Chapter 61
With Cerberus's begrudging tolerance, Cyd managed to fill an entire water skin with the beast's thick, silvery drool. To avoid mixing it up with his regular supplies, he plucked a couple of coarse, wiry hairs from the guardian's flank and tied them around the necks of both the blood-filled skin and the new saliva-filled one.
"A productive trip!" Cyd beamed, tucking the two special skins deep into his pack.
"Go. Away," Cerberus grumbled, nudging Cyd's back with a massive, still-healing snout.
"See you around," Cyd said, giving one of the smaller heads an affectionate pat before taking Medusa's hand. Together, they walked through the towering, obsidian gates of the Underworld, which had swung open soundlessly at their approach.
Truly, a human Lord Hades finds interesting, Cerberus thought, its many minds in rare agreement. It watched them go, then shuffled over to the spot where it had crushed the honey cake. A long, raspy tongue, big enough to clean a chariot, unfurled and began meticulously licking the dusty ground.
Mmm… the flavor remains…
Lick, lick, lick…
---
The moment they crossed the threshold, a chill deeper than any mountain wind cut through Cyd. It wasn't just cold; it was an absence of warmth, a suction of vitality. He instinctively raised an arm, as if he could block the feeling.
"Yeah, we're not staying long," he muttered.
"As one who is not a demigod, the less time you spend here, the better," Medusa said quietly, tugging on his sleeve. Her voice was tense. "Do not speak to the shades. Do not even meet their eyes. If you do—"
"A little late for that," Cyd interrupted, pointing ahead.
They stood at the edge of a vast, silent plain. And it was crowded. Countless figures milled about, their forms translucent and washed of all color, like smoke given vague human shape. Their faces were blank, their movements listless. But as one, every single head in their vicinity had turned toward Cyd and Medusa. The pull of living breath, of pumping blood, was a siren call in this static realm.
"The living attract the dead," Medusa hissed. With a sharp metallic shink, her massive dual sickles dropped from within her robes, their points digging into the grey, lifeless earth. She was ready to carve a path.
"Hold on," Cyd said, his hand coming to rest on her hooded head. "They don't look… aggressive."
He was right. The sea of shades rippled, a silent communication passing through them. Then, as if an unseen command had been given, they began to move. Not toward the intruders, but aside. With eerie, soundless coordination, they parted, forming a perfectly straight, unnaturally wide path that led deeper into the gloom. It was clearly an invitation—or an order. But the emptiness in their countless eyes as they stared was worse than any hostility. It was a void that made the skin on the back of Cyd's neck crawl.
"Let's go," Cyd said, taking Medusa's hand firmly and stepping onto the path. His expression was calm, but his grip was tight.
"We should be cautious," Medusa insisted, not sheathing her weapons.
"This is the kingdom of the dead. If it's a trap, we're already in it. Might as well see where it leads. Saves us the trouble of a second trip." Cyd even managed a nonchalant shrug, though it felt forced.
Medusa sighed, a sound of pure exasperation. She would have preferred to flee, to find another way, but Cyd was already pulling her forward, his stride determined. Arguing here, surrounded by the silent dead, seemed worse than useless.
Under the weight of countless hollow gazes, they walked. The path led them to the foot of a palace that seemed carved from a single mountain of polished basalt. It loomed, dark and windowless, more a geological formation than a building. As they approached its entrance, the massive, featureless doors began to groan open, releasing a puff of vaporous cold. Behind them, the gathered shades simply… dissolved. One moment they were there, lining the path; the next, they were gone, like mist burned away by an unseen sun.
"They couldn't just… walk away normally?" Cyd muttered, a bead of cold sweat tracing a path down his temple.
"Getting nervous now?" Medusa shot him a sideways glance.
"Terrified. But it's a bit late for that." Squaring his shoulders, Cyd stepped into the absolute darkness of the palace, pulling Medusa in with him.
Tap… tap… tap…
His footsteps echoed endlessly in the profound blackness. To his relief, the interior wasn't a maze. A single, broad corridor stretched before them, its end lost in shadow, pulling them inexorably forward. The only guidance was the growing sense of vast, open space ahead.
"Welcome."
The voice was deep, resonant, and seemed to emanate from the darkness itself. It held no malice, but an authority that settled in Cyd's bones like a physical weight.
Fwoosh. Fwoosh.
Two ghostly, blue-white flames ignited on the walls far ahead. Then, in a rapid chain reaction, more flames sparked to life in succession, racing along the walls like falling dominos. In moments, the immense chamber was illuminated.
The light was cold, providing visibility but no warmth. It revealed a throne room of cyclopean proportions. And on a dais at the far end, seated on a throne of black marble veined with silver, was its master.
