3rd Person's Point of View
Date: Tuesday, June 30th, 1987
Time: 02:17 AM
Location: Industrial Complex, 30 minutes outside Paris, France
The night over the industrial campus was broken apart in layers, first by the low thrum of approaching rotors and then by the sharp, disciplined crack of boots hitting concrete, as Joint Task Force CERBERUS unfolded across the maze of buildings with surgical precision and lethal intent. Sodium lights cast long, broken shadows across loading bays and rusted fencing, while armed silhouettes moved through the darkness with weapons raised and voices clipped, every step rehearsed and deliberate. This place had been watched for months, mapped down to its drains and false walls, and now it was being taken apart piece by piece, because drugs, money, people, and lies had all been moving through these buildings for far too long.
Captain John Price moved at the front edge of the breach team, his body low and controlled, rifle steady as he cleared the first interior corridor with practiced ease, the smell of oil, dust, and cold concrete filling his lungs. He could hear French voices to his left, GIGN operators covering parallel angles, and further back the heavier presence of other units locking the perimeter down, sealing the site like a fist closing. Somewhere deeper inside, suspects were already shouting, already breaking, already realizing that whatever protection they thought they had bought had finally run out.
Vernon Dursley didn't go quietly…He never did. They had found him in an office stacked with ledgers and cash, his face slick with sweat under the harsh white beam of a weapon light, Dudley crying and swearing in the corner while Marge barked insults that dissolved into panic the moment her wrists were zip-tied. Vernon's mouth worked faster than his brain, spitting denials, excuses, and threats in a slurry of fear until his eyes locked on John's patch, recognition flaring too late.
"I didn't touch the girl," Vernon shouted, his voice cracking as he was forced to his knees. "I swear it, I didn't touch her, I just kept her quiet, that's all, I just…" John froze. The world narrowed, sound dampening as the word girl hit something deep and old in his chest, a place that hadn't been touched in years. "What girl," John said, his voice low and dangerously calm as he stepped closer, the barrel of his rifle steady inches from Vernon's face.
Vernon swallowed hard, eyes darting, and then he made the mistake that would end everything. "Helena," Vernon blurted out, desperation ripping through his composure. "Her name's Helena, she's here, she's always been here, she's not supposed to…" John moved before the sentence finished.
The rifle he was holding came up and then down in one brutal, controlled arc, the buttstock slamming into Vernon's jaw with a sickening crack that sent him sprawling to the floor, unconscious before his body finished falling. The room erupted in shouted commands as GIGN operators surged forward, restraining Dudley and Marge, but John was already turning away, his heart pounding as memories slammed into him without warning.
'Uncle J.'
The name echoed in his mind, soft and impossibly small, the sound of a baby's voice from five and half years ago, wrapped in warmth and trust, and John knew with bone-deep certainty that whatever else this operation was about, it had just changed completely.
"She's here," John said aloud, his voice tight as steel as he keyed his comm. "There's a child on site. Name confirmed. I'm going to find her." A French operator stepped into his path instinctively, concern flashing across his face. "Capitaine, protocol says we clear and secure…"
"I don't give a damn about protocol right now," John cut in, his eyes sharp and burning. "There's a near seven-year-old somewhere in this hellhole, and I'm not waiting for paperwork while she's hiding in the dark." There was a pause, then two GIGN operators moved to flank him without another word, understanding written in the set of their shoulders.
"On me," John said quietly, already moving, his boots carrying him deeper into the complex as the noise of the raid faded behind him and something far more fragile, far more important, pulled him forward through the shadows.
Somewhere inside the concrete and steel, a child who had learned not to breathe too loudly was about to be found.
Time: 02:31 AM
Location: Industrial Complex, Sublevel Service Corridor, 30 minutes outside Paris, France
Helena had learned the difference between noise and danger long before she learned how to read, and the sound coming through the walls now told her everything she needed to know. Boots were too heavy, voices too sharp, and the air itself seemed to vibrate with something final as metal doors slammed and men shouted in languages she only half understood. She curled tighter into herself inside the narrow service cavity, knees pulled to her chest, small fingers pressed against her mouth as she counted her breaths the way she always did, slow and careful, because being quiet had kept her alive when nothing else had.
The space smelled like dust and oil and old concrete, and it was cold in the way places without sunlight always were, but Helena didn't shiver. She never did, not really, not even in winter, and she didn't know why her body never seemed to mind the cold or the heat the way other people complained about. She only knew that if she stayed still enough, small enough, the world usually forgot she was there, and forgetting was safer than being noticed.
Outside the wall, John Price stopped moving.
It wasn't sound that caught him, not exactly, but absence, a wrongness in the way the corridor ended too cleanly, too quietly, like something had been erased rather than built. He lowered his rifle slightly, eyes tracking along the concrete until he saw it, a maintenance panel bolted too recently, the edges disturbed just enough that someone who didn't belong there would miss it. His chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with the fight, and everything to do with a name Vernon should never have known.
