Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Do you believe in God?" 

The question had made him pause, looking over the sights of his gun at the shivering, cowering victim kneeling in front of him. 

"Please! If you believe in God, please, spare me, you know He wi-"

He'd laughed, and the remaining blood in the coward's face had drained away. Leaning down, he tapped his gun lightly on his quarry's forehead, enjoying the flinches that came with each tap.

"I am a God," he whispered, before leaning back and pulling the trigger.

-

Humans, as it turns out, need to believe in otherworldly and abstract concepts to survive. It's like the entirety of humanity has one fatal flaw they share: the blind necessity to believe in something; good, evil, God, power. In recent times, many ridiculed religion but turned right around to worship money or control, or—a crowd favourite—love.

Like sheep, they don't realise that worship of a different concept is worship nonetheless, and with that worship comes a means to keep the Gods alive. Or whatever version of 'alive' they were.

They merely had to find novel ways to stay relevant, expanding their portfolios and job profiles to include new human concepts with each millennium. They come to call them Cycles, the only way to distinguish one period of time from another. With each Cycle, they scatter and regroup in new forms, under new names, taking up residence using different regions as their headquarters. For the humans, who cannot see all this from a macro-perspective, it translates to the existence of multiple gods which turns into some kind of nonsense war of different religions. 

Nonsense, at least, in Hades' book. He is aware that Ares sees value in it, but he feels disdain whenever he thinks of the reasons for most humans' hatred of one another. In his most recent Cycle, he has reserved a special place in the Underworld for humans who had fallen to the vice of blind belief and allowed it to blacken their souls. There's even a viewing section built-in for when he feels like visiting, to watch these human beings tortured for their crimes, sobbing in confusion as they declare that they simply followed the rules they believed their God wrote for them. 

To be fair, a lot of this confusion is God-made, but Hades doesn't care about the reasons behind a human being's corruption, just that they deserve punishment. After multiple Cycles, he's very good at his job, thank you very much, and knows there have been human beings—a precious few, in the grand scheme of things, but they definitely existed—who have not allowed God-made confusion to turn them into monsters.

There are enough real ones in the world anyway. 

-

"You... you're not supposed to be dead," Hades said slowly, looking at the paperwork in front of him, and the once-powerful Pan standing opposite. 

The God of the Wild looked bored. "Why do you make us fill in forms if you're not reading them?" He asks. "I said clearly for question 3: I was murdered."

Hades sighed. He'd have to report this to Zeus and Poseidon and that meant a 'family' meeting. 

- 

It's a sunny day, and for whatever reason, Hestia, the Goddess of Home and Hearth, has decided Seoul is the best place to have the meeting for the deities of the pantheon. It is mid-summer, and most of this part of Asia is swelteringly hot, but she seems to have not thought about such things as the weather. He has to exercise great control to not sweat in his sharp, new designer suit, ignoring the urge to turn around and go back to the much cooler Underworld. He'd had half a mind to ignore the invitation the moment he'd received it anyway, if it hadn't been for Hestia's request.

The messages had arrived in her usual style, heavy card paper and calligraphy, with the date, time and name of a hotel inscribed.

She'd added a little note at the bottom: Hades, looking forward to meeting you! 

As he rides a gilded elevator up to the penthouse suite of a large hotel, he has to restrain a snort. Hestia is sweet, and pleasing all the gods at a meeting isn't easy, but he doesn't look forward to meeting her if it means having to deal with the rest. He's told her a hundred times to just visit him at his new Italian, decidedly private, headquarters but she always demurs.

I must roam the world to protect our home, she usually says dreamily.

He hates that his closest friend in the pantheon is a hippie. She even spends her off-duty times playing the piano and teaching children, dressed like some kind of cross between a librarian and a wraith. Hestia has never gotten used to the current human clothing styles. Unlike Hades, for example, who has come to deeply enjoy the new trends of clothing that humans have created. It's a far cry from the early days of shrouds and shadows. 

Even now, the people in the elevator are sending him 'subtle' glances, and he has to suppress a smirk. Sure, he might be the god of the Underworld, but he always chooses well when it comes to his human-friendly visuals. In this present Cycle, he looks like an Asian man, lean-figured, attractive, and well-dressed. Of course, he can never truly shroud the power of being one of the Big Three, so he's chosen a form that matches the energy that always surrounds him. It all works very well in his favour. 

Even Aphrodite had paid him a compliment, back when this Cycle has begun: you look good enough to bite, Hades.

He never takes her flirting seriously, because as shallow as Aphrodite seems, she is just as dangerous as a partner, and he's not interested in complicating his existence. Besides, she just likes the bad-boy vibe. 

When they're all finally settled at various corners of the massive penthouse, waiting for Zeus to arrive fashionably late—the ass can't resist making an entrance—Hades casts an eye around him at the pantheon, noting with pleasure that most look as displeased as he feels. 

Demeter, as usual, looks like he wants to be anywhere but in the luxury setting of a city, sealed in by glass and metal. He is seated, arms crossed, near the roaring fireplace Hestia has started - she always insists, even though it provides no heat - looking like a vaguely fussy old matron. No matter what visage Demeter chooses in each Cycle—and they change it up every time, fluidly picking genders and identities like plants that change their sex—they always end up carrying the vibe of a nagging old crone. In this Cycle, they are a he, made to look like a simple lawyer. 

Hades' eyes slide over to the striking figure sitting on Demeter's right, muttering to her parent. He has never seen her before, but he knows that she must be Persephone. For a few moments, he allows himself the luxury of appreciating the vivid red lips and chestnut-coloured hair she's chosen for herself. If Demeter looks like a boring man, Persephone looks like a supermodel, dressed in the quality of clothing Hades would expect to see on himself, or Aphrodite. The parent and child don't get along too well, he knows, judging from whispers he's heard, but they've still chosen matching appearances for their Cycle, though Persephone looks like she could grace a magazine cover and Demeter looks like he'd use the magazine cover to snap an errant teenager on the head for bad behaviour. 

She must feel his eyes on her, because she looks up from a muttered, clearly heated conversation with her parent, and raises her eyebrows coldly. 

What? she asks, sending him a mental question. 

He doesn't betray his surprise at this rude invasion of mental privacy. They can all communicate without opening their mouths - they're Gods, after all. But common decency dictates that one asks first.

He smiles, stubbornly refusing to engage in conversation, tipping his glass of wine in her direction before turning to see Zeus finally enter the room. 

"We have a problem!" he announces, sweeping in. 

-

"It's the fifth natural entity's death in the past decade, Hades, surely you must have more information! And this is Pan! He was no minor God."

Hades had rolled his eyes at Demeter, sending Zeus an annoyed look. He doesn't need to be cross-questioned on his job. 

"I cannot find out any further, Demeter. There are privacy laws in place for a God's or any God-like entity's passing - laws, I might add, that this pantheon had agreed upon to impose on my rule. I cannot break them unless all of you agree to completely remove those restrictions."

Zeus had sent him a dirty look. "So you're saying 'I told you so'?"

-

"The smartest course of action," Athena drawls from her position on a bean bag (where did she find a bean bag in this ostentatiously pretentious hotel room?), looking for all the world like a college student in a hoodie and messy hair, "is that we do away with Hades' restrictions and find out who this mass-murderer is, then stop them." 

There are murmurs of assent through the room, and Hades feels a smile twitch at his lips. He is so close to finally winning back his original powers, he can feel it. 

Zeus, he knows, hates the idea, but then again, Zeus was the one who'd first thought to put restrictions on all the Gods of the pantheon anyway. "We cannot be limitless!" he'd declared, just after the Gods had won their battle with the Titans and overthrown them. "That's how we get corrupted!" 

They'd agreed to restrictions on each of their powers to avoid said corruption and then spent the next millennia seeing Zeus be a philandering swine who saw fit to treat humans and demigods like flesh to be played with, while his wife took her wrath out on Zeus' hapless victims. As far as leaders go, his brother is possibly the worst. 

Even now, his Caucasian features are twisted in an unhappy pout, looking like a lout whose birthday party isn't going his way. For a split second, Hades imagines Zeus to be one of the many Italian mobsters he pretends to work with under his human disguise and imagines shooting his spineless brother. It gives him a moment's sadistic pleasure.

"We cannot just go back on our rules-" Zeus begins, but he is cut off by Athena's bored voice again. 

"And if we don't, we wait here, like sitting ducks, for this entity to keep murdering the Gods, demigods and spirits who have anything to do with nature, permanently altering the Earth in this Cycle."

There is silence, and Hades send Athena an approving look. She's never particularly been his favourite, but he appreciates the side of her that sticks to cold logic. She is, after all, the Goddess of Wisdom for a reason. 

And strategy. 

Zeus begins to protest again, in his never-ending quest to avoid letting anybody else come close to being as powerful as him, and Hades feels a nudge on his arm. Turning, he looks at his movie-star handsome brother, Poseidon, nodding hello at him. His attention, however, is caught by the t-shirt he is wearing: a graphic thing that says Life Can Be a Beach.

"Can you be any more of a stereotype?" Hades asks in distaste, eyeing the t-shirt, though he appreciates that his brother has taken the effort to actually tuck it into tailored pants, and paired the entire thing with a blazer. 

The man in front of him shrugs. "You're one to talk. What are you wearing again? Black? It's almost like that's a stereotype for someone who deals with death-"

"Shut up," Hades corrects, loathe to share the same origin as Zeus' form. He'd chosen first, Zeus had just decided to copy him, taking good things for himself, as per usual.

"Are you two listening?" Zeus snaps suddenly, and Hades and Poseidon look up at rest, pulled out of their squabble. 

"Not really," Poseidon says smoothly, raising a glass of some kind of fruity cocktail to toast the room. "I, for one, don't agree with the idea that we should discuss if Hades needs his restrictions lifted. It needs to be a discussion of when. Need I remind you that one of the dead is one of my sons?" 

The light-hearted tone he'd started with melts away by the end of the sentence and a ripple of anger is sent across the room. The building shakes a little, before Poseidon sighs and controls his anger, slapping on another easy-going smile on his face.

Demeter jumps up. "I've had a conversation with Poseidon, and we feel - as the two here who are most connected to any environmental problems - that we're not taking this issue seriously enough. If we don't save our own, then the Earth's balance will be lost. We've all seen the consequences when that happens - entire civilisations will perish again."

He's finally hit on the real topic at hand. For Gods, just like everything else in the world, are doomed to repeat the same patterns - the reason why they'd named their eras Cycles. Like humanity, Gods have their own fatal shared flaw, and it's the inability to learn from their mistakes. 

Wincing, Hades remembers the mountains of paperwork he'd had his teams sort through with the Indus Valley civilisation and Atlantis. He definitely didn't want a repeat of that one.

"We've formed a committee," Demeter says doggedly, twisting his hand so a wreath of vines appears in midair, with a scroll nestled in it. "And we will fight this."

In typical Zeus fashion, he disregards the legal document of notice that Demeter has drawn up, and insists the pantheon try a safer solution first - expanding their nets, putting every spirit and demigod on detective duty, and putting more protection on environmentally adjacent entities.

Demeter sends Poseidon and Hades a look, and Hades can't help but agree with the unspoken sentiment.

Chapter Text

Persephone is not impressed.

She's never been allowed to join a real 'family meeting' before, on account of being considered too minor a God to matter, but special arrangements had been made on account of the meeting being about the mass murder of nature gods and spirits. Demeter had argued that typically Pan would have been invited to attend and there needed to be more of the endangered community—as he put it—present. As the goddess of spring growth, it had been decided that she could attend, because the other option was Triptolemus, Demeter's right-hand man and the god of farming. The major Gods, obsessed as they are with pedigree, would have rather eaten their own shoes before letting a half-human into their fold.

It's all nonsense, but she is secretly pleased to finally attend... until she realises the Gods can't seem to agree on the most logical course of action and end up agreeing with Zeus' final word. 

She has to try not to curl her lip at him in disdain because she knows Hera will notice. Her eyes slide away from Zeus to eye his wife, who is sitting next to him, barefoot and silent, wearing a white dress and looking for all the world like an innocent, almost virginal spouse and not an unhinged, obsessed Goddess with jealousy and rage issues. 

When her father's notice of rebellion (or whatever it was that he'd drawn up, which she'd told him would be ignored) is predictably disregarded and the meeting adjourned, she circles on Demeter.

"I told you so," she says immediately, maturely, every bit her age.

He waves her away impatiently, beckoning to Poseidon and Hades, who obediently walk over to him. She eyes Hades as he comes over, and decides he's the right person to transfer all her ire to. 

"You know, I may just be a minor God," she starts snarkily, looking at his (admittedly striking) face, "but at least I don't have shackles on my wrists to render me useless and not let me use all my powers." 

He throws her a dirty look and Demeter ignores them in favour of engaging Poseidon in a discussion about a second meeting with nature spirits. He's heaven-bent on creating a committee because he seems to think Zeus will eventually be swayed like he's some kind of mortal.

Hades invades her personal bubble, like the male model for privacy invasion, lowering his voice so she's the only one who can hear her. "That's because my unrestricted powers are a little more complicated than telling flowers when to grow."

She flicks his shoulder, ignoring the part of her brain that's telling her to appreciate the timbre of his voice instead, noting with appreciation that he looks a little surprised at the flick. Has nobody dared to lay a finger on him before? As the God of the Dead and Underworld, it's probably not easy to find anyone with the bravado to try and flick him.

"Will you join us today, Hades?" 

Hades steps away from her, face smoothening back to his usual studied disinterest. "Sorry, Demeter. I have somewhere to be. You can contact me later, though."

He nods at them and turns to walk away, giving Persephone a sardonic bow before leaving. 

"Did you have to annoy him?" Demeter asks, looking disapprovingly at her.

"Why do you automatically think I did something?" she demands, like a hypocrite. He shakes his head, and gestures for all three to leave as well. 

"Every Cycle," she hears him mutter. 

-

Like humans, Gods are given to repeating some patterns. 

Like humans, this is because of their own, intrinsic fatal flaws. 

Unlike humans, this is usually needed to keep the balance of the world in place. 

Persephone hates the idea. It's basically like someone telling her there's a rule—no, a law—about how she needs to do the same thing she did millennia ago, otherwise the world would go to shit. It doesn't matter what she wants now, she is doomed to keep repeating the same mistakes. 

It's especially grating because she doesn't even know what her patterns are. Much like the dumb rule about restricting the major Gods and Goddesses' powers, Zeus and the rest had also pushed a law about this, after two Cycles of some truly messed-up problems. (Most of the Greek gods had repeated their patterns in their new forms, then tried to fight those patterns, and made things much, much worse. There's a reason the Roman empire fell.) So they'd all agreed to scrub their memories of major patterns in each Cycle, to avoid the natural desire to bypass making the same mistakes like a shitty film stuck in a loop. Some of them remember each other's patterns, but they keep quiet, out of either respect or the selfish desire to enjoy someone else's misery. 

It's mostly the latter. 

Demeter, Persephone knows, is aware of his child's patterns. It's been one of the biggest arguments between the two in their current Cycle; his refusal to warn her or tell her what to avoid. 

Stupid rule-abiding old man, she thinks viciously. They're standing in line at a coffee shop, and she is silently watching her father and Poseidon order their usual beverages and snacks. 

"Iced Americano for me," she snaps, and Poseidon cheerfully adds to the order.

You're stupid too, she thinks, eyeing his graphic t-shirt. Admittedly, the God of the Seas hasn't done anything to deserve this contempt, but her father's mention of Cycles in the hotel has thrown her mood further into the trash. 

"Every Cycle," he'd said after Hades had left. The only implication of those two words was this is what you both do every Cycle. Unfortunately, she has no memory of bantering with Hades in previous Cycles, which means whatever they engage in every time is something connected to a fuck-up big enough to be repeated, and scrubbed from their memories. 

They move to sit down at a coffee table in a corner. Poseidon offers her his plate (how did he manage to get the barista to serve him steak?) and she declines, frowning heavily into her coffee, listening to Demeter outline the plan to meet with his trusted inner circle of nature spirits. Poseidon adds intermittently about the reluctance of his ocean nymphs and demigods to join in any sort of battle, or about the sea community 'mourning' his son Triton, but for the most part, Demeter leads the conversation.

Persephone's bored out of her skull. 

All this talk won't do anything. They need to actually take action - between just the three Gods on this table, for example, they have enough firepower to terrorise any potential murderer. All this diplomatic committee-making to convince the King of the Gods is pointless. 

"I do think we can convince Zeus," Poseidon says, in direct opposition to her mental monologue. She can't help it; she rolls her eyes and both stop to look at her. 

"Speak up if you want to say something, stop sighing like some wind God," Demeter snaps. She takes a moment to stick her tongue out at him, then firmly turns to Poseidon. 

"How is your big plan still to convince your brother to give Hades his powers? Isn't it obvious now that he won't do it?" 

Poseidon grins. "Everything's a popularity contest for my brother. He just needs to feel like enough Gods are against him, so the plan is actually to use our nature committee to sway more Gods."

She raises her eyebrows coldly. "This is beginning to feel a lot like treason."

"We just need to do whatever it takes to waive restrictions, and then once Hades knows who's behind this, we can go in... ah, how do humans put it? Guns blazing." His eyes twinkle like he's entertained with the idea.

Honestly, she's beginning to think all of the Big Three have a few screws loose.

It's only much later, when Demeter has gotten up to make a call, that Persephone pipes up again. She looks squarely at Poseidon, who smiles charmingly and shifts to submit more of his face to her for scrutiny. 

"What do you know about your patterns?" she asks bluntly, eyes tracing his features. He looks movie-star handsome today, but he's a little blurry on the edges, as though he's planning to switch appearances already and he's not decided what the new look will be.

Poseidon, she knows, has not decided on one appearance in this Cycle, choosing instead to blend constantly. 

"I know only some things," he says nonchalantly. "I don't care much, truth be told." He must see the surprise on her face because he chuckles. "When you're as powerful as I am, the idea of having to match with something I did millennia ago is irritating."

She nods along in agreement, though she wishes she could empathise with the 'as powerful' part.

He tilts his head and smiles. "From where I'm sitting, what's the point of all that power and immortality if I'm just following my own footsteps?" 

"But you can't control that," she objects. "There's no way to stop-"

"Ah, I know," he says dismissively. "The point is to live each Cycle taking as many radical decisions that can tip the scales enough that your old patterns can't apply."

"Does that work?" she asks curiously. 

He shrugs. "I have no idea. But it's been a better way to live each Cycle waiting around to find out what's going to happen."

Demeter chooses this moment to return, and the conversation changes again. Bored once more, she stands up abruptly. 

"Abeoji, gal geoyeyo," she says in Korean to Demeter, using their chosen language for private discussions.

"Come to the meeting," he orders and she waves her hand vaguely in his direction, not bothering to give Poseidon the customary bow minor Gods are expected to give the Big Three. 

She has another one to go harass now anyway. 

As she's leaving, Poseidon's edges blur again, and his features start turning to something more familiar. 

-

"It's not easy tracking you down," she announces. 

The God of the Dead drops the fork he was holding, about to take a bite of what looks like some pasta. 

"It's so that I'm not bothered mid-meal by rude people." 

"Yah!" She snaps. He raises his eyebrows. Probably another thing he's not used to experiencing from others.

"Rude, yes. 'People' is a little below the belt," she says, settling in a chair next to Hestia, who waves mutely at Persephone, choosing wisely to continue stuffing her face with pizza.

He nods in acknowledgement. "That's true, you're not as irritating as a human being... yet."

"I'll get to the point, then, before I ruin His Deathly Majesty's mood," she says, tone sugary sweet, picking up his fork to sample his pasta. She takes her time, chewing the food slowly. 

He offers her his wine glass, an indecipherable expression on his face.

She takes it, gulps, and then accepts that she's milked the moment for all it's worth.

"I need you to stop encouraging my father to do all this nature spirit-rallying. It's not going to help, and he's just going to make Zeus furious."

"Do you really think Demeter is someone I control?" he asks, amused. 

