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Persephone watched Zeus’ eagle fly past her head, diving vertically down the mountain, barely missing her head. She was glad she had left Prometheus’ side. Watching him sag against the chains, against the rock he must spend eternity with, was more than enough without having to watch the eagle rip him apart anew.
She looked up for the first time since leaving the titan, days ago it feels like. There was a slight haze to the darkness far above her head, a fiery golden blaze must wait at the peak of the mountain for her. It glowed brighter with every few steps, the golden light reminding her of Helios. Or the gate to the palace.
Hades’ golden gate.
She was seeing the light from Hades’ glowing gate. The gate she hated, and wanted to watch melt, and drip between her fingers was guiding her home.
Somehow, Persephone found the strength, deep, deep within her, to press forward faster than before. Pushing off each step harder with the remaining energy in her legs, pulling herself up faster with her weakened arms. A sharp pain started in her butt, a cramp from the force she pushed through her deadened limbs.
She almost stopped. Almost let that small, throbbing cramp stop her from conquering the mountain – conquering Hades’ torture, and Hades himself.
She knew that she should let herself take a short break to regather her strength, to help her power through the last few hours of climbing that loomed before her, but she could not.
Stopping was not an option. Not when she heard Prometheus’ screams, noticing for the first time how high she must have been for them to only reach her now, when the eagle had soared past her hours ago. Not when the cramp extended up her side, clawing at her rib cage and lungs. Not even when her hands started slipping, slick with sweat and blood.
Then she was at the top.
Pulling herself over the final, jagged piece of the mountain. Scraping the skin off her exposed stomach with a sharp inhale, she fell onto the decaying grass she recognized from her first day in the Underworld. She wept into the grass, sucking small pieces of the straw-like grass and chunks of metallic tasting dirt into her mouth with every sob.
She thumped the ground with her fists and feet, toes puncturing the ground beneath her, crying into the grass, before flipping onto her back, breathing in relief.
Laying in the dead grass, and staring up at the darkness – somehow more welcoming now – she called Hades’ name. Or, she tried to. Her tongue was too dry to form words, coated in dirt and grass.
Sitting up, Persephone faced the craggy rock she’d dragged her limp body over, her blood covering the sharp tip like a snow-capped mountain. She dragged her nails down her tongue, scraping the wet earth away before she stood and turned to the source of the light, the gate that shone against her new home.
It wasn’t there.
Miles of darkness stretched between her and the glow. It was across the grey field of asphodel on the other side of the wide river that she stood on the cusp of.
A gut-wrenching, tortured scream tore through her. She fell to her knees, clawing at her throat as screams crawled out from the deepest recesses of her mind, the darkest parts of her flying out.
Something larger was forcing it’s way out of her, something bigger than her anger at Hades and grief for Pelops. It was choking her. She could not breathe as she gagged, and dry-heaved onto the scattered asphodel poking through the decay. The sides of her mouth splitting, her jaw dropping open wider than possible.
Three full grown women burst from her mouth, snakes entwined in their hair, and around their limbs. Darkness shrouded them, blocking Persephone’s view as she stared at the beings that had flown out of her.
As the darkness faded, and they came into focus, Persephone stared at them, her eyes wide with disbelief and horror, her jaw still dropped to her chest.
They wore dark, light-sucking robes of black. Their hair matched her own in colour and texture, but theirs blazed with flames, flashing embers dropping onto their shoulders and chests. Scaly wings were tucked into their backs, the thin skin covering them identical to the snakes covering their arms, and the ones thrashing and hissing at her between the burning strands of their hair.
They watched Persephone with glossy black eyes – Hades’ eyes – expectantly. Awaiting orders.
Persephone raised her chin high, willing her hands to stop shaking, and said to them, “Fury birthed you, my children. My anger and wrath brought you into this world,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back to hide them when they did not still, “so you will punish those of my choosing.” They nodded in sync. “Oath breakers,” like Hades, “and those who commit offenses against the gods.” She smiled, imagining them ripping Hades’ limbs from his body, as they launched into the darkness above.
29
SILVER STYX
A short clapping echoed from her right, inside a grotto she had not noticed before. It was glowing a warm orange from the large bonfire at its mouth. A silver-skinned goddess slowly walked toward Persephone, her hands clasped in front of her chest, elbows tucked into her sides.
She stopped at the entrance, leaning a hip against the silver column beside her, almost blending into it.
“I love the dramatics,” she said in a lilting voice, dipping her toes into the river, swirling the water in tiny connected circles.
“Who are you?” Persephone called from where she stood, snapping more than she intended. She was sick of meeting new people, new titans, and gods. If she never met another new soul, she would be happy. Perhaps living in the Underworld could have one solitary perk.
“Styx, baby,” the goddess smiled wider, baring her gleaming teeth. “I believe you know my sisters, and my parents, perhaps.”
