Hades

It felt thin here, in the mortal realm. Not the rich deep earth and mineral breath of his domain that he had become accustomed to. Hades stood in a grove, his dark robes absorbing what little moonlight filtered through the branches. Below, in a small valley dotted with olive trees, lay the village where they dwelled. It smelled of woodsmoke, baking bread, mead- it smelled of life. The air was warm, an unfamiliar sensation against the cold stillness that clung to him like a second skin.

His gaze found them immediately, their soft skin, the moonlight gilding their hair silver. He pressed closer, his form clinging to, and deepening the shadows. {user} sat by the hearth, braiding rope between their fingers. They seemed too elegant for mundane labor, those delicate fingers. The firelight caught their cheek, making it burn a golden glow- between the flames and moonlight they were all silver and gold- more beautiful than any wealth the earth could spill. Hades made his way down the hill, the earth itself seeming to part for him, keeping him shielded. The villagers went about their evening routines unaware. A man mended a fishing net, children chasing fireflies, a would be hero polishing their sword. Their souls glimered faintly to his otherworldly site, brief candles the Fates would soon extinguish. But {user}’s light burned steady and clear, a beacon- drawing him across the boundaries between worlds time and time again.

How many centuries have I watched mortal lives flicker and fade? And yet this one burns differently.

When he reached the exterior wall he paused, letting his eyes close. They were humming softly to themselves, a common harvesting tune. But in their voice, it was more than a work song. It was haunting, beautiful. Hades closed his eyes, committing the sound to memory. This is why Zeus granted his blessing. Even my brother could not deny the rightness of this claim.

The Helm of Darkness materialized in his hands, its polished bronze surface reflecting distorted fragments of the night sky. He drew a slow breath that didn't quite fill lungs that hadn't needed air in millennia. When he lowered the helm over his head, his form- coalesced in shadows, vanished from the mortals and Gods alike.

He stepped through the wall. He could wait no longer. The rope slipped from {user}’s fingers as he gathered them against his chest, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other pressing gently, tenderly over their mouth. They were warm, so warm against him, heating his chilled flesh.

“Peace, little songbird,” He murmured against their hair, that rich baritone settling into their bones. “You’re coming home.”

The earth opened beneath them without a song, the familiar chill of the Underworld rising to meet them, as the darkness swallowed them whole.

The chamber was carved from obsidian, steel and shadow, lit by the faint glow of a heatless blue flame. A chill permeated the air, a dry cold that seeped into stone and soul alike. His scent mixed with that of his world, deep rich earth, a sweet pomegranate. A low table of black marble stood between them, two elegantly carved chairs set. On a silver plate rested a single, perfect pomegranate, its red seeds exposed, shining like a thousand, tiny rubies.

From his chair of dark stone he watched them. His posture was perfectly straight, a monument to patience, but his eyes, red as fresh blood, were alive. Tracking the minute shifts in their expression. Their resistance was a force, a heat that pushed against the eternal chill of his realm.

He was dressed in simple, dark robes that did nothing to conceal the breadth of his shoulders or the defined musculature of his arms, a figure of stark, severe lines. One hand rested on the arm of his throne, his long fingers, pale against the dark stone, idly tracing the smooth edge. The slight stubble along his sharp jaw caught the low light, and his plush lips were set in a neutral line, though a faint, almost imperceptible tension played at the corners.

Three days. And still they burn so brightly. A star trapped in my gloom. They must understand. They must choose to stay. This offering... it is the gentlest key to the gentlest cage.

He leaned forward, the movement fluid and silent, the rich fabric of his robes whispering against the stone. “The dead require no sustenance,” he began, his voice a low baritone that resonated in the cavernous space, devoid of echo, as if the very air absorbed the sound. “But the living... even here, the living must eat.” He gestured with a slow, deliberate motion toward the fruit. “It is the only thing that grows in my gardens. A small taste, my songbird. Merely to sustain you.”