"No, but he'll listen to you. Right now he's got you and Poseidon encouraging him, and I think it's ridiculous. Even with restrictions, you're both powerful enough to protect all the Greek Gods and the nature spirits. Why not fight murderous firepower with firepower? We can get the rest of the big Gods to protect important nature gods and demigods, or-"

"I don't tend to just blindly align myself with everybody, Lady Persephone," he says politely, signalling to a waiter to bring a third glass of wine to the table, after giving his up entirely to her. 

She narrows her eyes at him. "You wouldn't be blind, this is about making use of the other Gods..." she trails off, as something clicks. "Ah, you don't trust them either."

He clicks his fingers at her like she's scored a point.

She looks at Hestia, who is placidly sitting with an empty plate, staring out the window and humming something that sounds suspiciously like Mozart's Symphony 29. "What do you think?"

Hestia turns to look at Persephone, eyes betraying the hippie vibe she's built around herself. Hidden inside, Persephone can see a much more alert personality than the one on show.

"I think the home is the first place you hide when fearful of persecution," she says calmly. Another point to Team Trust Nobody, she supposes. 

"So what do we do?" she finally asks frustrated. "I don't think you realise, but my father is out there becoming a sitting duck and any time now, this murderer is going to notice that Demeter is the one to blame if you get restrictions lifted."

"It's not easy to kill a God like Demeter," Hades says absent-mindedly, steadily cutting ravioli into smaller pieces. 

"Whoever this person is, they killed Pan. Are you saying the God of the Wild was weak?" she snaps.

This, finally, makes Hades look up from his plate.

-

Somehow, and she's not sure how, their lunch results in Persephone walking into a rice paddy—why is it a paddy field of all things? She's wearing heels, come on—with the God of the Dead flanking her side, making their way to the centre to join Demeter's committee meeting.

She'd been hoping he'd look ridiculous, dressed as he is in full black, with a long winter coat over a three-piece suit, and hair slicked back. Instead, he looks even more like a male model, this time on the cover of a magazine about guns and the top five tips to murder corrupt politicians without a trace. 

Demeter looks surprised to see both of them, and there are ripples of gossip immediately around her as the nature spirits recognise Hades. 

"Sir," Triptolemus says solemnly, bowing low in front of him. His glasses slide off his nose and he grabs them from the ground, putting them back on his face haphazardly. "It's a pleasure to meet you," Triptolemus continues, smoothing down the sweater vest he's wearing.

Hades' eyes slide over the God of Farming, clearly noting the sprigs of random wheat stalks sticking to his sweater, and the mud on his glasses. For some reason, whatever this visage paints for him is positive, because Hades' face splits into a reluctant grin, and he offers a hand to shake.

"Not many people would call meeting me a pleasure," he says, sounding almost friendly. 

Persephone wants to slap the smile off his face. It's making him far more attractive than she'd expected. 

"I'm sure you all don't need an introduction," Demeter says finally, turning to the crowd around them. Persephone turns to smile, belatedly realising they're all—in some small way—her father's subjects, and she's probably expected to at least greet them.

There are two dryads she recognises, a couple who have unerringly found each other in every Cycle. She doesn't remember their exact origin, but she can't mistake the way he wears moss circled around his head like a cap, and she uses roses to clip her straight her back neatly. They are accompanied by an oak tree dryad who she only knows on sight because of his large, comical moustache. She'd once been offered a salad by him, the last time she's visited her father when he'd been holding court. It had been the worst salad she'd ever tasted.

She's pleased to see Hegemone, the goddess of blooming plants, and moves to hug her. They've always gotten along, even when Demeter himself has been a pain. Hegemone introduces her to her child, and to Terpsichore, who has nothing to do with nature but has accompanied Hegemone to the meeting as a friendly companion. 

"I've never met one of the nine Muses, Terpsichore" Persephone says, clapping her hands together in excitement. 

"Call me Larry," she says, nodding her head humbly, as her form shifts and takes on that of a lithe man. Persephone blinks at the Goddess - no, God of dance and chorus before deciding to just go with it. "Whatever you want," she says. 

Behind her, she hears a disturbance and turns to see three Hesperides, the nymphs of sunsets, clustered around Hades, who looks vaguely uncomfortable. Two, she can see, have taken the form of men in this Cycle, and one looks more like a female nymph who'd belong in the Underworld, working for Hades, and not the evening forests.

Demeter finally waves his hand, and the chatter dies down. 

"Not that I'm not pleased to see you," he says to Hades as an aside. 

"But why have you come? Even Poseidon declined eventually to join." She cocks her head to the side and frowns. What happened to Poseidon's seeming excitement about being a part of this committee?

Hades waves his hand in Persephone's direction softly. "I was convinced I may want to hear out your plans a little more, since they directly pertain to all of us." 

Demeter sends her a warm look, and Persephone's foolish heart grows three sizes in her chest, warming under the undeniable feeling of paternal pride.

How pathetic can she get? 

Chapter Text

"Demeter."

"Hmm."

"Are you sure about all this?"

Looking up from his bowl of makgeolli, Demeter raises his eyebrows. "Since when do you second-guess decisions?" 

Hades rolls his eyes. "I'm not second-guessing. I'm just asking if you're aware that you're painting yourself as a target. I don't think this murderer would chase someone as powerful as you down if you stopped openly calling them an 'evil hag'. Not to mention, you're irritating hags now too."

Demeter smiles a little sadly, draining the bowl of his favourite drink, then shaking it over his head. He falls silent, but Hades doesn't rush to speak, knowing that Demeter usually takes his own time to piece together his thoughts. 

It's not the first time they've grabbed a drink together. 

Over the years, Hades and Demeter have forged a tacit allyship, usually on the same side against Zeus' terrible family decisions. He doesn't remember sharing much of a connection with Demeter in previous Cycles, so he doesn't know why now - but he's not complaining. It's a breath of fresh air (almost literally, because Demeter always smells like freshly mown grass), though he would enjoy not having to deal with crops randomly growing out of cement when they get a little too tipsy. It's not a friendship, though. In fact, Hades usually feels like he's being scrutinised, or is attending a pre-trial interview with his lawyer. 

He's beginning to suspect the reason behind this behaviour, at least.

"Do you know how important agriculture is to human beings in this current year?" Demeter finally asks, a twisted smile on his face.

Hades shakes his head mutely. 

"Do you know what it feels like, to be attuned to the earth as a God of things like harvest? I'm always aware of the earth, of billions of fields across the world. I can tell you exactly which eighty-three corn crops in India have insect infestations right now or how many maize farmers have been tending to their fields in Africa."

Hades doesn't move, but he's beginning to see the point. He does, after all, have a similar connection, albeit to dead spirits and not... plant life.

"And that extends," Demeter continues, pouring them fresh glasses. "Everyone forgets, but part of my job is to look into and balance the cycles of Life and Death on Earth."

"I don't forget," Hades interjects, only slightly caustic and the two share reluctant grins. They have bi-annual meetings about it, and it's usually a pain for everyone involved.

"I am... aware, painfully aware, every time human greed or corruption brings another ecosystem crashing down. When Pan died, or Triton died, or even the minor nymphs before them, it was like a dagger in my chest."

Demeter pauses, his face twisted again in regret.

"So you see, I'm not being altruistic, as you and my daughter seem to think. I would just like to not feel this pain. And after all, we're the Gods. I know we usually don't do it but isn't it our job to actually protect this foolish race and the Earth?"

"Corporate social responsibility," Hades mocks quietly, draining his own makgeolli, ignoring the feeling of bitter liquid mixing with the discontentment Demeter's words have left in his stomach. 

-

Walking the streets of a human city is always like an interlude. Nobody notices him, because Hades doesn't want to be noticed. Instead, he melts into the crowds, feeling the neon lights fail to penetrate his darkness, hearing the sounds of humans chattering or fighting around him and car horns in the distance.

He finally comes to a stop outside his destination - a large estate on the edge of a Korean city. He usually doesn't pay house-calls, but since the family meeting had brought him to the city anyway, he's decided to step in and do a little grunt work.

He stands outside the wrought iron gates, reaching for a lighter in his pocket and flicking it open. The heavy, familiar weight grounds him to the moment.

"Lord Hades." Thanatos, the personification of death, materialises next to him, as they both look pause at the gates of the large estate. "Do you... what brings you here?" 

Hades snaps the lighter closed before flicking it open once more, enjoying the rhythm. 

"You know I like it when the bad ones die." 

Together, they step past the gates, making their way to the house. He can already smell the blood, hear sobs of pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees an assassin run off the estate in the shadows and smirks.

Correction: he likes it when the bad ones are killed. Poetic justice.

-

Charon is waiting for him at the gates of the Underworld, looking vaguely apprehensive and disapproving. 

"Sir, you know it complicates matters for the Judges of the Dead if the Lord of the Dead was present at the collection of a soul."

Hades waves his hand dismissively at his handsome right-hand man. "Minos, Rhadamanthus and Aeacus will handle it," he says, referring to the three Judges of the Dead. Charon tsks, following Hades, buttoning up his dark suit, a sure sign that he's worried. "Sir, the soul in question spent the entire ferry ride to the Underworld whining about how the judgement couldn't be fair if Lord Hades had already laughed in his face-"

Hades comes to a stop and gives Charon a look, who promptly subsides into silence. "If he wants to complain to a higher authority, ask the departed soul to visit me," he says smoothly, feeling fury lick at his insides. How dare some corrupt politician try and game his way around Hades' own kingdom?

He grips Charon's shoulder, and the younger being winces slightly. "Let him complain about Lord Hades  to  Lord Hades, and I'll teach him about what's fair." 

"You usually say nothing's fair," Charon mutters reluctantly, as Hades releases his shoulder with a gentle pat.

"Exactly."

He walks away from the Ferryman, slightly regretting his tone. Through each Cycle, Charon's usually been a staunch follower. Lost in thought, he walks past the gardens surrounding his sprawling island mansion, until his mind finally awakens to something being off.

Turning, he looks around and realises he's in the midst of a riot of colour, not usually something he sees in the dark vineries of his Underworld. Among the shadowy vines and deep purple grapes, he now sees magenta flowers and fruits interspersed, with emerald leaves shooting through them. Curiously, he approaches one of them only to realise that they're not real: the emerald isn't just a colour, but the actual stone. The flowers and fruits are, likewise, gemstones hewn to look like pomegranates and bougainvillaea. 

"Do you like it?" Pan asks, emerging from underneath one low-hanging branch. 

Hades gapes at him for a few seconds before pulling himself together. "I'm no nature god, but I know none of these plants actually grow together naturally," he says, amused. Nobody's ever done this to his lands before, but he can't find it in him to be irritated with the God of the Wild.

Pan shrugs. "If I'm stuck here, I might as well spruce up the place." 

He frowns up from his position under the trees. "Is there no way they can be real trees? The only thing that seems alive here are the grapevines, and I've never been much of a wine person."

Hades shrugs. "Sorry. The vines were a gift from Dionysus, which is why they manage to grow. Besides, I don't know if you've noticed, but nothing here tends to be... alive." He smiles in what he hopes is a comforting way, but Pan's sour expression makes him think he's achieved something closer to a smirk. Ah well.

"It's also called the Underworld," Pan counters, unimpressed. "But I can't help but notice it's an island that's most definitely not under the surface of the world."

Hades rolls his eyes and turns away. 

"They look pretty," he calls over his shoulder. "Feel free to do more, if you want."

-

Hades is dragged yet again to the hot summer of Asia within a day of his return to the Underworld. This time, he wisely sticks to light cotton-wear but shows up appropriately grumpy at Persephone's chosen cafe, just to make a point.

"You know I can just choke your messengers with shadows the next time you dare to demand I meet you, right?" he asks her, by way of greeting.

She looks up at him and smiles angelically. "I imagine that's just more trouble for you because that would mean killing more dryads at a time when there's already a mass murderer trying to-"

"Okay, okay," Hades says, sighing. He sits down at the table, placing his order with a waiter for a double espresso.

"I want an Iced Americano," Persephone volunteers and he blanches. "Please drink something better than that sewage."

She blinks at him sweetly. "No."

He places the order. 

"What is wrong with you and your father?" he grumbles under his breath, and he didn't think it would be possible, but her smile widens. "We're one of a kind," she says proudly, flipping her hair behind her. He eyes the shower of rich brown before looking off into the distance. Just because he's actually arrived for this meeting doesn't mean he needs to engage in further discussion. She can either start talking, or she can deal with silence.

Of course, Persephone seems to not be entirely normal, because she chooses silence until the coffee arrives at the table. It's unsettling, because she sits placidly opposite him, smelling like some kind of fruit that he cannot place, lips red and distracting. 

Once they're sipping on their coffee, he gestures for her to start speaking, and she sits up primly. 

"I know you want this murderer gone too. It's messing with the balance of more than just the environment."

He sets down his espresso and narrows his eyes. "So?" He doesn't bother denying it; she's right of course. The cities, as usual, are untouched, so nothing seems to have been changed, but mass death of nature gods and nymphs has already resulted in mountain slides in the northern regions of the world, while low lying sea communities have suffered freak tsunamis and at least two endangered animal species slipped from being "vulnerable" to "endangered". His people are dealing with twice the amount of paperwork, and Charon's complained about having to increase the frequency of his ferry rides. 

"So, let me help you. I have a lead on a suspect."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Who is it?"

-

Prometheus' hideout is a library. Hades isn't sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't a library. He turns to raise his eyebrows at Persephone, but she smacks his shoulder (he makes a mental note to ask her if she's forgotten who he is). "You're supposed to be disappearing right about now," she hisses. Sighing, he melts away into the shadows. It's not usually enough to trick Gods, but Prometheus is a titan - and from what he's heard, not particularly bright. 

They walk in (or rather, he walks, and Persephone prances in, looking like some kind of pink-suited bat fluttering around the shadowy library). He can feel the pulsing presence of Prometheus the moment they step in, and it's easy to find the figure of a young man, dressed in a stiff suit, hunched over a giant textbook.

"Since when does the father of human arts and sciences need to study?" Persephone asks gaily, dropping into the chair opposite the man, who jumps and looks at her in surprise.

"Who are you?" he asks, straightening up and trying to look foreboding.

She extends her hand, not speaking till Prometheus reluctantly grasps it. "I'm Persephone. Goddess of Springtime, Maidenhood, good taste, common sense."

Hades has to hold in a laugh, then sternly tells himself to get it together. 

Prometheus seems unimpressed. "What would you need from me?"

She shrugs. "I heard through the grapevine"—she sends sly look in the direction of where Hades stands, still hidden from the eye, and has to stop himself from laughing again at the unexpected vinery pun—"that you were hanging out here and I've always been fascinated by what happened to you."

"By... by what happened to me?" Prometheus stammers, leaning away from Persephone like her presence gives him hives.

"Oh, you know, the whole thing with Zeus."

At the mention of Zeus' name, Prometheus pales. It's only been two centuries since he was rescued from his punishment by Zeus for giving humans a way to advance their technology and industrial craft. His hand absently goes to caress the front of his torso, near where his liver would be. The rumours did report that his liver had been pecked at again, a classic Zeus punishment if there ever was one.

Hades shakes his head at the idea. Zeus goes overboard every Cycle whenever he punishes Prometheus for helping humans. Of course, nobody's forcing Prometheus to keep giving them advantages like fire or, as in the current Cycle, a roadmap to bring about the Industrial Revolution. 

Prometheus stands up from the table quickly. "I'm sorry, my Lady, I have nothing to say about that," he says formally, skin pale. He backs away from the table and exits the library.

Hades reveals himself and sits in the vacated chair, examining the textbook Prometheus has left behind. It's... economics? 

"He definitely knows something," he comments idly, flipping through the textbook.

Persephone nods, still eyeing the door Prometheus had walked out of. "It looks like my sources were right when they said they saw him creeping around the hotel where we had our meeting."

"If there's anybody who has a reason to make trouble for the Gods, it's him," Hades agrees. "But you saw how he reacted. That's not the reaction of some skilled invisible murderer."

She nods slowly, eyes unfocused. "So, who is he working with?"

-

"Hades."

Startled, Hades jumped. He was at home, seated on his throne. The fireplace opposite his throne was cold and it took him a moment to realise Hestia's voice wasn't coming from the hearth, but the open Macbook on his table.

"What?" he asked, irritated. He'd told her numerous times to stop hacking into his electronics but she seemed to enjoy it. 

"I've heard something. My vision was blurred, but the conversation happened quite literally in someone's home in front of a fireplace, so I was able to hear bits and pieces."

"What is this about?" he pressed, frowning. Hestia didn't tend to gossip about private conversations.

"I overheard a voice telling Prometheus he needed to be careful and to keep an eye on Demeter." 

-

Unlike most of the Gods, Hades extends influence outside of his usual realms. While the dead and dying automatically become his subjects, he's spent millennia cultivating loyalty with nymphs and demigods who are technically ruled by others. It's all very quietly done, of course, because he knows it's tantamount to getting spouses to cheat.  

It's not his fault he's just a nice person with a winning personality, unlike, for example, Dionysus. 

In Demeter's world, those loyal subjects (or disloyal, however one wants to look at it) are the two Epimeliads who are the guardians of the tree that the Golden Fleece is kept on. He visits their meadow in the night, darting quietly past blessed sheep, coming to the stop just a few paces away from the Golden Fleece. The fleece, a golden-wooled thing of beauty that once belonged to the winged ram, Chrysomallos, hangs there, shining brightly. It's said to have countless powers.

Hades can't bring himself to care. Instead, he waits patiently and soon enough, two small trees near the Fleece melt away to reveal two white-haired men. 

"Lord Hades!" one says loudly, rushing forward to bow in front of him. Slower than his counterpart, the other dryad follows and bows as well. "Lord Hades," he murmurs, adjusting glasses carefully, putting his hands in his tweed jacket and waiting patiently for an order he knows is coming his way.

Gently waving away the first dryad's excited comments about how the last gift of opera tickets had been well-received, Hades lowers his voice to brief them. 

"I need you to follow someone for me."

The two dryads immediately sober up, straightening their backs, suddenly looking less like jolly herders and more like spies. 

-

He keeps in touch with Persephone, knowing that she's heaven-bent on finding out what Prometheus is up to, though if what he hears from her is true, she and Demeter are swamped, dealing with complaints from across the world. Nature spirits, it turns out, are not easily pacifiable by tight security measures. 

After a few weeks of silence, he tries to reach out to Poseidon to know what's happening in the underwater communities but finds tightly sealed entryways everywhere. Even his usual ocean spies can't be reached.

A message shows up one day, after yet another of Hades' minions returns with negative news, bearing Poseidon's narrow, precise handwriting.

Brother,

Underwater kingdom in an uproar because of Triton's murder. Amphitrite, my wife, is very upset. Will resurface in a few weeks. I hope Demeter and the lovely Persephone are doing their part. Need your powers back soon.

-The Better Looking Brother 

"Ridiculous," Hades mutters, looking at the signature. In no Cycle had Poseidon looked better, and in this one, his constantly shifting form doesn't count.

Maybe the prolonged calm lulls them all into a false sense of safety because things become a little lax. The Gods return to their bickering, and even when he visits Demeter (who just happens to be holding court these days with his daughter in tow), the nature spirits seem to have been soothed.

"Prometheus is missing," Persephone confides in Hades, stealing away from court to speak to him in private. She is a vision, despite wearing just a white shirt and tailored pants. Her long hair is adorned with a wreath of flowers, but he can still smell the mystery fruit about her; she's got an entirely different scent he just can't seem to place.

Hades looks around to see if he can see Demeter, then steps just a little closer to her, lowering his voice. He tries to ignore the way his body screams at him to lean even closer, resolutely pushing away the temptation to slide his arms around her and whisk her away to a much more secluded area. "I have someone tailing him. The last time he was seen was near the shore of Japan. I told you, spies informed me he was warned. So whoever was behind all this has decided to bide their time."

She agrees with him, and neither of them feels the need to say out loud what they're both thinking: there's no way anyone who'd been powerful enough to do away with Pan and Poseidon's own son would just stop.

Demeter yells loudly for Persephone, and her face morphs into one of irritation as she turns away to stomp in her father's direction.

