Consum'd by thee all forms that hourly die - Absent_Mariachi (2024)

When Thanatos last saw him, the end was soon.

The vibrancy of life and spring sweetened the dead air and lit the dim halls of the House of Hades with a gentle softness reminiscent of Elysium. Pomegranates bloomed in the garden, their blossoms raining in the halls that seemed to reach up to the earth. The Prince would take the red blooms and twine them into Thanatos’ long hair, his laughter a tinkling bell that set his cheeks aflame.

Thanatos was young, and so was the prince, when something changed. The air became electric and deep within the dark pits of Tartarus, a body shifted. Chains rattled and strained, an ancient voice spoke, its words garbled and corrupted. Time had taken away their meaning. What time couldn’t take was the Titan’s anger.

Time never eased the scars born from familial violence – terrible and bloody.

His mother worried first, her eyes flickering with a dread Thanatos could never understand. She knew of something before the Lord did. Mother Night, much like the sun, was ever vigilant. The gold in her eyes rippled, hands curled around scrawny limbs as she hurried Thanatos and Hypnos to their chambers. A temporary safe haven. “Stay, I shall return as quickly as I can.” Her skirts shimmered in her haste as she left them behind, footsteps quick and sharp as they quaked the marble flooring beneath her.

Hypnos curled into Thanatos, his slightly larger frame lending some comfort in a time of uncertainty, not a soul privy to the beginning of the end.

A corpse came alive that day or night, and it razed the wretched city. Under the light of Ixion, a mother takes the hand of a son and leaves the Underworld to crumble.

–

Something haunted plagued his mind at night. Since he was a boy, Zagreus witnessed a terrible gaze, with eyes a glowing white and ichor spilling from its lips.A creature that carries a hunger so deep and an anger so primaeval, unfathomable in its wretchedness.

Yet it seeks him in his psyche, calling to him in an ancient tongue. It clicked and hissed, uttered curses that fell upon deaf ears. Its awful, somewhat humanoid maw opened, and the bodies of Gods rested dead amongst gold stained teeth. He can’t evade its endless stare, so he witnessed its violence, its pain, and its suffering. If he stayed too long, he too became a victim. Other times his corporal body shifted, and fought against its gnashing teeth.

Sometimes there is a voice that echoed and it soothed. It spoke in a tongue he did not understand. “Steady, Zag.” It would say. The ghosts of hands guided him and his weapon. Sometimes he struck true, other times he missed, but that voice always cautions him – Warning him. He never saw the face, didn’t witness the lips that murmured those words. He wished he could.

There are other times, however, where he jolted awake just as he came face to face with massive hands, grasping for him and tearing him apart. He didn’t scream, not quite. He sucked in a breath, warmed by spring. He’s in his room, and the light of the early morning slips through the thin curtain, warming his skin.The shadows of the night still cling to the corners of his vision where the ghost of white eyes peer at him, waiting and ever patient.

Zagreus can’t sink back into the sheets, disturbed from his visions. Whether they were prophetic or a product of his own mind. A part of him wondered if he were just mentally disturbed.

Mornings are a routine to Zagreus. Whatever he ended up sleeping in is swapped for a white chiton. He secures it with a leather belt around his waist.Golden bands, a present from his grandmother a few springs ago, are slipped around his biceps. He wraps the leather straps of his sandals around his feet and does the bare minimum to fix his bed mussed hair. He learnt long ago that no matter how much he tidied his hair, it would always look like a bird’s nest.

His mother was already awake. The sun never rose without her. Zagreus watched her tend to her garden through the large window in the main room. Leaves shine gold in the early sunlight and flowers begin to unfold in the eternal warmth of Helios. He didn’t waste time, having pushed past the open door, escaping the shadows that still cling to the cottage.

Persephone, the Goddess of Verdure, smiled at Zagreus as he entered her peripheral. Her sun weathered face lit up with a warmth only a mother could have. “Good morning, Zagreus.” She greeted, a pomegranate in hand. “Care for some breakfast?”

“Morning Mother, I’d love to.” Zagreus gingerly took the fruit from her hands. The skin was a rich red and warm from his mother’s palms. He bit into it, chewing on the seeds that spilled into his mouth. They’re sweet with a hint of tart.

He ate quickly, wiping the juices from his mouth with his arm which earned him an exasperated look from Persephone. “Where’s Demeter?”

“She went out not too long ago. She won’t be far away. Now here, help me plant these seeds, will you?”

The pair worked well into midday, the sun languidly rose into heavens as each seedling was pressed into the soil. A voice called, and at first Zagreus assumed it was Demeter, but the sound of sandals against the ground was quick paced like the heartbeat of a rabbit. Zagreus turns, stiff and unsure of the man that stands before him.

This man was clearly a God. Wings of red and orange burst from his heels and temples. A shock of dark hair contrasted with his pale skin and white clothes. A leather bag hung from a shoulder, filled to the brim with papers. “Hey Coz! I don’t think I’ve seen you before!” He was chipper, his voice lilting in the air. Before Zagreus got a word in, the man chattered on. “You must be Lord Ha-”

“Lord Hermes!” Persephone called , a strained smile pulling at her lips. “Why, I’m delighted to see you after all these years!” She stood in front of Zagreus, her body a shield to hide him from Hermes’ curious gaze. “Now be quick, what business do you have here?” Her voice was as sweet as the pomegranates, yet there was an edge to it. Not quite threatening, but certainly a warning.

“I have a letter for you, of course!” Hermes carried on, either not picking up on the tension that hangs thick in the air, or choosing to ignore it. His hands rustled in the bag, muttering to himself as his fingers carded through rolls and rolls of parchments. A quiet “ah!” and Hermes flourished a crisp white parchment, handing it to Persephone. “I must warn you, this is very urgent! The sender urges you to read this at your earliest convenience!” As quickly as he came, Hermes left, fire red feathers dancing in the wind he kicked up.

“That’s my cousin, yes?” Zagreus questioned, Persephone responded with a quick nod. “I’ve never seen him before. He seems, uh, a lot.” Zagreus says

“He’s just a very busy God, my son.” Persephone does not indulge Zagreus more. He knew he had a large family, the Majority of which resided on Olympus, and he only ever heard about them occasionally. If he met them in his childhood, he doesn’t remember.

Zagreus does not know his childhood, for he cannot remember it. Piercing yellow eyes and flashes of red and dim lighting are all he could recall. He had once asked his mother, dared to wonder about his father, to which he earned a pained look from Persephone. He once tended to a dying bird, and asked Demeter of the Underworld, which earned him a stern look. Suffice to say, Zagreus never brought it up again.

Family was a sore topic, thus discussion of Hermes was nonexistent. By the end of the day,Zagreus wondered if the God even dropped by. If his mind made it all up. Demeter returned before sunset, and Zagreus ended the day on edge. Something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what.

–

The Underworld was falling. A defied fate of endless punishment, the Moirai’s will has been broken, the Titan Cronus ascends at a slow but certain pace. In the Titan’s violence, Tartarus long ago became uninhabitable. The House of Hades had long crumbled under Cronus’ anger. The towering body could be seen as far as Asphodel, where a new House had been built.

As a guttural scream rocked the very earth, Hermes had raced by the House, a blood stained parchment in hand. Another line of defence had fallen, and Tartarus was on the brink of collapse. Hades, with his everlasting anger, grew more heated. He had become a cornered animal in his own domain, threatened by a force he had bested a millenia ago.

The chains that bound the Titan had broken and no one knows how. The Fates remained elusive and decidedly unhelpful. They had yet to speak on the destruction . Many believed the Fates wished for Cronus to reach the surface, to slouch towards Olympus and be reborn. The end may be near, but the Lord of the Underworld remained stubbornly defiant.

A new line of defence was formed and sent to the gates that barred Tartarus from Asphodel’s eternal flame. Thanatos witnessed Megaera accept her new role, her expression never once letting him know her internal thoughts. This may be the last he sees of his old friend, and yet she remained proud and undeterred as she faced her uncertain fate. He sees her off at the outskirts of the old city, its walls drenched in Ixion’s dreary light. “Take care of yourself, Megaera.” Thanatos said. The Fury scoffed, a hint of a smirk cracking her lips open, revealing sharp teeth.

“Myself and my sisters are some of Hades’ best. This beast won’t be rid of us so easily.”

“Of course, a Titan with powers beyond our comprehension, what could possibly go wrong?”

Megaera pushed at him. “Get out of here Thanatos. Worry about yourself, yeah?” Megaera didn’t wait for Thanatos to respond. She slipped past the gate and was immediately swallowed by Tartarus’ shadows.

Thanatos himself is called back to Hades not long after. The God of the Dead stood, foreboding in the great hall of his house. The burning magma of Asphodel creeped through large open windows. The Lord’s endlessly red eyes reflected the light, glaring down at Thanatos as he kneels before his King in steep reverence.

“Lord Hades,” Thanatos greeted, eyes downcast.

“Thanatos. I have a new assignment for you.” Hades’ voice rumbled, the tenor of his voice vibrated through the hall’s marble pillars into the floor Thanatos kneels on. The God before him commands a respect Cronus once did – who ravaged his home, his realm. It’s presence, the sole reason he lost his only family. In Thanatos’ musings, he finds Hades tragic. His kin has risen with a vengeance, whose screaming rocked Tartarus, whose presence estranged his wife and son. It is the sickest game his sisters had created. The threads they weave were drenched in blood and ancient retribution.

The new assignment drove him to the surface, a place he had not been since the beginning of the end. He, like many other Gods, had had their jobs cut short. Where would he escort souls if there was no Underworld to escort them to? Every day and night, his mind echoed with the sound of threads snapping. Where it once almost drove him to madness, it now leaves him with merely a dull ache.