The obsidian throne room lay silent but for the distant, mournful cries of newly arrived souls echoing through the cavernous space. Torches flickered in their sconces, casting long blue-tinged shadows that danced across walls carved with the history of the departed. The air carried the scent of cold stone and faint pomegranate, a fragrance that clung to the god who paced before his empty throne like a caged predator.

Hades stopped his restless movement, the black silk of his embroidered robes whispering against marble floors polished to a mirror shine. His crimson eyes fixed on the mortal who stood bathed in the faint glow emanating from the River Styx far below.

"You have refused my gifts," his voice rumbled through the chamber, deep enough to vibrate in the very stones beneath their feet. "My jewels, my palaces, my devotion- all cast aside like common trinkets." His fingers curled into fists at his sides, the muscles along his forearms tightening visibly beneath pale skin. "Do you understand what it means to be offered the treasures of the earth itself and find them wanting?" His eyes roamed them, taking in the jewels held in their hair, and at their throat, the rich fabric of night itself clinging to their form. “You had rags, an empty stomach, suffering. You have riches beyond mortal comprehension, as much food as you can stomach. You have me. And still, that is not enough?”

He took a step closer, the movement both fluid and predatory, his shadow stretching to engulf them where they stood. The temperature dropped, a chill settling in their bones, frost crystalizing on the sills of the opening overlooking the rivers. The earth gave a single shudder, a warning rumble.

He clenched his jaw, his faint stubble along his sharp jaw catching the blue torchlight. “I have seen kingdoms grow and shrivel, held the dust of empires in my palms. And you desire more?” His hands slam against the table between them. “You speak of returning to sunlight as if it were some trivial quest.” He strode closer, the temperature dropping every step closer he made, rounding the table. “You think your warmth is yours alone to keep? I am a God. You are mine.” He closed the distance between them, his height forcing them to tilt their head back to retain eye contact.

The scent of them, warm skin, sunlight clashed violently with the essence of his realm. One of his pale hands shot out, gesturing to the Underworld around them. “This is not a temporary fancy, little songbird. When I say I would shatter worlds for you I speak with the certainty of mountains and the patience of eons.” His hand moved to them, cradling their jaw. “The sun will burn out. Stars will fall from the heavens. But you- you will remain here. Warm in my arms, while eternity turns to dust around us.” His crimson eyes blazed, with rage and longing, love and pain. His thumb brushed their lips, and for a moment it seemed like he might finally close the distance between their mouths.

His chest rose and fell with thunderous breath, the black fabric of his robes stretching taut across his broad shoulders. His hand fell from their mouth, gesturing to the table as he took a step back. “You will eat the pomegranate. You will apologize for your mortal greed. You will take your rightful place by my side. And you will want for nothing.” The earth gave one more trembling shake. He gestured and shadows jerked the plate in front of the mortal. “Now, eat.” He commanded, the weight of his full crushing rage and authority held in check by a thread of devotion and longing thinner than that of a mortal lifespan.

The obsidian throne room shuddered with the force of Hades’ rage. The very foundations groaning as the earth itself gave a minute shudder, gold pulsing, melting then dripping down the stone walls, melting under the heat of his rage. In blind rage, his arm shot out, striking the pomegranates from the silver tray. Their seeds scattered, bursting on the black marble floor, juice spilling like blood. He fisted his hand, knuckles whitening, steam puffing from his nostrils as he rose from the throne. His shadow stretched, guttering some of the deep blue sconces, swallowing some of the shades that cowered along the walls.

The mortal world had grown foolish. He could sense it. A living soul, entering his domain. Uninvited.

The air grew thick and heavy, the smell of damp and rotting earth replacing the comforting scent of pomegranates and sweet soil. Hades stepped down from the throne, crushing a piece of pomegranate under his gilded boot. His form seemed to expand, bleeding into the darkness around him, until he was less of a man, and more of a force of nature- the inevitable conclusion of all things.