"What, old man?" she snaps, once again seeming to forget that she's supposed to bow to Hades before leaving.

Hades huffs out a reluctant laugh. At this point, he suspects that if she does follow the rules, he'll be more concerned. 

-

Of course, peace doesn't last. 

He's touring the Mourning Fields when it happens, just as he's looking with vague pity at the residents of the Fields, souls who'd wasted their lives on unrequited love. He can't imagine being in love to a point where it became his governing principle. The one time he'd mentioned this to Hestia, she'd shot him the same unreadable look she reserved for modern architecture, or sections of the Internet she didn't approve of. 

"Sir!" Charon comes skidding to a halt in front of him, panting, black suit half-wet, like he's splashed his way across the river Styx. "You need to come quickly."

And that's how he discovers Hegemone, Goddess of Blooming Plants, standing impatiently at the gates of the Underworld. She disregards his immediate questions, telling him to shut up (what is it with the manners of all these minor nature Gods?) and listen to her first.

"Just before I lost consciousness, I heard a voice say that they had to get 'the other one' next," she says quickly, one hand gripping on his sleeve tightly. He blinks uncomprehendingly at her.

"What... what other one?" Is this some kind of nature thing she expects him to know about? Her son, maybe?

She rolls her eyes before seeing his offended expression and straightening up a little. "There is nobody else like me to be named the 'other'," she says a little slowly like he's an idiot. "There is one minor demigod, Triptolemus, but he is less powerful, and his death won't create as many ripples. But we're on the cusp of a seasonal change, and there's only one God who's in charge of it."

The shoe drops and he feels his chest constrict sharply. 

"She's got one final session at Demeter's court today, before she departs for the other side of the world," Hegemone continues, unaware that her point's been made. "Lord Hades, if she were to be killed, I genuinely do not know what will happen to the change of seasons. If this person's intention has been to create ecological disaster, then this would be the way to do it."

He is walking away before her sentence ends, grimly calling Charon to accompany him. 

It doesn't take long to find Persephone, because he simply needs to call one of the two Epimeliads he'd saddled with spy duty. They've been splitting their time between trying to search for Prometheus and keeping an eye on Demeter, because Hades had been wrong - he'd thought the next big target would be Demeter.

She is holding court next to Demeter when he arrives, teasing Triptolemus about something, hair waving in the rainy breeze surrounding them. He tries to signal to her from afar, careful to avoid Demeter, knowing that the overly protective man will not consent to the plan in Hades' mind. She doesn't notice, so he finally drops decorum and breaches her mind.

Persephone. We need to speak.

She nods imperceptibly, masterfully not letting her expression or demeanour change. Within minutes, however, she's making her way to him. He shrouds them both in shadows and explains what he's heard, sticking to thought-speak. 

We have to leave now, he concludes. She takes a moment to think, and he has the greatest urge to grab her instead of waiting for her to process. He doesn't even know why he's feeling this urgency; they're barely friends, and he's not sure he'd behave this way with even Demeter or Hestia, but every fibre of his being is telling him to open a portal to the Underworld in the next few seconds, her hand in his.

Have to? She asks, raising her eyebrows.

If you want to, he amends, stretching out his hand.

Chapter Text

Persephone expects Hades to sweep her away in a flurry of shadows with a flourish of his long coat, opening a portal in the ground to swallow them whole.

Instead, he calmly escorts her out of her father's field, leads her to a large Range Rover parked a little way away and opens the car door for her. Once she's seated, he drives, politely asking what kind of music she'd listen to. His manners are back in full force, referring to her as Lady Persephone formally. She tries not to think of the rush of pleasure she'd felt upon hearing him say Persephone in her mind, urgently, earnestly, almost frantically.

The car ride is honestly a little surreal, but she's well aware that linguistics professors around the world will have a conniption at the Goddess of Nature calling something the Lord of the Underworld does surreal when it's actually incredibly normal and mundane, so she simply asks him to play KPop (he winces, but agrees) and stares out the window.

The scenery outside the window is decidedly not normal and mundane. It's like someone with a photo-editing app has decided to blur the scene outside - she catches glimpses here and there of vaguely familiar cities, or trees and shrubs, but that is all she can recognise. Within minutes, the liquefied world outside the window gets darker and she starts to see shades of grey mixed in with flashes of faces. She thinks they're twisted in horror, but honestly, at this point, that could be her own confirmation bias. She doesn't ask him, because she's not sure what she wants the answer to be. 

Her stomach is churning, which startles her. It's not a feeling she's used to, this odd mix of anxiety and anticipation. She's not even sure why the latter exists; what does her body expect that she is not capable of recognising? There's some kind of divine impatience that she feels rushing in her veins and she can't stand it.

Ignoring all the things she doesn't know about and cannot recognise, she turns to look at the God on her left. His eyes are trained to focus on the not-road ahead (how does he even know where they're going?), hands gripping the steering wheel. She follows the tight lines of his shoulders, noting that he's tense. (But then, she's met him frequently this summer and he's always tense, so that isn't new.)

The car slows down and she can suddenly see real surroundings again. There are palm trees, winding roads, people on the street. In the distance, she sees a glittering sea under bright sunlight, practically inviting her to dive in. On closer inspection, she realises the people aren't necessarily people: the ones who roam freely seem to all have jobs to do, or at least they're suited like white-collar officials, rushing from one place to another, while there are frequent groups who pass by, wearing shackles at their wrist, chaperoned by wraith-like entities she cannot place.

"Welcome to the Underworld," Hades says, breaking their silence. She wants to ask him a hundred questions almost immediately, but holds her tongue, not wanting to seem like some godling on her first outing. Why me, she wants to ask.

Why is there sunlight?

Who are those people outside?

What are those wraiths?

Why me?

Did we already pass the gates to the Underworld? Or is there some back entrance you used?

You have a three-headed dog, don't you?

Are these plants real? Are they alive?

Where are we going if we've reached already?

Why me?

If she had to choose one question, she'd choose just the one. Why did he go so far to save her? Surely he knew that, if not her, another nature spirit or god would be in trouble next. Why not harbour them all? Because of logistical difficulties?

It feels like she's being overconfident, but she knows the answer bone-deep, like she knows how each flower in spring feels to touch, but about her and him and something much bigger.

Every time, Demeter had said. It's their Cycle. There is something they must do, some step they must take, that binds them together and makes her acutely aware of his presence when he's around. It's what has made him reach out with the least hesitance to tug her into the Underworld. It's what has made her dive deep into this search for Prometheus and the protection of nature spirits. Every part of her detective work has kept her in contact with him. 

It's not altruism, she acknowledges to herself. It's a streak of selfishness that she cannot rid herself of. I'm more like Demeter than I thought, she thinks wryly, thinking of her father's recent attempts to tell her that he's not interested in saving the world, or nature spirits, just himself of pain. 

The car swerves a little, turning down a sharp pin in the road, leading them up a winding, gentle incline. If he'd not been driving, she wouldn't have seen the turn at all. They're practically in a tunnel; there are tall walls bracketing the road, roughly hewn from rock. Here, finally, she sees notes of the stereotype she'd been expecting; the rock is dark, and she sees obsidian streaks in the stone as though the darkness is leaking through its modern illusion. The road opens wider, leaving the rocks behind so they're now flanked on the left and right by grapevines that are somehow interspersed with flashes of colour that zip too quickly past for her to recognise.

"What are those?" she asks out loud in wonder, catching bright pink and emerald flashes amidst the dark purple and green of the vines. She turns in time to see him smile, switching gears and rolling the car to a stop in front of a sprawling mansion.

"Interior decoration courtesy the God of the Wild," he says dryly, before leaning across her to unlock and open the door.

Their eyes meet and she feels like time slows down while his hand lingers at her seatbelt, unlocking it. For a mad second, she is tempted to bend, just a little -

"This is my home," he says.

-

The mansion is less a house and more like a case study in Italian architecture. Hades takes her on a brief tour of the ground floor and the surrounding gardens, pointing out paths to the grapevines, the stables and the garage housing his horses and cars (I can hardly use a chariot nowadays, he says nonchalantly) and the six main rivers of the Underworld. "Try not to wander off alone," he warns, eyeing her like he thinks the warning is falling on deaf ears. She sticks her tongue out at him, ever the mature one, though she admits privately that he's got her pegged. It's just that she has no desire to accidentally stumble into the rivers of Pain, Forgetfulness, Hatred or... whatever the other three were. He rolls his eyes as they move down a path hidden behind a towering oak tree (really, the vegetation here makes no sense).

"I've instructed my staff to ready a suite of rooms for you in my home, Lady Persephone," he says over his shoulder, lightly moving aside low-hanging branches of the little wooded track they're on, so they don't catch on her head. "It'll take a while, so I thought I'd show you around a little more."

He turns to smile at her winningly like they're humans and he's merely a good host, not the God of the Dead. There's something different about him, she thinks. She can't put a finger on it.

They emerge near a long meadow of grey. It's not an exaggeration; it's literally grey and boring, extending to where her eyes cannot see, a monotonous plain of nothingness. In the middle, she sees many human-like shapes shrouded in a fog, standing motionless. 

"These are the Asphodel Meadows," Hades says quietly, like he doesn't want to break the dull spell of the area. "This is where humans who were ordinary come."

"Ordinary?" she asks, frowning. 

He nods solemnly, touching her shoulder to propel her towards a single, bare tree a few feet away. He touches the bark and a shadowy set of stairs appears on the ground. She gestures for him to lead the way (no way is she going first down a series of suspicious stairs).

"There are some souls who don't accomplish anything," he explains, throwing her an eye roll at the artless way she gestured for him to lead, beginning their descent down the staircase. "They were neither bad, nor good, heroes, nor villains. They just... were. So they don't get to go to Elysium, they're merely here. Waiting for the day they can be reborn."

"That's terrible," she murmurs. He looks a touch surprised, as though he's never had to consider the fate of being average. "I suppose," he allows doubtfully. Ahead of them, the stairs level out to a long corridor and they continue, gently talking about the pros and cons of being in the Asphodel Meadows. She insists it's a form of torture. Everybody is special for somebody.

In quick succession, he shows her each river, the Mourning Fields, the entrance to Tartarus (which sends a shiver right down her spine) and Elysium, or Isles of the Blessed. They're a cluster of smaller islands nestled in the cove of the Underworld. She sees Pan, who nods gruffly at them both before disappearing and re-appearing with Hegemone in tow. They greet each other - she assures Hegemone she is fine and thanks her for alerting Hades to the danger - before she vows to find her way back to Elysium to spend more time with Hegemone. The Goddess smiles and nods in a motherly sort of way like she would if her child promised to visit on a Sunday for lunch. "As long as you're safe," she mutters softly, patting Persephone's hand. 

"Are you going to hang around here, then, with him?" Pan asks bluntly, jerking a finger in Hades' direction, who raises his eyebrows, hands settled comfortably in his pockets. "If you want to keep your quarters in Elysium, Lord Pan, I'd suggest doing away with the tone," he warns, eyes shining with what seems to be an impish delight in the threat.

Hegemone elbows Pan in the stomach, who rolls his eyes like the grumpy old man he is. "All this after I helped make your boring vines look good," he grumbles, the light of the sun catching the silvery grey of his hair. Turning his back resolutely to Hades, Pan looks Persephone in the eyes. "I don't know what you always see in him," he says disapprovingly before walking away. 

He knows too, Persephone realises. She grasps for Hegemone's sleeve, but even she has turned to leave, though not before sending Persephone a knowing glance.

"Shall we?" Hades asks, pointing in the direction of the River Styx, clearly unaware (or uncaring) of this exchange. "I want you to meet someone." 

Once near the Styx, they walk along with the black, rushing waters for a while. He explains how the Elysian Fields work, how only heroes or humans with exceptional lives are allowed to reside there, like the ultimate blessing. As she talks, she feels the knots of anxiety diminish. If she closes her eyes, the sound of the Styx is like any normal bubbling stream, and not an odd out-of-place brook with black water, rushing through an island. She has to remind herself none of it, whether tree, shrub or even grass is real, that they're all just facsimiles of the real thing. She can't taste any oxygen on her tongue at all and even the deepest of breaths won't yield the smell of pollen and mud that she so loves. 

"The ecology of your island is impossible," she informs Hades snootily and he laughs in response, which nearly makes her lose her footing on the soft muddy banks of the river. She's never heard him laugh. With that, it finally dawns on her what's different about him. 

He's relaxed. Gone are the tense lines, the grumpy curl of his mouth, the frown on his forehead. His strides are lighter, his shoulders rolled back. There's a light in his eyes, and he even finds it in him to tease her about silly things ("are you sure you'll find your way around on your own Lady Persephone, you don't have a reputation for being good with directions"). 

It's because he's at home, she realises with a start.

They meet Charon, the Ferryman, who looks like another male model in a designer suit. "Have you instructed everybody to just look like the Italian mafia in this Cycle?" she asks snidely and Hades flicks her shoulder. 

"Back to the house?" he asks smoothly, ignoring her question and bidding a non-verbal goodbye at Charon.

-

By nightfall, two spirits show her the second floor of Hades' mansion, which is how she discovers that he's had the entire floor remade and set aside for her. A long corridor joins a sitting room, a bedroom and even an office. The bedroom, she knows, is a polite consideration - not every God sleeps, it's not like they need to. He's just provided her a luxurious one on the off-chance that she'd want to sleep, just like the office has been provided as though she's got a briefcase of paperwork to tackle while on her sabbatical from the World of the Living. The decor is like something out of a magazine, stylish and modern, though it's dotted with fake flowers and fake wheat in vases, which she supposes is a nod to her father. At the thought of Demeter, she feels a little guilty; she hasn't thought of him at all. I'll try and contact him the moment it's safe, she promises to herself. Though surely he'll realise I must have gone into hiding? I wouldn't disappear otherwise.

Hades' spirits leave her, and she stands uncertainly in the corridor near the staircase. She could sleep, she does tend to take a nap every few days, but the entire place feels too fake and cold to be homey enough to settle into. She longs for her usual abode, a ramshackle house she shares with her father, messy and filled with more plant life than soft furnishings. Not that Hades hasn't pulled out all the stops to give her some semblance of home, she grants. He must have seen their home sometime because a lot of the furniture and plants look the same. The piece de resistance, however, is the entire second-floor corridor. Instead of just normal flooring, most of the passage is dedicated to a long flowerbed, which has been planted with pink rose bushes. The sharp thorns and the pink of the roses do a valiant job to convince her they're real, but to her eyes, she can see how they pale in comparison to the real thing. 

"Is everything to your liking?"

If he had shrouded his presence, she'd have jumped. Fortunately for her reputation, Hades' presence has only grown stronger in the hours they've spent in the Underworld; she can feel him at all times, like a perfume that lingers around her. Not cloying or stifling, but kind of like the smell of vanilla in a kitchen, or wet mud after a rainfall. The moment he'd taken to the staircase to climb up from his first floor to her second, she'd felt the atmosphere change, like the very not-air around them serves him and moves to accommodate his presence.

"It's lovely," she lies, not looking at him.

"Good," he replies awkwardly. They hover around each other for a second, until Persephone finally gives up on the little propriety she's been trying to exercise.

"It could do with one tiny improvement," she admits, turning to him. He's changed out his clothes, now wearing just a soft sweater and tailored pants, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and devastatingly, hair let down across his forehead in soft waves. Hades smiles like he expected this response.

"Please, go ahead," he says politely. It's this civility that grates at her, and she is filled with the desire to shake him. She turns away from him, stalking resolutely to one end of the corridor, reaching out to place one hand over the roses. Closing her eyes, she wills for a part of her to unlock, the part she keeps tightly hidden until she's alone and doing her job every Spring. Opening her eyes, she feels a warm glow rise up around her. She begins to walk, gaze trained on the plants under her fingertips. 

Slowly, the plastic-green of the stalks changes, colours deepening, as the leaves begin to unfurl from their manufactured curls. The roses seem to shiver and the tint on them deepens to a dark red. Crimson bleeds from each bud to the other, like ink spreading on tissue. There's a sharp intake of air behind her, but she continues down her path, stopping only once she's reached the very end of the corridor. She turns slowly, breathing in.

Oxygen.

Their eyes meet. For the first time, Hades looks stunned. As they look at each other, a dark hunger crosses his face, sending a warm tug around her middle like a siren call to her. The residual charm of what she's done combines with this heat from his expression and she feels her fingertips zing with a lingering warmth.

"There's more," she says almost wickedly, enjoying how he gulps at the sound of her voice. Leaning down, she breaks off one rose and crushes the bud in her hands then throws the petals to the sides of the walls, where they attach and begin to grow. The petals start to mutate and rush up the walls, growing roots and leaves for more rose bushes. In the blink of an eye, the entire corridor is transformed to look like a passageway wrought of only thorns, buds and leaves. At intervals, lights begin to pulse from certain sections where the original walls had light bulbs, except now the illumination is soft and warm, like a sunset shining through the leaves.

"What do you think?" she asks, approaching him. He looks at her with an unreadable expression on his face, though his eyes betray appreciation and admiration. Buoyed, reckless, thoughtless, she grabs his hand.

"I have one more idea," she says, ignoring the way their bond practically sings as they touch. His eyes linger at their intertwined hands as he nods. "Show me," he says encouragingly, voice almost painfully soft as though he doesn't want to shatter the heady spell her roses and oxygen and sunset have cast on them.

"Take me to the grapevines," she says.

It's a good thing he's awestruck about the roses because if Hades had insisted on her leading the way, she'd have had to betray her absolute inability to remember a single road. Having clearly just accomplished something that's made her rise in his esteem, she'd have loathed destroying that progress with her useless sense of direction.

They don't let go of each other's fingers.

-

The moonlight has filtered through the vines by the time they reach the centre of the sprawling vineyards. She finally lets go of his hand and moves towards the grapes, belatedly recognising the shiny colour that had caught her attention before. They're gemstones, roughly cut into the shapes of pomegranates and ornamental flowers. "This is Pan's work," she says in awe, ghosting her fingertips over the fruits. She turns to look at Hades, who isn't looking at the plants at all. "Do you know he's got the hands of an artist?" she asks, breathlessly, still reeling from the beauty of what she's seeing. "It's only something he's done in this Cycle, but he's cultivated a hobby of creating something out of practically nothing. It's like seeing a gifted tailor; give him any cloth and he'll make you the best shirt."

Hades looks intrigued finally, reaching out to stroke one fruit. Then, with a sharp flick of his hand, he breaks one of them off and slips it into his pocket. "You can change what you want now," he says encouragingly. The reassurance brings the warmth back, simmering around her ankles, pushing her to ignite her powers again. There are loud cracks that rent the night air, and Persephone feels more than sees the flowers and fruits around her shiver and come to life. She plucks a flower mid-change from its stem, and it freezes in her palm, half-velvety petal and half-gemstone. The scent of real life extends around them and she breathes deep, enjoying how it reaches every corner of her.

Finally, once she's had her fill, she turns to look at Hades again. His eyes are closed, nose lifted delicately in the air. "Recognise the smell?" she asks slyly while pocketing her half-gem flower, meaning to tease him about his lack of knowledge about real plants. His eyes snap open to reveal that they're darker than she's ever seen, like the Underworld's intrigues are storming within them, containing all the secrets and mysteries of the dead. She's got the strongest desire to reach out and pull them to her, to share them with him.

"Persephone," he says out loud, urgently, ardently, almost frantically, and it is better, so much better than when he said it in her mind. "Can I kiss you?"

The glow that had been licking at her ankles grows to giant flames around them. She nods, stretching her hand out to him, inviting him closer. One, two, two and a half strides, and he's in front of her, one finger crooked under her chin to bring her lips up to his. The moment they touch, it's like something settles in her stomach and the anxious knots from before vanish entirely. Her entire body relaxes into him, feeling a sense of certainty flood through her veins.

He deepens the kiss, large hands coming up to cradle her face, biting down gently on her lip. She feels a moan rise, unbidden, from the depths of her, and he swallows it, moving one hand to cup the back of her head like she's the oxygen in the air and he needs to breathe. Running her hands up his shoulders, she locks them behind his neck and stretches up as much as she can to meet him, eager to give as much as he can take. He kisses her like he means it, like he demands her entire being to submit to his, like he's a king whose birthright is her lips and her taste. He is a King, she remembers dimly, just as they break apart. 

