The Impossible Truth

"A hellhound?" Elias repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like something foreign—something he had no business saying. He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh and rubbed his face, as if he could scrub the absurdity away.

"Okay. Seriously, where are the cameras? Is this some kind of elaborate prank? Because I swear, if I'm being Punk'd right now—"

The teenager didn't react. No smile. No eye roll. Not even a flicker of amusement. He just stood there, bow slung over his shoulder, the quiver on his back looking painfully empty.

"This is not a prank," he said, voice flat. Absolute.

Elias eyed him warily. "Right. Not a prank. Sure. Because that—" He gestured wildly at the now Doberman-free pavement, nearly smacking himself in the face in the process. "That was totally normal."

He exhaled sharply, trying to collect his thoughts, but they scattered like a deck of cards flung into the wind.

"Hellhound?" he repeated. "You mean like Cerberus? Three heads, big scary guard dog of the Underworld, that kind of hellhound? Come on! I've seen movies. I know how this goes. Next, you're gonna tell me you're a demigod. Or a wizard. Or—wait—" He narrowed his eyes at the kid's jacket. "Do you have a magic sword under there?"

He was rambling. He knew he was rambling. But his brain had officially checked out, leaving his mouth to fend for itself.

The teen didn't blink. Didn't even flinch.

"You weren't supposed to see it," he said, as casually as if he were explaining why the coffee machine was broken. "Not like that, anyway. Normally, mortals don't—" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Their minds adjust things. They see a large dog. A shadow. A trick of the light. Something mundane."

Elias made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"Mundane? Mundane?! I just watched a Doberman melt into the concrete like some kind of gothic ice cream cone! And you're telling me that's 'mundane' now?"

He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head.

"What's next? Unicorns grazing in Central Park? Dragons nesting on the Chrysler Building?"

For the second time, the teen's lips twitched, like he was fighting a smirk.

"The dragons usually stay in Brooklyn."

Elias opened his mouth. Then closed it. A pause. A beat.

Then he threw his hands in the air. "Nope!"

Spinning on his heel, he started walking—straight out of this fever dream and into a therapist's office. Maybe multiple therapists.

The kid sighed. "You're not going insane."

Elias barked out a laugh. "Oh, yeah? You sure? Because, buddy, let me tell you, psychotic break is leaping to the top of my list of possibilities right now." He tapped the side of his head.

"Stress? Check. Sleep deprivation? Big check. Seeing things that should not exist?" He let out a brittle laugh. "Oh yeah, that's gotta be the winner!"

At last, the teen looked—if only slightly—concerned. Not much. But enough that Elias noticed.

"You're not losing it," he said, voice quieter now. "You're just seeing the truth."

Elias let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah? And what truth is that?"

The kid met his gaze, his expression unreadable.

"That the world is a lot bigger than you thought."

The teenager's gaze flicked down to Elias's hand. His knuckles were an angry shade of red, bruised and scraped from his ill-advised attempt to punch a literal hellhound.

"Here," the teen said, his voice losing its earlier edge, softening into something almost… kind. "Let me see that."

Elias instinctively yanked his hand back, holding it close like a stubborn child refusing to admit they'd fallen off their bike.

"What? No. It's fine. I'm a doctor, remember? I can take care of myself."

To prove his point, he flexed his fingers—only to immediately regret it when a sharp jolt of pain shot up his wrist. He swallowed the wince, playing it off like nothing happened. Flawless. Totally convincing.

The teenager didn't look convinced.

"I know you are," he said, a knowing glint in his eyes. "But I'm a healer. Let me help."

Elias hesitated, eyeing the kid's ordinary-looking backpack. No way he was carrying an actual first-aid kit in there. What was he going to do, pull out some enchanted Band-Aids? Maybe a healing crystal?

The teen unzipped the bag and pulled out a small, worn leather pouch. It looked old. Not medical supply old, but ancient tome in a forbidden library old. When he opened it, the scent of crushed herbs and something vaguely sweet—honey?—wafted into the night air.

Elias sighed, already regretting this. With great reluctance, he extended his hand.

"Fine. But if you tell me this is made from organic, ethically sourced unicorn tears, I'm walking."