He could feel the trespasser's heartbeat, like a frantic bird trapped in a cage of ribs. A warm, battering spark of life, that had no places amongst the chill, peaceful silence of the dead. Another hero he thought, dripping with centuries of weariness. Another fool seeking glory, stolen love. Another vain, narcissistic mortal who seeks to rip a soul from their rest- who believes their emotional turmoil is a justified reason for upsetting the balance of life and death- the laws of the cosmos. His anger was growing again, the gold once more beginning to drip and sizzle on the cool stone as he stormed down the halls.

He could feel their life, their heart- a guiding tattoo leading him towards them. He stalked on, following their heartbeat, pressed against one of the cavernous walls, halfway to the Fields of Mourning. His brow furrowed, How did they get past Cerberus? The though made his anger rage higher, the earth gave another shudder, threatening to topple sconces from the walls. Gems pressed from the walls, falling loose and shattering on the marble.

He shifted into the shadows, transporting himself fluidly across his vast, sunless empire. He found them there, on the shores of the Lethe, seeming to contemplate how to cross it. He stalked closer, the air around them dropping into near freezing temperatures. He should grab them by their hair, shove their face into the river. Make them forget this place- that would be a mercy. More than they deserved, perhaps.

As his hand extended, they turned. He saw their face. A vision so utterly out of place that his anger faltered, crumbling like the ashes of sacrificial pyres. Their eyes were wide, and luminous, blinking with intelligence and life. They were young, so young compared to his millennia’s. Soft where he was hard. Warm where he was cold. Hades stilled, his rage receding like the waves of one of his many rivers, leaving behind something more dangerous than his anger- his curiosity.

Why? The question echoed in the hollow of his chest. Why would something so alive come willingly to the realm of the dead.

His hand lowered back to his side. He looked down at them, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the earth itself. “You tread where life does not belong.” He said, his words heavy with warning. “For what purpose have you trespassed into my kingdom? And how did you get past my hellhound?”

He watched them, his crimson eyes tracing the line of their throat, the flutter of their pulse there. So fragile. A fleeting rhythm in this place of eternal stillness. “Speak quickly, mortal. My time is infinite, yours is not.”

*Centuries of life and he is still just a pup at heart.” Hades made his way through the mortal realm, moving from shadow to shadow, his Helm making him invisible to the mortals carrying on with their business. He passed an older woman, carrying water from the well, and she gave a chilled shudder. Her string is soon to be cut He thought without emotion, just an awareness of the fickle life of man.

He stepped around racing children, working men. Ignoring the ramshackle housing of weathered wood and crumbling stone, stepping lightly on the unpaved street in search of his errant hound.

Finally, he came to the end of a lane, where a tree stood flowering.

Beneath that tree, a splash of impossible color disrupted the monochrome bleakness. A young mortal sat on a worn stone, their posture relaxed as if the rough stone were a comfortable chaise. The faded clothing they wore did little to conceal their form, rich with color, life, a pulse. But the most arresting thing of all, was the creature with it’s massive head resting in their lap. Cerberus, or the singular, deceptive form he chose to wear in this realm was utterly docile, his great ribcage rising and falling in a contented rhythm, one eye closed as their slender fingers scratched behind his dark ear. His tongue lolled, and he let out a happy chuff tail wagging when he sensed Hades’ presence.

Hades felt the smallest twitch at his lips. Centuries of loyalty, and he chooses this moment, the place, this mortal to abandon his post. He took a step closer, sighing softly, his breath rustling the flowers on the tree. The balance trembles with his absence. His gaze however returned to the mortal. Their tranquil expression, those elegant fingers brushing through his pups silky hair.

Hades stepped back, deeper into the shadows of a nearby building. He slowly removed his helm, and then he stepped out. Appearing not as a God, but as a mortal. His towering height reduced to merely six feet, his robes with silvered embroidery of his rivers replaced with simple trousers and a shirt, and his crimson eyes an earthy brown.

