to maintain the realm, things began to fall apart. Every time anyone used magic beyond their natural talent, they stole it from the realm.”
“And without magic, the realm began to erode.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened next.
“Few wanted to relinquish their own magic to maintain Mount Olympus. It would leave them too vulnerable.”
Morgan didn’t think she was going to like where this story was heading, fearing her fate would be similar to her ancestors’ so many eons ago.
“The different races tried to find a solution, they cast spells, but everything came at a cost. Nothing worked. They realized that they needed the gods. The few of the descendants who remained in the realm were hunted down, their magic used to buy the other races time, but they needed a solution, a way to take the gods’ power without fear of retaliation.”
“I can’t see any god willingly giving up their power to help those who imprisoned them and wanted to drain them of magic.”
“You’re right. So a spell was placed on Tartarus to siphon off some of the power to help keep this world alive.”
Morgan snorted. “Some?”
The other races weren’t known for their restraint.
“The Council of Races wanted to protect the gods, so they locked down Tartarus, which stopped the hunting.”
“Protect the gods? Don’t you mean imprison them? Can’t have them coming back to stop this Council from taking their magic. Imagine how awkward that meeting would be.”
His brows lowered, but he didn’t dispute her. “The Council was desperate.”
“Desperate or greedy?” Morgan could still remember the shackles’ heavy weight on her wrists and ankles, feel the blood slowly trickle out of her veins while her psychotic cousin tried to drain her magic for his own use.
“The realm was dying. They couldn’t go back to earth without being cut off from their magic or risk being hunted by humans. If you haven’t noticed, covens employ assassins to stop this very thing. Tartarus is what had been keeping us alive.”
“Until now.” She felt sick the way the races justified what was basically cannibalizing the gods.
“The Council selected the best fighters, the brightest of us, to investigate the problem with the fog.” He shook his head, his eyes bleak. “But I suspect the Council already knew what happened.”
It didn’t take her a second to guess. “Someone wanted more power, no longer satisfied with stealing the crumbs from Tartarus. They were going after the gods directly…and you were sent to investigate…if fact, you were the team leader.”
They were hunting people like her so they could harvest their powers.
Her kind were no pushovers, usually the most brutal and vicious when it came to holding and keeping what they considered theirs.
“Unfortunately, they cracked the seal on Tartarus.” He ran his fingers through his hair, dropping his eyes when he reached the shorn edges. She curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him, struggling to hold on to her anger.
Without her anger, all that would remain was the hurt. She swallowed the lump in her throat, not anywhere close to dealing with the pain of his rejection.
She shook her head, locked down her emotions, and focused on what Atlas was telling her.