"She's here," John murmured under his breath, not into the comm, not for anyone else. "I know you're here, sweetheart. I'm coming."
The GIGN operators shifted behind him, weapons ready, but John raised one hand without looking back, and they stopped instantly, sensing that this moment wasn't tactical anymore, it was personal. He knelt, unfastened the panel with shaking fingers that had never failed him before, and eased it away as gently as if it might break, revealing darkness pressed tight and deep beyond the concrete.
Helena saw the light first.
It sliced into the space like a blade, bright and sudden, and her breath hitched before she could stop it, a small, traitorous sound that echoed far too loud in her ears. She pressed back instinctively, heart hammering, eyes wide as the opening widened and the silhouette of a man filled the gap, broad shoulders blocking the light for a heartbeat that felt like forever.
John saw her then.
She was smaller than he remembered, thinner, knees scraped raw and wrapped in old cloth, hair tangled and falling into frightened eyes that were far too alert for a child her age. The world seemed to tilt as recognition slammed into him, because even in the dim, even after five and helf years, there was no mistaking her.
"Helena," he breathed, his voice breaking despite every instinct screaming at him to stay steady. "It's me….Uncle J. I am here. Uncle J's here." Her body reacted before her mind did. The name reached her like a hand through fog, something warm and familiar tugging at a place inside her she'd kept locked away because it hurt too much to remember. Her lips trembled, and the word slipped out before fear could stop it, thin and uncertain, but real. "Uncle…J?" she whispered, her voice barely there, but full of hope she didn't understand enough to trust. John didn't hesitate.
He set his rifle aside, ignored everything else, and reached into the cavity with open hands, moving slowly so she could see every inch of him, so she could choose. When she crawled forward on shaking limbs and collapsed against his chest, clinging to him like the world might disappear again if she let go, he wrapped her up without thinking, one arm firm and protective, the other shielding her head from the light and the noise and everything that had failed her.
"I've got you," he said, voice rough as he pressed his forehead briefly to her hair. "I swear to you, sweetheart, I've got you. No one's taking you back. Never again."
Behind them, the raid continued, suspects were restrained, evidence catalogued, and an entire criminal empire collapsed piece by piece, but none of it mattered anymore. What mattered was the small girl clinging to John Price like an anchor, breathing him in like safety itself, unaware of gods, bloodlines, or destiny, knowing only that someone had finally come back for her.
And somewhere far beyond the walls of concrete and steel, love stirred, old and powerful, turning its attention toward a child who had just been found.
Time: 02:44 AM
Location: Exterior Service Yard, Industrial Complex, 30 minutes outside Paris, France
They didn't have to tell Helena it was time to move, because she felt it in the way the air shifted and the noise drew closer, voices overlapping as the operation tightened and the night pressed in around them. John rose slowly with her in his arms, adjusting his grip when she tightened instinctively, small fingers fisting into his jacket like letting go might pull the ground out from under her again. She tucked her face into his shoulder, breathing him in, and every step he took away from the dark corridor felt like crossing a line she didn't know how to name, only that she didn't want to cross it without him.
"I'm not letting go," she whispered into his chest, her voice thin but fierce with the kind of resolve only children who've survived too much can summon. "I know, sweetheart," John answered quietly, his voice steady even as his jaw clenched, every protective instinct he had roaring to life. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
As they emerged into the service yard, floodlights snapped on and painted the scene in harsh white, revealing rows of detained suspects kneeling or pressed against vehicles, wrists bound, faces drawn tight with fear or fury. Conversations faltered as eyes turned, one by one, drawn not by rank or weapons, but by the sight of the child in John's arms, too thin, too still, clinging like she was afraid the light itself might take her away. More than one hardened operator swallowed hard, recognition flashing in their expressions, because too many of them had children Helena's age asleep in warm beds at home, and the contrast hit like a blow to the chest.
Vernon's voice shattered the moment. "She's a liar!" he screamed from where he was restrained, rage and panic twisting his face as he lunged against the men holding him. "She was fed, she was kept safe, you don't know what she is, you don't know what I had to..." He didn't get to finish.
The reaction rippled through the detained line like a live wire, men snarling and straining against restraints, curses erupting in multiple languages as the weight of what they were seeing settled in. One of them spat at Vernon's feet, another laughed darkly and shook his head, and a third leaned forward just enough to hiss through clenched teeth, his voice thick with something dangerously close to joy. "Child abusers don't last long," he said, eyes burning as he stared Vernon down. "Not where we're going. Everyone there has children. Just like her." John didn't look back.
He angled his body to shield Helena from the noise, one hand rising to cradle the back of her head as she trembled, though not from the cold, never from the cold, only from the storm of voices and light and memory. The French military ambulance waited nearby, engine idling, flanked by police vehicles and armed personnel, its rear doors already open like an invitation to something safer, something clean.
"We're almost there," John murmured as he carried her toward it, his steps measured and deliberate, his entire world narrowed to the small weight against his chest. "Just a few more steps, sweetheart. I promise."