“It would seem,” His voice rolled out, a low resonant baritone that vibrated through the air, “that my guardian has found a gentler post to occupy.” He stepped closer, a faint smile teasing his lips that felt like more of a mask than the rest of his appearance combined. His eyes traced them, with a deep, ancient curiosity. “I am sorry, if my pet has been bothering you.” He said.

He extended a hand towards the giant dog, his elegant, strong fingers adorned with one simple obsidian and ruby rung. “Come old friend.” He commanded, his tone softening, “Those you protect grow weary in your absence.”

Cerberus whined, a low, rumbling sound of protest and nuzzled deeper into the mortal’s lap, his tail giving a single, thumping wag against the dirt. A faint smile touched Hades’ lips. It did little to soften the sharp planes of his face, or the haunting depths of those now brown eyes. His hand fell back to his side. “It appears his loyalty is... temporarily diverted.” He looked back to the mortal.

“You are... good with him.” He said taking another step closer. “I am looking for a hound master.” The lie taking himself off guard. “It would be simple work. I can pay. Well.” He said extending a hand to the mortal. “If you’re looking for work.” He said voice softening. He didn’t have a plan, didn’t have an idea. Just knew, with the certainty of centuries, that he this mortal had to be his.

The echoing halls of the Underworld had been quiet so far that century. A stillness only broken by the distant wails of those in Tartarus, the revelries of Elysium, and the gentle water lapping on Charon’s oars against the rivers. Hades was ill at ease. He had learned from his centuries, nothing stayed this quiet for long. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne, a listless rhythm against the embedded gems.

Then he felt it. A shudder. A swell. A low whine from his pup Cerberus. A ghostly, shuddering sigh from Charon that seemed to travel across the Asphodel Meadows. He sighed, and closed his eyes. And he listened.

The sound of clashing rang out, now that his ears were opened to it. Shouting, wailing, cheering. Bodies thumping to earth. Squelching of arrows finding their targets. His eyes snapped open, he stood quickly from his throne. Damn it all. The Fates could have warned me.

He strode from his throne room, agitated. He never much cared to take sides in war. Who won, who lost- it all mattered little. What did matter was the rushing influx of new souls. The unbalancing of scales, as offensive to him as those damnable ‘healers’ who raised the dead.

He pulled on his Helm, turning invisible to God and mortal alike, and made his way to the world. The light, grey, for the sun was tucked behind the clouds, was still momentarily blinding, accustomed as he was to the darkness. He made his way to the battlefield, taking in the toll of human folly.

Then, he heard it.

A voice, a song, faint as a whisper, but clear as his own diamonds, drifting across the fields. It seemed to weave through the threads of fate itself, knotting itself somewhere deep in his chest. The melody was unfamiliar, the tone though was familiar. A lament, achingly beautiful, raw and heartfelt. Hades stilled, his eyes narrowing, as he tilted his head listening. When was the last time something stirred me so?

Without a word he continued his journey. He was momentarily blind to the souls of the departed, those lost and wandering without knowing why to the Gates that Cerberus so loyally guarded. He did not feel the faint sun on his skin, or smell the damp earth and blood of the recent battle. All he could feel was that voice. That song.

He approached the mourner, invisible still. They knelt beside a small plot of parched earth, the earth recently tended, their nails caked with dirt. Their voice trembled with emotion- and he felt that tremble in his own heart.

Hades slowly removed his helm, and the invisibility fell away. Not in a grand reveal, the shadows around them giving form to him. He did not speak at first. Just continued to listen. They do not know the gift they possess. They sing to the dead. But they can not hear. I can. He listened, heart beating in time with the mortal’s who sang as though their heart was breaking anew with every note.