They gaze silently at each other for a few seconds, until she feels words rise unsolicited in her throat as his palms drop to caress her waist softly. "Lord Hades," she teases brazenly. His eyes snap to hers, growing wide at the sound of an honorific she's never used before. 

She leans in for a second kiss, this time her chance to take from her king, feeling like an addict on a drug she cannot describe, demanding the same servility he asked of her mere moments (or was it hours?) ago.

With a groan, he submits.

Chapter Text

Hades sits at his throne, scrolling half-heartedly down Thanatos' monthly report on the dead souls from across the world. He knows he should pay attention, but no matter the effort he exerts to stare at his laptop, his mind wanders to someone else entirely. 

Sneaking a look to his left, he peeks at a new, modest vase on his desk. She's at least had the sense to avoid using something huge and ridiculous, opting instead for an unassuming squat pot. It's filled with the flawed, half-transformed bougainvillaea flowers from the vineyards, each bloom a mixture of gemstones and real petals. She'd confessed that she'd deliberately reverted the transformation of some flowers to create something so completely different from what she sees in the real world.

"They're like you," she'd added, impishly. "Or rather, your form. Half of two things."

He'd scoffed at her, but now, in the privacy of his throne room, he can admit that he's charmed with the addition to the decor. At first, the flowers had seemed loud and honestly, too much; now they've fit into the room's atmosphere of dark wood and glass, with the sunlight from the window outside bouncing off the petals and throwing light on the walls.

There's a knock on his door and Hades straightens up with a cough, attempting to look like anything but a teenaged human being caught daydreaming. "Come in," he calls.

"Lord Hades," Charon says as he walks in, formally bowing before making his report. "I have news for you on Prometheus. Your Epimeliads have sent word; they sighted the Titan at a beach in a small seaside town in the United Kingdom."

Hades stands, happy to find a reason to ignore both the (very drab, if he's honest) report and the vase. "Was he with anybody? Did we find out anything new?" 

Charon hesitates, then steps closer and lowers his voice. 

"He met with Lady Hera, sir." 

It takes a moment for Hades to understand the words spoken, having never expected to hear them in that order. "Lady... Hera?" he asks blankly, mind conjuring the vicious, upright Goddess who usually sits on his brother's right. Sure, she's unhinged and he's always thought so, but she's frankly too important to mess around with the likes of Prometheus or to plot the murder of nature Gods. His puzzled gaze is met with a shrug from Charon. "Your spies have said they did not have any luck hearing their conversation, for she is too great an enchantress by her own right and knew how to avoid being overheard. It's a matter of luck they even saw the two together." 

As Charon speaks, Hades' mind is still struggling to align two mental images, one of the majestic and solemn Queen Hera, the other of some kind of shady character meeting a Titan in a corner. He doubts she'd be cheating—having spent every Cycle since the Dawn of Time being vociferously against her own husband's adultery—which means she's wrapped up with Prometheus because of a decidedly more sinister reason.

Shaking his head, he turns to grab his coat off the back of his throne and walks out. It's time to visit Zeus for an update on his decisions to bring Hades' powers back to full force and if he meets Hera while he's at it, it would just be a convenient coincidence. Charon mutters that he'll get Hades' car ready out front, not needing a verbal command from him to know what he's thinking. They split up at the staircase, Charon heading downstairs, but Hades moving up to find Persephone.

She is not in her rooms, and no sign of her has been left behind to betray that she may be returning soon. Over the last week of her stay in the Underworld, she has developed a habit of roaming the vineyards and the mansion, growing a disturbing amount of flowers or just exploring the island itself, befriending his spirits and lieutenants. Almost all of them, he's been amused to see, have grown some kind of grudging respect for her.

His train of thought breaks as he sees a flash of colour from outside the window, recognising a powder blue shape at the edges of the vineyards just where they start fading into his front garden. 

His heart sinks. There's something uncontrolled about Persephone when she's around blooms—or specifically, blooms she's had a hand in creating—and he's usually unable to extract himself from the atmosphere her powers create. It's like discovering the air is honey, and he's a hapless fly, unable to wriggle free (and invariably unwilling to). 

By the time he tracks her down, she is flitting from one vine to another, hidden by the creepers, looking like a cross between a butterfly and a photoshoot model framed against the purple of his grapes and pink of her pomegranates and flowers. Lady Persephone, he calls out to her mind politely. She must have felt his arrival anyway, as he does whenever they're within a certain radius of each other. Her presence feels like a sharp, cold breeze in January blowing past him, stinging his cheeks but making his lungs want to gulp the fresh air down like he's a parched man in search of water. However, he  is  still her host, no matter the revelations of the past week, and manners are manners. She turns to smile at him, making his breath catch in his throat, the notion of manners ready to fly out the metaphorical window. 

You came here for a reason, pull yourself together, he tells himself sternly. Keeping his distance, he fills her in on the news, before her smell can assault his senses and throw a wrench in the workings of his brain. He's already fighting the now-familiar temptation to ignore the rest of the world and dive into her arms. It's been growing stronger with each day she spends in the Underworld.

Persephone comes closer to him because she doesn't care about minor issues like what one should do. He's beginning to suspect she's a little mad too. 

"How long has it been since we arrived?" she asks him, tilting her head, seemingly unperturbed that Queen Hera might be up to no good.

"A week," he replies, watching apprehensively. When she is this close, he can feel his body begin to course with heat again, making his vision tunnel down to focus on the red of her lips or the creamy expanse of her neck. 

Her eyes widen imperceptibly before she schools her features back to looking calm and collected like she doesn't want to betray not knowing something. Hades' heart constricts briefly, which baffles him more than the temptation to kiss her neck. She's cute, he thinks, before groaning internally at this new discovery. Frequent kisses are one thing, but thinking her cute is a far more troubling sign.

"My father must be worried," she says quietly, fingering the leaves near them. So that's what this is, he thinks, a little surprised. She's more family-oriented than he'd originally pegged her; or at least, she's more Demeter-oriented than the rumours said she was.

Turning back to him, she reaches into her pocket to pull out a heavy cream envelope. "Please give this to him?" 

He takes the letter, careful to avoid brushing his fingers against hers, then spins away, leaving his extraordinary flower Goddess entwined in the vines once more, denying himself the ability to explore when exactly he started thinking of her as something he could claim. 

_

They'd broken apart, breathing heavily, though still close enough for him to count her eyelashes. He stroked a thumb carefully across her cheek, enjoying the dark look in her eyes, tempted to lean back in for a third, fourth, fifth kiss. Instead, the logic in him started rushing back, like a hangover after a long drinking session. 

"Cycles are powerful," he'd muttered softly, still cradling her face.

"So you cottoned on?" she'd replied softly, seemingly just as unwilling to step away. He'd rolled his eyes a little, mind now occupied with the awareness that they were pressed into each other, her body lined up against the planes of his. 

"How am I supposed to  not  notice when Demeter, Lady Hegemone and Lord Pan all make snide remarks? Besides, this," he punctuated his words with a somewhat rough movement, selfishly bringing her body closer to his, "is not how I would usually go about dealing with attraction to another being."

Her teasing expression had returned at that, betraying the same gleam in her eyes when she'd called him Lord Hades just moments before. 

"So now what?" she'd asked casually, one hand playing with the strands of hair at the back of his head, sounding like this was a conversation between two humans in the aisle of a grocery store and not two Gods desperately intertwined because of an inescapable bond. 

"It feels like this was inevitable," she'd continued. "The moment I reached here, I could feel you around me much more - though of course, this is your domain and that is somewhat to be expected."

He'd agreed, leaning in for another kiss, helpless before the temptation their bond demanded. Just short of her lips, he'd stopped, an unwelcome thought invading his mind. "What if the reason you and I both have no recollection of this is that it's such an important pattern of our Cycle that it is actually world-changing?" 

"What if this," he'd looked down at them, running his hands up slowly on her back, "will result in us burning the world down?" 

Neither answered, opting for silence, though he was sure she wasn't thinking the one selfish thing he was, in the face of the dizzying connection between them: so be it.

_

Usually, when Hades leaves the Underworld, he uses a personal and discreet private gate. But every so often, he has to visit the Gates of the Underworld to check on his single, most loyal lieutenant. 

Cerberus.

Parking just short of the tall, foreboding Gates, he slips out of the car and whistles softly. Within moments, there's a soft thumping sound, and a large black dog comes into his view, running up to his master.

Hades smiles and takes his time petting each of the three heads, currently all giving him the usual happy, dumb dog grin of a satisfied pet. "I'm leaving for a while," he murmurs finally, and Cerberus straightens up like a soldier commanded to salute. 

"I should be back soon, but you need to be strict while I'm gone. It's not just about stopping the dead from leaving this time. There are three nature Gods inside, and one is very much alive. Protect them."

At the mention of the Gods, Cerberus barks and jumps, raising his left paw - his ribbon-adorned left paw. Frowning, Hades reaches for it and bends to check; it's the same powder blue as her jacket and the ribbon has a subtle design of petals. He rolls his eyes and pokes one of Cerberus' snouts.

"Looks like you've made a new friend?" he asks dryly, as the dog wiggles like a shameless puppy and not a feared guardian of the Underworld. "She's got a knack with monsters, doesn't she?" he murmurs softly, fingering the blue ribbon, talking about more than just the three-headed monster in front of him.

Cerberus barks.

With a sigh, Hades stands up. "You better repay that with loyalty," he warns, pointing to the ribbon, before returning to his car. As he drives out the Gates, he checks his rearview mirror and sure enough, Cerberus' form has grown to its real size, rivalling the Gates themselves. 

-

"Are you avoiding me?" He'd jumped, turning to see Persephone hovering at the door to his throne room.

Honestly, he was. His reaction the previous night had been so strong, he'd needed a few moments to himself to recalibrate. He wasn't sure what he felt for her, and how much of it was influenced by the usual freedom he felt when he was in his own kingdom. It startled him, though, to know that even in the face of this logic he was in no mood to walk back his non-verbal allegiance to her from their tryst in the vineyards.

"Of course not, I'm just busy," he'd responded smoothly, like a liar. She'd raised her eyebrows at him like she was branding him one in her head too.

"Stop overthinking," she said after a moment's silence. "I came to ask you if you'd be able to join me for lunch. I was going to ask one of your staff to get me food."

"Don't!" he blurted before he could stop himself. She looked affronted, and he hastened to explain himself. "I mean, I'd be happy to join. Just... I'll handle the food."

"Why?" She'd come closer as she asked the question, leaving him breathless. Casually, he sat in his throne, noting that her eyes lingered for the first time on it, like she'd not even noticed the imposing dias upon which he sat until that moment. 

"Food functions a little differently here," he said slowly. "I will inform the staff to get food from the real world for you."

"Why?" As she asked, she reached out to trace the gold filigree inlaid into the ebony armrests.

"Just promise me you'll never eat something from the Underworld," he insisted, knocking the back of his hand against hers softly, intending it to be a simple gesture. 

A mistake. Before he knew it, she was leaning over him, one hand on either side of the throne, lowering her lips to his.

-

The Peak Tram is made for tourists, but every so often, there will be a ticket bought by someone aiming to travel higher than Hong Kong's Victoria Peak. Mount Olympus lays nestled above the cloudy overhand of the peak, home and office to the Greek pantheon. Not that any of the Gods frequent it much, instead preferring to find their own spots dotted across the world. The only outliers are Zeus and Hera, who still favour ruling from their old-school thrones. 

Hades wouldn't mind any of this, but he hates that he has to take a stupid tourist tram up every time he needs to visit Olympus. Zeus' idea of a joke, maybe. He knows Zeus has a hotel somewhere in the world that functions as a shortcut to the Olympus too, but he likes to change the location around just to fuck with his brothers.

Asshole.

Hades endures the ride, looking and feeling out of place amongst tourists in bright clothing, standing out in the crowd like a black thumb. 

Still, the weather is cold, unseasonably so, and he is pleased to be warm and comfortable in a heavy coat and suit. Better than the shorts and t-shirts the tourists wear as they shiver and ignore the abnormal cold. Classic human behaviour.

The seat next to him is empty, so he's surprised when a figure drops down to sit just as the tram starts. Human beings usually avoid direct contact with him, indulging their gut instinct, not realising their bodies were telling them to avoid proximity to death.

"Hades," the person says, lifting a cap to reveal simple spectacles and a haggard face. Of course.

"Demeter," he replies, relaxing again, though his mind races at the implications of having been tracked down so easily by... Persephone's parent. His skin crawls as he tries to banish the memories of her kisses from his mind, as though Demeter is his father and he's a youth caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. 

"Is she with you?" he asks urgently and Hades sighs.

"How did you know?" 

Demeter sinks — looking like he's run a marathon — into their seat.

"Every Cycle, it's always you two, together," he mutters, giving Hades the confirmation he needed. He turns to look at his companion. "What happens next? Do you know the pattern?" 

Demeter shakes his head wearily, bringing a hand (which shakes slightly, Hades observes) to wipe his face briefly. "My own awareness dips in this part, but all I ever remember is that you and Persephone are intrinsically bonded, like bees attracted to flowers in summer." 

Nature metaphors aside, Hades takes a moment to digest this new information. If Demeter's memory is foggy in this respect, it means even he has a part to play in whatever is to happen.

"Do you know what her job is?" Demeter asks abruptly, just as the tram starts its incline on the steeper part of the hill, bringing the passengers to be perpendicular to the ground very, very far away beneath them.

Hades shakes his head mutely, trying to hide how interested he is in any new information about Persephone. 

"She needs to travel the world constantly to awaken the buds and blooms, reminding each plant when they have to live, unfurl, awaken to the Spring," Demeter reveals, eyes unfocused, like he's imagining his daughter running her hands lightly over plants the way Hades had seen her do to his fake roses.

"Without her, there is no season," her father continues. "She roams the world to maintain the balance, while I focus on crops and agriculture, to support the chain of life. Without her..." he trails off, then shakes himself and sits up. 

"Thank you for saving her," Demeter says, looking Hades in the eye. 

Hades reaches for the inside of his jacket, slipping Persephone's letter out of his pocket. 

"She sent you something."

_

"We'll pretend I died," Persephone said suddenly.

Hades raised his head from where it had been buried in her neck, blinking at the Goddess under him, looking decidedly uninterested in their activities.

"Excuse me?" he managed to muster, trying not to feel insulted that his ministrations were going wholly ignored. 

She slipped a hand from his hair to his collar, tugging him up to eye level. "Whoever the murderer is, they're trying to create massive instability, and by murdering  me , that's happened. Now they know they didn't  actually  kill me, but for whatever reason, I've gone missing and the Gods will blame them. So we've actually helped their agenda."

Sitting up, he pulled her hand so she could sit up as well, relishing the rumpled look of her clothing and hair.

"Not that I mind you being crafty, but is this all you've been thinking of?" he asked. She'd flashed a grin at him, leaning forward to press her lips on his. They were distracted again for a while, but his mind was racing along the lines she'd drawn and he slowed down. "What is it?" she asked, pulling back.

He shook his head, but she poked him, so he picked up her monologue where she'd left off. "Whoever they are, they'll keep quiet because your death would actually bring some widespread chaos to the Earth and to the pantheon. I don't know if you've noticed, but Demeter can be a little possessive."

She nodded. "Which means this might be a way to make them stop the killing, while we track down Prometheus and figure out who he's working for."

_

Olympus is cold as well. Across the table, Zeus looks a bit worse for wear, smoking a cigar heavily, looking irritated, wearing two scarves. 

"You work with Demeter, can't you tell him to stop playing with nature? Nothing's growing anymore, and the wind Gods have matched his mood to send cold wind all across the world," he gripes, taking a gulp from a tumbler of whiskey. 

Hades suppresses a smile. "Shouldn't the Lord of the Sky be able to control these weather fluctuations?" he asks innocently and Zeus throws him the stink eye. 

"Shut up," he warns. "Especially because I know exactly why you're here."

Hades stares blandly at Zeus, who finally relents. He's never had much patience.

"I'm still considering whether to break the rule or not."

Hades stands up, moving to look outside the window of Zeus' personal office, checking the view of the Earth from their vantage point. He's never liked it, being this high up. It's better than having to keep looking at his brother's face, though.

"If we don't find out who her murderer is, Demeter will never return the Earth to normal, and we'll lose all semblance of seasons," Hades says softly, egging on his brother. 

Zeus begins to fight back, irritated at the unspoken ultimatum, but a different voice distracts them. 

"I agree with Lord Hades, my lord."

Swiftly, Hades turns to see Hera standing at the door. She's dressed casually for once, wearing workout gear and sneakers, curly hair tied back into a ponytail and spectacles on her nose. He bows to her, and she nods imperiously. 

"I haven't seen you since our meeting, Lord Hades," she says softly, eyeing him like he's the one with a big secret and not her. 

He thinks of Persephone, Demeter, their plans, his spies, and has to admit that he does have a fair share of them. 

"I find myself caught up with the sudden influx of deaths across to world due to increasing natural disasters, Lady Hera," Hades answers politely, as she sits on a couch and unlaces her sneakers. 

"My love," Zeus begins, then stops.

"I didn't take you for the justice and world balance-type," she says to Hades, ignoring her husband. 

He tips his head in acknowledgement. "I'm just looking out for my realm. It does me no good to have to pick up the pieces after a mass murderer's work." 

She turns to Zeus, who has been watching the two of them, puffing on his cigar. "I agree with Hades on the rule to be broken," she says softly. 

Zeus sighs. "I've told you both, I'm worried how these powers could be misused."

"Excuse me?" Hades asks, narrowing his eyes and approaching his brother's desk. "If you have to accuse me of something, Zeus, say it outright."

Zeus stands up too, glaring. "I'll say what I want to say, brother. You'd do well to remember you're still talking to the Lord of the Gods, and I can say what I want."

Feeling his lips twist into a snarl, Hades opens his mouth to retort when Hera sighs. Zeus deflates at the sound and sits back down, waving at Hades to stand down too. 

"I can't just undo this for you. If we break the rule, it extends to all three of us," he says. "You, me and Poseidon." 

Hades raises an eyebrow. "So you're worried about Poseidon having more power too?"

Zeus glares at him some more, and Hades stands up to leave, tired of Zeus' self-esteem issues. "Decide for yourself, brother," he says wearily. "As you like to remind me so often, you're the Lord of the Gods." He'll figure out a way to stop this nonsense without Zeus.

"You need to pledge me your loyalty on this, Hades," Zeus says, just as Hades reaches the door.

He laughs sourly, turning to give both the Lord of the Sky a sarcastic smile. "Unfortunately, I can't find it in me to be loyal to someone I don't respect." 

-

Demeter agreed to their plan half-heartedly. "I don't like it," he grumbled at Hades, as they walked past tourists and headed deeper into the wooded area of the Peak. "It'll be like an extended winter. People could die."

"If you do any less, nobody is going to fall for it. You would not be calm and collected if your daughter was truly murdered."

Demeter sighed, coming to a stop just short of the entrance to Olympus. "When there are monsters at work, we must fight them as monsters," he muttered reluctantly, before shooting Hades a look.

"Protect her, and I'll do my part." 

He vanished before Hades could explain that he didn't think Persephone needed much protection. Fingering the cold pomegranate gemstone in his pocket, he cast his mind to the determined way Persephone's powers had been growing over just a week in the Underworld. 

He tried not to think of how well it suited her.

Chapter Text

Hades enlists Hestia to track down Prometheus and wheedle information out of him, which baffles Persephone. Sure, they needed someone Prometheus didn't recognise, and Hestia was smart enough to disguise her presence so he wouldn't cotton on to her Godliness, but...