Helena nodded against him, her grip tightening once more as if sealing the promise herself, unaware of task forces, gods, or bloodlines, knowing only that Uncle J had found her, and that for the first time in a very long time, the night wasn't swallowing her whole.
Time: 02:52 AM
Location: French Military Ambulance, Industrial Complex, 30 minutes outside Paris, France
The doors of the ambulance closed with a solid, final sound that cut away the noise of the raid like a blade, leaving only the hum of the engine and the muted rhythm of boots and radios beyond the steel walls. John sat on the bench along the side, Helena still in his arms, her legs curled into his lap as if gravity itself might betray her if she let go, her fingers twisted tightly into the fabric of his jacket. The interior light washed her in pale gold, revealing bruises too old to still be tender and a thinness that spoke of hunger rather than cold, though her body showed no sign of shivering despite the night air still clinging to her skin.
"I don't want to be alone," Helena whispered, her voice barely louder than the hum beneath them, her forehead pressed into his chest as though anchoring herself there. "You won't be, sweetheart," John answered immediately, his hand steady at her back, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles like he used to long ago. "I swear it. You're not alone anymore. Not ever again."
The rear doors opened again, letting in a wash of cooler air and softer footsteps, and John looked up instinctively as two figures stepped inside, framed by the flashing lights outside. One was taller, composed even in the chaos, pale hair catching the light as sharp blue eyes took in the scene with startling focus, while the other was younger, smaller, her gaze already fixed on Helena with an intensity that made the space feel suddenly too small. Gabrielle Delacour didn't hesitate, didn't ask permission, didn't seem to know why her feet were carrying her forward, only that something inside her chest ached in a way she couldn't explain.
"She's hurt," Gabrielle said softly, her voice trembling with something raw and instinctive as she moved closer. "I can feel it. I don't know how, but I feel it." Fleur's hand settled gently on her sister's shoulder, her expression grave but calm, as though she understood far more than she was saying. "Easy, ma petite sœur," she murmured, though her eyes never left Helena. "Let's not frighten her."
Helena lifted her head slowly, wary eyes meeting Gabrielle's for the first time, and something passed between them that had nothing to do with words or reason. Gabrielle's breath caught as if struck, her heart pounding so hard it hurt, because the little girl in John's arms felt familiar in a way that defied logic, like recognizing someone you had never met but had always known. Without thinking, she reached out, small fingers brushing Helena's hand in a gesture meant to comfort, not claim, not knowing that the moment her skin met Helena's, something ancient and quiet locked into place.
Helena gasped, not in pain, but in surprise, her eyes widening as warmth spread through her chest like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, a feeling so sudden and gentle it made her breath stutter. "Why does that feel…safe?" she whispered, confused and frightened all at once, her fingers curling instinctively around Gabrielle's. "I..I don't know," Gabrielle answered honestly, tears pricking her eyes as she smiled despite them. "But you're not alone, love. I promise you that."
Far beyond the ambulance, beyond concrete and steel and human borders, a ripple moved through something older than the night, a soft tug that brushed against a goddess's awareness for the first time in years. Aphrodite paused mid-thought, a faint frown touching her lips as her attention drifted toward the mortal world, drawn not by prophecy or power, but by love recognizing love, even when it did not yet know its own name. She did not see Helena yet, did not understand what she was sensing, only that somewhere, somehow, something precious had just been touched.
Inside the ambulance, unaware of gods or fate, Helena tightened her grip on both John and Gabrielle, anchoring herself between the familiar and the new, her small heart racing as the vehicle began to move. For the first time in her life, she wasn't hiding in the dark, and though she didn't know it yet, the world had just taken its first step toward her.
Time: 03:01 AM
The ambulance rocked slightly as the rear doors sealed again, the engine's low vibration settling into a steady pulse beneath the benches, and Helena felt it through John's chest before she heard it with her ears. She stayed pressed to him, one hand still tangled in his jacket while the other remained clasped in Gabrielle's smaller fingers, as if the space between them had quietly decided it would no longer exist. The light inside seemed warmer now, softer, and Helena didn't know why her heartbeat had slowed or why the fear that usually lived in her ribs had loosened its grip, only that she could breathe without counting.
Fleur watched the two girls for a long, measured moment, her Veela instincts humming beneath her calm exterior as understanding settled into her bones. She had felt it the instant Gabrielle reached out, that unmistakable shift in the air, the same way one knows when a storm has broken even if the rain has not yet fallen. Fleur moved closer, kneeling so she was level with Helena, her voice gentle but unwavering as she spoke.
"I feel it too," Fleur said quietly, her accent softening the words as she met Helena's wary gaze. "You are not alone, little love, and you never were meant to be." Helena swallowed, eyes flicking briefly to John before returning to Fleur, her voice small but honest. "I don't know you." "That's all right, sweetheart," Fleur replied, offering her hand without pressing it closer. "You don't have to know me yet."