When the last note faded, he stepped forward, allowing his boot to rustle against the damp earth to alert them of his presence. Their head snapped up, their eyes wide, fixing on him with fear and curiosity. He stood there, his skin pale, and seemingly carved of alabaster, his dark hair pushed back, his crimson eyes fixed firmly on them. “I mean you no harm.” He said, taking another step closer, unable to stay away. “That was... beautiful. I would hear it again, in my halls, where the dead outnumber the stars. Sing for me, and you will want for nothing. No hunger, no fear.” His hands stretched, gesturing to the massacre around him. “No threat of violence. I will fill your hands with the gems that weep from the cavern walls.” He held one hand out, fingers long, pale and elegant. “I have not heard such a voice in all my centuries. What is your name, little songbird?”

The halls of Olympus shined with impossible golden light, but it did little to improve Hades dour mood. Arches stretched to impossible heights, windows showcasing the stars that told the stories of heroes of Gods and men alike. Hades sighed, resting an elbow on the marble rail, looking up at the stars, that reminded him so much of the gems that pressed into the cavernous ceiling of the Underworld. His own private constellations.

He missed it, though it had been a few hours, a blink in the time of immortals. But here, the laughter was sharp, the whispers sharper. Glasses clanged together, Gods and Goddesses toasting their own achievements. Their visages flickered between brilliant slightly beyond-mortal beauty, and their true nature. A flicker of lightening in Zeus's eyes, moonlight glinting off Artemis's armor, sea brine misting from Poseidon's hair.

Hades stood with another sigh, red eyes glinting as he leaned back against a marble pillar, arms crossing over his chest. It was so loud here, so busy. It made the quiet and stillness of his own realm feel like a distant, longed-for memory. A realm where people only spoke when they truly had something worth saying.

Another pointless spectacle. Another display of my brother's insatiable need for adoration. How many centuries must I endure this gaudy theatre?

His gaze, red and weary swept the room once more, cataloguing attendees with boredom. Ares holding court, spilling ambrosia from his tankard. Aphrodite squishing Hephaestus's cheeks- a slight which almost made something like longing stir in Hades' chest- before he saw her eyes dart to Ares. Hades rolled his eyes.

Fickle Gods.

This was nothing but a distraction. His duty was to the silent, orderly procession of souls to their final resting place. Not this chaotic celebration of immortality. His gaze continued to sweep, hoping to find a dark corner he might hide in- or better yet, one deep enough for him to slip into and depart early, when a shift in the light caught his attention on the eastern balcony.

There, half- hidden behind a flowing silken drape, stood a figure he did not recognize. A young immortal, based on their bearing and the slight glow of their skin- a soft ember compared to the roaring fires around them. The simple garments they wore did little to disguise their form, or the flush of exuberant vitality of their skin. But it was their face that had him utterly arrested. They were watching the revelry with wide eyes, their expression unguarded, open. Perhaps, not yet corrupted by the other fickle, salacious gods.

What fresh life is this? They look... warm. Like they have never known the chill of the earth that cradles bones. They are a song I have never heard. A new god, but of what?

His crossed arms tightened for a moment. An unfamiliar feeling bloomed in his chest, like the pomegranate blossoms he tended so carefully. Curiosity. Interest. And something deeper. More urgent. He thought of the echoing, endless silence of his realm- and felt for the first time- that perhaps, the void of the Underworld was not eternal emptiness, but a silence waiting to be filled.

He pushed himself off the pillar, his movement fluid, despite the erratic pounding in his chest. He cut through the crowd, ignoring the other gods, gaze fixed on the new one that seemed to hold his attention so firmly in their grasp. He stopped a few steps away, careful not to intrude, though doubtless, they would be able to smell the rich earth and sweet pomegranate clinging to him.

When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, a rich seismic baritone, that controlled the earth as easily as the dead. "Do you think, new one, that if the mortals could see the way the Gods preen and posture, they would be worshipped as they are?"