As the atmosphere of Asphodel fizzled out, and reality wrapped around him, his mind echoed his Lord’s request; ‘Find my son and bring him to me.’

His feet found peace in soft grass, alive in the acme of Spring. Unlike Asphodel, the warm air is not oppressive, and where their ancient screams echo, here birds whistle and sing in the trees. A world so sweet and beautiful, oblivious to the Titan racing to claim it within its claws, unhearing of its prayers for destruction and violent death.

For now, Thanatos searched this world unknown to him, savouring the fresh sweetness of Spring’s evening, and thought of the bicoloured eyes that belonged to a boy he used to know and adore.

–

Zagreus had always had a rebellious streak. Deeply rooted to his soul that not even his stern grandmother could ever cull it from him. He remembered her swearing under her breath, glancing at his odd red eye, a curse, she’d call it.

When Helios’ burning chariot fell below the horizon and silver light drowned the land in a mournful glow, Zagreus searched for the parchment his mother had hid. He did not find it in her bedroom, after carefully tip-toeing around her sleeping form. He did not find it in grandmother Demeter’s either. Any obvious places are crossed off the mental list, and Zagreus begins to lose any hope of finding the damn letter.

In the kitchen, however, he finally finds it. It was torn to pieces, lying in the bottom of a wicker basket.

“Oh, come on.” Zagreus grumbled, scooping up the pieces. He does his best to piece together the letter, lining up all the jagged tears.

Hermes’ letter warned of a prophecy, and his eyes zeroed in on a name that glared back at him in the dim light. His own, highlighted in red. The Underworld was dying, and he was supposed to fix it.

-

It’s strange that of all Gods, his name was called to action. As far as Zagreus knew, he had little ties to the Underworld, he knew not of its inhabitants nor its workings. Yet there was a pull in his chest, like his heart was wrapped in string and pulled towards the Underworld’s entrance.

That voice that echoed in his mind and those golden eyes that stared at him stirred something within Zagreus. His heart knew this figure, his soul reached out and yet his mind remained blank. There’s no name, no memory to call upon. Zagreus knew those dreams meant something, Hermes’ message is but the beginning of something awful, he would be a fool to not heed.

Selene watched from the heavens, the distant stars flickering in anticipation as they witnessed the unfolding of a fate that may change everything. Zagreus’ fingers wrapped around a sword he found long ago, hidden under his bed and away from prying eyes. The metal was dull, but the blade itself was sharp. It would be enough, were he to run into trouble. He whisked out the door, adjusting the green laurels in his hair that had been knocked askew in his whirlwind of hurried movement.

“I’m sorry, Mother.” He whispered to the quiet home.

An owl called in the darkness, wind rustling the evergreens that lined the path Zagreus cut for himself.

He had heard whispers about the dark woods that lay just outside his home. Rumours spread of deep shadows and the smell of sulphur spreading the spaces between towering cyprus. His mother always cautioned him, his grandmother demanded him not travel far at all from the cottage. Whatever Demeter was hiding from him, she inadvertently made his home a prison.

Where the smell of sulphur grew stronger and the trees peeled away to an open field, the entrance door of the Underworld stood.

Old columns stood in place of the wooden trunks that would reach up to the sky. Nature reclaimed the columns of stone, with fingers of roots and vines crawling up them. Little white flowers bloomed amongst the green. The entrance of the Underworld had been forgotten by time and ignored by mortals who left the structures to rot where they stood.. A statue of a three headed dog with its maw open in a silent growl stared down at Zagreus, eyeless as it dared him to enter.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Zagreus spoke to the statue, sword gripped tight in his fingers. He picked his way to the massive moss covered doors. He nudged them, but they remained closed. His hand skirted over the cool surface, looking for a handle, a divot where a key could slide in, and yet found nothing.

As Zagreus searched, a presence manifested behind him, amongst the graveyard of columns, silent as the night that shadowed them. It watched Zagreus as he fumbled with the door, eyes tracking his every movement.

The hairs on Zagreus’ neck rose, a presence lurking behind him. He doesn’t turn to face them, opting to wait for them to strike first. He clutched his sword tighter, prepared to make it sing.

Except violence didn’t come, the figure merely watching Zagreus, on edge, grew tired of their limbo.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, Stranger?” His voice cut through the air, thick with trepidation.

“Son of Hades, I’ve come to retrieve you.”

–

Thanatos scoured a local town as the burning chariot in the sky continued its languid journey in the blue. His ears listened for a familiar voice, for the godly presence of Underworld’s lost Prince amongst mortals. His sense of misplacement, a strangeness seeped into him as he surrounded himself with these mortals. The townsfolk looked at him with suspicion, an unwelcome stranger in a tight-knit community walked amongst them wearing black and muttering to himself, wishing to go home. Some men looked at him outright, braver ones had cast him strange expressions. The children often scuttled like startled sheep, piercing eyes and an unkind scowl driving them away.

When night fell, Thanatos was relieved to return to the gates at the mouth of the Underworld. Where the air was charged with unmatched divinity, and where his head didn’t spin with the sickness that plagued any Chthonic being should they dare spend too long away from their birthplace.

There was a presence in the open field, not a creature, nor mortal. A God, the very one Thanatos sought. Zagreus, the son of Hades, was struggling with the entrance door, fingers cutting through moss and dust, leaving trails that unearthed the golden patterns beneath.

Time meant little to beings like them, yet the centuries had changed Zagreus. He grew into what a mortal would call an adult, and thus lost the childish innocence that Thanatos remembered. Thanatos moved closer quietly, if only to study Zagreus for a moment longer. He was short, his crown barely reaching Thanatos’ shoulders, but the muscles in his chest and forearms hold a strength only a God could harness.

When Zagreus finally turned to meet his gaze, he saw the ghost of his Lord. His right eye, red as blood, glinted at him in the moonlight. A contrast to his left, which shimmered a soft grassy green. A beauty unmatched, Thanatos mused.

In that gaze, something flickered. A faint recognition. “I-I think I know you.”

“You do. We were friends, once.” Once. Although he knew his face, he didn’t have the pleasure of knowing his being. His soul. The Moirai could never be so kind.

“I don’t remember much of my childhood, but I know you, Thanatos. You’re- you’ve changed.”

“I believe that’s what happens when you grow up.” Thanatos replied dryly. A laugh cuts through the night, bouncing between fallen columns of stone. The sound once haunted his mind’s ears, reminding him of what he could have had - if things were different. Hearing it made it real, something in Thanatos’ chest ached.

“My prince,” Thanatos’ tone shifted “My Lord, your father tasked me to find you. I ask that I take you home, now.”

“Ah.” Zagreus exhaled a small breath, brows drawn down. His eyes narrow, slits of red and green stare with something mild. “So I’ve heard.”

“You have?”

“My mother, she tried to keep it from me. But Hermes came earlier today with a letter. I found it before I left.” Zagreus shifted on his feet. “I uh, never knew I was Hades’ son.”

“You didn’t? Why did Persephone never tell you?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps to protect me. I’m supposed to be the one to end some Titan, right? Sounds pretty dangerous.”

Thanatos thought he understood why the Queen did what she did. Many things attempt to defy the Fates, to carve a different path of events, a Mother’s love — first and foremost — would never hesitate to do such a thing. Thanatos cannot fault Persephone for it.

“Come, we should go.” Thanatos stepped by the prince, his hand finding the cool surface of the entrance to the Underworld. The door slowly swings on its hinge, a screeching cry from old metal sounding in the dead of night. Zagreus looked offended at the ease it opened with.

Thanatos held the door open, a quiet invitation to enter. “Wha- how?!” Zagreus gaped. “I did that too and the f*ckin’ thing didn’t open for me!”

“Get in or I will leave you out here.” Zagreus quickly obliged, squeezing through the small opening Thanatos made. His side brushed against Thanatos’ front, burning warmth seeping through his clothing.

The Temple of Styx stretched before them, foreboding and dimly lit. The blue water rushing below the bridge they stand on slowly turned a cloudy red - the mouth of the Styx. Zagreus quietly marvelled at it.

“Whoa that’s- Ow!” Zagreus hopped in place, like something was biting at his feet.

Thanatos jerked, his eyes snapping onto Zagreus’ sandal clad feet. He watched flames burst forth from the soles of Zagreus’ feet. Bright red fire licked up his ankles and calves, the hot soles sizzled on the cool temple floor and the leather of his shoes burnt to a crisp.

“Huh.”

“Wha- that’s it? That’s all you have to say? Ow!” Zagreus growled. “Oh gods, I’m dying aren’t I?”

“You’re not dying, this is just-” Thanatos thought about Zagreus’ father, who’s own feet burnt with a fire to rival the Phlegethon. “- a familial feature.”

“You’re telling me Hades has his feet on fire too?”

“Yes. Now, are you done with your theatrics?” Zagreus looked down at his feet, now a burning red, his soles charred a deep charcoal. Whatever pain he had vocalised before now long gone. The prince looked at his new condition with cautious wonder.

“I-I think so?”

Over the bridge lay a labyrinth of tunnels, each emitting the echoes of hooves scraping against limestone. The smell was horrid, clearly bothering Zagreus, who crinkled his nose in disgust.

“This is not what I thought the Underworld would be.”

“It isn’t. This is just the surface temple.” Thanatos used his gauntleted hand to bend the bars of a gate and squeeze through the space he made. Zagreus follows closely.

“You call this a temple?” The prince straightened, looking pointedly at their surroundings. The ceiling is made of crumbling earth, small gaps allowing the silver moonlight to peek through, supplying low light to the otherwise dark and decrepit chamber. The only other light source was the newborn flames borne of Zagreus’ feet. Old leaves carried on stale air skittered across the tiles. Messes of blood and intestines piled up in the corners, meals to the awful vermin that had taken hold of this place.