The teen smirked but didn't answer. Instead, he pinched a small green leaf from the pouch, rolling it between his fingers until it crumbled into a fine powder. Then, from a tiny jar, he scooped out a thick, greenish salve and mixed it with the crushed leaf. The scent deepened, rich and almost nostalgic—like something Elias should recognize but couldn't quite place.

"This might sting a little," the teen warned.

Elias braced himself for the familiar burn of antiseptic. He'd dealt with worse—alcohol swabs, sutures, getting clocked in the face by a panicked patient—so a little sting was nothing.

Except… there wasn't a sting.

Instead, a cool, tingling sensation spread across his knuckles. The throbbing dulled, the pain retreating so fast it felt like someone had flipped a switch in his nerves.

Elias blinked. "Okay," he said slowly. "That's… not normal."

The teenager didn't answer. Instead, he started humming.

Low at first, a sound more felt than heard, vibrating faintly in the air. Then he began to chant—soft, rhythmic, in a language Elias knew he didn't know, yet somehow, it felt ancient, like something whispered across time itself.

And then, because apparently tonight couldn't get any weirder—

The kid's hands started to glow.

A soft, golden light flickered at his fingertips, warm and steady, wrapping around Elias's hand like sunlight streaming through stained glass.

Elias froze. His breath hitched. His brain promptly checked out.

"What?" he whispered, because that was all he could manage. His entire worldview was currently having a meltdown, again, and words were not on the priority list.

The teenager—still glowing, still chanting—flashed him a small, almost apologetic smile.

"It's a gift."

Elias stared at him. Then at his hand. Then back at the teenager.

Finally, he exhaled, running a hand through his already disaster-level hair.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Of course it is. Because nothing tonight is allowed to make sense."

The glow faded, leaving behind only warmth and the faint scent of herbs. The teenager finished wrapping his hand with a clean bandage, patting it lightly as if to say all better.

Elias flexed his fingers experimentally.

The pain was gone. Just—gone.

His mind was still catching up, still trying to process the fact that the teen's hand had glowed, when his mouth decided to act on its own.

"Leo."

The name slipped out like an exhale, unbidden. A puzzle piece snapping into place before he even knew what picture he was looking at.

Julian's eyes flickered with something—recognition, maybe? Surprise? It was hard to tell in the dim light, but the tilt of his head, the slight narrowing of his gaze, made it clear he hadn't expected that.

"Leo?" Julian echoed, his tone somewhere between curious and cautious. "You know Leo?"

Elias nodded, still not entirely sure why this felt important, only that it did.

"I… I met him. A few nights ago. Right here, actually." He gestured vaguely at the park around them, as if it might help jog Julian's memory. "He helped someone. Like you just did."

His throat felt dry.

"He had… golden eyes."

Julian stiffened. It was slight—just a fraction of a second—but Elias saw it. A reaction, no matter how quickly hidden.

The teenager studied him now, really studied him, his gaze flicking over Elias's face like he was piecing together clues that had suddenly become way more complicated.

"He sent you, didn't he?" Julian murmured, mostly to himself, like he'd just cracked some secret code.

Elias blinked. "He… what?"

"He sent you here. To find me."

"No!" Elias blurted. "I mean— I was looking for him, but I didn't know about you! Or the hellhound, or the—" He waved a hand, indicating the general absurdity of his night. "—all of this! I just—" He exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I don't even know what I walked into."

Julian watched him for another long beat.

Then, to Elias's mounting frustration—he smiled.

Not a smug smile. Not a ha, I know something you don't smile.

But an amused, almost fond smile. Like Elias had just confirmed something Julian had already suspected.

"Well, that's Leo for you," Julian said with a quiet chuckle. "Always playing his games, always a few steps ahead."

Elias frowned. "What does that mean?"

Julian ignored the question and extended his hand—the same hand that had literally glowed moments ago.

"Julian Reed," he said, his expression open now, like he'd made up his mind about Elias. "And it looks like we have someone in common."

Elias stared at the offered handshake.

There was something unspoken in the air now. Something shifting.

He took Julian's hand, gripping it firmly.

"Elias Carter." Then, with a wry grin, he added, "And apparently, I have a lot to learn about our mutual friend."

As Elias shook Julian's hand, a thought slammed into his brain with all the subtlety of a freight train. The pieces—the hellhound, the golden glow, Julian calling him mortal—they weren't just random anymore. They were lining up in a way that made his stomach twist.

