The words echo in every crevice, every dark corner, in a thousand voices Artemis does not recognize, in a language she cannot understand. Fate’s body glows gold at the edges, a fearsome aura that illuminates the previously dim temple, and Artemis’s heart hammers ferociously against her sternum, a frantic drumming beat that makes her head feel light.
Fate’s incantation ends, and his eyes start to brighten with the same gold light that they had before, and there is a breeze in the walls now, rustling Artemis’s hair and bones and breath.
Then, out of the darkness, out of the dust and the rubble and Giza’s indigo night sky, out of the stars, out of the wind, she hears him. It’s as indistinct and varying in clarity as it had been in the zeta beams, and it sounds so far away even though it’s no more distant than half a floor away, and it crackles and burns out like radio static, but she still knows it. She knows it so well her elbows start to tingle.
“Ar—mis—so fast in—tired—I’m s—tired—babe—Mom and—scared…”
—Ch. 3 | The Next Great Adventure (brella)