"She has a way of being unassuming enough to incite trust," Hades says, leading her to his throne room as they talk. They've decided, since Persephone is stuck in the Underworld, to just do their collective plotting in one place. He's made considerable changes to accommodate for her. Instead of the original desk in the corner near a window, there is now a large conference table of heavy, polished wood in the centre of the room, flanked on one side by his throne, resplendent in its imposing glory, and by a simpler, comfortable-looking office chair that she can see is meant to be hers. Her gift of half-gemstone flowers sits squarely in the middle of the table, like some kind of squat mascot of this new partnership.

She flashes him a smile of approval before walking to her chair and settling down, noting the tiny twitch of his lips that betrays his pleasure at a change well-received.

"Nobody," he continues, as though nothing's happened, "realises the importance of home until it's taken away from them. That's why Hestia is a good spy for me; she is taken for granted until it's too late."

Unbidden, she thinks of her own home, surrounded by trees and plants and filled with knick-knacks collected over centuries. It hurts her heart a little, which probably shows on her face because he looks pained. Guiltily, she schools her expressions back into blankness, sure that he's now blaming himself for her exile from the real world. Keeping aside that the exile saved her existence, she's not sure how to put into words that she's come to enjoy every moment in the Underworld.

Something is happening to her here, and she's not sure what, but it's awakening dark sides of her that she didn't even know she had.

"More decor changes?" His amused question breaks her reverie, and she blinks at him before looking around to realise that she's unconsciously sprouted vines and carnations around the armrests of her chair, and they're still shooting up and down, intent on covering the entire thing.

"Now I have a throne too," she says cheekily, unwilling to tell him it was an accident. Silence falls, and she kicks herself.

"Not that I'm saying I'm anything like you," she says hastily, wondering what the Godly rules are about a minor God accidentally implying that they're somehow equal to one of the Big Three. Probably never had to be written, you fool, she thinks.

He chuckles, leaning forward to press the button on his intercom machine. "Send them in."

While they wait for Hestia to report back, she watches him as he takes his meetings, chiming in unnecessarily with her opinion as folks like Thanatos and Charon report issues and updates. She keeps waiting for Hades to tell her to shut up, but he doesn't, instead he listens to her opinions before making final decisions.

Finally, the three Furies, or the Erinyes as they're officially known, walk in and Persephone sits up straight. Allecto, Tisiphone and Megaera are Underworld Goddesses of justice and vengeance. She's heard they're hags, but is almost disappointed to see that they're normal-looking middle-aged women, wearing sensible flat shoes and high-waisted jeans. They each wear black t-shirts tucked into their pants and she can see snake tattoos extending on their arms like they're some kind of biker gang from the real world.

They bow to Persephone and Hades, seemingly unconcerned at Persephone's presence.

"A man has been brought to the Underworld, Lord Hades, whom we wish to punish on our own terms," Allecto says formally.

He gestures for her to proceed, running his eyes down the form one of her sisters hands him. Persephone gets up to walk to his side and reads the page from over his shoulder as Allecto recounts quickly the crimes of the human in question.

He is vile, she realises. A petty contract killer and rapist with many murders to his name, his last murder was of a recovering cancer patient, strangled in cold blood for cash, as a part of some human battle for power in Asia. He had no vested interests for or against the battle itself but had gone ahead to murder the mother of one of the men involved, killing others who'd attempted to protect the dying woman. Tisiphone outlines the punishment they have in mind and Persephone feels rage spiral inside of her.

"That's not enough," she snaps. Hades turns to look at her, raising one elegant eyebrow, but she's too angry to shut up. "You need to make him pay."

Hades nods slowly, pressing his lips tightly together before turning to the three Furies who wait calmly for their orders. Grabbing a pen, he makes some notes on the paper, adding three particularly excruciating amendments to the list of punishments.

"Make that hot wax," she murmurs, pointing to the second and he hums in agreement, obligingly making the change before signing the bottom of the form and placing it back in Allecto's hands.

"You may proceed," he says.

The rest of their morning passes by in a similar manner, with the notable addition of Hades breaking out bright yellow mugs that vaguely remind her of mugs she has at home—she really needs to find out how many times he's visited, it's clearly been enough to remember key kitchenware items—and coffee sachets for her to drink. When she offers one to him, he shakes his head, indicating the large espresso machine waiting for him in the corner.

Hestia's word eventually reaches them through a video call on his laptop.

"Prometheus knows no home," she begins without preamble. "He has spent this Cycle following his patterns on his own and being punished by Zeus for it, but seems to only care about helping out human beings and immersing himself in studying what he calls 'social sciences'." Hades and Persephone exchange looks at each other, and she remembers dimly that he'd been reading a textbook when they'd met.

"He made references to having a 'new boss' who can protect him from his biggest enemy," Hestia continues, looking at notes she's scribbled down, "but it sounds like this new boss terrifies him." She slips her notebook shut and looks at them.

"It doesn't sound like he's the assassin himself, but he's definitely been helping with the planning. He's not particularly loyal - I think he's more interested in being safe."

-

That night, Persephone tries to sleep. Her room is vast and comfortable, bed luxurious. Even the smell of the place is reminiscent of one of the many flowers she's gone and planted in the Underworld, which means he's kept tabs on what she's done and filled her quarters accordingly.

Unfortunately, she is too wired to sleep. In the distance, she can hear Cerberus barking and digging, and wonders how she can hear so clearly when she knows he's usually stationed at the Gates of the Underworld and not near Hades' mansion.

He barks again and she frowns. That's definitely too close. She clambers out of bed and moves to the window, eyes widening when she recognises Cerberus playing in the front lawns, circling the fountain Hades had stationed at the entrance in front of the door, prancing around... the Lord of the Dead himself.

Even in the moonlight, she can make out that's dressed down again, looking deliciously comfortable in a pullover, t-shirt and pants, hair down across his forehead. Before she can think twice, she checks her appearance in the mirror and then walks out, practising how to seem like she's just happened to cross paths with the two.

As it turns out, there's no need. His back is to her, watching Cerberus dig at some part of the grounds when she reaches the fountain, but he turns his head casually in her direction as she approaches. "I was thinking of heading to the real world for a quick walk, care to join me?"

She reaches him and tilts her head. "Is it safe for me to go up? We've been so careful..."

He shrugs. "I don't think anybody will be looking out for you where I'm going and besides... your presence next to mine can easily be explained away. Even for someone like Hera."

She's not going to ask twice.

Soon enough, they're walking down a deserted beach in Jeju Island in South Korea, watching Cerberus bark joyfully and bound ahead. If she concentrates, she can see him the way humans will - one head instead of three, looking like a normal dog running ahead of his owners.

She sneaks a glance at Hades, who is looking out at the sea, lost in thought. She tries not to think of Cerberus as her own dog, just as she tried earlier to not lay claim to her chair as her throne. It's disconcerting how quickly they've adapted to this partnership. It helps, she thinks, that we kiss a fair amount between moments of brainstorming.

"Why do you care this much about helping?" she asks suddenly, finally putting words to the question she's had in the back of her mind for weeks.

He looks thoughtful for a while, measuring his words. They're outside the Underworld, she remembers, so he's back to being careful and contained. "I wasn't planning on it, beyond wanting my unrestricted powers back. But when I saw how determined you and Demeter were, I thought it best that I help. It felt obvious that you'd both run yourselves ragged trying to track down the culprit, and that battle wouldn't be easy, since they were clearly someone of immense power."

He turns to look at her. "It is altruism," he says teasingly. She rolls her eyes, shoving him slightly with her shoulder, and they playfully tussle for a bit before resuming their walk, now hand-in-hand.

He points to a secluded area and they settle down. Immediately she takes off her shoes and sinks her toes into the cold sand, enjoying the feeling of being one with real Earth again.

"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, eyeing her feet. "I know it hurts to be stuck in the Underworld."

She shakes her head. How can someone this smart be a fool?

"Geogjeong hajima," she says easily, eyes closed, slipping into the tongue of her appearance, indulging it since they're in South Korea. "Ever since I set foot in the Underworld it's like I'm attending university; I keep learning new facets to my powers I didn't know I had. And meeting your wraiths and Thanatos and even Charon has shown me sides to your world I didn't know existed."

She opens her eyes to look at him. "I told you before, I'm selfish. Maybe being around the dead might have unsettled my stomach sometimes in the beginning, but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now."

He is solemn, moonlight glinting on the high cheekbones of his face, but some tension in his shoulders eases. "Besides," she says, extending her fingers to lace through his again. "I've been fixing the ecological disaster that was your island, so at least now you have trees and plants that make sense together."

He laughs, a rich, deep thing that thrills her, then turns to kiss her soundly. She's pleased - a part of her had been worried this was only something to be enjoyed in the Underworld, when his defences are down, but it seems like he's thrown in the towel when it comes to her. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down, adjusting them so they're lying in the sand, enjoying the feeling of his body on top of hers. The sea breeze, moonlight, and feeling of being up in the real world all mix with his scent, a heady thing she associates with wood and wine, fogging up her brain deliciously in ways she hadn't anticipated. She bites his bottom lip a little, enjoying the moan it wrenches out of him, and does it again, before pushing him gently off her, relishing the sight of his legs bracketing around her hips, lips red from her bites.

His eyes widen when she lifts the hem of her t-shirt and pulls it off, beckoning him to her once more. "Persephone," he starts uncertainly, eyes tracing the skin she's put on display. There he is, she thinks in amusement. There's the cautious, calculative personality.

Before she can say something, he stills, eyes growing alert. For a second, she is lost, and then feels the same thing he has - there's someone powerful nearby, powerful enough that she can practically taste it in the air.

He scrambles up immediately, casting shadows to shroud them and their presence as she reaches for her shirt and slips it back on. "Hera for sure," she hisses, as they make their way towards a rock outcropping near where they'd been. She thinks she recognises the second presence but doesn't want to say it out loud out of sheer shock.

Hera comes into view, wearing her customary white, standing opposite a tall figure in a hoodie.

"Is that Poseidon?" Hades asks quietly, squinting at the man. With rising dread, Persephone nods. She recognises him from their coffee shop meeting, though it's a more final form than the one he'd been melting into.

"He'd begun changing to that form after our first hotel meeting with the entire pantheon months ago," she whispers. "That's him for sure."

They both turn back to look at the broad smile on the man's face. Whatever they're talking about, he's happy. Their words are unintelligible, but they're close enough to hear voices, and his is now a smooth one with an accent, something of a cross between two countries. His eyes crease as he smiles, hair now neatly parted and half combed across his forehead in a modern style.

"He's Korean," Persephone grumbles.

"No," Hades says, shaking his head, almost pettily irritated at this new revelation. "He's half Korean and half... something else." She knows it's the least of Poseidon's crimes, but it must be incredibly tiring to have two brothers who have, at this point, chosen to pick up similar forms to his out of literally the billions of choices at their fingertips. Do neither of them have any imagination?

Suddenly, a thought strikes her and she smacks his shoulder.

"Did you know they'd be here?" she asks him crossly.

"I... had suspicions," he admits, rubbing absent-mindedly at the place she's smacked. "I heard from the Epimeliads that Hera'd been sighted in Jeju, and I realised every sighting of Prometheus has been near seawater. It wasn't a hard jump to make, though I was hoping I was wrong."

"You should have told me," she grumbles.

"It was just so unlike him to go into hiding under the pretext of his wife being upset," Hades continues, ignoring her.

"But why is he the one behind all this?" She wonders out loud, one hand gripping Hades' shoulder to peer closer at the pair in the distance. "He's lost as much too, his own son was..." she trails off, thinking of the very-much dead Triton. Horrified, she looks at Hades, who nods grimly.

She feels a now-familiar rage lick at her insides again. It's new, this feeling, having begun cropping up only since she stepped into the Underworld. "How dare he murder so many other Gods for his own reasons?" She seethes. "And his own son, his own family, like it doesn't even matter." Under her feet, grass suddenly sprouts in the sand.

Alarmed, Hades puts a calming hand on her shoulder. "Persephone, control yourself," he says quickly, but it's too late. Poseidon has stiffened, turned in their direction like a bloodhound. He cannot see them, but he's definitely aware that someone's there.

She's baffled. Her powers shouldn't be this strong, this uncontrolled. They're definitely not potent enough to make their presence known the way Hades' powers are.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says, shrinking into him. "I have no idea why that happened!"

"It's fine," he says automatically, arm slipping around her shoulders, looking around them for a way out without detection. Meanwhile, Poseidon signals with his hands and they see the waves on the beach recede, building into one larger wave in the distance. "We have to leave now," she hisses, eyeing the small tsunami the Lord of the Sea is creating. It won't hurt them too much, but it will reveal them, and she's not interested in a God-brawl.

There's a bark in the distance and they freeze. "Cerberus?" Hades whispers in wonder. Before they can blink, there's a pack of stray dogs who run into view, making their way towards Poseidon and Hera, who are—understandably—distracted.

Hades and Persephone run, backing away quickly to his car, slamming the doors shut and driving away, the surroundings outside the window melting rapidly into a now-familiar limbo.

"Will Cerberus return on his own?" Persephone asks breathlessly. There's a bark behind her and she jumps, turning to see the three-headed dog perched on the backseat.

-

Demeter is not pleased. "What's wrong with you Three?" he snaps at Hades, after they fill him in about Poseidon and Hera. Hades looks offended. "What did I do?" he objects, looking askance at Persephone like he wants her to back him up. "You know what you did," Demeter responds darkly, eyeing her as well, his meaning clear.

"Abeoji!" She snaps, as Hades huffs in childish irritation next to her.

Next to Demeter, across the borderline of the private Underworld back-gate Hades uses when he wants to be discreet, the nature dryads and Epimeliads shift uncomfortably, aware that they're being treated to reality-show worthy moments between the three Gods. On the Underworld side of things, Lade Hegemone, Lord Pan and Charon all look equally awkward.

Demeter subsides into silence and Triptolemus pipes up. "So what do we do now? Needless to say, Poseidon and Hera together isn't a pair to be trifled with."

"I've never liked him," Pan mutters and everyone turns to look at him, waiting for a while before realising that was the entirety of his contribution to the conversation.

Sighing, Hades pinches the bridge of his nose. "We need to unsettle them. I have no idea why Poseidon's decided to do all this, but he's currently under the impression that everything's going his way, and he needs to know that someone is aware of both his and Hera's involvement."

Persephone thinks of how relaxed and happy Poseidon had looked the night before, and nods. "I agree. But what do we do?"

The group looks at Hades, who rolls his eyes. "What, am I the one who has to think of all these plans?"

The group says yes in unison.

-

In quick succession, news reaches the Underworld over the next few days of two attacks: the first, where a library off the coast of Japan burns to the ground (with no human casualties). She knows the fire was accompanied by a mysterious letter in Prometheus' pocket: If you want true freedom, you need to look in a third direction. It was signed with an H written in red ink, looking almost bloody.

The second, more difficult to pull off, was a number of cows in the Western United States infected by mad cow disease. Hades had apologised sincerely to her for it (and brusquely to Pan, who'd raised many objections before telling him how to do it), but it was done, and Hestia had reported that Hera had been sighted at the scene, though she'd not breathed a word of it to anybody. Probably because of the H branded into the ground near the cows.

There is no news after this until one day Charon comes tearing into their throne room. "You have to come to the back-gate," he says urgently.

Demeter is propped up against the iron gates, holding his hand to his chest, where golden ichor, the blood-like substance in a God's veins, flows freely. There's a buzzing in her ears as she abandons Hades' side to race to her father. He stirs at the feeling of her flopping down next to him.

"Shh, don't be dramatic," Demeter says weakly, raising a hand to cup her jaw. Dimly, she realises that she's screamed his name. "I'll heal, it's not too deep an injury."

The buzzing dies slowly and she controls her tears. Hades' hand grips her shoulder, gently pushing her aside so he and Charon can pull Demeter over the borderline into the Underworld.

"I don't, unfortunately, have medical supplies here," Hades says helplessly. "But at least you won't be detected on this side. Sorry, I don't usually have the opportunity to stop someone from dying in this realm."

Demeter laughs at this, which infuriates Persephone. "Don't laugh, old man," she snaps, feeling the rage grow again inside. Hades has been teaching her to control it, lessons she'd never needed as a minor Goddess, which are now clearly required. She thinks of what he'd told her and channels her rage to her hands hovering above the gash in her father's chest. Calendula flowers wink into existence, falling into place neatly over his wound, covering the golden ichor with sunny yellow.

"How can you do this?" Demeter asks her, frowning. "Focus on yourself for once," she snaps again. He opens his mouth to argue, but she coldly raises her hand to stop him. "What exactly were you doing to have this happen to you?"

"Nothing, that's the best part," Demeter says, sitting up a little as her calendula flowers do their job, knitting his skin back together. "All my usual activities have ceased since you two have so kindly asked me to enforce a winter with no growth on the world. I was merely touring a mountain when the ground began to shake and a tree fell." She can sense anger bridling under the enforced calm he's wearing for her benefit.

"Can you imagine? He used a tree against me."

"He?" Charon asks from behind Hades.

"God of Earthquakes," Hades reminds him. They all fall quiet at the sound of a phone ringing, and Hades pulls a slim cell phone out of his pocket, then shows them all the screen.

It's Zeus.

-

She's taken the form of a tiny fruit bat and sits comfortably on Hades' shoulder. I look ridiculous, he grumbles at her.

She snorts. They'll just think you're leaning into the gloomy stereotype, Your Deathly Majesty.

He raises one finger and flicks her little bat self lightly and she sways. Stop it!

They're in the main Throne Room of Mount Olympus, where the twelve thrones of each of the major Gods sit. Opposite him are Zeus, Poseidon and Hera, who is eyeing Hades with barely concealed hatred. Poseidon, meanwhile, is smiling widely, looking like some kind of goofy, fun-loving trickster instead of a lethal God-killing traitor.

"I heard Demeter was attacked today," Zeus says. Hades stiffens, and she feels cold all over. How does he know? She asks Hades urgently.

Look at Poseidon. He must have told Zeus immediately, making it sound like news.

"I hear Demeter's gone to ground, but I think enough is enough. Things have gone on too long," Zeus continues, self-importantly. He approaches Hades (eyes lingering distastefully on her) and claps the other shoulder. "We'll lift all the Big Three restrictions, so you can gain full awareness and see who attacked the assassinated Gods."

Over Zeus' shoulder, she sees Poseidon's face morph from the goofy grin into a sharp, cunning one, and the pieces click into place.

Hades, he wants the restrictions gone, she says urgently.

"I think, brother," Hades says smoothly, shrugging the pale hand off his shoulder. "I'll pass."

Chapter Text

The Lord of the Gods and his queen were glaring daggers at him, his other, murderous brother looked like someone had asked him to eat food that was too spicy, and there was a fruit bat on his left shoulder, chirping in his mind like some kind of relentless alarm, egging him on to throw fat in the fire. 

For a quick moment, Hades let himself enjoy the feeling of Persephone's voice washing over his mind, akin to a cold glass of whiskey down his throat. Then, to business. 

"What are you doing, Hades?" Poseidon muttered, taking a step towards him. Instead of grimacing, he put on a friendly smile and clapped Poseidon on the shoulder in what he hoped was a brotherly fashion. The movement shook Persephone, who clawed deeper into his shoulder to avoid falling off. Mentally, he promised himself to let her turn into a monkey or ram the next time she wanted to disguise herself as an animal. It would look only half as ridiculous as a tiny bat swaying on his shoulder.

"Demeter being gone means his job is up for grabs, isn't it?" he asked brightly, turning to Zeus, who looks positively apoplectic.

"Are you - excuse me?" Zeus asked, flabbergasted. 

Hades fixed his most angelic smile to his face, stepping forward towards the three angry Gods, sliding his hands in his pocket and leaning into what he hoped was a nonchalant pose. "Forget agriculture and all that, but I would like to submit my name for consideration to take over being the God of Sacred Law and the Cycle of Life and Death," he continued. "You can give the harvest stuff to Triptolemus, I could care less."

In his mind, Persephone squawked indignantly at that bit.

"Are you... you can't take Demeter's job unless he's dead!"

Hades shrugged like they were talking about the weather. He knew it would drive Zeus further up the wall, which was exactly where he needed to be to avoid noticing inconsistencies in Hades' personality and question why he'd want to steal another being's powers all of a sudden. Thankfully, his brother wasn't the smartest crayon in the box.