His fingers twitched in Julian's grip. "Leo..." His throat felt dry. "Is he... is he a God?"

Julian went still. For half a second, Elias thought he'd stumbled onto some grand, forbidden truth. Then Julian snorted.

A full-on, head-thrown-back laugh.

"A God?" he repeated between chuckles, shaking his head like Elias had just asked if the sky was made of cheese. "Oh, man. If only you knew how funny that was."

Elias didn't know. That was the problem. "Not a God?" he echoed, feeling his grasp on reality slip further by the second. "Then what—"

The answer hovered just outside his reach, teasing him. He'd been thinking too big, reaching for the grandest possibility. A God. Singular. All-powerful.

But no.

Not a God.

A god.

Lowercase.

"Oh." The word left his mouth barely above a whisper. It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing—far too late—that the ground had been crumbling under him the whole time.

Julian's amusement softened into something more patient, more knowing. "Yes, Elias," he said gently. "A god. Lowercase." He held up his fingers as if pinching something tiny. "As in, just one of many."

Elias swallowed. "Which one?"

His brain raced through every mythology lesson he barely remembered—Zeus, Poseidon, Athena, some guy who got his liver eaten daily. And then another, far more pressing thought crashed into him like a tidal wave.

"Wait—" His stomach lurched. "Not Hades, right? Because that would be..." He gestured wildly at the empty space where the hellhound had been. "Very, very bad."

Julian gave him a slow, amused blink. "Do I look like someone who's on friendly terms with the king of the underworld?"

Elias considered him. The hoodie, the backpack, the mild irritation at his existence. "I mean... you do have the broody thing going on—"

"It's not Hades." Julian cut him off, his voice half-sigh, half-laugh.

"Oh, thank God." Elias exhaled, slumping forward before catching himself. "I mean, not— not God, but you know what I mean."

Julian huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head like he wasn't sure whether to be amused or exasperated.

Elias barely noticed. His mind was still spinning, latching onto the pieces that almost made sense but refused to fit together.

"So… not Hades," he murmured, more to himself than anything. "But that still leaves a lot of options." He ran a hand through his hair, his pulse pounding. "So which one then?"

Julian opened his mouth—to finally, finally—explain, but the universe, in its infinite cruelty, decided that right now was the perfect time for things to get worse.

A low, guttural growl rippled through the night. Then another. And another.

The air changed. Thickened. A sharp, acrid scent—burning hair and sulfur—curled into Elias's nose, setting every nerve on edge. His stomach twisted. His body knew what was coming before his brain could fully process it.

Julian stiffened beside him, his easy amusement vanishing like a snuffed-out flame. His gaze snapped to the shadows, scanning, calculating.

"Damn it," he muttered, his grip tightening around his bow. "No time to explain!"

Before Elias could so much as blink, Julian grabbed his arm and yanked him forward with an alarming amount of strength.

"We need to move! Now!"

Elias barely had time to register the we before his feet stumbled beneath him, struggling to match Julian's breakneck pace.

"What's happening?!" he gasped between ragged breaths. "Where are they coming from?! Why are there so many?!"

"They must've caught your scent," Julian shot back, tone clipped, focused. "Or mine. Or both. Doesn't matter. We need to keep moving."

"Moving where?!" Elias wheezed. His legs were already screaming in protest. He was a surgeon, not a track star! His cardio workouts involved standing for sixteen hours straight, not sprinting for his life from supernatural murder dogs!

"Somewhere safe!" Julian gritted out. "Somewhere they can't follow!"

Elias wanted to point out that nowhere in New York City was safe from literal hellhounds, but considering they were currently being hunted by said hellhounds, he figured now wasn't the time for sarcasm.

The pounding of their footsteps echoed through the park, swallowed by the growing snarls behind them. The air pulsed with unnatural heat. Elias risked a glance back—

And immediately regretted it.

Glowing red eyes flickered in the dark. Shadows slithered forward, impossibly fluid, bending and twisting like living nightmares.

"They're gaining!" he yelled, just in case Julian hadn't noticed the hell pack breathing down their necks.

"I know!" Julian snapped, his voice tight with effort. "Just a little further!"

Further where?! Was there a hellhound-free zone Elias wasn't aware of?! Because if so, he'd love to visit! Maybe move in permanently!

A snarl erupted just behind him—too close. The air whooshed as something massive lunged.