When Helena reached out on her own, brushing her fingers against Fleur's palm, the sensation rippled again, warmer this time, steadier, and Fleur's breath caught as recognition bloomed fully in her chest. She closed her fingers around Helena's hand, not tight, not possessive, just enough to be there, and she smiled through the sudden sting in her eyes. Yes," Fleur whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "That is it. I am yours, and you are ours."
The air shifted. It wasn't loud, and it wasn't violent, but it was undeniable, like the moment before music begins when the silence becomes heavy with expectation. The lights dimmed for half a heartbeat, then steadied, and the temperature inside the ambulance changed in a way no gauge could measure, neither colder nor warmer, simply fuller. Helena lifted her head, eyes widening as a new presence brushed against her awareness, familiar and unfamiliar all at once.
The rear doors opened again, but this time there were no shouts, no rush, only a tall figure stepping inside with unhurried confidence, her movements smooth and predatory in a way that set every instinct on edge. Selene Kovus's eyes glinted faintly in the ambulance light, pupils catching like a predator's as she took in the scene with a sharp, assessing gaze that softened the instant it settled on Helena. She closed the doors behind her and leaned back against the wall, arms folding loosely as she spoke.
"I felt the pull," Selene said, her voice low and calm, threaded with something ancient and restrained. "Didn't expect it to be a child, but here you are, little mate." Helena stiffened for half a second, then frowned in confusion rather than fear. "You're not scary," she said softly, as if surprised by her own certainty.
Selene's lips curved into a slow, genuine smile as she stepped forward, crouching so she wasn't towering over Helena, her hand extended in the same unpressured way Fleur's had been. "I won't ever be scary to you," she promised, her voice carrying a vow that went far deeper than words. "Not now. Not ever."
When Helena placed her hand in Selene's, the third bond settled with quiet finality, a deep, grounding warmth that spread through the ambulance like a heartbeat finding its rhythm. John watched it happen in silence, instinct screaming that something world-altering had just occurred, even if he couldn't name it, his arm tightening fractionally around Helena as if anchoring her to the here and now.
Then the world held its breath.
Light gathered without source or shadow, coalescing gently near the far end of the ambulance, not blinding, not overwhelming, but radiant in the way firelight is radiant, warm and intimate and alive. A woman stood where there had been nothing, beauty woven from presence rather than shape, her gaze immediately finding Helena with a softness that stopped time itself.
"My Daughter," Aphrodite said, her voice carrying love so pure it ached, even as uncertainty flickered beneath it. She knelt, lowering herself to Helena's level, studying her face as though committing it to eternity. "I felt you," she continued quietly, reaching out but stopping just short. "I did not know who you were yet, only that love had found something precious."
Helena stared, unafraid, curiosity outweighing everything else as she tilted her head slightly. "You feel… like home," she said, the words simple and devastating in their truth.
Aphrodite smiled, tears bright in her eyes, and in that instant she knew only one thing mattered, proof beyond doubt standing before her. The goddess rose slowly as the ambulance began to move, tires crunching against gravel before easing onto the road toward Paris, her presence lingering like a blessing as she faded from mortal sight, already turning her thoughts toward the others.
Inside the ambulance, as city lights began to stretch toward the horizon, Helena leaned back against John, one hand in Gabrielle's, one in Fleur's, Selene close enough to touch, unaware that gods were stirring or that destiny had shifted its course. She only knew that she was not alone, and for the first time, that was enough.
Time: 03:18 AM
Location: French Military Ambulance, En Route to Paris, France
The ambulance rolled onto the road with a steady hum, red and blue lights painting the night in slow-moving reflections as Paris drew closer mile by mile. Helena shifted once in John's arms, her body finally relaxing now that motion had replaced chaos, her breathing evening out as exhaustion crept in like a tide she could no longer hold back. She was warm, not from blankets or heaters but from something deeper, something woven into her blood, and the night air slipping through the seams of the vehicle never touched her the way it would have touched any other child.
"I'm tired," she murmured softly, her voice already fading, her fingers still curled around Gabrielle's hand as if letting go might wake the fear again. "That's all right, sweetheart," Gabrielle whispered back, her free hand brushing gently through Helena's tangled hair, her voice trembling with tenderness. "Sleep. We're here and we won't go anywhere."
Fleur leaned closer, her shoulder pressed lightly against the bench, her eyes never leaving Helena's face as the child's eyelids fluttered and finally closed. Selene remained still nearby, a silent sentinel in the dim light, her presence grounding and watchful, while John adjusted his hold just enough to support Helena's weight as she drifted fully into sleep. For the first time since she had been hidden away, Helena slept without bracing for footsteps, without counting breaths, without listening for doors.
Aphrodite remained.
She sat in the space between moments, visible only to those meant to see her, her presence wrapped in quiet reverence as she reached out and brushed a tear gently from Helena's cheek. The goddess's expression softened, love and sorrow mingling as she studied her daughter's face, committing every detail to memory now that doubt had been erased forever.
