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“Helmets are meant for war,” Thanatos tells her, as if Hades needs reminding.
“Are we at war, Thanatos?”
Instead of answering, Thanatos leads her to the large doors that open to her balcony. Hades steps outside, onto the dark platform towering over her realm. Below her, a cacophony of voices rises from the ever-gloom of the Underworld. The voices are a roar, reminding her of the storms raging in Poseidon’s seas—loud and unintelligible, until she’s drowned beneath the sound for long enough to hear the words in the madness.
We will break mountains for our queen! We will take back the King of Spring!
Emotions consume Hades, burning hot in her throat as she swallows down her tears. Below, she spots Hypnos on a scaly black steed, wearing the obsidian armor of the Underworld. At his side, Hecate wears the same armor and sits astride another leather-wrapped horse. Two flaming torches burn at her sides, hovering, and when Hecate catches Hades' eye words sound in Hades' mind.
I will lead you into battle, and I will return to the nothing of Chaos for you.
It would be weakness for Hades to turn away from her realm’s willingness to perish in Olympus for her. Yet, Hades is tempted to tell them no. The temptation dies when Cerberus whines. As she turns her gaze to him, his heads lower, bowing in respect, before he rears back with a snarl.
Make them heel.That’s what his snarl says to Hades.
She turns toward Thanatos. At her side, he stands in polished black steel. He’s every bit as terrifying as Athena. Hades shakes her head, amused rather than saying no.
With a low command, coiling black smoke rises from the ground. The magic buzzing beneath Hades' bones orders the smoke to fetch her crown. The crown of the Underworld is heavy, cold, and encrusted with thousands of gleaming, precious stones. A spiked helmet coils over her head and down the side of her face. Acrownis for a dreaded queen, many say. But fools forget Hades' helm of invisibility—the one forged by a cyclops to aid her during the Titanomachy.
“To Olympus, my darlings,” Hades shouts to her subjects. Each dreaded creature who knelt before her and swore fealty—oaths they clearly meant—stands waiting for her order. “Olympus insults me by stealing my daffodil, after forcing me to choose a consort.”
A loud wave of shouts moves through the crowd, and Hades' grin is biting as she puts the helm on her head. Smoke coils around her body, wrapping her in the ornate armor her nephew wrought—a gift given to her when Hades pointed out he only made armor for Zeus and Poseidon. For his slight against Hades, Hephaestus bejeweled her breastplate with massive rubies cut to resemble pomegranates. At the time, it was a joke between them. Now, it feels like the Fates knew Hades would find her way here. To thereal Persephone. Once this was a prophecy drunken mortals told to others, filled with falsehoods. Now, Hades lives their fable.
She lays her palm over one of the pomegranates, allowing the jewel to warm against her frosty skin.
I’m coming, Kore. Wait for me, my love.
Hades summons the powers of her helm. Her body dims to nothing but mist before the eyes of her subjects. Hidden from mortals and immortals alike, her voice remains as she shouts a single command.
“To war!”
32
Kore
He’s in a classroom at Hestia’s school when he feels the first tremor through the ground. The last tremors on Olympus were indicative of the giants coming for Zeus, and Kore’s first instinct is to start herding the children to safety.
An idea he shares with the staff, it seems, as he catches other classes filing out in the halls. Hestia stands at the center dais, nodding as Athena whispers something in her ear.
“We are doing a safety drill. Athena is moving some of the big creatures from the zoo to a wild range this afternoon. There’s no need to be scared, children, okay?” Hestia’s voice is calm and kind as always, but Kore spots the terror sparkling in her large green eyes.
Athena’s gold eyes are cold and calculating, but Kore notices the worry in the creases forming between her eyebrows. Athena isn’t one to be caught off-guard; something has her rattled. Another quake moves through the floors of the school, and Kore wonders what approaches them.
The kids line up to enter the underground room they use for “safety drills”. Safety drills usually take place when Zeus climbs down a barrel of wine and decides it’s a great time to piss off Hera. Athena’s presence tells Kore that’s not what’s happening here.
Booming howls followed by snarls give Kore pause; he turns to the tall windows facing the south. In the distance, during this bright day, a pitch-dark cloud approaches. Only, as it gains over the horizon, Kore can see it’s not a cloud. It’s an army.
An army wrapped in obsidian armor.
Hades.
Her shout fills the air with ice. Winter never touches Olympus—one of those universal truths, and now that truth breaks before Hades' reckoning.
“Zeus!” Her voice—a sound that haunts Kore’s waking dreams—moves through Olympus, freezing Demeter’s beloved trees.
Kore should hurt for the plants he nurtured to life, but a satisfied smile rests on his mouth—an expression that splits the indifference he often wears.
“Return my consort,” Hades demands, her words backed by another arctic blast. Frosty shards move through the air, cutting all that stands in Hades' path.