Elias ran faster.

He didn't know where they were going. He didn't know how they were supposed to escape.

All he knew was that tonight wasn't just bad.

It was about to get a whole lot worse.

They burst out of the park and onto the street, trading the thick, eerie shadows of the trees for the blinding glare of streetlights and the neon buzz of storefront signs. The Upper East Side stretched out before them—brownstones, bodegas, the distant hum of traffic—all painfully normal for a night that was anything but.

Elias sucked in a ragged breath and glance over his shoulder.

And that's when he saw them.

Three—no, four—massive, shadowy figures weaving through the crowd with a predator's grace. Their glowing red eyes locked onto him and Julian, unblinking, unrelenting. They moved like liquid darkness, slipping between pedestrians as if the city itself was bending around them.

And here's the real kicker—no one else reacted.

People strolled past, lost in their phones or deep in conversation, completely unaware of the supernatural horror stalking through their midst. A woman, too busy texting to look up, bumped into one of the hellhounds. She muttered a distracted, "Excuse me," and kept walking.

Elias nearly tripped over his own feet.

"What the—?" His voice came out strangled. "Why isn't anyone freaking out?!"

"They can't see them!" Julian yelled, barely glancing back. "Not like we can! To them, they probably just look like a very large dogs!"

Normal dogs. Right. Because a pack of massive, smoke-coated, glowing-eyed murder beasts totally gave off "friendly golden retriever" energy.

As if on cue, a man walking a tiny, aggressively fluffy poodle stopped to glare at the hellhounds. "Hey!" he barked, jabbing a finger at the creatures. "Who lets their massive dogs run around without a leash?! That's against city ordinance! Some people!" He huffed, shaking his head, then stormed off, his poodle yapping furiously at his heels.

Elias would've laughed if he wasn't seconds away from being eaten alive.

The hellhounds, utterly unimpressed by municipal leash laws, kept coming. Their low growls rumbled through the air, vibrating in Elias's ribs like a warning, a dark promise of what would happen if he slowed down.

"We need to lose them!" he gasped, his lungs burning, his legs screaming mutiny.

"Working on it!" Julian shot back, scanning the street like he was looking for an escape hatch in reality itself.

Elias took another glance back. Horrible idea. The hellhounds weren't just following—they were herding them, like wolves driving their prey toward an unseen trap.

He gritted his teeth. He didn't know where they were going, but wherever it was, he had a sinking feeling it was about to be very bad for his life expectancy.

Julian suddenly yanked Elias to the right, dragging him into a narrow alleyway so fast that Elias barely registered the shift in direction. His feet skidded over loose gravel and discarded trash bags, the smell of old takeout slamming into his face like a personal insult.

Oh great. This is where I die. Mauled by mythical murder dogs next to a dumpster. Just how I always pictured it.

But Julian didn't stop. He sprinted straight toward the back of a building, heading for a door that looked like it hadn't been touched since the invention of doors. Rust clung to its metal surface like barnacles on a shipwreck, graffiti scrawled across it in layers of faded rebellion. A padlock—massive, ancient, and aggressively locked—secured it shut.

"What are you doing?!" Elias wheezed, heart hammering as Julian skidded to a stop. "It's locked!"

Julian, completely unfazed by the looming death by hellhound, reached into his pocket and pulled out…

A hairpin.

Elias stared at it. Then at Julian. Then back at the hairpin.

"Seriously?!" he half-shrieked. "You're going to pick the lock?! With a hairpin?! Are you a whatever-you-are or just really into spy movies?!"

Julian barely spared him a glance, already working the pin into the lock. "They do work, you know!" he shot back. "And for your information, this is a very high-quality hairpin. Titanium alloy. Top of the line."

"Oh, well, in that case," Elias deadpanned, his voice pitching high with panic, "I feel so much safer."

Julian ignored him, twisting the pin with careful precision. A faint clicking noise echoed in the alley, barely audible over the deafening thud of Elias's pulse in his ears.

And then—

That growl. That low growl.

Elias didn't want to turn around. Really, really didn't. But his body betrayed him, his head snapping toward the alley entrance.

They were here.

Four massive figures, prowled forward, their glowing red eyes slicing through the dim alley light like burning coals. Their massive claws scraping against the pavement in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

They weren't rushing.

They didn't have to.

They had them cornered.