In his effort to keep up with the fast pace Thanatos had set, wanting to spend as little time here as possible, the hapless-footed prince tripped on a tile that jutted out at an odd angle. Quick to react, Thanatos caught his arm before he fell. “Careful, you fool!”

Zagreus only flushed as Thanatos rights him, and continued. There was a growl from somewhere in the dark. Whatever it was never unwrapped itself from the deep shadows it cloaks itself in .

“So uh,” Zagreus narrowly avoided a mess of bones, “What did this, then?”

“Vermin worshipping Satyrs.” Foetid things, Thanatos sneered. Where they had come from, not even his Lord knew.

“Huh, that’s new. Usually they're, you know, worshipping Dionysus.” Either he cannot see in the dark, or Zagreus never looks where he’s going, for he tripped on the uneven floor again and Thanatos caught him.

“Would you please watch where you’re going,” Thanatos sighed. If this man was truly supposed to be the one to save the Underworld, perhaps his sisters had made a grave mistake.

“Sorry, sorry!” For the remainder of their journey through the desecrated halls, Thanatos rested a hand gently on the small of Zagreus’ back, keeping him close and guiding him over uneven earth and through crumbling doorways.

At the end of the tunnel, a faint candlelight flickered, the otherwise dull brown of the structure around them glowing gold. Thanatos’ hand left Zagreus and fell to his side. The warmth from him lingered on his palm.

“Well well, if it isn’t the prince and his guide!” A voice called, echoing down the large hall that Thanatos and Zagreus stepped into. The still air that stunk of rotting flesh was carried away by the smell of dust and the iron of the river Styx. It gently flowed through the hall and toward the entrance to Elysium. Hermes stood before them, a grin nearly splitting his face in two. Wings the colour of the evening sun fluttered at his temples.

“Hermes- Lord Hermes,” Zagreus stuttered out. The confidence Thanatos had come to know slithered away from Zagreus’ form, taken by the deep shadows they left behind in the Satyr tunnels. “I uh, have a request. If I may.”

Hermes regarded Zagreus with renewed interest. “Hm, well you are family, so I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Ask away!”

“Give my mother a message. Tell her I’ll-” many emotions flickered behind those mismatched eyes, too quick for Thanatos to place. “Tell her I’ll be back. And that I’m sorry.”

With a quill that seemed to be plucked from the wing at his temple, Hermes scrawled on a parchment, quick and jagged. His eyes met Zagreus’, waiting for him to say more. When nothing more was said, he nodded, rolling up the paper and stuffing it in his bag.

“Alright, you got it Cuz. Now- I should go- but oh! Before I do!” Hermes fiddled again, the God was always a messy flurry of movement.

“A blessing from yours truly. You’re welcome!” A feather is deposited into Zagreus’ shaking hands. It’s a long plume that shimmers in the dim light, a red and orange feather as brilliant as Hermes himself, as though his very essence was held within.

Hermes went, a flutter of plumes dancing in the air where he stood. His winged feet thudded against the ground, his movement echoing down the dim hall until he and his feathers disappeared. The only sign of him ever being here fell by their feet, a reminder of his presence.

–

The large gates swung closed behind them, the click of them locking echoes. Fields of verdure stretched before them, the ghostly waves of the river Lethe rolling quietly in the background, daring those desperate enough to drink from it and forget. If he were any less, Thanatos would not hesitate to indulge.

The Elysian fields were his birthplace, the world he first came to know, and shall know for eternity, even if he stopped calling it home long ago. The gentle grass that caressed his feet, the crisp sweet air and the shimmering light all painted the picture of a world where only the best of men resided, a paradise promised to heroes of the mortal realm.

Thanatos hated it.

Zagreus on the other hand, looked downright enamoured by what he saw. His eyes shifted constantly, drinking in all that Elysium had to offer. The quiet air shattered with the roar of a crowd. It ebbed and flowed, growing louder when Thanatos and Zagreus approached the source of the noise.

“What’s happening here, do you think?”

“This is where the champion of Elysium resides. Any daring to challenge him do so here.”

Zagreus hummed. “And who might that be?”

“You’ll soon find out, my prince.”

Zagreus pushed open the large doors of the amphitheatre, the light of dozens of torches

seeped through the crack and set his eyes ablaze. He sent an unimpressed look Thanatos’ way.

“Please don’t call me Prince. I have a name, you know.”

“Bad habits, Pri- Zagreus.”

Thanatos trailed just behind Zagreus, eyes trained on the figure that stood ready in the centre of the arena, where the blooms of bouquets were scattered by the movement of feet on limestone. The shouting of the crowd reached new heights, the onlookers ready to bear witness to another bloody battle.

“Hark! A new challenger appears!” The king himself, Theseus, called. His Minotaur stood like a statue at his flank, shadowing the pride that shone from the king’s co*cky grin.

“Uh, hopefully not? We’re just passing through.” Zagreus shifted his gaze to Thanatos, a silent call for help.

“Ah, but a daemon has slithered its way into my fair realm! Aided by Death no less!”

“Daemon?” Zagreus squawked.

Thanatos supposed he understands where Theseus’ logic may lie — however faulty it may have been. Many who resided here did so with a touch of divinity. Not granted by the Lord himself, but a remnant of the Gods on High. Zagreus, despite being related to such gods, did not resemble such purity. Thanatos glanced at his one peculiar eye, it glinted menacingly, a ruby in a pool of unending darkness. A scar lay upon his otherwise fair face, a bitter reminder of his ties to the Underworld.

“Come, I shall send you to whatever wretched pit you spawned from, blackguard!” Quick on his feet, Theseus quickly closed the field that separated him from Zagreus. His spear held high and true,ready to pierce flesh.

Zagreus’ sword came forth, a makeshift shield as the blade blocked the point of Theseus’ spear. The prince strained against the king’s momentum. Something slips, and Zagreus’ cheek caught the sharp metal. Blood dribbled from the open wound created, red as his own eye.

A pained growl emitted from somewhere deep in Zagreus’ throat and he primed his sword to jab at Theseus’ middle. It missed, but did not go without drawing its own blood. Cloth shreds and skin opened.

Despite his wound, Theseus did not slow down, and neither did Zagreus, both spurred on by anger. When Theseus made his next attack, Thanatos decided they'd done enough.

“I think not, King.”

He had not been there for Theseus in his last moments as a mortal. His rather violent end was not Thanatos’ calling. Here, as he threatened his charge in the gentle light of Elysium, with the sweet scent of flowers in the air, Thanatos brandished his scythe in a crescent flourish. It sliced through Theseus’ form as it did the air, quick and easy. The ghosts of butterflies fluttered in his weapon’s wake, and the king shimmered a bright blue, his soul banished from where he stood.

An admittedly quick fight, barely one at all, even. Rarely would Thanatos harness his full power for such things as this. However the Underworld did not have time to spare, and neither did Thanatos. He dismissed his scythe, and golden eyes caught the Bull that still stood in place. A silent surrender. Go and do not come back.

“We’re done here. Zagreus?” Thanatos saw him bend down, shuffling with something in his hands. An object slid into his white chiton and out of Thanatos’ sight.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing! Hey, thanks for helping me out, there.” Zagreus smiled up at Thanatos, his face smeared with blood.

“Here,” Thanatos wetted his thumb with his tongue and gently wiped away the mess. Some redness remained, but it would do. “Let us go. We don’t have much time.”

Beyond the somewhat normalcy of the amphitheatre, the eternal verdure of Elysium awaited them, as did the remainder of the restless Underworld. The call of the Titan tugged at Thanatos, Zagreus’ jittery movement suggested the same.

-

Elysium was not what Zagreus expected. In his mind, the Underworld was fire and brimstone, only the wails of countless tortured souls to keep one company.

He picked through a large flat plane, where the river Lethe snaked through, ethereal and smoky. It whispered and breathed quietly, alive in its own way. It promised relief, respite from the pains of mortality. A luxury Zagreus could never have. If only he were able to forget an ancient evil and return to the bliss of his Mother’s home. Instead, he continued down his aimless path, with Death as a quiet shadow to him.

He does not see Thanatos, but can feel his presence. It did not emanate command like an Olympian, but it lingered, almost suffocating in how thick it was. Yet, it was not offensive to Zagreus, instead strangely comforting.

He wondered why Thanatos, a friend from so long ago, had been fated to guide him through a realm that should not be this foreign to him. Why had Death been deemed appropriate for such a task? Zagreus could ask all these questions, and the Fates would remain unquestionable, their will absolute.

“Where is my father, Thanatos?” Zagreus asked once he became bored of their shared silence.

“He and the other Chthonic gods reside in Asphodel. Tartarus has long become completely uninhabitable. Your father awaits you eagerly.”

“I’m sure he does. He sent you to get me, no?”

“It was more the Fates, than him.”

“Why?” Zagreus stepped over a patch of white flowers tended by blue butterflies.

“I am not one to question my sisters. You should learn to do the same.”

Zageus let the conversation lapse, cut short by the scythe of Thanatos’ words.

Something shifted in the fabric of being, the stiffness in Thanatos’ shoulders indicating that he had felt it too. Something was wrong, unnatural.

“Careful.” Thanatos said, whisper quiet.

A large shadow manifested by the gold of a Daedelus door, the entrance to another chamber, no doubt. It was a dark mass, unknowable, glaring with near white eyes.

“Come closer, Prince.” Its words simmered in the air that had become electric. Zagreus did not answer its call, standing stock still.

“To whom do I address? You aren’t someone I know.”

