He rolled onto one knee. The Eclipse pressed down, a metaphysical weight meant to crush hope itself. But hope, Seiya had learned, was a meteor. Small. Fast. Fatal to those who ignored it.
Cosmo.
The voice was a whisper of wind through cyllene trees. Marin. His teacher. Her ghost, or perhaps his own fraying sanity. He coughed, tasted copper. His legs had stopped listening three temples ago. Saint Seiya
Hades had won. For now.