"My Daughter," Aphrodite whispered, her voice carrying beyond the ambulance, beyond the road, beyond the mortal world itself. "You are bound more deeply than even I first knew."
Her awareness unfurled like silk across the divine realms, her voice reaching those who shared Helena's blood and essence, carrying truth at last instead of absence. She told them of forty-six more bonds yet to awaken, of two who would soon appear at the place of healing toward which the ambulance now raced, and of how mortal love had been the key that finally revealed what prophecy and power had not.
"She is of us," Aphrodite continued, her words resonating through Olympus and its shadows alike. "Greek and Roman, goddess-born and mortal-walked, our Daughter in truth, not metaphor. Guard her. Wait for her. She will find you when the time is right."
Somewhere far away, thunder shifted, seas stilled, flames dimmed, and ancient minds turned as one toward a sleeping child who knew none of it yet. Zeus listened in silence, Athena calculated with care, Hecate felt magic hum in approval, and Rhea closed her eyes with a grandmother's aching relief, because the child they had mourned was breathing softly beneath a mortal roof.
Inside the ambulance, unaware of gods or destinies stirring in her name, Helena sighed in her sleep and turned her face slightly toward John's chest, a small, content sound leaving her lips. Aphrodite watched her for one last heartbeat, then let herself fade as the lights of Paris began to glow on the horizon, the hospital waiting ahead like a threshold she would soon cross. The road carried them forward, and for the first time, Helena was traveling toward something instead of running from it.
Time: 03:47 AM
Location: Military VIP Hospital, Paris, France
The ambulance slowed as it turned through the secured gates, tires whispering over clean pavement while armed personnel moved with practiced urgency, floodlights sweeping across the courtyard as the vehicle rolled beneath the shadow of the hospital's main wing. Helena stirred at the change in motion, her lashes fluttering once before she settled again, still pressed into John's chest, her breathing soft and even as if the night itself had finally decided to let her rest. The cold stone and open air meant nothing to her, her godly blood insulating her from discomfort the way it always had, though no one watching her knew why a child so thin could sleep so peacefully under flashing lights.
"Lock it down," a voice ordered sharply outside, and the response was immediate, gates sealing, doors closing, and radios lighting up as security protocols snapped into place with ruthless efficiency. "We've got a minor," another voice said, lower, more careful. "Six years old nearly seven…female…Condition unknown…VIP status confirmed."
John stood as the doors opened, Helena still refusing to let go, her arms locked around his neck with quiet determination even in sleep, and he didn't try to pry her free. He stepped out into the night with her cradled against him, flanked by members of Joint Task Force CERBERUS and hospital staff who froze for half a second at the sight of her before professionalism took over. More than one nurse swallowed hard, eyes flicking to Helena's face and then away, because it was one thing to prepare for injured soldiers and quite another to see a child carried in like a rescued ghost.
Inside, the hospital felt different.
The air was still, heavy with history, and as they passed into the secured wing, marble floors and ancient symbols lined the walls, carvings of Greek and Roman gods half-hidden beneath modern fixtures. The moment Helena crossed the threshold, something subtle shifted, alarms quieting without explanation, lights steadying as if the building itself recognized her presence. Staff exchanged glances but said nothing, because this wing had been built for moments like this, when medicine alone was not enough.
"I'm staying," John said firmly when someone reached for Helena, his voice leaving no room for argument. "She needs assessment," a doctor replied carefully, but softened when Helena whimpered and tightened her grip. "She's had enough strangers," John answered, his tone edged with something fierce. "Do it with me here, or not at all."
Far from Paris, far from the mortal world entirely, Olympus stirred. High above New York City, at the six-hundredth floor of the Empire State Building, the gods gathered as Aphrodite stood at the center of the chamber, light catching in her hair as she spoke with emotion that shook the air itself. She told them the truth they had long feared they would never hear, that their Daughter lived, that she had been found not by prophecy or power but by love, and that the first bonds had already awakened.
"She is safe," Aphrodite said, her voice resonant as every god present leaned in. "For now. But the man who harmed her still breathes, and that will not stand."
Zeus's expression darkened, thunder rolling low and distant, while Hades said nothing at all, his silence far more ominous than rage. Athena's eyes sharpened with calculation, Artemis's jaw clenched in barely restrained fury, and Hecate's magic hummed in approval as Rhea closed her eyes, one hand pressed to her heart in relief so deep it nearly hurt.
"We will not act rashly," Apollo said at last, his voice calm but resolute as he stepped forward. "Not yet. She needs peace before justice." Light flared as he vanished, crossing worlds in a heartbeat, his presence touching down gently within the hospital moments later, unseen by mortals but unmistakable to those who could feel him. Apollo lingered near Helena's bedside, his gaze soft as he watched her sleep, his duty clear as dawn itself. "I'll watch her," he murmured quietly. "I'll make sure nothing touches her while she heals."
Back in the hospital room, Helena shifted slightly as if sensing something familiar nearby, a small sigh escaping her lips as she relaxed further into sleep. John adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, unaware of the god standing guard just beyond mortal sight, knowing only that whatever this place was, it felt safer than anywhere she had ever been.
