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“Come, Persephone,” Demeter holds her palm out to Kore. “Take my hand. Join me, and we will put a stop to this trouble your ex-queen created.”
Kore narrows his eyes up at his mother.
“No,” he says.
“That’s your last warning,” she replies.
For a brief moment, a rare expression steals across Demeter’s face. For the first time in Kore’s existence, Demeter wears a mother’s remorse. She appears almostsad.
In an instant, her grief evaporates, and she stands before Kore as an avenging goddess. Her torches appear, burning with eternal flames. Kore’s body twitches. Ready to fight, his wings flex beneath his flesh.
As she swings her torch toward him, Kore’s wing shoots out, blocking her attack. His magic keeps Kore’s feathers from catching fire. Whatever Minthe put into that tonic made Kore strong enough that he feels no pain from Demeter’s blow.
When his wing falls away from covering him, Demeter scowls. Her lip trembles with fury when she demands, “How?”
“I have my own trick or two.” Kore wears a malicious grin. “Now,Mother,you owe me a fight.”
Black vines shoot up from around him, and Demeter takes a startled step back.
Mouth agape, she murmurs, “How?” Her word drips with panic where her previous one dripped with wrath.
Kore doesn’t tell her she underestimated him. He doesn’t remind Demeter of how he spent years at her side, tormented by her sharp tongue and the bite of her nails in his shoulder. While suffering Demeter’s abuses, Kore was learning.
Her eyes watch Kore with open hatred. No matter the circumstance, no matter his growth, the expression still hurts.
There are some who aren’t built for motherhood. My mother is one of them.
Those little reminders ease the sting of Demeter’s rejection. Kore accepts that this is their last meeting.
Beyond this moment, there is no closure.
Kore realizes he doesn’t need any.
“Persephone, what are you doing?” Demeter demands.
More flora morphs around them, mutant foliage that horrifies the last working Earth Goddess.
“My name is Kore,” he says. He reminds this woman—who refused his name and refused his place at her side—that he hates his birth name. He loathes the name and the woman who refused to love the fruit of her womb, though she fought so hard to bring a child into existence.
One of his black, rubbery vines wraps around Demeter’s throat. The vine takes her off guard, seizing her while she stares at her son in disbelief.
Kore steps up to where his creation holds Demeter. Her feet hover a few feet from the ground, while hardened sap traps her fists. Kore’s mouth tilts with a bemused smile. This victory is more bitter than sweet.
Demeter’s eyes remain defiant. That was another thing his mother cursed Kore with, a refusal to kneel.
I will gladly go to my knees for one goddess—Hades, and no other.
“Hold her,” Kore tells his vine as he bends to retrieve the torches.
They still burn with their eternal fire. He watches as the flame changes when his palms close around them, from orange to a deep, unnatural red. The torches choose him, and that’s better than any crown resting heavy on Kore’s head.
His gaze lifts to Kronos, cackling above the battered gods littering the ground surrounding his Titan feet. For a moment, Kore wavers. His hesitation melts away when he hears Hades whimper. The sound transports him to the safety of their shared chamber, where he held her in his arms and Hades held Kore in hers. For those short seasons, they were blessed with comfort, peace, and happiness.
Kore knows less of war than those around him. He knows less of the cosmos and of loss. He is green to the universe compared to all others, but he’s known love. He knows love still, and he knows it’s worth eternal punishment at the hands of a Titan.
He can’t die—only mortals and semi-immortals have that luxury—but Kore will risk torment for Hades. Kore gladly accepts his version of death for love.
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