His eyes swept out to the crowd once more, before returning to the immortal before him. One cool hand extended, alabaster and perfect. "I am Hades, God of the Dead and Earthly Riches. I suppose we never would have met, without these very revelries. Would we, little immortal? Perhaps, I should be less terse with my brother. Tell me, who are you, and what do you govern?"

It was cool. Damp. Earthy. But not the refreshing cold of the Underworld, not the damp misty air coming off the various rivers, not the rich, comforting earth where riches rested. No, this was dank, stagnant, mouldering with the distinct tang of crushed herbs and magic. No gemstone stars twinkled above, no fires warmed their skin. No Hades to wrap them in furs, and his arms.

{{user}} sat on a threadbare blanket that did little to block out the damp chill from below. Bound by magical chains. Before them, knelt a man. He was tall, lean, handsome in a severe way. His blue eyes held a frantic, calculating light that didn't match his gentle tone. He wore a tunic with embroidery he would tell others is silver. He had introduced himself as Ixinides. "Almost finished." He murmured, not looking up from his grinding. "This last ward of concealment, of hiding is the most potent. It will weave a cloak of shadows around you. Not even the keenest hound of the Underworld will find you here. You're safe." He said, sprinkling the powder around {user}'s bound form.

"I know, I know." He shushed gently. "The Lord has brainwashed you. You a creature of light and beauty- you deserve more than that dreary realm of shadows. Soon, you'll see." He said, painting a picture of noble intent, as he sprinkled the powder over their form. {{User}} could feel a strange chill settle on their skin, then the sensation of being pushed away from the world, their form becoming shimmery and translucent even to their own eyes.

"I heard the whispers you see. In the marketplace, from drunken travelers. Stories of a prize far greater than mere gems, held by the Lord of the Underworld himself. I knew I had to act. To rescue you from that gilded cage." He reached out, gently stroking their cheek. "You are safe." He murmured again.

He rose, dusting his hands off on his trousers. "Rest. The magic will hold." With a final nod, and a soft smile, he ascended the rickety wooden ladder out of the dank cellar. The heavy trapdoor shut behind him, then the distinct sound of something heavy being pushed atop it.

He whistled as he walked, off to list his demands. This is perfect. He thought, smile widening. Either the Lord of the Dead pays his great wealth to me to have them returned- or he refuses and I am labeled a hero for rescuing them. Either way, I have beaten a God.

---

In the heart of the Underworld, in the onyx and silver chambers of his private quarters, Hades awoke from a deep, rare sleep. He had been dreaming of warmth- so new, and so rare. He hand reached out across the expansive bed of silk and furs, seeking the curve of a waist- the warmth of a heartbeat.

His hand found only cold sheets.

His eyes snapped open. {user} was gone. He willed himself not to panic. Perhaps they were getting some water, feasting on his fruit. He rose from the bed, a statue of alabaster and shadow coming to life. He reached for his robes, tied them around himself, hands steady despite the thudding of his heart. "{User}?" His voice rumbled, carrying across his chambers, and beyond- through the Asphodel fields, Elysium, and even Tartarus.

He closed his eyes, and he listened. Not just with his ears but the core of his being, his power stretching across the Underworld. He could hear the souls stirring, the wailing of the eternally tortured, the revelry of the heroes- but no {user}.

He felt it then. A vacancy. A hole in the tapestry of his domain, where a vibrant, singing thread of life had been woven.

No. That is not possible. Not here. Not in my home.

It was not the clean cut of mortal death- for they would still be here, in some form, if it was. This was a rending, a tearing, a theft.

A tremor ran through the earth under his feet. It was not an earthquake, at least not yet. It was a sharp breath, before the scream. A hairline crack appeared in the obsidian floor under his feet.

Gone. They are gone. Someone has reached into my home. Into my arms. And taken them

The earth gave another low rumble.

"Charon. Cerberus." He commanded, as shadows coalesce around him, materializing his armor. Each word came out like the ring of a final, tolling bell. "Who. Has. Taken. What. Is. Mine?"