Outside, Paris slept but inside, a child long believed dead lay protected by soldiers, witches, gods, and love itself, while the world quietly rearranged around her.
Time: 04:19 AM
Location: Military VIP Hospital, Secured Divine Wing, Paris, France
The hospital had settled into a strange, reverent quiet by the time Susan Bones and Amelia Bones arrived, their footsteps echoing softly against marble floors etched with symbols far older than the building itself. Security parted for them without question, credentials already verified, but both women slowed instinctively as they entered the secured wing, because the air itself felt different here, heavier and warmer, as though something unseen was breathing alongside the child they had come to see. Susan's hand tightened around Amelia's fingers for a moment, nerves and anticipation mixing in her chest, while Amelia's expression sharpened with recognition she hadn't yet put into words.
Down the corridor, John stood near Helena's room speaking in low tones with the medical staff, his voice deliberately calm as he listened to explanations that didn't quite explain what they were all seeing. One of the nurses gestured uneasily toward the room, eyes flicking back and forth as if afraid the walls might hear her.
"We've never seen anything like it," she admitted quietly, her voice edged with awe rather than fear. "The shrines in her room, the old ones, they're responding. Not flaring, not activating, just… glowing, gently, in rhythm with her breathing, like they know her."
John exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he glanced toward the door. "She's not doing anything," he said firmly, protective instinct cutting through uncertainty. "She's just sleeping." "Yes," another doctor said, her voice thoughtful as her gaze lingered on the symbols etched into the stone. "That's exactly it. She isn't forcing anything. The room is responding to her."
It was the third doctor, a woman with silver-threaded hair and eyes far too sharp to dismiss what she was seeing, who finally understood. She stood very still, watching the faint glow pulsing softly behind the glass, then whispered something under her breath in ancient Greek that made the others turn sharply toward her. "She is not merely blessed," the doctor said slowly, reverently. "She is known."
The lights along the corridor dimmed for a fraction of a second as a man appeared at the far end, his presence quiet and unassuming, dressed in simple modern clothes that did nothing to hide the calm authority that settled around him like sunlight after rain. He walked as though he belonged there, as though the space had been waiting, and the silver-haired doctor straightened instinctively, her breath catching as recognition struck with certainty rather than doubt.
"My lord Apollo," she said softly, bowing her head as she stepped forward. "Your Daughter is asleep." Apollo inclined his head, gratitude and restraint woven carefully into his expression as he followed her down the hall, his mortal guise seamless, his divinity held gently in check. "Thank you," he replied quietly, his voice warm with something deeply personal. "You've done well by her."
Susan and Amelia rounded the corner just as Apollo stopped outside Helena's room, both women halting mid-step as the air seemed to hum faintly around him. Susan blinked once, then twice, her heart racing as understanding snapped into place, while Amelia drew in a slow breath, her instincts screaming that this moment mattered more than most others in her life ever would.
"Excuse me," Susan said, her voice careful but sincere as she stepped forward, eyes flicking briefly toward the door and then back to Apollo's face. "We heard she was here. May we see her, please?"
Apollo studied them for a long moment, something like dawn breaking behind his eyes, and then he smiled, gentle and knowing. "You may," he said simply. "She will know you when she wakes."
Inside the room, Helena slept on, unaware of the quiet convergence happening just beyond the door, her breathing steady as the ancient symbols along the walls glowed softly in time with her heart. Gods watched, mortals waited, and love gathered itself patiently, because some bonds were meant to form not in chaos, but in the stillness that followed survival.
Time: 04:41 AM
Susan was the first to step into the room, her breath catching softly as she crossed the threshold and felt the shift in the air wrap around her like a held note finally released. Helena lay curled on the bed, small and impossibly still beneath white sheets, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm that made the ancient symbols carved into the walls glow faintly in response. Susan's eyes stung without warning, because no report or warning could have prepared her for the sight of a child who carried so much weight and yet slept so peacefully, as if the room itself had decided to stand guard.
"She's beautiful," Susan whispered, her voice trembling as she moved closer, careful not to wake her. "She looks…safe."
Amelia followed her in, posture composed but hands clenched tightly at her sides as she studied Helena with the sharp, assessing gaze of someone who had spent a lifetime reading danger and consequence. The moment she drew closer, however, something inside her shifted, the same quiet certainty Gabrielle and Fleur had felt earlier settling into her bones without asking permission. Amelia knelt beside the bed, her fingers hovering just above Helena's hand.
"I don't know how," Amelia said quietly, her voice thick with emotion she rarely allowed herself to show. "But I know she matters. To all of us."
When Helena stirred, it was subtle, a soft sigh and a slight turn of her head, lashes fluttering as if she sensed she was no longer alone. Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, then sharpening as they found Susan and Amelia standing there, the fear she'd once carried flickering briefly before dissolving into something warmer and far more dangerous to deny.