He looked like a king carved from the same stone as his palace. His hair was dark and fell to his shoulders, his beard neatly trimmed. He wore armor of a simple, brutal design, and his face was… severe. Not cruel, but etched with the gravity of eternal responsibility. This was the weight of every soul that had ever passed. This was Hades, Lord of the Underworld.
Hades rested his chin on one fist, his dark eyes observing them with an intensity that made Cyd want to take a step back.
"Ah. My apologies. Did I… frighten you?" Hades asked, his brow furrowing slightly. He seemed genuinely puzzled.
"Darling, you should smile," said the woman seated on a smaller throne beside him. She was stunning, with hair the color of summer wheat and eyes that held a warmth completely alien to this place. She reached over and poked Hades's cheek with a playful finger. Only one person could get away with that: Persephone, Queen of the Underworld.
"Should I?" Hades asked, his voice a low rumble. He obediently tried to rearrange his features. The corners of his mouth strained upward. The result was less a smile and more the grimace of a man experiencing severe internal discomfort. It was, frankly, horrifying.
Instinctively, Cyd reached out and covered Medusa's eyes with his hand.
"On second thought, darling, perhaps don't," Persephone said, patting her own chest as if to calm a startled heart. Even she was taken aback.
Hades let the terrifying expression fade, his face settling back into its usual stern lines. But Cyd could have sworn he saw a flicker of genuine disappointment in the god's eyes.
"Um… Lord Hades. I've come to…" Cyd trailed off. What was he here for, officially? To pass on Demeter's nagging? To ask for a blessing? It felt presumptuous.
"The blessing. Yes," Hades said, rubbing his jaw as if to banish the memory of the failed smile. "And Demeter's message."
"Oh. Right." Cyd scratched the back of his head. "Is… is there something you require of me, Lord Hades?" He braced himself. Blessings from major gods never came free. There was always a trial, a task, a bloody favor. He just hoped it wasn't something soul-crushingly awful.
"Require?" Hades glanced at Persephone, then back at Cyd. "No. I require nothing."
Cyd blinked. "…What?"
"You made it to my throne. That is sufficient." Hades lifted a hand. From the shadows beside his throne, a simple, unadorned bronze helmet floated into his grasp. It was old, battle-worn, and radiated a quiet, potent power. "I have no further need of this. It is yours."
He tossed the helmet underhand toward Cyd. It spun through the cold air with a soft hum.
"Wh-why?" Cyd stammered, fumbling to catch it. The metal was cold, heavier than it looked, and hummed with a deep, earthbound energy.
Hades didn't answer. He merely leaned back on his throne and closed his eyes, the picture of detached, regal indifference.
"Because my dear husband is actually quite fond of you, little one~" Persephone chirped, resting her chin in her hand as she smiled at Hades.
"Wha—? Huh?!" Cyd sputtered, looking between the stern God of the Dead and the beaming Goddess of Spring.
"Hmph," Hades grunted, turning his head away with what could only be described as divine pouting.
"No way," Cyd said, disbelief clear in his voice. Hades's reputation was fearsome, but he was still one of the three ruling brothers. Wouldn't people try to curry favor? You live, you die, you end up in his realm. It seemed like basic survival instinct to stay on his good side. That was Cyd's logic, anyway. Better safe than eternally sorry.
"Darling rules the kingdom of the dead," Persephone explained, her tone light but her words pointed. She reached over and patted Hades's armored shoulder. "What benefit do the living get from honoring him? None. In fact, why would the living honor him? Even when making offerings to the gods, people often… forget my husband. After all, what does the Lord of the Dead give to the living? Nothing but an ending."
"…I am not without worshippers," Hades muttered, a faint blush of divine embarrassment tinging his pale cheeks.
"Of course, of course!" Persephone continued, merciless. "'Oh, great Hades, please smite our enemies with plague!' That sort of thing. Hardly flattering."
Hades sighed, a sound like distant stone shifting, and massaged his temples. He had no rebuttal.
"Should I… maybe step outside?" Cyd asked weakly, feeling like he was witnessing something profoundly private.
"Oh, don't be silly! This is for your benefit," Persephone waved a dismissive hand. "My husband is very fond of the one mortal who makes proper offerings without asking for curses or plagues in return. And you did help him win that bet with Ze—"
AHEM! Hades cleared his throat with a sound like grinding continental plates, cutting her off. "That… is not necessary to mention."
"Aww, but it's been so long since we had a cute visitor!" Persephone pouted.
"It is for his own safety," Hades said, his voice firm but gentle. He reached out and tapped her forehead with a fingertip.
Cyd stared, his earlier assumptions crumbling. This was the dynamic of the infamous "abduction"? According to Demeter, Persephone was miserable here, counting every second in agony. But the woman on the throne looked anything but miserable. She looked… at home. Where was the torment? The unbearable suffering?
It seemed the stories, as usual, had left out a few crucial details.