The air was silent, save for the faint tick of a clock. Time itself wrapped around the foreboding figure, and then Zagreus understood . He and Thanatos stood before what the Titan may have been, before it became something wretched.

“I shall not be known to you, for now. The Underworld does not like new visitors, strange Prince. Watch yourself.”

The darkness that stood tall — taller than both Zagreus and Thanatos, faded away like smoke,taken by Elysium's gentle breeze.

“He is taunting you. The prick.”

Zagreus regarded Thanatos, his skin awash with goosebumps. “He doesn’t phase me.”

“Good. This world cannot afford fear.”

The gilded door slid open for them. Strange shadows lurked in the grass.

“Fear is for the weak,” he said.

As his fiery feet stepped over the threshold, the shadows echoed an awful noise, screech that set the air alight. They convulsed as if in pain, morphing into the shape of the beast Zagreus saw in his nightmares - something similar to it, anyway. Their jaws opened and closed, gasping and choking on air not meant for them. In the darkness, Zagreus can only make out their glinting yellow eyes. They lock onto his own and begin to crawl to him on mangled limbs.

The shadows’ collective howling reached a crescendo, and Zagreus can hardly bear to hear it any longer. He and Thanatos acted at once, springing into the fray on quick feet powered by powerful legs. Their weapons sang together, slicing through black masses that looked like pockets of starless nights. Silver glinted and shimmered like jewellery in the eternal light, and the quiet fields of Elysium watched as Death and a nameless God danced to a dangerous beat, working seamlessly. A deadly choreography they knew well.

When the echoes of Cronus faded into the light and serenity was returned for a brief moment, Zagreus leaned his weight on his sword, breathless and wounded. He had martial training fromDemeter. He knew the ins and outs of sword play, knew to be quick and deadly, but he was first and foremost a farm boy. Raised by Spring herself, in her quiet garden and her beautiful warm evenings. His hands were made to nurture life, calloused to create it and love it as his own, not to take it, as his grandmother sought to instil in him. However, unlike her, his touch was never so cold and ruthless. He was not the Winter she wanted him to be.

He wiped a mix of blood and sweat off his brow and ran his hand through knotted hair. He coughed and spat blood, splattering the grass at his feet a dark red. His mouth tasted of iron and dirt, a truly awful combination. More blood dribbled from bite marks and scratches, all deep and painful. Overall, his body hurt, and Zagreus was miserable.

Thanatos, on the other hand, looked just as pristine as he usually did. His scythe - larger and taller than Zagreus himself - sat gently against a wall as Thanatos stood and watched him with those piercing golden eyes, shadowed by a giant tree that wrapped its large roots around a statue depicting a long forgotten hero. Even in a place like Elysium, time was not kind.

“You look like sh*t,” Thanatos said, eyeing the myriad of gashes that cut through Zagreus’ pale skin. The prince spat blood, aimed at the God before him. It missed, just.

“Thanks, do I at least look a little handsome?”

“You’re a mess. And disgusting,” Thanatos drawled, unamused. He trotted off towards another gilded door. Just as they did for Zagreus, the door slid open with no protest. Beyond, the faint sound of rushing water settled in the post-battle air of the chamber.

“Ah. A spring.”

“Hate to be a handful, but do you care to help me? I think I might just collapse.” Zagreus expected Thanatos to scoff and leave him behind, pathetic and tired. His sword reduced to a walking stick rather than a weapon.

Instead, Thanatos came, eyes dire and mouth set in its typical frown. He peeled Zagreus’ sweaty grasp from the hilt of his blade and hauled him up into his arms. Zagreus is cradled gently, and Death takes him on long legs. A measured pace Zagreus could never achieve himself.

“Oop-!”

Fingers were spread wide and dug into his thighs and shoulders. The cold of Thanatos’ skin seeped through Zagreus’ clothes, staining his being with his surreal divinity.

“Uh, y’ could have just lent me a shoulder to lean on or something-” In contrast to Thanatos’ touch, Zagreus’ face burned with the heat of the sun itself. Whether it’s borne from pure embarrassment or something else, he’d rather not consider.

“Would you like me to drop you, then?” Thanatos’ fingers loosened their grip and Zagreus slid in his arms. His own shot up and wrapped tight around his shoulders in response.

“No, I'm just fine, thank you! Now would you stop embarrassing me and take me to that spring you mentioned?”

“As you decree, Your Highness.”

“Ugh, I think that’s worse than calling me ‘Prince’.”

–

Zagreus was a solid weight in his arms. A warmth that pressed nicely against his chest. Thanatos was never one to touch or be touched. Such a human experience was not fit for Death. His touch only ever took. He was the winter that ravished life, sapped it of its beauty and left nothing behind. Thanatos was the awful shadow that the mortals feared and despised.

He should have recoiled from Zagreus’ touch, rescinded and drawn back into himself, let his own chill keep him company. Yet as he reached the spring that pooled next to a fountain, where the Lethe whispered and the water sat idle, his fingers ached once he let go of Zagreus. They itched to touch the prince again, to dig into the meat of his thighs and caress his shoulders.

He began to re-learn what it meant to adore Zagreus, a reverence he once held dear when they were both children, existing in the comfort of a house yet to be corrupted by primaeval chaos and destruction.

“The water here has healing properties. Take a bath in it and you should feel better. I’ll wait outside,” Thanatos said to Zagreus, who wasted no time stripping his clothes and making a loud splash in the water. It sprayed and Thanatos stood wet by the rim of the pool, the dappled light filtered by the leaves of a tree shimmering in odd shapes on the water’s surface. It caressed where Zagreus sat submerged, mismatched eyes glinting at him with something wild. Thanatos challenged that gaze with a glare. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try and drown me.”

“Aw c’mon Than! Won’t you stay?”

Than. A nickname that oft fell from those lips in his dreams. A nickname no one had uttered since the Queen had whisked Zagreus away that woeful night. His heart would seize with a desire to have a semblance of the affection he felt when Zagreus was there amongst the halls of Hades. Where they had watched the Styx flow quietly and played hide and seek in the shadows. No one had dared to address him as such since, and he almost snapped at the prince for he was no longer used to such affection. But he knew baring his teeth at the very person who only ever saw him as something more than his divinity — something beyond Death — would be wrong. Zagreus’ eyes could peel away his cold exterior, weave through golden ichor and find something tragically human.

“No.”

A huff, and the water shifted once more. His back was to him, so Thanatos did not see Zagreus come to him — still wet —- and wrapped his strong arms around him. He tugged, and time slowed as he was pulled back, his balance left him and he teetered back on the edge of the spring. Air became cool water and the green of Elysium’s vitality turned blue.

He plunged into the depths of the pool, clothes and all. Above the water’s surface, a muffled cackle reached his drowned ears. Thanatos gritted his teeth, and a hand breached the water to find the fiery ankle of the Prince, dragging him under.

That’ll show him.

Thanatos surfaced soon after, shaking his silver hair from his eyes. He spat the slightly salty water from his mouth. Zagreus rose seconds later, his dark hair matted to his forehead and eyelashes shimmering. His grin remained, almost predatory as his teeth shone between stretched lips.

“Is your jest worth it? We now have to wait for my clothes to dry,” Thanatos grumbled. He shed piece after piece of clothes and armour. Armour was unceremoniously thrown onto the grass, clanking loudly. His robes made wet splats as he attempted to lie each article flat on the marble where the light was the brightest.

“Totally. Hey, do you know how to make water spouts with your hands?”

–

The sun never set on Elysium’s evergreen fields. Night and day did not ebb and flow, nor did they chase one another across the heavens as they did on the surface. In the Underworld’s eternal paradise, time had no meaning.

Thanatos did not know how long he and Zagreus spent in the spring, Elysium's light warming their backs. They sat in the water, a few feet apart with their hair sopping wet and their shoulders glistening with water.

The conversation they had was mostly one sided. Thanatos was reserved, happy to quietly listen to Zagreus prattle on about his life on the surface. He told of the estranged Queen of the Underworld and Demeter, and the quiet serenity he was privileged to experience once he was taken from his birthplace. A farm known only to harbour life and growth, gentle afternoons and beautiful evenings. He painted quite the picture, and Thanatos found himself thinking if only in another life he could have something like that.

And when they were reminded that time was an enemy to them, ever ticking towards a sordid retribution, they both left the comfort of the spring to gather their clothes.

Thanatos guided Zagreus to the edge of Elysium, disposing more of Cronus’ shadows who had tainted the ethereal visage of the Underworld’s eternal paradise. As the gateway between Elysium and Asphodel inched into view, a lone shade rested in the grass idly.

It was not the darkness that murmured terrible intent, nor did it have the white eyes that scorned the Gods. A spear dug into the dirt, rising up like a tall flower and blue butterflies flittering around the shade.

“Hail, strangers,” his ethereal voice whispered.

“Hail! What’s got you out here on your lonesome?” Zagreus answered

“I’m just waiting,” The shade replied, something distant swirling in those pools of brown.

“Waiting for…?”

The shade’s eyes pinned Zagreus. “The end is to come, is it not, stranger?” He does not need to invoke the Titan’s name to get across his meaning.

Zagreus’ eyes went wide for a moment, before narrowing. “Well, I’m here to fix that, sir.”

“The Titan has an anger not even the Gods understand. Olympus surely is nothing but wracked with fear, even the best of mortal men of this realm —-” The shade gestured around them. He was right; besides Theseus, Thanatos had not once caught a glimpse of the souls of the exalted that were said to roam in the open fields and old ruins. “Quake at the thought of our shared fate. Yet here you are, God of nothing, with Death at his side.” The shade huffed a quiet laugh, the air teasing the dark hair that fell around his face. He muttered even quieter, almost as if to keep from Thanatos and Zagreus, “The Fates work in the strangest of ways.”

