Steel rang against steel, sparks leaping like fireflies across the training yard.
I twisted my bident in both hands, the shaft whistling as I spun it in a downward arc to catch Briareus's dual dao blades. He met the strike with all four of his arms, the impact reverberating through the yard like thunder. Before the echo faded, Cottus came from the left, six daggers flashing in a storm of silver light.
"Too slow, Lord Hades!" he barked, a grin splitting his stone-hewn face.
I pivoted, shadows flaring at my feet, and knocked two daggers aside with the lower prong of the bident. My elbow caught his third strike, but the fourth slid past, kissing my cheek with cold steel before I batted it away.
The others didn't wait. Gyges thundered in with his eight arms, brass knuckles glowing faintly with an inner molten light as he pummeled the air around me. Each blow cracked like a war drum, forcing me back step by step. Behind him, Aegaeon's staff whirled with dizzying precision, its carved runes sparking faint arcs of lightning with every swing.
It was glorious.
The air burned with the smell of iron and sweat, and I could feel the rush of the fight in my blood, the way only the Hecatoncheires could offer it. They fought like living storms, each strike layered on another until it became impossible to tell where one ended and another began.
I lived for this. The dance of battle. The raw, perfect honesty of a clash where nothing was hidden, nothing was pretended. No thrones, no politics. Just strength meeting strength.
I laughed, my voice booming across the yard. "Harder! You call that a fight? Put me in the ground, damn you!"
Briareus roared and swung, his blades singing. Gyges's fists came down like hammers, and Aegaeon's staff swept in low. I caught two blows, parried a third, and ducked beneath the fourth. The strain in my muscles only heightened the thrill. My bident blurred as I lashed out, catching Cottus across the chest and sending him sprawling into the dust.
"Again!" I shouted. "Up, soldier!"
But as I whirled to meet Briareus's next charge, something inside me gave.
A sharp pain tore through my arms, ripping from shoulder to wrist. My grip faltered. The bident slipped from my hands and clattered to the stone floor. My knees buckled. I hissed through my teeth, clutching at my arms as if fire had been poured into the muscle.
The fight ground to an immediate halt.
"Lord Hades!" Aegaeon was at my side in an instant, his staff dropping from his hands as he caught me by the shoulder. "What is it? Are you wounded?"
I forced my jaw to unclench, though every movement sent fresh knives of pain through my tendons. "No… no blade touched me. It's…" I grimaced, flexing my fingers. Even that small act made them spasm. "…it's the same strain. The same damned ache. Ever since the war."
The others gathered around, weapons lowering. Concern flickered across their monstrous faces, though none dared speak.
Aegaeon frowned deeply, his four hands already moving with surprising gentleness as he pressed along my arms, testing tendons, feeling the twitch of muscle. His touch was precise, practiced—he'd always carried more knowledge of healing than his brothers.
"You're overexerting yourself," he said finally. His tone was clinical, but beneath it I heard the edge of worry. "Your body bore the war heavier than most. The wounds may not all be visible, but they linger. If you keep forcing yourself…"
"I am no frail mortal," I snapped, more harshly than I intended. The pain made my words sharp, bitter. I drew a breath and forced myself to soften. "But I hear you. What would you have me do?"
Aegaeon straightened, brushing dust from his hands. "Rest, for one. Less strain. And I will prepare you something—a blend of herbs from the fields of Asphodel. It should ease the muscles and steady your strength."
I arched my brow. "You're prescribing me tea?"
"Better tea than tearing your arms from their sockets," he said without a hint of humor. "And for a time, you should avoid wine. Alcohol will only tighten the strain."
A sigh escaped me before I could stop it. "No wine." I shook my head with a dry laugh. "Now you wound me deeper than any Titan ever managed."
That broke the tension. Briareus snorted. Gyges rumbled with a laugh like falling boulders. Even Cottus, still sprawled in the dust, chuckled as he pulled himself upright.
But Aegaeon remained serious. "Do not take this lightly, my lord. You are strong, yes—but even the strongest stone will crack if struck too often."
I clasped his shoulder with my still-steady hand. "I hear you. Thank you, old friend. I will heed your counsel."
The tension eased. I straightened, ignoring the twinge that lingered in my muscles. With a gesture, I called the bident back to me, the shadows on the ground rippling as the weapon sank into them, vanishing into the dark.
"You're dismissed," I told them, though my voice carried warmth. "Go and rest yourselves. You've earned it."
They saluted in their way, each lowering two of their many arms across their chest before turning away. I watched them go, pride welling despite the ache in my body. They had been monsters once, feared and despised, chained in darkness. Now they were soldiers—my soldiers.
I left the yard, shadows gathering at my heels, and crossed the blackened stones toward the looming fortress that crowned the heart of the Underworld. Its towers rose jagged into the cavern sky, obsidian walls veined with pale fire that pulsed like arteries. The gates parted as I approached, the carved skulls along the archway bowing their heads in silent deference.
The moment I stepped inside, I was intercepted.
"Hades."