"Ah, yes. You seemed so sure your tip-off was right, so I thought I mistook someone else for Demeter when I saw him cross the entrance to the Underworld."

Nicely done, Persephone whispered, hints of pride leaking through her words. She'd noticed his evasion by wordplay.

Hera opened her mouth to argue, then shut it immediately, looking furious. She knows Demeter should be alive, he told Persephone. Meanwhile, Poseidon didn't seem as surprised as he would be if he'd been the one to attack Demeter.

This means she probably knows more about the attacks themselves than he does, he continued mentally to Persephone, who agreed.

"You just want more power," Hera finally said sneeringly, so he grinned and nodded. "Yes, that's true. And since we're one God short, Zeus, I don't think you can deny my application."

Bending slightly, he aimed a sarcastic bow at them before walking out of the Throne Room, relieved at his quick thinking getting him out. He needed time to process what had just happened.

Why did Poseidon suddenly want to unleash all the Big Three powers?

-

Before heading back to the Underworld, Hades and Persephone drop by another library for lunch, this one much closer to the sea, nestled into an English town nobody pays attention to. They pause to enjoy fried fish and chips from a shop, ignoring the looks the locals shoot them. They'll forget about the strange Korean couple the moment they're out of sight anyway. 

For a while, he is content to follow Persephone as she explores, conversing solemnly with stray cats and running hands rapturously over even potted plants. He supposes there's a difference between these and the ones she's brought to life in his realm, feeling a spike of something hot in his torso before shaking his head. He's the Lord of the Dead, why is he jealous of plants? 

"For someone so obsessed with imparting the sciences, he's not the brightest," Hades mutters when they finally pick up on the tell-tale presence of Prometheus outside the library.

"Mm, you'd think by now he'd realise he's being a bit predictable," Persephone agrees. Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail, usual suit jacket discarded who-knows-where, revealing a white cotton shirt tucked neatly into pants. And yet, he muses, she still looks like an effortless supermodel.

But then, he always thinks she does. 

They throw their paper bags of finished food in the trash, before shrouding themselves and stepping into the establishment. He stalks behind the humans in the library, letting his shadowy presence unsettle them. They exit the building quickly, each wondering out loud why they felt creeped out. Persephone, of course, looks very amused at this, though her attention is mostly trained towards the librarian at the desk wearing a riot of colours, like some kind of 90s birthday party rolled over his closet, calling attention to himself without even realising it. 

Hades moves towards Prometheus, but Persephone places a soft hand on his arm. "We need to give him real incentive," she says, eyes trained on something far-off, looking calculative. "And a visit from you would undercut that." She snaps out of her reverie, deciding on her game plan. "So let me do this."

Before Hades can acquiesce—far be it from him to fight for a chance to make a spineless Titan cower in fear—she is already raising her hands, and he prepares himself for the onslaught of what he now knows is sheer beauty and terrifying energy. At first, he sees nothing, though her presence swells around them, pushing the oxygen out of the room and taking up every crack and crevice available. Prometheus, who had been reading a book, drops it and starts backing away from the desk, looking around in panic. 

"Who's there?" he yelps, tripping on the chair he'd been sitting on and falling to the floor. The moment he touches the ground, a sinister green moss that Hades hadn't noticed starts to creep up his hands and legs, as rose thorns and grapevines start sneaking out of the shadows in the library.

Grapevines? He thinks sardonically, shooting her a look. She's not paying attention, eyes steely and hard, trained on Prometheus. He's reminded irresistibly of that first night she'd spent on his island, when she'd transformed non-living plastic into a riot of colours and rigid gems into breathing art, skin glowing with the power of something far, far more potent than anything she'd been famed to control.

Prometheus tries to run, but the vines and thorns solidify around him, twisting around his ankles like shackles. Slowly, Persephone approaches him, smiling as Prometheus recognises her with dawning horror in his eyes.

"She told me you died!" He gasps, straining against his green shackles. A long, lethal thorn extends itself till his neck, looking sharper than a needle. Hades winces in sympathy as Prometheus freezes. 

"Who did?" Persephone asks, tone gentle and beguiling like she's merely asking Prometheus to join her for a glass of makgeolli after work.

"Her... her . She's in charge of all the killing - she swore up and down that she killed you, that's what she told him !"

So, that explains it. Poseidon thinks Persephone is dead, trusting Hera's word instead of asking for proof. To be fair, she's been holed up in the Underworld, and only no God but him can sense a godly power inside the land of the Dead, not even if they stood at the gates and cocked their ears. 

"Who attacked Demeter?" she asks calmly, though there's a shiver of rage that shivers through the plants, betraying the simmering anger underneath. Things slide into place, and he understands now why she's taken the lead. He should have expected it; she's been steely cold ever since Demeter showed up at his doorstep and she's not the kind to take lightly an attack on her own. 

"It was Hera."

She stares quietly at Prometheus for a while, as the Titan gets paler and sweatier, eyeing the thorn at his neck with trepidation. Finally, she sighs and the thorn retracts as she raises one hand to gently rest on his shoulder. 

"If you want to stop running from those you fear, it may be time for you to use your brain and not just study textbooks," she says. 

"Lord Hades," Prometheus whispers. Hades is almost insulted at the look of resignation in his eyes. I'd be glad not to help, he says snarkily to Persephone, whose lips twitch. 

"You know what you need to do, Prometheus," she insists, then stands up and turns away, the thorns and vines parting way for her like adoring crowds for a leader. 

"How did you know that would work?" He asks her, as they head towards his car. She shrugs delicately. "If there's anything that incentivises someone, it's money, power or fear. What you did with the fire should have been enough, but it didn't make him budge. So, I decided the only thing to do was... Make him dread what would happen if he stayed on the wrong side."

They walk peacefully to the car, hearing the cries of seagulls overhead, and he wonders what part of this, the instilling of fear, the murdering, Persephone's presence in his Underworld, is within their usual pattern every Cycle. He knows, bone-deep, that Poseidon's betrayal is not, that something else has made his brother decide to throw the usual rules out the window and wreak havoc. Could it be merely that he, like humans, has been corrupted with the desire for power? Eyeing Persephone’s brightly-coloured suit jacket bobbing ahead of him, he wonders about Persephone's actions and her dramatic change in powers; surely this must be something that connects to their shared Cycle too. He tries to shake off the thought, avoiding introspection about their bond and attraction because it inexplicably bothers him to think that she's merely acting off a sub-conscious connection and not a conscious desire. 

We're not human teenagers courting each other, he reminds himself. Just two Gods who see no reason to deny themselves an indulgence. But even as he says it, he knows it's becoming more than that with every passing day they spend plotting together and honing her newfound powers. 

"Are you coming, partner?" she calls cheekily to him from the car, and he realises he's slowed down many steps behind her. 

Partner, he thinks, is not a bad word.

As they're driving back to the Underworld, he takes the scenic route, just because it's nighttime. Human street lamps bathe them in golden light as they talk quietly about his job, her work to ensure Spring happens 'the right way', and whether Demeter would have terrorised Charon by the time they return. 

She subsides into silence, staring out the window, looking like leaves wilted from neglect, as though all the rage that's been powering her has finally left her body. It worries him a little, but he refrains from saying anything. Persephone has already undertaken much more than a Spring Goddess should have to, and he knows better than anyone that the rush of power, manipulation and bribery can exhaust you from inside-out.

"Can you actually take his job?" she asks suddenly, turning away from the window to look at him. He knows immediately what she's talking about, had been waiting for her to ask. 

"Yes. It's easier for me or Poseidon or Zeus to, well, take powers, but the rest of you can apply in extenuating circumstances."

"Like the death of a God," she says quietly. "Or just if someone’s punished," Hades adds on helpfully. "And then there are times when powers can naturally pass to another; like Apollo and Artemis, or you and your father. They'd have assumed that's what happened when you 'died', for example."

She nods, absorbing the information, then closes her eyes and leans against the window. "Let's just go home."

He doesn't comment on the use of the word, but it does odd things to the insides of his chest.

-

He accompanies Thanatos the next morning, who has to supervise a mass transfer of dead souls to the Underworld because of a gruesome highway road accident. After Thanatos finally departs, promising a detailed report, Hades steps into a bar to grab a drink for himself, wondering if he should order Persephone's favoured makgeolli to bring home.

He's on his last gulp when he feels a strong presence in the air, which makes him smell pomegranates and grapes. Something, however, is wrong with the smell - like it's bottled and sprayed, not natural. He looks up in time to see a stunning woman drop into the chair next to him at the bar, flipping shiny black hair over her shoulder.

"Lady Aphrodite," he says politely, toasting the last of his drink to her, wondering what he's done to warrant a visit from the Goddess of Love. 

"Lord Hades. Looking delicious as ever," she says flirtatiously, as the starstruck bartender hands her a cocktail of some sort. They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes until he finally cracks.

"Are you going to tell me what you want?"

She smiles a smile that reminds him of someone else's, of thorns and roses and teasing jibes.

"Oh, I just came to check in on you. This is my favourite part of every story - just as the main couple falls in love."

The air momentarily leaves his lungs, but her words are surprisingly easy to accept - as one would accept a diagnosis of an illness they've suspected they've had for some time. "So it's not just a bond," he says, rolling the glass between his hands. 

She waves her hands impatiently. "Every kind of love is a bond, if we're being pedantic. But to answer your question, no, Lord Hades, I do not tend to make personal visits when it's mere fatalistic attraction."

He pulls out a wallet and pays the bartender, then stands up. "If that's all, then, Lady Aphrodite-"

She grabs his hand, gaze turning sharp and he's reminded that Aphrodite is more lethal and intelligent than she lets on. "Don't ignore the signs and don't fight it," she warns, turning fully to face him. "There's quite a lot happening this time to change things around, but you and Lady Persephone have been constant since humans dreamed up the notion of worship. There is far, far more to you two than you think, and the world's balance needs this."

He raises his eyebrows coolly, though every word she says washes over him like they're sounds he'd once memorised and had forgotten. She is right, he knows, and she's extending him support because she knows he needed reminding. 

"Thank you," he says quietly, and she leans back, satisfied that her point's been heard. "One more thing," she says, pulling a cherry out of her cocktail. "And I'm only saying this because I like you," she adds, shooting him a look. Amused despite himself, he leans against the bar and motions for her to continue. "What is it?" 

"Love when claimed is stronger than something secret, unheard and hidden," she says gravely. It would sound trite had they been anybody apart from the Goddess of Love and the God of the Dead, but he can hear the wisdom in her voice, the surety of her words, the knowledge of a deity far older than the materials and mortals around them. Before he can answer, she holds out her hand. Puzzled, he stares at her uncomprehendingly.

She rolls her eyes.

"Show it to me," she demands and he feels a sinking in his chest, because there's only one thing she could mean.

"I don't know what you mean," he says, like a liar.

The teasing expression returns. "Lord Hades. I can feel a token of love from kilometres away. Show it to me ."

Reluctantly, he fishes his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small pomegranate, cold to touch and beautiful. "It was just a gemstone at first," he says lamely, handing it over. "But over time..."

"Over time, it was infused with your feelings," she finishes with a relish, inspecting the gem. It no longer looks like a normal stone, but pulses with a gentle lustre that no amount of deliberate handiwork could bring to a gem. "You know, love tokens are powerful enough on their own, but you've gone and imbibed it with the emotions of two Gods, just by carrying it around with you," she continues, running her fingers delicately over it. Uncomfortable, Hades puts a hand to his neck and shuffles, unsure of how to react. Aphrodite says it like it's a beautiful thing, but he can't help but think that he's being foolish. 

She closes her eyes and to his horror, the pomegranate begins to contract. When he protests, she raises one finger to her lips, closing the palm of her other hand over the shrinking gem.

A moment later she opens her palm again and nestled in the centre is a delicate pendant hanging off a gold chain. He takes it from her, imagining sliding the chain around Persephone's neck. 

"Never say Aphrodite doesn't look out for the world," she says with a wink, before turning away to hail the bartender for another drink.

-

"You need to prove to Zeus that Hera and Poseidon have teamed up," Demeter said sensibly, as he accompanied Hades on a walk near Elysium. At this point, it had ceased to be the "Isles of the Blessed" and turned into God-quarters instead, so he'd been trying to think of alternative places to house one very-much-alive God of Harvest. 

"We can't unless we go striding into the Throne Room and make claims over the hearth," Hades reminded him, referring to the crackling hearth that Hestia kept burning at Olympus. When the fire died, so would the Gods, and therefore any vow they made atop it was considered sacred. The only thing to keep the Gods honest. 

"And it's not that simple a matter to just implicate Poseidon," he continued as they trudged along, him leading Demeter down a new path of rose bushes that Persephone had taken to planting across the Underworld for the sake of remembering the track from one place to another. 

"Hera, however, is not impossible. From what you've told me, all you need is Prometheus as witness."

“Maim the right-hand before going for the heart,” Hades mused out loud, only to receive a disapproving frown from Demeter for the graphic metaphor.

-

Persephone sits on her throne of leaves and flowers, typing at her laptop with a slight frown, as Hades reads through reports of wraith behaviour and malevolent spirits in different parts of the world. He glances up at her intermittently, spying the bare spot between her collarbones, trying not to imagine slipping a necklace there, or the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

I think I'm in love with you, here's a token of my love, and just by the way, do you want to stay here with me forever and ignore your duties as a Spring Goddess? 

Just as he's contemplating what language she'll use to curse at him for suggesting to take her away from her precious trees and cats and flowers, his phone vibrates. 

"It's Poseidon," Hades says, only a little surprised. 

"See what he wants!" she encourages, snapping her laptop shut. Obligingly, he answers the call and sets it on speakerphone.

"Dongsaeng," greets Poseidon, using a Korean word to call him little brother.

"We're the same age," Hades snaps, mostly to entertain Persephone.

"Right, right," Poseidon says glibly before his tone turns serious. "I'm just unsure of where we stand now because I could have sworn I met someone else a short while ago on Olympus." 

Hades rolls his eyes at Persephone. He's clearly fishing for information.

Fish back, she suggests, uselessly. 

Oh, thank you, I thought I'd discuss salmon migration patterns, he says sarcastically, which makes her ball up paper and throw it at his head.

"I've just come to realise that playing by the rules is a waste of time," Hades says cheerfully. There's silence on the other line like Poseidon is weighing his response. 

"They're definitely restrictive, aren't they?" he says softly, which makes Persephone and Hades raise their eyebrows at each other.

"But I thought you'd like the extra power, brother," Poseidon continues, unaware of the reactions his words have elicited. 

"I have enough of that, I don't much care for more."

"Ahh, I see. Just the search for a Queen, no?"

It's Hades' turn to be silent, not daring to look at Persephone's face. Poseidon's question has revealed two things: one, that he is also aware, to a certain extent, of Hades' partnership with Persephone; two: that he's not interested in hiding his innocence.

"Yes, I have a bone to pick with you about that," Hades says, taking a chance. "I've been informed by enough reliable sources that you've cut something short for me," he continues, risking one look at Persephone. She's staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face. He looks back down at the little phone screen. 

"I have no idea what you mean," is the response. 

Culpable deniability, of course . 

"But I will say, Hades," Poseidon starts again, clearly in the mood to be talkative, "that you should rejoice in freedom from the chains of our repetitive Cycles."

There's a loud gasp in his head, which makes him jump and glare at the Goddess opposite him. Urgently, she tells him about the conversation she'd had months prior with Poseidon in a coffee shop. 

"When you're as powerful as I am, the idea of having to match with something I did millennia ago is irritating." That's what he'd told me! 

"Brother?" Poseidon asks. 

"I think you and I have different perspectives on what our power means to us, Poseidon," Hades replies finally, doubtful of what to do with this understanding of what Poseidon's motive could be. "I'm happy enough with following my previous self. And honestly, power is a relative term."

Neither says anything and the line is cut after a minute of silence.

-

If there's anything Hades has learned in his experience of being a God, it's this: When making a point, make an entrance . You will be ignored and forgotten for weak stage presence, but true impact comes from being eye-catching. 

They drive up to Olympus in a gaudy sports car, dressed to the nines. Instead of taking the back entrance or shrouding themselves, the two walk into the hotel, striding confidently to the elevators. Around them, Hades can hear whispers and the presence of deities and spirits increases around them, as word spreads like wildfire across the hotel. 

"Are you ready for this?" he asks, and she grins confidently in response, raising one fist for him to bump with his own.

"Ten times over," she assures.

By the time they reach Olympus and are heading to the Throne Room, there is a sizeable crowd near the doors, growing as spirits and demigods hear the news and magically arrive at the spot. Nobody wanted to pass up the opportunity to gossip. The crowd parts as they walk down the hallway from the elevator to the Throne Room, making way for not just the Lord of the Dead, but the statuesque, impressive figure of a Spring Goddess everybody had assumed was dead. There are whispers around them, some of which point out her outfit, which he tries to pointedly ignore lest he gets distracted. 

She's worn black for the first time he's seen her, a fashionable dress with gold accents that matches the dark grey and black of his suit and coat. In her hair, she wears a circle of flowers, simple and small, the same colour of gold as the buttons on her dress. But his favourite part is the chain resting around her throat dropping a pomegranate pendant gently between her collarbones, looking for all the world like it had always meant to be there. 

-

"It's yours if you want it," he'd offered it to her anxiously, afraid of her reaction, of what she'd say the moment she touched it and felt what it was. But she was Persephone, as ruthless as she was warm, impulsive as she was smart, and her fingers were lifting the chain before he could finish the sentence. "Of course I want it!" 

Relieved, he'd leaned forward to clasp it around her neck, then placed a soft kiss on the column of her throat before stepping back. "Aren't we going a little too far with this for one ambush?" she asked, though her face looked enraptured, fingers grazing the jewellery. The moment it was clasped, he was suddenly aware of her every breath she took like it was a conduit to her very soul. From the look on her face, she'd felt the same.

-

There are twelve Gods and one Titan in the Throne Room, ranging from looking bored (like Artemis), curious (Dionysus), indecently excited (Aphrodite) and angry (Zeus, obviously). Normally it would have been thirteen, but Demeter has been asked to stay behind, to give Hades one final ace up his sleeve. Poseidon looks like he's waiting to see what Hades has planned, but there's an angry set to his mouth. Satisfyingly, Hera is enraged at the sight of not just Persephone, but the cowering form of Prometheus behind them.

"How dare you accuse me of murdering other Gods and attacking you," Hera shrieks, disregarding Prometheus' damning testimony and Hades' offer to swear his words over the hearth. Instead, she glares at Persephone, advancing on her like she thinks she's found her opponent's weakest link.

"How can you dare to lie and accuse me ? You're just some minor Goddess whose words have twisted one of the Big Three," she says. There's a pause, then she sneers. "I am the Queen of the Heavens. It would do well for you not to make me your enemy."

There's a murmur, as the Gods are reminded of their favourite thing: their own egos.

But Hades had been prepared for this too, knowing as he did that seniority would be everything to temporarily destabilise Hera. 

"I should have introduced you properly, Hera," Hades says smoothly, lifting one hand to rest gently at Persephone's back while consciously dropping Hera's title.

Go ahead, he tells Persephone, who draws herself up regally and turns to face the rest of the pantheon, ignoring Hera. 

"I am the Queen of the Dead," she says, lifting her left hand to show off a ring of ebony. "And it would do well for you not to disregard my words, for we have a murderer in our midst."

Chapter Text

"Why do you not like him?" Persephone asks her father as they stare silently at the Asphodel Meadows, sharing a bottle of makgeolli. They haven't bothered with cups, they just stand and take swigs as they look at the grey expanse in front of them. For some reason, it's become their secret hideout when they're in the mood for twisted father-daughter time. 

Demeter looks startled, glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he stares down at the milky contents of the bottle in his hand.

"It's not that I don't like him. In fact, I can think of no better suitor for you," he admits quietly to the bottle like it's going to swallow his secret and hide it in its pearly depths. 

"What's the issue, then?" She asks, snatching the bottle to drink the makgeolli, secrets and all. 