“Well, there must be a reason, right?”

“In that, you are right. Here,” The shade stood, tall and proud. In his ghostly hands, a red arm guard rested, offered to Zagreus. “Take this, and fight well, God of nothing.”

Zagreus gingerly accepted with both hands. The gold metal that carved pretty patterns into the piece of armour glinted and glimmered as it was secured to Zagreus’ sword arm.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Are you not afraid, God?” The shade asked when Zagreus turned to leave. He was quick to pivot and turn back around. His eyes narrowed once again, his mouth set in a fine and determined line. He looked dire, and it was an expression Thanatos would rather not see on the Prince’s face again.

“No. Never.”

The shade looked content with his answer, nodding quietly. “Good. Go, and conquer what the Underworld could not.”

–

Asphodel called to Thanatos and Zagreus, and thus they answered. Striding past the barrier between the two realms, the difference in temperature immediately made itself known. The soft warmth that wrapped around Elysium was winter compared to the sweltering heat of Asphodel.

What life there used to be was long gone. The husks of verdant fields had long since gone once the Phlegethon flooded. Its molten surface writhed and lapped at the rocky ground under their bare feet.

The light of the river’s fire set Zagreus’ features ablaze. Elysium made him ethereal and untouchable, but Asphodel made him tangible, real, and dangerous.

“Ugh, this heat.” Zagreus’ quiet complaint drowned under the weight of a distant sound. a harrowed scream that shook the realm and disturbed the river. Their path to Cronus was about to end —- to come face to face with a being of a bygone era. Who was ever vigilant in its ascent through the world that held it in unbreakable chains and devoured any God its awful eyes rested upon.

Zagreus’ voice remained silent for a moment after. When the echo of the Titan’s scream faded and the dust disturbed from the earth settled. His mismatched eyes locked on the horizon, shadowed by the earth and the river’s fiery light. “That was… him wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“He sounds hurt.” The humanity within him — what had turned his blood red and set his soul aflame where no God could have — ushered forth an understanding no being in the Underworld could fathom. Zagreus seemed to mourn quietly for this beast, to extend a feeling of pity toward something that had only ever known bitter betrayal and destruction.

Thanatos found he could only muster complete apathy, yet he tried to tamper it in front of Zagreus. “Perhaps it shall be a mercy for you to put it out of its misery, then.”

“Right.”

Zagreus was sober before him. Any hint of mischief from their time at the spring, his laughter that simultaneously haunted his memories and his present, was deathly quiet. His silence left behind a solemn shell that pretended to be the God Thanatos had forever adored. Besides the bubbling lava of the Phlegethon and the echo of Tartarus’ destruction, Asphodel was bathed in strained quiet.

The air between them became stagnant. Zagreus hiked his sword high and rested the flat of the blade on his shoulder. Into Asphodel’s molten lands a wedge of tension drove itself between them. The quiet Thanatos had learned to prefer became something he loathed.

He realised he wanted Zagreus to talk, to walk with a skip in his step, eyes roaming his surroundings and pointing out things that interested him. ‘Than, look at those pillars over there!’ or ‘Than, these flowers are pretty, aren’t they?’

He desperately wanted that back.

Zagreus’ fiery feet stomped on rocky ground, kicking loose stones as he went. They skittered over dead flowers and bones before dropping into the lava. Thanatos thought to ask what was wrong. A part of him dreaded, wondering if he was the reason for Zagreus’ foul mood. However his lips remained sealed, and his eyes trained ahead. It was not his place to ask of something so intimate.

He did not have that privilege, he was no longer a dear friend. He did not know Zagreus like he did when they were youths. They were mere strangers, forced together by the wills of his elusive sisters, who spun the webs of providence in the quiet outskirts of the Underworld.

Thanatos’ chest ached when he finally let his eyes rest upon Zagreus. His fingers wanted to touch and roam. His arms wanted to hold, his lips wanted to kiss, and his eyes wanted to forever witness Zagreus’ beauty. These were foolish wishes, for Zagreus was not long for the Underworld. The prophecy was to be fulfilled, and he would return to his home and mother. They were doomed to become unknown to each other. Once more would Zagreus become a myth, with no evidence of him ever being there in the first place. He would return to his shadows in Thanatos’ mind and his voice would be silenced by time.

Thanatos ached.

–

The new House of Hades was not as grand as his former home in Tartarus, but it was no less ornate nor imposing. The halls echoed with their shared footsteps, the marble cool against their soles. The columns that reached up to hold the roof high glimmered in the torchlight, the gems embedded into the stone varying in colour and shape. The Lord of the Dead had never shied from extravagance.

Thanatos spied his brother, who fluttered in the air at his station by the entry hall. His ledger was long gone, for the dead had not been directed to the Underworld for quite a time.

“Brother, you’re back!” His shrill voice announced to the House. Thanatos saw his Lord shift in the distance, roused by the disturbance of his solitude. The darkness of his mother swirled and gleaming eyes rested on him and his charge. “And is that the Prince?”

“...Zagreus?” Hades’ voice, that often boomed and commanded, was soft and cautious. The walls did not shake, and the Gods did not hold their breaths. The air gently rumbled, and Thanatos heard the years of pent up sadness and loss in the syllables of the Prince’s uttered name.

His massive figure rose and came forth, his red eyes fixed on Zagreus with disbelief. Death did not fail him, and the Moirai had not deceived. They had brought his son back to him, alive and thriving with unspoken divinity.

“My Son, I-” He cut himself off.

“I’m here, Father.” With the two before him, Thanatos realised just how much Zagreus took after Lord Hades. Raven hair glittered like onyx in the light, the red eye, and the shape of his jaw and nose. He had his mother’s beauty, but he had his father’s pride.

Their reunion was brief and awkward, neither father nor son ever understanding truly what to say to one another. Zagreus merely cowered in Hades’ commanding presence, and Hades did all he could to try and shed his fearsome visage, to no avail. Thanatos stood back and tried not to eavesdrop much on their conversation, for he had no place in it.

“...I hope your mother is well.”

“She is, Father. She hopes to one day see you again.”

“And she shall.”

“Of course.” That tone laced Zagreus’ voice once more. The suggestion of his calling, his fate, drained the life from Zagreus in an instant. Thanatos was beginning to understand, and he wished he were not the one to do such a thing. To be levelled with a responsibility so great all he could do was doubt himself. If Hades had noticed the shift in Zagreus, he did not comment.

Instead, his large hands peeled open, revealing something fire bright in his grasp. “This is all I can give. I’d grant you vengeance if I could, but this is all that I can do for now.” Zagreus gingerly picked up the laurels and stared at them. They did not burn his fingers, but lit up his mismatched eyes like the moon does the night. Leaves of deep crimson melted to orange and turned yellow at the tips. They burned as the laurels sat delicately in Zagreus’ dark and messy hair. Leaves fell loose and rose up in the air before burning into ash. The laurels were much like his father’s own, a shared crown to signify a chthonic royalty.

“I- I don’t know what to say.” Zagreus’ voice stumbled.

Hades merely cast a soft glance. “There is nothing to say. Welcome home.”

When Hades retreated, the forms of the other residents of the house came forth to welcome the wayward prince. Many gifts were deposited into his hands, all blessings in their own right. When he, and by extension, Thanatos, were urged into the courtyard, a Shade stood on flat stone ground.

The long blonde curl of his hair immediately gave him away. Zagreus’ face had scrunched in confusion for a moment, before recognition flittered in his eyes.

“Master Achilles?”

The shade smiled, eyes crinkled like a leaf to a flame. “Aye, Lad. Welcome home.” A hand clapped the Prince’s shoulder in camaraderie. “You’ve grown quite a bit since I last saw you.”

“Unfortunately, I still am not as tall as you, Achilles.” Zagreus responded in humour.

As he had when Zagreus talked to Hades, Thanatos did well to

zone out of the conversation. He counted the pomegranates that hung from the tree sequestered to the corner of the courtyard, the only thing Hades had ever managed to grow and nurture in his domain. Each red fruit was ripe and fat, round and perfect. He counted to fifteen when his eyes cut back to Achilles and Zagreus, where the shade had his fingers skirting over Zagreus’ arm where the armguard of the strange shade in Elysium sat.

“If I dare ask, where did you get this?” There was an urgency in Achilles’ query, a light in those blue eyes that turned them piercing. A look that many, Thanatos assumes, had witnessed during his mortal life.

“I saw a shade in Elysium, and he gave this to me. Said I needed it more than he did.”

“Ah.” Achilles loosened his grip and he retreated from Zagreus’ space, scorned. “I see.” His clipped tone had Zagreus shifting in place, mildly uncomfortable. Thanatos wondered who that shade was, if he meant anything to Achilles.

“Forgive me, let us pretend I never asked. Here,” he pulled his Chlamys aside, revealing a blade that rested at his hip. He took it in both hands and offered it to Zagreus. “Take this. This was once wielded by one of your Uncles. It slew this beast, and it shall again.”

Once the blade was in Zagreus’ hands, it morphed into something new, moulded by what looked to be blood wrapped around it. In its red wake, the blade became crimson, its hilt embedded with glimmering bloodstones. It hummed with the flow of a divine vitality only Zagreus wielded.

“Risk not your everything. Go now, and fight well, lad.”

–

Risk not your everything.

A simple sentence, uttered so casually by a man who had razed an entire city; who had the Gods above shudder and shake at his mortal strength; who had died valiantly by one guided by their holy hand.

Zagreus studied Stygius, its metal winking back at him. They had left the House not long ago, ushered by his Father’s urgency and a quick prayer from Night herself. She was beautiful in her silent shadow.