Her voice was silk layered over smoke. I turned to see Hecate leaning against a pillar, her black hair now bound in thick dreadlocks, beads of bone and gold woven through the strands. Her eyes gleamed with amusement as she pushed off the stone and approached.
I let a smile curve my lips. "New style?"
She twirled a bead between her fingers. "You like it?"
"It suits you," I said honestly. "Dark, regal, with just enough menace to unsettle the unprepared."
Her smile widened. "Exactly what I was going for." Then, with a tilt of her head: "Zeus sent word. He's calling a council soon, and demands that you be there as it is about the matter of what you told them months ago."
I grunted. "Of course."
She walked with me as I moved deeper into the halls. Her tone shifted into the efficient cadence of reports. "I've hired several new dead to work the castle—veterans of the war, loyal and disciplined. The rivers, however…"
I groaned softly. "Which ones this time?"
"Acheron, Cocytus, and Phlegethon. They quarreled again. Shifted their courses. Caused no small chaos in the surrounding districts. I had to dispatch the Furies to restore order."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "They move their rivers like children throwing stones."
"And Brontes," she added, "wants an expansion of his forge. More space, more resources. He claims demand for arms is growing again."
"That much I expected." I nodded. "Give him the go-ahead. Better to have his ambition contained to his forge than wandering elsewhere."
Her grin was sharp. "Wise as always."
We reached the grand stair, and she paused, her eyes lingering on me. For a moment, I thought she might comment on the stiffness of my movement, the tension in my shoulders. But she only inclined her head. "Rest well, my lord."
"And you, Lady of Crossroads."
I climbed the stairs to my chambers. The great doors swung open at my approach, carved with reliefs of death—not grotesque, but beautiful: figures sleeping peacefully, spirits crossing rivers beneath star-lit skies, the gentle hand of Thanatos carrying souls to rest.
Inside, I shed the dust of the yard and dressed in a black hanfu robe edged with red and lined with gold. The fabric was embroidered with death's many faces: a skeletal hand brushing wheat, a lantern guiding the lost, a crown formed of shadow. Beauty is inevitable.
I let out a long breath, feeling the weight ease from my shoulders.
And then I rolled my shoulders back
My wings erupted from my back. Black feathers filled the chamber, brushing the carved walls as they unfurled.
I strode to the balcony, marble cold beneath my feet. The Underworld stretched before me, vast and endless: the rivers gleaming like veins of silver, the cities shimmering with ghost-light, the black mountains brooding under a ceiling of eternal dusk.
And then, with a single beat, I leapt into the dark.
The wings carried me high, tearing through the oppressive weight of stone, past caverns and rivers, past the great gates of onyx. The Underworld fell away beneath me, its cries and whispers fading as I climbed.
And then—daylight.
I broke through into the mortal sky, the sun itself dimming as my shadow spread across the clouds.
🙛🙚🙛🙚🙛🙚⯡🙘🙙🙘🙙🙘🙙
I could hear the waves crashing long before I ever reached Olympus. That wasn't supposed to happen.
The sea was too far below, too distant to reach these altitudes. But still—those echoes of water slamming against invisible shores stirred something deep in my bones. Not just a sound, but a warning.
Neptune was growing bolder.
I didn't land immediately. Instead, I hovered in the thin air above the mountaintop, letting my wings unfurl into the morning mist. Black feathers shimmered with embers of divinity as I held still, my shadow stretching down the slope like a specter. Olympus had changed little in the year since Zeus last called a council. The golden halls still gleamed, the air still smelled like roasted grapes and ambrosia, and the egos still filled the skies thicker than the clouds.
The air here was too thin, too bright, every breath carrying the cloying taste of ozone. I had always hated this place—its marble too polished, its columns too tall, as if the gods who dwelled here needed the architecture to remind mortals of their supremacy. It was a temple built to ego, not to eternity.
Still, I climbed.
The doors to the council chamber loomed ahead, carved of solid cloud-stone veined with stormlight. They parted at my approach, whispering open with a hum that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.
Inside, four thrones were already occupied.
Zeus sat in the center, sprawled like a lion fattened on his own kills, his storm-grey beard glinting with faint sparks. Hera was beside him, posture flawless, eyes sharp enough to pierce armor. To Zeus's left, Demeter leaned forward, fingers tapping impatiently against the arm of her chair, her hair wreathed in shifting wheat. Hestia sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, her expression calm and kind—but her stillness carried a weight the others rarely noticed.
All four turned as I entered. My footsteps echoed across the vast chamber, every sound swallowed by the open sky above the colonnades. I took my place on the obsidian throne carved at the far right of the circle. Shadows pooled beneath it, even here where the light of Olympus fought to banish them.
"Hades," Zeus said, his voice carrying the faint roll of thunder. "You're late."
I gave him a thin smile. "And yet, still the first thing you noticed."
Hera's lips twitched, though whether in amusement or disdain, I couldn't tell.
The room settled. The five of us. The remnants of what once had been twelve. The weight of absence was always there—Poseidon, Artemis, Apollo, Athena, Hermes, Aphrodite… gone, scattered, silent. Only we remained, bound together by necessity, not love.