He smiles, a small twisted, regretful thing. "Call it an old God's prejudice. You both have been the source of much pain for me through each Cycle, and while I never remember too much of it, it is enough for the hurt to carry forward."

She doesn't know what to say, so she settles for staring at the grey fields again, trying to see if she can recognise wandering spirits. 

"You..." he starts, then trails off. She hands him the bottle once more, smiling encouragingly. He shakes his head at her but accepts, taking a fortifying sip. 

"You never believe me when I say it, but I am an old, selfish God. I do not disapprove of him, I disapprove of having to share the attention of my Persephone with another."

Her breath catches. She has the stupidest urge to throw her arms around him and weep, like a little girl. 

"It doesn't matter what form I take in any Cycle," he continues, clearly intent on spilling all his fears now that the original dam has burst. "In the forefront of my mind, I am always worried about having to see you turn your back and leave me."

"I must always come back, though," she says gently.

He has the most patient and understanding expression she's ever seen on his face (or at least, the most understanding one he's ever trained at her) as he raises one fatherly hand to rest against her head. 

"My unfilial brat," he says affectionately. "Yes, you do. So, this time too, promise me you'll do the same."

It is only later when she is walking down the corridors of Hades'—and hers, now, she supposes—mansion, that she lets herself wonder how the Queen of the Underworld can actually return to that of the living. As she enters their throne room and Hades looks up to greet her with a tender smile, she's not sure if she wants to. 

It's why she hadn't promised. 

-

A God cannot be killed for their crimes, but one can be tried and punished by means of imprisonment, which is why Hera is locked away in Mount Olympus' idea of jail, awaiting trial. The rest of the Gods had been in the mood to vote and kick her out of the pantheon the moment they finished hearing Prometheus repeat his witness testimony over the hearth, impressed by Persephone and Hades' insistence, but Zeus had stepped in and inexorably pushed for deferment. 

No matter. It was only delaying the inevitable. 

For Hades, however, it was a greater concern to know Poseidon was still free, roaming the world, aware that his brother and new wife were plotting against him, stripped of his right-hand murderess. 

He sits, now, at his throne, listening to Prometheus babble about his new sleeping quarters in the Underworld and how Charon's (reluctant) welcome had included showing him how to lead the Dead across the River Styx. The Titan is surprisingly enjoyable to listen to, like a radio programme Hades can keep switched on as he works. 

All the while, he wonders about what his next steps are to be with Poseidon. Unlike Hera, Poseidon wouldn't be trapped by pomp and circumstance, nor would he be easy to take down through public confessions and imprisonment. 

"How would you stop me, if I was a murderer?" he muses out loud, stopping Prometheus' monologue and making Persephone look up from a complicated knot of vines in her hands. She's been working on some kind of wreath with them, trying to imbibe them with an unknown power. Through her pendant, he can feel the energy she exudes as she does this, just like he can now feel her every breath, the spikes in her emotions, silent only when she's taking a nap. Even then, it's like the pendant is only temporarily hibernating, and he is vaguely still aware of her presence.

When he'd asked her if she'd felt the same thing, she'd nodded, and described in detail the emotions he'd felt since he'd slipped the pendant around her neck. Even when he was across the island, speaking to the guards patrolling near the Gates, she'd said she could feel him, like a constant buzz of electricity was always under her skin. 

"I don't think I'd be able to," Prometheus says unsurely, looking towards Persephone as though to find out if he'd said the right thing. "Stop you, I mean," he adds needlessly.

She looks contemplatively at Hades, then leans back carefully, weighing ideas in her mind. "I'd have to try and trap you..." she starts to say, gears in her brain whirring. "But there are only a few places a God can truly be trapped. Like Calypso's island, or..."

Light shines in her eyes, and she looks up at him triumphantly. 

"Tartarus!"

-

Hades is like a jaguar, she often finds herself thinking, imagining the melanistic jaguars she's seen in the wild. Wiry, he moves with purpose, power and energy rippling under his clothes and muscles, ready to strike down prey faster than any other species can blink. Like any cat—whether wild or a mere house cat—he also exudes an aloof charm, balanced perfectly with a gentle demeanour she hadn't expected. 

Unlike her, he does not take every moment to show off his obvious power, apart from the constant use of shadows to hide from the world, sinking into the darkness to be alone. When he's around her, his control both slips and gets tighter; he talks more, laughs more, touches more but at the same time, he is rigid and careful and she never sees a peep of the rippling strength she can sense. She wonders, sometimes, what it would take to have that control snapped. 

As they brainstorm ways to trick Poseidon into a trap, she's not sure if she actually wants to see him lose his restraint. The thought sends anxiety fluttering through her chest, sharp enough to make his hand unconsciously press at his own chest like one would if they had a bad cough. He sends her a questioning look, and she shakes her head with a smile.

It's nothing.

-

A marriage between two Gods should ideally be one of pomp and circumstance, he thinks regretfully. But instead, theirs had been a hurried affair, attended by only a few, marked by the exchange of two rings and a kiss. Probably more romantic than anything the rest of the pantheon combined has ever indulged in, he knows. Nevertheless, he wanted to shower Persephone with gifts, not a visit to Olympus and back to engage in light politics.

Now, as they walk together down one of her flower-bush pathways, her hand wrapped delicately around his bicep, he wonders what he can do to make it up to her.

"You're overthinking," she says brightly, leaning down to pluck a white flower out of a bush. He pauses obligingly for her. "Am I?" he teases, even as she reaches up to hook the flower carefully behind his ear. 

"You have a specific look on your face when you're overthinking," she replies, eyes twinkling, hand falling down to hover at his chest, just above where his heart beats. 

"Tell me what you want as a wedding present," he says, capturing the hand in his own and putting it back against his heart. He feels like he's floating, happier than he's felt in a while, as though her mere teasing presence is enough to erase his cynicism. 

She widens her eyes and tilts her head. "A present too? Wasn't a token of love, a ring, a gold circlet and the chance to embarrass that bitch Hera enough?"

He shakes his head, leaning down to capture her lips briefly. It's difficult to dwell on the considerably serious matter at hand when she's in front of him proudly wearing his ring and necklace, surrounded by the flowers she's grown across his - their realm.

"What do you want?" He insists, before cupping her jaw with one hand and brushing her cheek with his thumb. Her eyes darken satisfyingly as she shuffles closer to him. 

"A private celebration would do," she whispers, leaning up to continue their kiss. With a groan, he pulls her as close as he can, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth for a gentle bite, one hand wandering down to her thigh. They hadn't had the time earlier to do anything but head to Olympus, foregoing the one activity one would arguably suggest was the most enjoyable for a newly-married couple to partake in on their wedding day. 

There's a loud cough and they break apart, panting, to look at Charon, who is standing half-turned to them, looking like he very much wants to be standing anywhere but here, watching his King and newly-minted Queen kiss each other.

"You have a visitor, sir," he says, without meeting Hades' eyes. "They're waiting at the gate for you."

-

Dolos looks like an average human man, skinny and bespectacled, wearing a suit and tie and carrying a smartphone. It would be difficult to pick him out of a line-up of human beings, Persephone tells Hades mentally, whose face does not shift out of his patented Lord of the Dead stare of doom, though she feels her chest warm at his amusement. They both wait as Prometheus greets Dolos, shaking hands gingerly over the border of the Underworld. One of Dolos' feet come perilously close to crossing the border making Cerberus immediately bark, resulting in Dolos yelping and jumping backwards.

"What brings a trickster to my doorstep?" Hades asks, raising his eyebrows. 

Dolos bends towards Hades, a deep bow at the waist, and somewhat insultingly only nods at Persephone, like she's merely an extra. 

"I have worked, on occasion, with Prometheus previously, and came to pay my respects to him and to pass along some information I thought you might find interesting," he says, trying to look and sound trustworthy, but achieving only more sliminess. 

"Do you trust him, Prometheus?" Hades asks softly.

The Titan in question looks surprised at his opinion being sought out, but to Persephone, it slides neatly in place with the behaviour she's seen thus far. Ever since he fulfilled his promise to switch sides, he'd somehow won her and Hades over just by being an overeager charmer. It helped that he'd capably started doing research for Hades, jumping into books and old texts that could help arm him with knowledge about Tartarus and Poseidon.

"Of course he does!" Dolos pouts, which isn't a good look on an adult face. The Titan looks like he'd very much like to disagree, but he uneasily smiles and nods politely, shooting Hades a look that she understands as the universal sign for help.

"That's great," she deadpans, examining her nails. "But more importantly, it would be even nicer to hear this so-called interesting information."

Dolos looks slightly offended but attempts to cover it up. "I can tell you if I," he begins to say, tentatively creeping near the border again. Cerberus growls low and Dolos hastily steps back.

"I can always tell you from here," he amends. 

"Get on with it, Dolos, I'm busy," Hades snaps. 

"I heard from Amphitrite, Poseidon's wife, that she is expecting him near South Korea again today evening, after a land visit to the fields growing wheat. I do not know why, but she says he said something about revenge."

They all continue to look unimpressed at Dolos, though a wild conversation rages between Hades and Persephone in their minds. 

Triptolemus will be guarding wheat, she tells him urgently. It's the winter, it's his job to bless the crops.

Don't you think it's too convenient for this information to just drop into our laps?

We should still go check it out! What if he's in danger?

'We' aren't doing anything. It's been only a week since we announced ourselves, the moment you step outside you'll be a sitting duck once more -

Hades, I do not care, Triptolemus is practically family.

He sighs, shooting her a dark look, but she knows he's relenting.

"Sir," Charon says confidently, stepping up from the side to come close so Dolos cannot hear. "Let me go and investigate this with Queen Persephone. You know I can hold my own in battle."

"I know he's a trickster," Prometheus adds as a whisper, joining their impromptu huddle, "but he's usually advised me well. In fact, he's the one who egged me on to switch loyalties to you."

"Infallible logic, good job, Prometheus," Persephone says, clapping the Titan on the shoulder, feeling the urgency settle into her veins. Trap or no, she needs to warn Triptolemus.

Hades gives them both a dirty look before turning to study his trusted lieutenant. He'd once told her Charon was to him what Triptolemus was to Demeter, which means Charon had unwittingly just helped her by acting as a reminder. 

"We'll have each other's backs," she says, inspired. Through their bond, she can feel irritation rolling off Hades in waves at the suggestion, though there's a note of reluctance and resignation. 

"You can't come with me anyway," she says reasonably, feeling his resolve waver. "You have..." she turns to look at Dolos, who is trying and failing to act like he's not attempting to eavesdrop. 

"You have enough to protect down here," she whispers, thinking about her father. "Besides, we don't want to go to see Poseidon, I just want to make sure Triptolemus is safe in his fields."

"I still think this is a trap," he mutters, waving his hand to gesture that they go ahead.

Turns out, it's a trap. 

They arrive at the fields Demeter had told her Triptolemus would be at, basis the schedule they'd drawn up, and she lets out a call that only other nature gods can hear. They wait only a few minutes before she hears a panicked response hit her mind like a truck.

Run, my lady!

She feels arrows whiz past them and they turn to see a naiad rise from an old well in the farm, shining an unsettling neon.

"She's been poisoned," Persephone says, stopping to study the thin, almost skeletal form hover over the lip of the well, pulling more arrows out of a holder behind her back. "My lady, we need to leave," Charon says, tugging at her sleeve. "Not without my family," she says through gritted teeth, reaching inside of her for the black rage she's been harnessing, raising one hand—the one adorned with her wedding ring—towards the poisoned naiad. "Go find him," she tells Charon. "I'll hold her off."

With that, the crops around her grow taller and start building into a wall, covering her and Charon, who takes off into the field, in the direction of the presence she knows he can feel. It's weak, so her father's lieutenant must be injured, but it's strong enough to track down. The naiad lets out a wail as her arrows fail to penetrate the wall, and water begins to rise from inside the well, slopping out and turning into large waves.

She immediately channels the crops to create a platform for her to stand on, though she knows it's only a stop-gap. Water will soon decimate the plants. 

"Found him!" Charon hollers from somewhere, and she turns to see him racing towards their car, Triptolemus on his back. In that split second, as Persephone's attention is diverted, the water glows neon and grows into a larger wave, crashing against her platform and sending her careening to the ground. There's a slam of doors and she sees Charon jumping into the driver's seat. "Queen Persephone!" he calls, throwing the passenger door open for her as he starts driving towards the main road slowly. 

Torn, Persephone turns back to the poisoned naiad. She must have been an innocent spirit just a while ago, who had unfortunately been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Poisoning a waterbody is an easy task, but it does considerable damage to the spirits of the waterbody, driving them to insanity, leaving them to rely on their basic instincts: to protect themselves.

The contaminated water around her is beginning to sting, so she gets up, raising her hand once more towards the latest victim of the Lord of the Sea's crimes. Ropes of wet wheat wrap themselves around the nymph's neck and Persephone turns to run, jumping into the car and slamming it shut. In the rearview mirror, she sees the ropes of plant life cover the nymph's throat, and she tilts her left hand sharply, the reflection proving that the movement has been mimicked by her battalion of ruined crops. 

-

Click.

"It doesn't matter if it was a trap or not," Persephone is trying to tell him, using a sensible tone of voice that he thinks is completely out of place for the situation. 

Click.

She is sitting in the middle of the fountain in front of his home, getting drenched in the waters from it, washing away the shiny green substance a murderous nymph had managed to leave on her. Next to her, Charon sits in the water too, looking more appropriately miserable. 

Click, he snaps his lighter open again, waiting for the sound to calm him as it usually does.

"If we hadn't gone, Triptolemus would have died," she continues calmly, wringing out her hair, as though they're discussing brunch plans. The pendant at her neck glints, and he's reminded painfully of the sudden moment of absolute panic and fear that had coursed through his body earlier when she'd first been attacked.

Click. The peace does not come to him.

"He may still die," Pan says unhelpfully. "Demeter, Prometheus and Hegemone are seeing to his injuries inside."

"See?!" Persephone cries like she's proven some point in a court case before a judge. Across Hades' body, he feels sharp stinging pain on his skin. He knows it's only a fraction of what she's feeling, though she insists on pretending like she's absolutely fine.

Click. 

"Persephone," he begins as calmly as he can, but she cuts him off. "And you should have seen what he did to that poor-"

"Persephone, I do not care."

He snaps his lighter shut again. Furious and frightened, Hades lets her feel the full brunt of his emotions through their bond, and her eyes widen as she falls silent. Charon and Pan stay quiet as well, not needing a sacred bond to see that the Lord of the Dead is enraged.

"Nobody," he says through gritted teeth, pulling himself to his full height, allowing the darkness around him to gather at his feet, "can attack my wife and my subjects, hoping to tell the tale." He lifts a hand and plucks a gun, black as the River Styx, out of the shadows. 

He turns to go, intent on finding Dolos, when there's a splash and he hears squelching footsteps following him. He rounds on her, one hand reaching for where he knows her shoulder will be. 

"You stay here," he insists darkly, unwilling to be around her forced composure while he's in no mood to be restrained and careful.

She's sopping wet, but the poison has finally washed off her, and he can feel the pain subside on his own skin. Impatiently, she reaches up to grip his hand and opens her mouth.

"Persephone, I will not have you risk your life again, so soon after you've been attacked, so please, stay here." By the end of his sentence, he's whispering, a rough, desperate sound that he hates, can't bear to hear out of his own mouth.

Something shifts in her face, and she looks more like Demeter than he's ever seen, a painfully understanding expression on her face. 

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry I worried you," she whispers in return. "I was reckless."

She lets go of his hand. "But I will not apologise for saving those I call mine, just like you won't forgive those who hurt whom you claim as yours." He closes his eyes for a brief moment, then opens them to meet her determined pair. Leaning down, he kisses her roughly. 

"I do not need you to apologise," he mutters, letting up. "I do not control you and have no desire to. You had every right to go."

"And you have every right to do what you must now," she replies. 

She knows him well.

-

It is ridiculously easy to find Dolos, sipping a drink at a beachside bar next to Poseidon. He walks into the crowded establishment, waving his hands so the humans inside freeze. Immediately, Poseidon looks up, feeling his presence. Hades takes aim and fires once, twice, at Dolos.

The trickster falls to his knees, both shins shattered beyond repair for even a minor God, bleeding ichor on the floor. 

"Brother," Poseidon begins carefully, but thorns begin to grow out of the floor under his feet, pushing past the luxury establishment's wooden panelling, past the humans, piercing Dolos' body as he writhes in pain. They're not real plants, merely the dead remains of plants torn down to make way for human construction, infused with Hades' own cocktail of rage and darkness.

Persephone isn't the only one who's picked up new tricks.

Taking aim, Hades shoots one last time and Dolos falls silent.

Poseidon and Hades stare at each other. 

"Just because I hadn't done anything yet," he says, backing away to the door, "didn't mean I would remain silent as you continued to toy with the beings in this Cycle. Especially not those under my protection." 

Poseidon moves to get off his chair, but the thorns, sharp and deadly, extend further, and he's forced back into his seat. Some prick him in the sides of his face, some in his neck and drops of golden ichor begin to spill.

Hades smiles, cold, empty. "You have declared war, brother." 

He leaves. Poseidon can clean up the mess and deal with the humans as he sees fit.

-

Persephone waits for him in their throne room, having dispatched extra wraiths to man their gates, finished reassuring Prometheus it wasn't his fault for trusting Dolos and waving away Pan's acerbic concern and Demeter's more paternal queries. Changing out of her clothes, suddenly not in the mood to be weighed down by the day, she'd slipped into a silken robe, stealing it out of his personal closet. 

She knows when he arrives, but forces herself to wait, standing at their shared table. Moonlight streams in from the window, bouncing off the flowers in the centre, sending dazzling rays of white across the room. Their thrones face each other silently, hers inviting, his imposing. 

"I'm here," he calls hoarsely, walking into the room, one hand still gripping a gun. They look at each for a moment. For only the second time, she feels the full brunt of his powers shining through his iron-clad reserve, sees shadows curled around his feet, and the glow of surety—a confidence that comes only with unleashed, undulating power—illuminating his face.

He is more beautiful than she'd ever thought.

He drops his gun and strides towards her, just like he had the first time they'd kissed, back when they'd simply acted on autopilot. Stretching up, she kisses him back, locking her arms around his neck and blindly stepping backwards to lean against the table. He bends his knees to lift her up so she's perched against it, prising her thighs apart to step between her legs, wrapping them around his hips. 

She gasps at the feeling of him, hard and straining against his clothing. One of his hands slides smoothly from her jaw to her neck, fingers encircling it as one thumb extends her jaw further up to him, demanding more than he's taken so far. The other hand is on her thigh, inching upwards, the movement loosening the robe. She pushes him away, then slowly drops her hands to where the robe is gaping at her chest and loosens it further, heading down to the belt and releasing it. His eyes are dark, flitting across her face and down the creamy expanse of skin she's revealed. She yanks him to her, hand on his belt buckle, nimble fingers making quick work of the fastening and then the zip of his pants, pushing everything down to his ankles. Hastily, he kicks them away, attacking the buttons of his shirt and pulling it off his chest. She allows herself a brief moment to appreciate what she's finally seeing before sweeping him into another kiss, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin on hers. 

She can feel him tracing the silk at her shoulders before tipping it over, drawing the fabric down her arms for her to shake free, leaving only two things on her body; his pendant and ring. 

Hades picks her up gently, movements already settling back into his usual form, rid of the manic ferocity from their conversation at the fountain. She doesn't realise what he's doing until she is placed reverently on his throne, jumping slightly at the feeling of her skin meeting the cold surface. He kneels in front of her, and she has a mental image of worshippers in temples, though this is nothing—and somehow everything—like it. She closes her eyes and gives in to the sensation of him as he leans forward and places a soft kiss on her thigh before licking wide strokes at her centre, one hand gripping his hair, the other grappling the arm of his throne. Through their bond, the feelings are multiplied twice, thrice, she doesn't know how much. All she knows is that he is driving her closer to the edge, but torturously slow.

"Hades, please," she gasps, unsure of what she's begging for.

"As you wish, mia dea," he whispers against her skin and the new nickname shoots through her like a drug as his fingers join his tongue and crook upwards in just the right way to make her come.