Her eyes had glimmered at him when he mentioned his mother. She wished her well, in a voice that only echoed strained longing. Just as he did his father, Zagreus promised her he’d bring his mother back, once all was said and done. Those eyes shined again, and Zagreus had thought they looked exactly like Thanatos’. Ethereal and unreal.

He looked to Death, who, since the very beginning of his journey, has not once strayed from his side. He walked not too fast and not too slow, their pace synced.

Fingers of rock curled out of the lava and smoke thickened the air of a lone island. The sulphur burned the air and charred flowers skittered. Nestled against the cavern wall, an old altar lay, the bricks of it a deep purple. White candles flickered with fresh flames and a book rested dusty and forgotten on a mossy lectern. Zagreus broke from his route and ran his fingers over the pages. Lines of text regarded him, unknown to him. What God had this scripture dedicated itself to?

Beside the old and crumbling structure, an old tree rose from barren land and stood tall, reaching for a light it was to never see. An echo of the lush fields this place once was. Nestled amongst leaves, some charred from the ashes of the Phlegethon, others vibrant and green, the tree bore fruit.

“Hey, pomegranates!”

Thanatos did not stop him, though the look he gave him suggested he very much wanted to. Zagreus moved at a faster pace, quick in case Thanatos’ mind were to change. He was just tall enough to snag a pomegranate that had dipped lower than the rest. With the fruit in his hands, Zagreus realised he hadn’t eaten since before he descended to the Underworld. A mild hunger formed, and he wasted no time biting into the fruit. It wasn’t as tarte as the ones his mother harvested, but it was juicy and the seeds crunched satisfyingly between his teeth. Thanatos looked at him in mild horror, and Zagreus wiped the juice from his lips lazily.

“What?”

“You- You’re-” He was flustered, cheeks flushed. Unlike Zagreus, ichor ran in his veins, and his cheeks were dusted a pretty gold. “Has nobody taught you how to eat a pomegranate properly?”

“There’s a proper way to eat these?” Zagreus asked, eyes trained on how pretty Thanatos’ skin looked. The gold shimmered in the firelight like a priceless mineral. His mother had never said anything, nor had his grandmother, Zagreus mused.

“Ugh,” Thanatos shook from his stupor and treaded forward, hand outstretched, quietly asking for the fruit Zagreus held in his sticky grip. He handed it over and Thanatos made a face as the juice stained his fingers.

“This isn’t a damn apple, you fool,” He muttered under a sigh. Thanatos peeled backwards the skin to reveal more red seeds nestled within white flesh. “You eat the seeds only, Zagreus.” To demonstrate, he plucked a single seed and popped it in his mouth. A quiet crunch sounded before he gathered a bunch more before depositing them into Zagreus’ waiting palm.

“Oh. I had no idea.” He took the seeds and tipped his head back, syphoning all the seeds at once into his mouth. Without the tasteless flesh and skin, the fruit had a much richer taste.

“Wow you’re right,” Zagreus said, mouth full. “This is much better.”

“Yes, now please chew with your mouth closed, you’re disgusting.” Thanatos sounded amused anyway, despite the exasperation which lined his tone. Zagreus laughed as Thanatos dropped more seeds in his hand. Death smiled quietly in turn.

–

The tree was barely a shadow on the horizon, another islet sat in the endless sea of magma. Much like the others, it was flat and barren. The hot earth scorched their feet and pulled sweat from their pores. The scent of ash lingered, burning their eyes and embers danced in the near dead wind.

What seemed an innocent area of Asphodel’s fiery violence snapped like a taught thread. Sigils cut into the ground, the curvature of golden symbols an ominous omen. The collective groaning fell from saliva slick lips, and the forms of hulking beasts glared at the two Gods. Intruders on their stolen land.

Their darkness was so thick it was solid. Shadows and pockets of starless nights clawed and growled, shuddering in endless agony. More echoes of Cronus. Although they were ghostly visages on Elysium, Zagreus and Thanatos could wrap their fingers around clawed hands here and grappled to keep them from drawing blood and ichor alike.

They smelled like death and decay when they moved and swiped like untamed animals. Zagreus wrinkled his nose in disgust, using all his strength to push away at a shadow that drooled on him, creating enough distance to ready his blade. Another descended, jaws so wide open it looked dislocated. Its teeth clamped down on his shoulder when he was too slow to defend himself. Something cracked, the echo of it sickening, followed by an agonised yelp from the prince.

Bone fractured, his anatomy forced into unnatural forms. He retaliated, a foot doused in eternal flame kicking into the beast’s chest. The force indented its flesh and the shadow’s scream mixed in the smoky air with his own.

Death held his own. He was drowning in the shadows that surrounded him, a dark and endless sea of shuddering and groaning. His magick formed underneath their feet. A purple ring encrusted with ancient symbols cut into the ground, luminous. The rune circle pulsed for a moment, before growing to absorb the wavering life that clung to the creatures. Distant knells tolled in the air — his deed done.

Somewhere during the battle, Zagreus found his rhythm. His left shoulder was out of place and awkward still, yet he worked like he was untouchable. He danced like a seasoned warrior. Stygius sang with each shadow it cut through like butter. They fought back at him in turn, painting his pale skin with constellations of red. He moved with a speed that only Hermes could attain. Amongst the fiery laurels that sat in his dark hair, the very plume the God had gifted Zagreus in the temple glimmered.

He looked beautiful in violence. He wore it well too, breathing in the stink of death and destruction, as if he were crafted for such moments.

The shadows left no corpses, only small puddles of black dotting the islet. Zagreus and Thanatos stood in the aftermath, chests heaving to recapture stolen air.

When Thanatos looked at Zagreus he saw fire. Not Asphodel’s, but Zagreus’ own. The fire of blood thirst alight in his mismatched eyes. His chest was wet with sweat, rising up and down with a desperate rhythm. Dark brows drawn down and eyes glaring, blood trailed from his mouth and fell off his chin.

Just as the veneer had come, it slipped. Zagreus sank to his knees, Stygius clattering at his side. Spent and exhausted, his palms slapped on the rock to keep him from face planting.

Thanatos dismissed his scythe. It flashed bright purple and he carefully strode over to the prone form of the Prince, a frown etched onto his usually apathetic face. Golden eyes roamed Zagreus’ figure, bruised and bloodied, but no wounds that suggested a threat to his mortality. He would live. A hand, hidden in the silver of a gauntlet, reached out. Palm open, it waited for another to press into its cold width.

There was no exchange of warmth as Zagreus’ bare palm slid into Thanatos’. He silently cursed the gauntlet before pushing that thought aside and pulled at the Prince, heaving him up on his weak legs.

“You’re not done yet.” Thanatos said, voice soft in the air. It still sizzled with the electricity of battle.

Zagreus’ lips pulled back into a grin, his blood stained teeth glinted.

“Almost.” A promise to an end, an awful reminder that as easily as Zagreus came, he could go, like blossoms in early spring.

“No. I won’t allow it.” Thanatos responded all too quickly, his hand still curled in Zagreus’, tightening. “Come now, there should be another fountain chamber somewhere here.”

–

They did not find the fountain chamber on the island.

They stepped off the skiff made of bones, bobbing in the waves of the Phlegethon. Its empty-eyed skulls glared at their retreating backs. No foes greeted them, no screams echoed in the distance. Instead, a quiet voice swayed, sweetening the sulphur.

“Is that… singing?” Zagreus asked. Up past the flight of stairs, the voice got louder and the lyrics became legible.

A small house, quaint and innocent, sat on the edge of a cliff face overlooking the Phlegethon. How someone could make a comfortable home in such an inhospitable environ as Asphodel, Thanatos could never know.

Amongst the death of all things, lit by only the river’s flames and between dark rocks, suffocating and smelling of decaying earth, a lorn nymph had made herself a pocket of life and comfort with her siren’s song, sickly sweet, and the gentle candlelight of her small abode carving soft shadows.

Thanatos watched her work in the kitchen. Something simmered in a pot as she stirred idly with a wooden ladle. She was tall and slender, her skin made of bark and tattooed with intricate patterns of vibrant colours. Her hair, tied up high on her scalp, looked like a tree in autumn, proud and vibrant.

The shade of an oak nymph, Thanatos mused.

He intruded on her serene solitude, rapping his bruised knuckles politely on the open entry where a door would be. Her hazel eyes turned to him, startled.

“I-hello?” Her voice melodic, if tinged with mild annoyance.

Here was Death, barging in on her sweet afterlife, a man who was no more than a grim reminder of what she had lost. Recognition did not ignite when he caught her amber eyes. She was likely not a soul he had ferried to Hades.

“Excuse me for my interruption, however I have a problem,” he started.

Her eyes broke from his, searching behind him. They zeroed in on Zagreus, who continued to bleed.

“Aw, seen better days, hon?”

Zagreus laughed, loud and melodic. It was wet with the blood that congealed in his throat and mouth. He smelled strongly of copper.

“Yeah.”

He found himself and Zagreus ushered inside her home. Zagreus was unceremoniously shoved down on a stiff chair at a small wooden table . A potted plant sat on the table, proud, vibrant, and green, the first verdure Thanatos had seen since Elysium. Even in a place like this, the nymph had worked her magic. Flowers bloomed in the corner next to a bed which was meticulously made.

“Watch the blood, hon. That stuff’s a real pain to clean. You.” She snapped her fingers at Thanatos. The warm honey of her eyes hardened. “Come with me.”

Not wanting to inflame her strange ire, he complied. But not without sending a final look Zagreus’ way as he left, a silent warning — Do not do anything funny.

She guided Thanatos to the small kitchenette where he had first seen her. Whatever she had been stirring had begun to bubble, steam rising and dissipating into the air. It smelled of spice with a hint of nectar sweetness.