"You came," Helena murmured sleepily, her voice small but certain. "I knew you would."
Susan didn't think. She reached out instinctively, taking Helena's hand with a gentleness that felt like second nature, her thumb brushing lightly over fragile knuckles as warmth bloomed between them. The bond settled quietly, firmly, like a promise that had been waiting its turn, and Susan swallowed hard as tears slid free.
"I'm here, sweetheart," she said softly, her voice breaking. "I'm not going anywhere."
Amelia followed a heartbeat later, placing her hand over both of theirs, and the fourth bond locked into place with a steady, grounding certainty that made her inhale sharply. She closed her eyes briefly, accepting what had just changed, before opening them again with resolve carved deep into her expression.
"You have us now," Amelia said, her voice low and unwavering. "All of us, love."
The door opened gently behind them, and Gabrielle, Fleur, and Selene stepped inside together, drawn by something none of them needed to name. The room seemed to expand to hold them, light deepening rather than brightening, the air thick with presence as all five bonds resonated softly in harmony around the small girl at the center. Helena looked at them one by one, a shy smile tugging at her lips as something like belonging settled fully for the first time.
Beyond the room, the silver-haired doctor straightened and turned to the waiting officials, her expression no longer uncertain but resolute. Her name was Dr. Élodie Marceau, and she had dedicated her life to medicine and history both, never expecting the two to converge so completely. "She is not merely a protected minor," Dr. Marceau said quietly, her voice steady as she addressed the three women standing with her. "She is divine."
The Head of Security, Commander Isabelle Fournier, stiffened instantly, one hand instinctively rising to her chest as disbelief and awe warred across her face. Beside her, Chief Inspector Marianne Lefèvre, head of the Paris Police detail assigned to Helena's protection, went pale, her lips parting as she struggled to reconcile doctrine with reality. The third woman, General Claire Duval, military commander of the operation that had uncovered Helena, stared in stunned silence, every battle-hardened instinct she possessed rendered momentarily useless.
Dr. Marceau led them to the outer antechamber, where four ancient medallions were set into the stone, dormant until now, each bearing the unmistakable mark of a god long thought symbolic rather than real. One by one, the women reached out, drawn by instinct as much as invitation.
Apollo's medallion warmed beneath Dr. Marceau's fingers, light blooming softly as recognition passed between healer and god. Zeus's symbol flared briefly under Chief Inspector Lefèvre's touch, the weight of authority and justice settling heavily but not unkindly upon her shoulders. Ares's mark thrummed when General Duval placed her hand upon it, power answering power with fierce approval. And Athena's sigil glowed steadily beneath Commander Fournier's palm, clarity and vigilance threading through her spine like steel.
None of them spoke for a long moment. Then Commander Fournier exhaled shakily and whispered, "She's…the Daughter of the Gods." "Yes," Dr. Marceau replied softly, a tremor finally breaking through her calm. "And she is sleeping in our care."
Inside the room, Helena yawned and shifted beneath the weight of five presences she trusted without understanding why, her godly blood humming contentedly as dawn crept closer beyond the hospital walls. The world had not ended. It had simply changed direction, and everyone standing there knew they would never be the same again.
Time: 05:06 AM
Helena woke slowly, not with fear this time, but with the soft certainty that she was not alone, her eyes opening to warm light and familiar faces arranged around her like a quiet constellation. She blinked once, then again, taking in Gabrielle's small smile, Fleur's steady calm, Selene's watchful stillness, and Susan and Amelia standing close enough that she could feel them without touching. The room felt full, not crowded, and her chest loosened as she realized she did not need to choose where to look first, because they were all already there.
"I'm awake," Helena said softly, her voice clear despite the sleep still clinging to it, and she smiled shyly as five heads leaned closer all at once. "We see that, love," Gabrielle replied gently, her fingers brushing Helena's sleeve as if to reassure herself that the moment was real. "You gave us a fright," Fleur added quietly, though her eyes shone with relief. "But you are safe now, sweetheart."
Selene inclined her head slightly, her tone low and sincere as she spoke. "You're stronger than you know, little mate, even if your body hasn't caught up yet." Susan swallowed and nodded, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the bed. "I'm here, love. We all are." "And we will remain," Amelia said firmly, her voice carrying a promise rather than a statement.
From the doorway, John watched in silence, his arms folded loosely as Apollo stood beside him, both men observing with expressions shaped by very different kinds of concern. Dr. Marceau approached with a clipboard, pausing long enough to let the warmth of the moment settle before she spoke, her voice professional but threaded with care.
"She's three feet three inches tall," Dr. Marceau said quietly, meeting John's eyes first, then Apollo's. "And she weighs thirty-two pounds, fourteen and a half kilograms." John stiffened, the numbers landing harder than gunfire ever had, while Apollo's brow furrowed, the god's calm slipping just enough to reveal unease. Dr. Marceau continued gently, as though easing them into the truth rather than delivering it all at once. "A typical six-year-old girl should be closer to three feet nine or four feet tall, and weighing at least forty pounds," she explained. "She isn't malnourished in the way one would expect, which tells me someone was feeding her when they could."
