A man who saw how Eva had staggered along the lonely path smiled to himself. The night was quiet, the forest road dimly lit by the dying moon. Her steps were slow, unsteady, an easy prey, must have been a damsel in distress easily tricked as her neck was deep in sorrow.
He fixed his hair quickly and arranged his expression into one of false concern, the kind of worry that masks hunger. "Miss, are you alrigh—"
Yet his words hung without ever completing as a shadow moved before his eyes, vast and quick, covering Eva from his sight at once.
The peasant frown at the tall figure that had stepped forward, his long coat of pitch-black fabric whispering against the ground.
At first he was upset, wondering who dared to take his prey but then he froze.
Upon realizing the broad shoulder of the black clothed man, the air itself seemed to shift around him. His stature was rigid, precise, like that of a soldier long accustomed to war. There was nothing human in the way he stood—it was as if his presence threaten the air around him, bending it to obedience.
The peasant froze. Even without seeing his face, he felt the danger. The pure, unrelenting danger. Nevertheless his curiosity begged him to look up and when he did, he met Hades's eyes,, draining his blood in a second.
Those violent violet eyes judged him quietly. Like twin shards of frozen amethyst under the moonlight, burning with an unmasked wrath.
The peasant's heart stopped for a moment. Not knowing what came over him, he felt immense fear as though he had stood in front death itself. He stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet, strangled gasp escaping from his mouth.
Immediately the peasant turned away and fled—his boots scraping against the stones, vanishing into the road as though chased by something more than human.
But Hades didn't move. His gaze lingered on the direction the man had fled, but only for a breath. There were more important things than the fool's life.
He turned instead toward Eva.
The wind caught the edges of his coat as he stepped closer, his voice low and calm yet there was something fierce, something that could make anyone tremble hidden underneath it.
"You seem to have forgotten your wooden basket," Hades whispered, his voice didn't seem to point out the fact that she was crying as though out of politeness. "Have you sold everything today?"
Eva looked up, her pale face illuminated by the faint light. She opened her mouth as if to answer, but words failed her.
Perhaps it was exhaustion. Perhaps it was how weary her heart had became, how torn she was and how she simply wanted to run away.
"I-" how should she explain this? That her parents had been so enraged by her action and had kicked her out of the house?
Or the fact that her father had sworn on his name to marry her to a man once the day of the party ends?
"I know," he said knowingly, his tone carrying the calm certainty of someone who had seen too much.
Eva blinked. What does he know?
"You must be hungry," Hades continued with a faint nod, as though his observation was irrefutable. "Everyone who is hungry would cry."
Her breath hitched. Though tears still clung to her lashes, they no longer fell; his words—so strange, yet so confident—disrupted her sorrow like a sudden draft through a still room.
"That's n-not... I'm not crying because I'm hungry," she murmured, shaking her head. "I just... things are quite rough with the store." She wrung her hands together, her voice shrinking as she spoke, as she didn't want to beg for his pity. "The customers— they've stopped coming."
"A shame," Hades replied, his brow furrowing slightly. There was nothing casual in the way he frowned; his violet eyes—almost luminous—seemed to take her misfortune personally, as though it offended him. "But your laces are beautifully made," he said, his tone softening. "There's care in them. I wonder..." his gaze darkened, "...if there's a reason why no one wishes to buy them."
Eva's pulse stuttered. Oh no... If she told him the truth—if she spoke the rumor aloud—what would he think of her?
"I don't trust rumors," Hades said suddenly, as if hearing her thoughts. His words cut through the air with quiet finality. "You know," he added with a faint curl of a smile, "I've had far worse tales told about me than any could invent for you. I promise you that."
She froze, her lips parting slightly. "How do you know?" she asked, her voice trembling between disbelief and a strange, fearful hope. Was he pretending not to know?
He studied her face, the hesitation, the hurt, the disbelief—and for the first time that evening, something gentle flickered in his expression. A quiet, knowing grin tugged at his lips.
"Because," Hades said slowly, "you have a gift. I've seen hundreds of artisans, and few have hands as precise, as patient as yours. Usually, once any weaver receives a commission from me, their business flourishes overnight." His eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful, almost dangerous. "Yet yours hasn't. Which makes me think there's something deeper at play—perhaps a rumor planted deliberately, to ruin your name."
"How do you..." learned men are truly different. How could he know just from a few words of hers?
But he said that all weaver that receives his commission flourishes overnight. Was he someone who begged such attention so much so that everyone would try to feel his glory by using the same weaver as him?
A Seraph so well known, someone of power and authority. A high ranking nobility.
"How could you tell?" she asked him and Hades saw how easily those innocent eyes turn trustful from skeptical towards him. So silly, so easily tricked.
"As someone who had felt the same misery as you, I understand the weight of those heinous words," pointed Hades with a soft sigh. His gaze turned soft when he eyed her, "But I don't think that simply because you couldn't sell a single article of cloth that someone would slap you black and blue."
Startled, Eva tugged her hands towards her cheeks. She didn't notice it. Had she been slapped so hard by her father that it had left a bruise?
He usually made sure to hit in places where her clothes could hide but perhaps the anger was so bad that he... had chosen to let go of his last piece of dignity.
"Worrying," Hades murmured, his tone velvet-soft, though something in it coiled like smoke. His gaze lingered over the faint bruises on her arm, not with pity— but a dark interest. "Why would someone hurt you so badly?"
Evangeline froze. His words brushed against her like a whisper and yet burrowed deep, prying open wounds she had tried to forget.
"I only hope," he continued, voice dipping lower, "that it wasn't someone you call family. That would be cruel, wouldn't it? To be hurt by the very hands you'd die to protect."
The words struck through her heart at once with just how correct his guess was. Her throat tightened; her chest burned. Family.
His smile—barely there—deepened. Under Hades's eyes, nothing could be hidden, nothing and he could tell everything on her face, reading her like an open book. "You look like someone who would love until death. That kind of heart is rare... and easily broken."
The truth of it struck her so precisely that she could only lower her eyes, her fingers curling into her skirt. The faintest tremor escaped her, a soundless breath that might have been pain.
Hades watched her, his posture relaxed, kind. Yet there was a stillness in him—a quiet satisfaction that seemed to pulse beneath the surface.
He didn't need to say more. Her silence said enough.
A breeze passed between them, cool and heavy. Then, as if nothing had happened, he spoke again, light and almost teasing, "How about this? Let me take you to my castle for a while. A place to rest, away from all this."
Evangeline's head lifted, confusion flickering in her gaze. "I—"
He raised a hand, a gesture too graceful to be forced. "Before you refuse," he said softly, "think of your safety. You're too kind and kindness attracts the wrong kind of eyes."
For a moment, she hesitated. The shadows around him seemed to stretch a little longer, the air too still, too dark. And yet, when he extended his hand toward the carriage—his smile patient as a saint and she found herself moving before she understood why.
Her hand trembled, but it found his.
Hades's fingers closed over hers gently.
And just like that, she stepped closer—drawn by something that felt nothing like comfort, and everything like gravity.