“He’s lucky. I have just the thing cookin’,” The nymph said, “Stir this for me, I have these pomegranates I need to de-seed.”

Wasting no time, Thanatos obeyed the whims of the strange shade. His hand, calloused from handling weapons all his life, was willed to perform domesticity. He was not made for this, stirring too unevenly, and some of the liquid spilled. The wooden ladle scratched at the bottom of the pot, yet Thanatos did not pause. He worked quietly and his mind wandered, staring into the golden liquid that simmered in the pot. The nymph deposited the seeds whilst he stirred.

“That should be just about done, I think.” She took over and Thanatos found himself standing awkwardly, hands stiff at his sides and back taught.

He soon found his hands occupied with a warm bowl. “Give this to him. It’ll heal the minor wounds but won’t do much for his shoulder- hon I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Thanatos spun on his heel, the contents of the food threatening to spill over the lip of the bowl. His eyes glared at the Prince, who was forcing his shoulder back in place.

“Zagreus!” Thanatos barked.

Zagreus startled, hand dropping. Thanatos marched over to the small table, he placed the bowl of food in front of Zagreus.

“I’ll fix that shoulder. You’ll make it worse.”

Zagreus mostly ignored him, attention solely on his food. While Zagreus shovelled in the pom porridge —- as the nymph called it —-she took a seat opposite. She finally introduced herself as Eurydice with a warm smile.

“Zagreus.” Zagreus placed a hand on his chest, then moved to point at Thanatos. “Thanatos.”

“Zagreus. As in Hades’ lost prince?” Eurydice asked.

“I’m not lost any more, am I?”

“After all this time, what made you come back?” Zagreus didn’t go into too much detail with Eurydice about his return. Important family business he lied through his teeth.

She asked no more questions and took the bowl when Zagreus placed it back on the table delicately. Like she had promised, Zagreus looked a lot healthier. The bleeding had stopped and cuts had sewn themselves shut. Bruises vanished, leaving behind unblemished smooth skin.

Thanatos had moved closer to Zagreus to place his hands on his odd shoulder. The heat of Zagreus nipped at the pads of Thanatos’ cool fingers. It was electrifying. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be– f*ck! Ow!” Thanatos moved with a quick mercy, forcing the shoulder back into place with a loud pop!

“You couldn’t have warned me?” Zagreus whined, an unshed tear in his left eye winked in the warm light.

“I did the job, did I not?”

Zagreus merely grunted in response. Thanatos’ fingers dug into the joint, massaging to relieve some of the pain. When he was satisfied, he pulled back and something dug into his foot. He looked down, and he noticed a small red crystal. Then one became many, all shards sharing the same vibrant crimson.

“What is all of this?” he asked Zagreus.

Zagreus’ mild annoyance had turned into something sheepish.

“I found that I can manipulate my blood. Look.” Into the skin that had fixed itself, Zagreus took the sharp blade of his sword and cut a small incision. Blood beaded from the opening, smelling richly of copper.

Whatever Zagreus did, it made the liquid float into the air, like gravity had ceased to exist. It formed into thin ribbons, then crystallised into a shard of a blood stone. It fell into Zagreus’ open palm, sparkling as it shifted.

In the throes of boredom, accompanied by only a hyperactive mind, and the heat of Asphodel searing his skin, a young God had discovered his divinity. It was so very Zagreus, Thanatos thought with amusem*nt.

Zagreus, the God of Blood, shimmered like the sun before him. Blood wet on his fingertips, the fresh wound carved into his skin continued to bleed and yet his eyes were alight with a vitality only a God such as he could have.

Blood meant life, and life itself —- Death’s other half —- had manifested in Zagreus.

Somewhere upon Olympus, where other Gods shuddered with the threat of the end, Aphrodite was reeling. She plucked at the invisible strings that drew the two closer together, solidifying the bond that bound them together. Her ultimate will, manifest.

-

Eurydice saw them off, Zagreus promising a visit in the future with a grin on his face. She laughed then, a song in itself.

Down the stairs, where Eurydice’s abode hid behind towering rocks, Zagreus halted his pace. The skiff at the dock waited for them, and the river gently caressed at the bedrock, sizzling. At the eve of Fate, with a Titan almost in reach, Zagreus began to hesitate.

Before he ultimately died at the hands of such rough beast, he turned to Thanatos for the last time. He remembered the small glass bottle, cool against his skin. Hidden in his chiton for that exact moment.

Thanatos looked down at him, an eyebrow raised in silent question. He skipped any fanfare and shoved the bottle of Ambrosia into Thanatos’ hands.

Expectedly, he looked starstruck. “Where did you get this from?”

“I found it up in Elysium.” He answered back. “I’ve always wanted for you to have it, but I never knew when to give it to you. Now seems most appropriate.” Thanatos’ eyes slid back to lock onto his own. Under thick eyelashes they were radiant, incandescent in a world of fire.

“I-I do not know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know that I uh,” Zagreus paused, words leaving his tongue and leaving it numb in their wake. Whenever feelings manifested within him, Zagreus became a mess. “Look, you’ve been with me this entire time, I’ve realised how much we’ve missed each other. I regret having been taken away from here. From you.”

“I would dream of you. Then I didn’t remember who you were, but what I did know is that you were important to me.” Forgiving the Titan was not an option any more. Eternally, he shall remain angry for what its threat had done to them. Time may mean naught to most immortal Gods, but Zagreus found it meant more to him. “It is by the Fates’ design we’re together again. And I am eternally grateful.”

Death remained silent. Zagreus had unloaded a lot, but he could not afford the luxury of ‘taking it slow.’ He took a step into Thanatos’ space and craned his head up to keep eye contact. Warm hands found themselves upon his shoulders and his heels lifted off the ground, giving Zagreus the height he needed to press his lips to Thanatos’.

Something sparked within Thanatos, drawing him to move with Zagreus. Palms raised to rest on Zagreus’ hips to keep him stable, his own lips kissing him back. Time stopped in that moment, and Asphodel’s smoke dissipated, the Underworld itself seeming to pause just for them in that instant.

Zagreus pulled back for air, and the gold he had caught glimpses of had manifested. A golden ichor of divinity shimmered under Thanatos’ ashen skin. Having seen it so close was a privilege to Zagreus.

“Gold suits you. You should wear more of it,” Zagreus mumbled against Death’s lips. Cold but oh so delicate.

Thanatos chuckled at that. “I have a reputation to uphold. I am Death, not Wealth.”

Zagreus hummed and kissed him again, to coax more of that ichor to his cheeks. Thanatos ran a hand in Zagreus’ dark hair, knocking the circlet of laurels askew. Leaves continued to fly away, burning in the air and turning to ash. Breathing him in, Thanatos smelled of lavender and the freshness of Elysium. He smelled and felt divine, Zagreus could not get enough of him.

-

Upon the skiff, the edge of Asphodel in sight, Thanatos gave Zagreus something.

“For the Ambrosia,” He had said. Peeling his fingers open, a butterfly, with purple wings lined with gold sat delicately in his palm.

Death never gave, only took. Zagreus, as he always had been, was the exception.

-

At the gates of Tartarus, a figure stood. A silent sentinel in the death-like whisper of a city long gone quiet.

Something in Zagreus recognised her. A girl with a gentle blue hue to her skin and straight, long hair. The gold of her eyes burned in the lingering light of the Phlegethon. She had always been a bit rough with him when they were young, chasing each other in the grand hall of the House. Yet he never backed down from a challenge, exchanging bruises and pulled hair.

Like Thanatos, he forgot her once he left, a mere shadow in his mind, voiceless and faceless. As he stood before her, Zagreus struggled to remember her name.

“Huh, so he’s come ‘round at last.” Her voice rumbled like the Phlegethon, thick and troublesome. Her eyes glared down at him, and he tried not to blush.

“Be nice, Megaera.” Thanatos’ voice rumbled too, a silent challenge. A hint at a quiet rivalry that sat between the two.

Megaera. How dare he forget a name like that.

“I’m taking the piss, Thanatos. Lighten up.” The tongue of a hot pink whip gently smacked at Thanatos. “Welcome home, Zag.” She then smiled and all her edges eroded, leaving nothing but a softness only a dear friend could harbour. A reminiscence of a history only she had the privilege of knowing. Zagreus wished he could have the same, yet he only felt a faint ember light in his chest, which suffocated under the fog of amnesia.

“Good to be back?” He tried.

She barked a laugh in return, her whip coiled in her grasp like a snake. “I wouldn’t go that far.” Her eyes locked onto the outer city walls, yet to collapse in an earth shattering quake. “There’s something in there that’s making this place f*ck awful.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I won’t keep you long, we’ll have time to catch up. If you live, of course.” Zagreus’ own toothy grin rose to match hers. Something new unveiled itself from the fog of his mind.

A friendship built on shared mischief. A riled up Cerberus and an exasperated Hades. A broken mirror and rocks skipping along the surface of the River Styx. Megaera’s friendship was the light to a flame that burnt bright and wild. This revelation made him ache with what he had missed out on. What more had his poor memory taken from him? Who else ignited different aspects of himself? He merely thought upon his childhood upon the surface with dismay; a lonely boy surrounded by verdure, with only the sun to keep him company.

Before she saw him and Thanatos off, Megaera gently pried out the small gold hoop that looped around Zagreus’ earlobe and replaced it with something that looked like a small skull. It dangled on a silver chain, delicate and pretty. “Here’s to your swift victory, Prince.”

She closed the gates. As Asphodel rested behind them, the remains of Tartarus trembled ahead.