Helena shifted slightly, her fingers twisting together as she listened, and when the room fell quiet, she spoke without being prompted, her voice small but steady. "It was Aunt Petunia," she said simply, eyes lowering to her hands. "She tried to feed me. She did it when Vernon wasn't watching, but if he caught her, he would hit her, so sometimes she couldn't."
The air changed instantly. John's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides, while Apollo's expression darkened in a way that made the light along the walls flicker faintly. Helena looked up then, glancing between them and the others, as if worried she had said something wrong.
"She told me stories," Helena continued softly, encouraged by Gabrielle's gentle nod. "About my mum and dad. About Lily and James. She said my mum laughed a lot and my dad tried too hard sometimes to be brave."
Susan's breath caught, tears sliding free as she pressed a hand to her mouth, while Amelia closed her eyes briefly, every protective instinct she possessed sharpening into something fierce and unyielding. Selene's stillness became dangerous, and Fleur's hands trembled just enough to betray the storm beneath her composure.
"She loved them," Helena added, almost apologetically. "Petunia did. She missed them. She said I had my mum's eyes." Apollo exhaled slowly, his voice low and controlled as he spoke, not to Helena, but to the room itself. "You were protected where you could be," he said, as if anchoring the truth in place. "And where you were not, that failure is not yours, Daughter."
Helena looked at him, really looked at him, then nodded once, accepting the words with a quiet grace that made something ache in every heart present. John took a step forward instinctively, stopping just short of the bed as Helena turned her head toward him and smiled, small and certain. "I knew you'd come back, Uncle J," she said softly. "I remembered." John swallowed hard, his voice rough as he answered. "I should've been there sooner, sweetheart. I'm sorry." "It's okay," Helena replied simply, because for her, it was. "You're here now."
Dawn crept closer beyond the windows, pale light beginning to thread through the room as Helena leaned back against her pillows, surrounded by five bonds newly formed and watched over by a soldier and a god. She did not know what she was yet, or what she would become, but she knew who she trusted, and for the first time in her life, that was enough to let her rest.
Time: 05:38 AM
The first light of morning reached Paris quietly, pale gold spilling over rooftops and threading through the tall windows of the secured wing as the city began to breathe again. Helena sat propped against her pillows, awake now and alert, her small hands resting comfortably between those of her bond mates as if this had always been the way the world was meant to be arranged. She listened as Gabrielle spoke softly, as Fleur added gentle explanations, as Susan and Amelia filled in pieces with careful words, and when Selene finally spoke of what she was, Helena didn't flinch or pull away.
"I'm a Corvinus-strain hybrid," Selene said calmly, her voice steady and honest. "A vampire, but different. I can walk in the sun. I don't burn. There's no one else like me." Helena tilted her head, studying her for a long moment, then smiled with simple certainty. "You're my mate," she said quietly. "That's all I need to know, love."
The tension in the room eased at once, Gabrielle letting out a shaky laugh as Fleur smiled with visible relief, while Susan and Amelia exchanged a glance heavy with understanding. Selene's expression softened in a way few had ever seen, her voice lowering with something like awe as she replied, "Then that's all that matters to me too, sweetheart."
From the doorway, John watched the sunrise paint the room in warmth, Apollo standing beside him in silence, both of them witnessing a child who had endured too much now choosing trust without hesitation. The cold morning air seeping through the glass never touched Helena, her godly blood keeping her comfortable as dawn brightened, the ancient symbols along the walls glowing once more before slowly fading back into dormancy.
Down the corridor, Dr. Élodie Marceau stood frozen over a stack of documents she hadn't expected to find so easily, her fingers trembling as she turned page after page. Passports, citizenship records, sealed files from four nations lay spread across the desk, each bearing the same child's name, each stamped legitimate beyond dispute. "This can't be right," she whispered, though the evidence refused to bend.
The military liaisons gathered around her one by one, representing the United Kingdom, France, Greece, and the United States, their expressions shifting from confusion to disbelief as the final pages were revealed. In every file, under Next of Kin, the same names appeared with unshakable authority.
For the United Kingdom: Elizabeth Alexandra Mary. And For France: Apolline Delacour and Jean Delacour. Silence fell like a held breath. "She's…" one liaison began, then stopped, because there was no word large enough to finish the sentence.
Dr. Marceau closed the folder slowly, her heart pounding as she looked back toward Helena's room, where laughter now drifted softly into the hall. "She is not only divine," she said at last, voice unsteady with awe. "She is royal. And she is claimed."
Back inside, Helena leaned back against the pillows, sunlight warming her face as she smiled at the five who now surrounded her, unaware of documents, titles, or nations rearranging themselves around her name. She knew only that she was safe, that she was loved, and that when she looked at the dawn spilling over Paris, the world no longer felt like something she had to survive.
It felt like something she was finally allowed to live in.