Zeus leaned forward, lightning crackling faintly in his beard. "We have much to discuss. The first matter—the mortals."
Demeter exhaled sharply, as though she'd been waiting for the cue. "They're dying," she said flatly. "Far too quickly. A baby born in the morning rarely survives to see the turning of the moon. At best, a month. Crops fail in their absence. Villages are ghost towns before they can even call themselves such. If this continues, there will be no one left to pray to us."
Her words carried no dramatics, no exaggeration. Just blunt truth.
Hera's tone was icy. "Do not tell me you only just noticed. I warned you seasons ago, when sacrifices dwindled."
"I noticed," Demeter snapped back, wheat flaring around her head. "But this is worse than famine. This is their very bodies betraying them. Something is unmaking them at the core."
I leaned forward, steepling my fingers. "And you think this is natural?"
"No." Her voice cracked like a whip. "Nothing about this is natural. Mortals should last decades, even centuries when favored. Not weeks."
A silence stretched, heavy. All eyes turned to Zeus.
He grunted, shifting in his throne. "The balance has been shaken since the war. The Titans were bound, the order reset. Perhaps the mortals are paying the cost."
"That's a poor excuse," Hera said coldly. "If the fabric of their lives is fraying, it threatens our fabric as well. Do you not see that?"
I let the quiet hang a moment before I spoke. "Prometheus."
Four heads turned toward me.
I met their eyes one by one. "He crafted the very first mortals from clay. So he would understand why they would be dying out so early."
Demeter nodded sharply. "Yes. He would know."
Zeus's scowl deepened. "You would trust him? After what he's done?"
"I do trust him," I said evenly. "He had joined us against Cronus and even helped build Olympus without complaint, don't be petty just because he is a Titan, brother."
The word "brother" cut. Zeus's jaw clenched.
"I'll speak with him," I continued. "After this meeting. If there is a way to help the humans we will do what we must."
Zeus muttered something under his breath but did not argue further.
The silence shifted, restless. Hera was the one to break it.
"The next matter—Poseidon, or what was he called again?"
I spoke carefully. "Neptune. I believe that there is a high chance that someone is controlling Poseidon."
Zeus slammed his hand against the arm of his throne, sparks leaping. "He obviously betrayed us! You said to yourself that he was being worshiped by some monsters."
"Listen to yourself," I snapped, rising from my throne. My voice echoed, shadows flaring across the chamber floor. "Poseidon may be proud, arrogant, reckless—but he is not a traitor. Whatever this Neptune is, it is not him. It is something controlling him. Corrupting him."
Hera's eyes narrowed. "And if you're wrong?"
"Then I will cut his throat myself." My words hung heavy, and I let them stand. "But I do not think I am."
Demeter leaned forward, curiosity burning in her gaze. "And this name—Typhon? What do you make of it?"
The room stilled at the word. Even Zeus's bluster faltered.
I shook my head slowly, something was telling me that this Typhon was not the same from the myth's. "I don't know. But whoever he is, we will need to prepare in case he is far stronger than we can imagine."
And then came the matter that soured the air like rot.
Hera's eyes cut to Zeus. "Tell him."
I frowned. "Tell me what?"
Zeus shifted uncomfortably. He would not meet my eyes.
"Cael," he said finally. "He is… missing."
The word struck like a blade. I straightened slowly. "Missing?"
"His cell was found empty," Hera said crisply. "The cell doors seemed to have been blasted in by some unknown power from the outside. Only a pool of ichor remained."
My hands clenched. "When?"
Zeus hesitated.
I stepped forward, shadows climbing the marble floor like smoke. "When?"
His voice was low. "…A month ago."
The chamber seemed to tilt. Heat flared in my chest, anger sharp enough to choke. "A month." My voice echoed, hollow. "And you chose to say something now?"
Zeus rose to his feet, thunder sparking in his beard. "Do not take that tone with me, brother—"
"Tone?" My own voice thundered back, the shadows deepening. "A prisoner we imprisoned in Tartarus has somehow escaped, and you sit on this throne for a month before you think to tell me?"
His storm met my darkness, lightning crackling against shadow. The chamber shook with the tension. Hera watched with thinly veiled disgust. Demeter looked uneasy. Hestia only lowered her eyes, her silence a rebuke in itself.
Finally, Zeus growled and sank back into his seat. "He is probably dead. Nothing more to say."
"Nothing more to say," I echoed bitterly.
Silence hung. Heavy. Final.
At length, Zeus raised a hand. "Enough. The matters are settled for now. The council is dismissed."
One by one, they rose. Hera swept past without a glance. Demeter muttered something about wasted time. Hestia paused only long enough to meet my eyes with quiet sympathy before she, too, departed.
Zeus did not look at me again.
I stood alone in the chamber, the echoes of thunder and shadow still trembling in the air. My hands curled tight around nothing.
Cael missing. Poseidon lost. Mortals dying like flies. And Zeus, blind to it all, too arrogant to see the storm building.
I turned, my robe whispering against the marble, as I headed out the throne room.