-

The predecessor of the Gods themselves rumbled deep in the fathomless Tartarus. The city that could have been the backdrop to his childhood — rendered unrecognisable in its wreckage and strange chambers. What used to buzz with activity, lied in awful silence. Weaving through a labyrinth of broken walls and pitfalls that opened to yawning maws of dark shadow, Zagreus’ heart skipped pace. His hands gripped tighter and tighter on his sword.

Closer than ever, his fate faced him. Inevitable and unavoidable. He looked to Thanatos, who looked back, steady and calm. Forever the anchor that steadied his restless soul. His golden gaze softened the edge of the spear of responsibility that poked and prodded at his heart.

A scream rattled the earth and the foundations of the city. What he once saw only in the dead of night, the spectre became flesh and blood. A hulking and awful beast, its back hunched and limbs deformed and clawed. Its mouth hung open on a broken jaw, unable to close. Teeth shimmered with saliva, pooling in its gums and excess drooling from its lips.

It hungered for more than a city. It wanted the bodies of the divine. The desire swirled brightly in its pale eyes when it turned its massive head and peered down at Zagreus. As it roared, its mouth formed the same garbled language he had heard in his nightmares. A promise for retribution.

The long lost tongue of the Titans, tossed aside and forgotten once their reign had crumbled and the earth forgot the taste of their bodies, with only the chains of Tartarus left to know them.

“Deal some death, Zag,” Thanatos said, his scythe glinting in the dim light of Ixion, the burning wheel which fought to combat the fog of destruction.

“It’d be my pleasure.” The time had come, it was kill or be killed.

–

Battle asked for no pause, time never did.

Fire-licked feet hit the ground, pounding towards the lumbering Titan. A drum-beat to the singing in Zagreus’ veins —- vibrantly red and lava hot. Zagreus bloomed in the heat of battle, beautiful but merciless, and his sword sung as it slashed through the rotting meat of Cronus. Pure golden ichor spilled from gaping wounds and splattered onto the floors of Tartarus like a strange rainfall.

Flesh ripped and tore under the blessed blade. Cronus — a Titan — once hailed a King of all, the bringer of a Golden Age. To be reduced to mere flesh was the utmost humiliation. Something sparked in a mind muddied by the stench of Tartarus, observing the two Gods that flittered before it like butterflies. In its rising anger and frustration, the embers of long dormant power sizzled. Time itself used to be his, and he was ready to reclaim it.

Claws curled and palms opened, tearing through reality, leaving opening pockets of nebulous black in their wake. Time froze in those tears and golden dust flickered in the air, catching on Zagreus’ hair and lashes. Sharp claws caught on skin and swiped at the air. Zagreus was fast, almost too fast for the Titan to keep up.

As the battle wore on, more and more blood seeped from gaping wounds, mingling with sweat and dust. Zagreus however, never stopped, the vigour in his veins continued to beat, spurring him on. Fate was not something he could afford to fail.

Life could only be followed by Death, the final battle with Cronus was no exception.

Thus Thanatos had worked in tandem with Zagreus, their moves mimicking each other, as if long practised. The silver crescent of a scythe carved, the red of a long blade pierced. Slowlythey chipped away at the Titan. Screams echoed, threatening to cave in the earth around them. Tartarus hung on a string, bound to snap. It trembled and shook, Zagreus fighting against the ground to stay steady.

“Steady, Zag.” The ghost of a breath cooled Zagreus’ hot cheek.

The thunder of another scream created a crack in the ground. Zagreus skirted over it, only to be caught in a pocket of endless darkness. It was Cronus’ own magick, thick and imposing. It smelled of dust, gold glimmering in the black, mocking him as he struggled to break free.

Wretched claws grabbed at him, taking him in Cronus’ grasp. Its fingers were so long they carved into Zagreus, and his blood pooled in its palm. Wrenched free from his prison, he was brought closer. He watched with horror as the beast salivated. He intended to devour him, as he did his sons and daughters aeons ago.

Thanatos was quicker. With all his strength, he cut through the gold dusted air. Like butter, he sliced the Titan’s hand clean off. Zagreus fell with the appendage, landing hard on the ground. Wrapped still in old flesh and blood, of his own and the Cronus’, he struggled to breathe.

There was a blessed silence, between life and death. Eternity lay between, where Zagreus witnessed flashes of his life pass him by. An awful realisation hit him - he was bound to die. The mournful death knell tolled in his mind, the gold of Death's eyes blinding him as he suffocated on the blood that filled his lungs, the severed hand that kept him trapped, assaulting his nose with decay.

Who would tell the tale of the Prince of the Underworld, taken from his home as a Titan rose from its prison, to destroy the city that held it down?

The poor Chthonic God who was thus raised upon the earth and beneath the light of Apollo, who’s fingernails were coated in dirt. Who then came back down to where he belonged, to best such rough beast for the Fates decided so, and died in its grasp?

With only Death himself as his witness, who’s desperate cries silenced by Zagreus’ own end.

Dead men, or dead Gods for the matter, tell no tales…

but…

Something snapped, and the blood beneath Zagreus’ skin began to boil once more, it rushed through his system and his mortal heart pounded with renewed vigour. Zagreus screamed, the sensation was too much. All the blood he had lost came back to him and he fought to his feet. The fog of death faded to the shadows, and the God of Blood stood anew, glaring down the ancient beast who glared back at him with its awful eyes. “Not. Yet.”

Zagreus willed the blood, his own and not, to congeal around him. Crystals of red and gold rose zipped through the air towards the Titan, each pointed tip pierced its flesh. Each crystal embedded rewarded groaning and shrieking alike. It brought the Titan to its knees, the fire in its eyes, however, brightened. It stared down at the new God with a new burning hatred. Its crying had ceased, leaving a hum of a garbled tongue.

“You’re done.” Zagreus responded. In a clean swipe, his sword severed the large head from its body. It fell with a wet slap, and ichor soon flooded. It seeped into the cracks on the ground like tar —- rank and foetid. Zagreus fell with it too. Stygius clattered from his loosened grip, his bare knees scrape on the limestone and he hung his head to weep.

–

Being the catalyst of a beast’s fall would not call for something quite so sombre.

And here Thanatos stood, an accessory to such a feat, and he watched as Zagreus tipped his head back and cried out. His reedy voice echoed in the desecrated city, shattering the silent shadows. The tears streak his cheeks like shooting stars in the night.

Thanatos hesitated to comfort him. Cold fingers sink into black hair, gold dust shimmered, falling to his shoulders at the intrusion. His fingers slipped as Zagreus gathered himself, and rose on shaky feet. He picked up his sword, still coated in gold, and wiped it off apathetically. “I’m sorry.” he croaked.

“You need not apologise.”

“I don’t know why I acted as such. I-” Thanatos then approached, tentatively closing the distance between them. His hands rose once again, catching the stars that fell from Zagreus’ mismatched eyes. He wiped them away and held his face gently.

“You achieved something only you could have done. Your reaction is not to be shamed. I am proud of your work here.”

Zagreus’ head tilted up to meet Thanatos’ own eyes, his dark eyelashes wet and clumped together. The pallid green of Ixion’s light bathed them as Thanatos leaned down to press a quiet kiss to Zagreus’ trembling lips.

When the dust settled, the outline of a familiar house formed. Nearly forgotten and floored, a wretched pile of limestone climbs over the rest of the wrecked city. A poor attempt at recreating the empire the Titan called his own, one threatening the Underworld itself. An empire promised to never stop growing and reach as high as Olympus and beyond. Unnatural. Evil at its worst.

Death’s hands skimmed over hot skin, a quiet comfort in a city now completely silent in awe —- fathomless Tartarus was tranquil for the first time in so long. Then its river flooded. Red wrapped around the corpse of Cronus and it then sunk. With its prize carried by its gentle waves, the Styx escorted the Titan back to its eternal prison.

–

EPILOGUE

–

The house, still in renovation, but long since has been inhabited by shades and Gods alike. It sung with renewed life.

The Queen hummed gently with her son, his fingers deftly plucking at the delicate strings of a Lyre. The gold of his instrument glimmered in the candle light. His eyes downcast, his lashes nearly brushing his cheeks as his voice murmured a quiet tune, sweet and melodic.

Flowers that once would not have bloomed so deep below the earth, now thrived in the halls thanks to Persephone’s giving touch and presence. Thanatos did his best to steer clear of them, his own touch would merely make them wither.

What didn’t wither under his touch, is the Prince. Life itself, oddly enough. His brother snored in the great hall, and Hades was outside tending to the Queen’s burgeoning garden. Thanatos could hear Megaera laughing in the lounge and the shadow of Achilles stoop proud at his post, but not without his own mirth as he listened to Zagreus entertain them like he were Orpheus —- who’s music made the world weep, whose voice ignited and reverberated.

And when he was done and set his lyre aside, Zagreus took Thanatos’ hands within his own, and guided him out to the garden where he Lord Father worked. They accompanied him, digging the earth and folding it apart to plant the seeds Persephone had brought with her from the surface.

Where he once told Thanatos, Zagreus now told Hades of his life upon the surface and not once did he compare it to the new home he had made. For the Underworld’s strange beauty could never be compared to. He had much love for this place where he once grew up, and then forgot about. He learned its realms, its smells and its light every day, and had fallen deeper in love with it all.

In the aftermath of the Second Coming, where Zagreus’ soft hands turned hard and cold, who had torn the Titan piece to piece like his father had once done, he knew he would give this world his heart and soul.

When the sundial in the West hall suggested evening had fallen, Zagreus would retreat to his chambers, with Death at his heel. He would have him hold him in his cool arms and he would lend an ear to Zagreus’ wishes for the present and future —- what more he could do for this world that was his birthright.

And Thanatos nodded along and kissed his temple, promising to be there for now and for eternity. And Zagreus promised the same, for that is their nature. Their own prophecy.