He waits patiently for her to open her eyes, chin lightly perched on one knee, looking like sin with his shiny lips and self-satisfied grin.

She reaches for his shoulders and kisses him, enjoying the taste of the fruits of his labour on his tongue, running a hand down his length. Before he can do more than moan, she is standing up, twisting and pushing him down to sit. Carefully, she straddles his lap and lowers herself onto him, arms reaching up to the back of his throne to give herself leverage. He places his wide palms at her hips, helping her set a fast, almost punishing pace that has them gasping. Burying his face in her neck, he bites at the delicate skin he finds there, laving over it immediately with his tongue. 

In minutes, she is clenching around him, feeling more dizzying pleasure break through her mind again, followed soon after by him.

They wait like that in each other's arms, unwilling to move immediately.

"I love you," he whispers, voice returning to Hades' usual, smooth composure, which she now knows she loves as equally as the scary fierceness of the Lord of the Dead.

She doesn't need to reply in kind, he can feel her love in waves, tumbling off her like petals falling on a spring day, but she says it out loud anyway.

"I love you too."

Chapter Text

"Again."

Persephone groans, bending over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. "I really expected being Queen of the Underworld would mean more rolling-around-in-luxury and less breaking-a-sweat," she grumbles before straightening up. An impish thought presents itself in her mind and she sends Hades, who is standing opposite her, a saucy glance.

"Or at least, a more interesting activity to break a sweat."

She winks at him and he looks torn between being interested and exasperated. 

"Can you please... not?" They turn to look at Demeter, sitting on the ground next to them looking pained. "I do not need to be witness to this kind of conversation," he says, pulling off his glasses and rubbing them tiredly.

"Apologies," Hades murmurs, a small smile twitching at his lips as he beckons to Persephone once more. "Again, Persephone."

She rolls her eyes and raises her hands, concentrating. Somewhere inside her, she feels a tug and dark green creepers come shooting out of two vines twined around her hands and wrists. They hurtle towards Hades with speed, forming sharper needles and thorns as they reach him and start to curl around his form like a cage.

It should take him at least two minutes to break through them.

It takes him one.

"Yah!" She snaps, when the vines caging him suddenly turn brown and fall to the ground, decaying and useless. He rolls his shoulders with a grin.

"I keep telling you to find a way to avoid using something with life against me, it's ineffective," he reminds her. "Easy for you to say," she mutters, imagining pricking him with a thorn.

They're standing in one of the many gardens surrounding Hades' mansion, in a part that's overgrown, full of prickly branches and dried leaves, disorderly and wild. She loves it; it's become her secret place to practice new tricks with her newfound magic. Unfortunately, she'd made the mistake of telling Demeter and Hades, explaining her idea to use her powers to create an enhanced Godly prison. Both had promptly told her she was amazing and asked to accompany her, which she'd agreed to, feeling supported.

They've been now standing in her garden—it is hers, and she won't share it, not even with the Lord of the land—for hours, trying to get one of her creepers to form a strong enough cage around Hades to last longer than a few minutes.

Having a supportive family is really overrated.

"If it captures me, it can capture-"

"Any of the Big Three, I know, I know," she grumbles.

"This was your idea," he says, coming up to her to gently flick her forehead. 

She sniffs. "Yes, but I liked it better when it didn't mean I had to stand and work for hours." She makes her eyes as big and sad as possible, beseechingly looking up at the Lord of the Dead to see if being cute would convince him to stop this and let her float in the sea for a break.

He looks amused and unmoved, though one hand comfortingly reaches for her shoulder to squeeze it. 

She's wondering if she can bribe him with mental ideas about flimsy swimwear when Demeter sighs and gets up, brushing off his clothes. He's wearing a sweater vest and corduroy pants even in the heat of Hades' island but looks utterly comfortable in it. 

"Persephone," he starts gently, reaching for her hands. "You have to just tell yourself one thing."

"What?" she whines, though she's paying attention. Maybe all she needs is some good fatherly advice.

"The faster you learn, the faster we can trap Poseidon and send him to Tartarus, which is when I can go back to my home. So focus and stop flirting like some kind of oceanid!" he snaps and stalks away, feet thumping on the grassy floor of their little yard. 

-

"I know how we get Poseidon near the mouth of Tartarus," Prometheus announces, triumphantly entering the throne room. Hades looks up from the paperwork he's been perusing—a new application for sustained torture for a megalomaniac chaebol in Asia who'd murdered many people for money and power under the auspices of a conglomerate—and Persephone from her research about something to do with plants. If he's being honest, his brain can only gather so much information about the specific biology of the plants she uses as weapons.  

They stare at him for a few moments and Prometheus' wide smile starts to drop. 

"...and?" Hades finally asks, taking pity on the Titan. 

"It's me!" he replies joyfully, grabbing a chair from the side of the room -another office chair with wheels that Hades has had included for the myriad of guests who seem to now enter his throne room like it's a thoroughfare, though this one has not been adorned with leaves and flowers. 

"What do you mean?"

He launches into an excited explanation that involves him being bait. The animated countenance and confidence is new, but it doesn't stop Hades from feeling a sharp pang of worry. Despite himself, the anxious Titan has been mentally categorised as one of his subjects now and he's not interested in seeing him tortured yet again by one of his brothers. 

Persephone shoots him a look and he knows she's felt his worry.

"Prometheus," she begins gently, gearing up to dissuade him, but he shakes his head, smile missing.

"Let me do this, please," he says quietly, a determined set to his mouth.

-

This used to be a private gate, Persephone.

Yes, but would you really want a congregation of nature gods and spirits, your Ferryman and a Titan to gather at the main Gates? She asks sensibly, and he squints down at her in disapproval.

Don't try and use logic to make this better, he responds, sounding more like a whiny child than an all-powerful God. I can feel you laughing, he snaps, nudging her feet lightly with the toe of his shoe, and she snorts. 

They both look at the gaggle milling at the gate: Demeter, the nature spirits Demeter relies on, Hades' Epimedliads, one of the Muses who has befriended Demeter, a healed-Triptolemus, Hestia (who looks like she's floated here on accident), Charon (who looks extremely unsettled by the loud chatter of the nature gang), Prometheus (who keeps sneaking glances at Charon and Hestia) and a joyful Cerberus bounding in between everyone and disrupting the naiads. 

They're used to dogs treating them like sticks, Persephone knows. It's not funny, it's not , but she's giggling despite herself, seeing the naiad couple skitter and jump away from Hades' giant dog. "Cerberus!" she calls finally, taking pity on the two. He comes bounding towards her and flops in her lap, looking more like a giant puppy than a fearsome deity that can very literally deliver one to death's door. 

"He needs to get back to his station," Hades says, eyeing his dog with disapproval. Cerberus whines and turns away from him, shooting Persephone a look. 

"I have no respect in my own realm anymore," Hades mutters, lightly toeing the dog till he grumbles and walks away in the direction of the Main Gates.

Her father finally breaks away from the gaggle and waves his arms so the crowd quietens.

"We are yours to command, Lord Hades," he says, turning to Hades.

Hades coughs and the light-hearted personality of her husband fades into darkness. Persephone feels a wholly inappropriate shudder slip down her spine and she fervently hopes he's not noticed.

We'll talk about that later, he promises her silkily, voice dark and dangerous. 

"We know from reports through allies that Zeus is leaning towards a light imprisonment for Hera and then allow her to be freed," Hades starts, sending grumbles and whispers through the crowd. "As we know, though, she's spiteful, so it's not the safest idea for anybody gathered here to let that happen."

"You mean she's a vindictive bitch with a free pass to do whatever she wants," Persephone mutters just loudly enough for everyone to hear her. 

"She's a vindictive bitch with a free pass to do whatever she wants," Hades amends obediently. 

"And so, one of our most important tasks will be to ensure Hera is caught mid-attack. If she's seen as a threat to the pantheon itself, the other Gods will not allow for a light punishment."

"So, the attack would need to be on someone important - someone who isn't just another nature spirit or demigod," Triptolemus says slowly, adjusting his spectacles. 

"Exactly," Demeter says, raising his hand. "Which is why I'll be acting as bait and Persephone will work with me to capture Hera red-handed." 

Persephone beams at her father, wiggling her vine-covered fingers. She's found a way to make it look almost fashionable, like delicate rings, not like she's insane and covered in plant life. 

"Prometheus," Hades says, walking to the Titan in question to clap him on the shoulder, "will go to Poseidon and pretend to be switching sides, luring him to the Underworld to an 'unused' back gate, to attack me unawares."

"Wait, this is an unused back-gate!" one of the naiads exclaims, and the rest all nod in understanding, ooh-ing and looking around at the gate with a newfound understanding of why Persephone had gathered them all here.

"What Poseidon will not know, however, is that a fight here is perilous, because we're very close to the entrance to Tartarus," Hades continues, clearly having decided to tune out the group reactions. He waves his hand in the direction of a sunny road behind him that she knows leads to their vineyards directly in front of his mansion. It's a dangerous idea to lead Poseidon here, she knows, because if he manages to overpower Hades and find the throne room, the centre of Hades' realm, it'll be disastrous. She buries the worry deep under layers of emotion, unwilling to let Hades know. If he's letting her go risk her life—again—to capture Hera on her own, then she can trust that he's right in his estimates about how their fight will go. 

"I have a question," Pan pipes up. Hades yields the floor politely, walking back to take his position next to Persephone, one hand almost absent-mindedly brushing her back. She takes a moment to herself to appreciate how it feels, having the entire group look at her and Hades standing at the front, like two rulers to take seriously and not just an important God and a minor Goddess.

"You have never been just some minor Goddess," Hades had told her one night, a short while ago, as they lay in his bed, a large, luxurious thing piled with pillows on crisp sheets. They'd been talking in whispers, exchanging darker secrets they hadn't found the courage to discuss in daylight. "You have been what's kept the seasons running smoothly and that maintains balance in the world. You, of all Gods, know what that balance means to us all - whether human or immortal."

Maybe he had a point, but she can't deny that there is a difference now. "Why will Poseidon fall for Prometheus' words?" Pan asks reasonably. "From what I know, he's always seemed smart."

"More cunning than smart," Hades says softly, though he's nodding at Pan. "But it's a good point. The one thing about Poseidon, however, is that he's like the sea he commands - once a great wave has been formed, it can do nothing but break. So I just need to make sure we encourage that one big wave."

-

"Before you go surfing-"

"I don't think that fits into the metaphor."

"Shut up."

"Yes, sweetie."

Persephone slips her arms around him from behind, nestling her head between his shoulder blades. He wraps his own around the hands clasped at his chest and closes his eyes, savouring her presence. The scent of pomegranates and clean, crisp air envelop him as they stand, wrapped in each other. It is tempting to stay in their bubble like this, to very literally damn the rest of the world in favour of their own peace.

Reluctantly, he detangles them and turns around to tip her face up to his. "You wanted something?" he prompts.

She opens her mouth and closes it again, looking a little frustrated. Patiently, he waits for her to answer, as she lifts her right hand to idly smoothen a part of his hair. Sliding down to his cheek, it rests as he feels a flash of determination through their bond.

"You need to be careful," she says, meeting his eyes.

He turns his head slightly to kiss her palm. "I will."

"Just because you're going to needle him doesn't mean you need to be overconfident," she continues like she's got a to-do list of dumb things she wants him to avoid.

He captures the hand at his cheek in his and places a kiss on the inside of her wrist. "Yes, dear."

She gasps softly at this, which piques his interest in a new way. This isn't a reaction he's noticed before.

"Hades," she says impatiently, seeing his attention slip. He directs all his focus back to her face, startled to see the determination melting into a little anxiety. "I don't care if it's a bond or a token or some Cyclical bullshit," she finally says, as though a dam has burst. "But we're one soul now and I need you to protect us. Because if you're hurt, I will be too."

Astonishment, insight and a bewildering rush of love mix together in his chest at her words. He knows, he immediately knows what she means, can empathise with the desire to say the words, but struggles with the fact that she's saying them all the same. He's spent so long being The Third, the dreaded King of the Underworld, that now, with something - someone as genuine and dazzling in front of him, he finds himself speechless. 

The hand circling her wrist tightens and he tugs her to him in a hug, resting his cheek against her soft hair. "I promise, Queen Persephone," he whispers. "I will protect us."

-

He's never liked the sea. Sure, it's beautiful and the beach is a nice place to be, but he doesn't like the idea of the depths of seawater, the lack of control when you're surrounded by it. Even without Godly powers, being in seawater means you're subject to things like currents, tides; things that can sway a body more effectively than most pressures on Earth. He's always thought Poseidon enjoyed commanding that maritime power.

Even now, as he stands on a beach, letting the seawater reach the tips of his shoes and alerting every sea spirit within a ten-kilometre radius of his presence, he's baffled at his brother's demand for more power. At best, his plan seems to have been to destabilise their existing Cycle and steal more land-related nature powers for himself. The God of the Seas, Earthquakes, Harvest, Bloom and the Wild? He wonders to himself.

But that wouldn't explain the attack on Triptolemus, the teaming up with Hera, or the murder of his own son. 

Speaking of.

Hades turns to his right to look at the spectre hovering next to him, looking wistfully at the sea. The former sea god is pale, a mere photocopy of memory, pulled out of the Underworld to accompany Hades to this meeting. He looks like a typical merman, except for the conch shell clutched tightly in his hand.

"You know what you have to do," Hades reminds gently, unwilling to interrupt the mourning of a ghost. The ghost in question turns to look balefully at Hades and nods. "The moment I blow this, the sea will calm. While my father is obviously more powerful than I, it will give you the reprieve you need."

He hesitates, hand twitching like it wants to reach out to the water he has now been cruelly snatched from. "Lord Hades," he starts, then stops.

For a beat, Hades can only hear the sound of waves breaking against the rocks on the shore. 

"Uncle," Triton tries again. "You are sure he cannot see me?" 

Hades nods, keeping his senses peeled for any change in the atmosphere around them that could signal Poseidon's presence. "You're one of my subjects at the moment, Triton," Hades assures. "And so, right now, I'm the only one who can see you. But when you blow that conch of yours..."

Triton nods grimly. "That's fine. I want him to know that he's been betrayed by family, as I was."

Family, Hades thinks wryly. Every Cycle, the one thing that causes all the problems with the Gods is not their ego or their repetitive patterns, but the very nature of their toxic family. He'd thought the smaller ones carved out over millennia—like Artemis' Hunters, Poseidon's underwater family or Demeter and Persephone—would be better off, but clearly, he was wrong.

Demeter, Persephone and me, now, he supposes. It's an odd thought, though not unwelcome.

There's a whisper from his left and Hades shifts to look at Poseidon, who waves lazily, wearing an oversized hoodie and jeans.

"How can I help, brother? I wasn't expecting you to visit so soon after our last conversation. It was. Prickly."

The pun is repellent, though savagely Hades appreciates the sight of a scar at Poseidon's ear, undoubtedly brought on by one of his thorns.

"I just wanted to chat," Hades says, tone friendly, pulling a flask out of his pocket. Uncapping it, he takes a sip, appreciating the burn of the alcohol down his throat, then seals it and tosses it at Poseidon. 

"Temporary ceasefire, if you will, while you allay my curiosity," he continues. Poseidon looks interested so, he nods and takes a swig, then makes a face. "Is this absinthe?" he asks, grimacing.

"I wanted to know why," Hades says, ignoring the question in favour of his own. "The God of the Seas, Earthquakes, Harvest, Bloom and the Wild?" he asks mockingly. "Is that all you wanted?"

Poseidon smirks, taking another sip. "I do not like this stuff," he sighs, then tosses the flask back to Hades. "You don't understand at all, do you?"

"Yes, Poseidon, I understand perfectly, I've only orchestrated us chatting just to hear your voice," Hades says sarcastically. Poseidon rolls his eyes and looks pensively at the sea. Next to Hades, Triton tenses.

"Have you ever been in the water in a storm?" His brother finally asks. 

Hades shakes his head.

"You have no choice but to heed to the demands of the water. If it's decided that you must drown, then drown you will. There is nothing that can contain that power, you simply... ride it." He looks at Hades, eyes glinting with a storm of his own, a madness that Hades hadn't seen before.

"I hate being told what to do, Hades."

Silence. Then,

"Do you know what it's like? Being in charge of that kind of power, and then realising that every step you take is doomed to trace another's?"

"Your own," interjects Hades calmly, though understanding is blooming through him. Persephone had mentioned it; Poseidon had talked about rebelling against Cycles. He'd made it known from the very beginning what his intentions were.

"Doesn't matter!" Poseidon snaps. The waves start to get choppy and the ground shakes a little, though Poseidon does nothing to stop any of it. "I don't know why you aren't affected, and frankly, I don't care. But for me? I'm an immortal being of unimaginable power, tied to rules and regulations an idiot brother has made. I spend every day exiled to the sea like some lesser being, feeling humans pollute my waters and kill my subjects, hear Zeus lauded for his rampant abuse and lack of skill, tracing old mistakes a different God made. So what if that God was me in a different iteration? I don't care!"

The waves start to hit the shore with ferocity, hitting Hades with salty, stinging sprays. The ground starts shaking more as Poseidon glares at Hades.

"So why Hera?" Hades asks, ignoring the theatrics.

The shaking ceases as Poseidon laughs. "A worthy second-in-command, that is all. She's just realised she has become a woman scorned, reviled, and ridiculed for following the rules her own idiot husband has made. So what do you think happened when I popped by with my talk of destabilising the world's Cycles?"

The pieces begin slotting into place.

"Freedom for her," Hades mutters slowly. "And for you, power. Unlimited power." He looks at the choppy waters, even as the waves get higher and begin to crash brutally against the shore, against them, soaking their clothes. It's freezing now, the cold, winter air attacking his skin.

"And for both of you..." he stops as Poseidon grins. 

"No more Zeus," he supplements. "Because why would the pantheon follow the idiot who cannot even stop a murderer?" Poseidon's voice takes on an almost-childish, lilting tone by the end of his sentence, though the unsettling light shining in his eyes is brighter than ever. 

"And what of you, Hades?" he finally asks. "I know you may not have my ambition, but you want your powers back too. Why are you trying to stop me? Because it's wrong?"

Hades sends him a derisive look. "'Wrong'," he repeats snidely, knowing it will irritate Poseidon further. The shaking of the ground resumes. Hades is glad he'd chosen a deserted island instead of a residential area. 

"I don't care for justice, Poseidon. I just don't like seeing power in undeserving hands."

"Undeserving?"

"Yes," Hades confirms, raising his eyebrows, as though to challenge Poseidon to take him to court and prove his worthiness to be a successful dictator. "And besides, if I hadn't stepped in, my wife..." 

He thinks of the gaggle of loud spirits at his back gate, of Demeter pouring makgeolli, of Hegemone pressing boxes of food into his hand that he still hasn't understood how she's cooking in the Underworld, of Prometheus' determination to help. 

"My family would have continued to fight you. And they needed help."

He empties the flask and tucks it into his pocket. 

"A concept you don't seem to understand," he adds drily.

"So that's the end of the ceasefire, then?" Poseidon asks, eyeing where the flask has disappeared. He raises his hand and the water begins to recede sharply towards the depth of the ocean.

"A tsunami," Triton whispers. In the distance, Hades can see the giant wave build. 

"You like that trick, don't you?" he snorts. "But do what you must. This was never a real parlay anyway - if you'll excuse the use of the term, brother. I merely wanted to play a little with my dinner."

With a roar of frustration, Poseidon drops his hand and the tsunami begins to race towards the shore.

A deep, sonorous horn emits from the conch, as Triton blows it. The sound extends past them, into the far horizons, pushing the tsunami down to nothing, returning the water to a calm emerald.

Poseidon looks shocked, backing away and looking around. "Triton?"

The sea god blinks out of existence, not before throwing a look of pure hatred at his father and Hades turns in his spot to disappear into the shadows, feeling the empty flask in his pocket with a smile. 

-

The moment his car shows up at their door, she wants to tackle him with a hug. He seems unhurt, though sopping wet, and a contented smile is twitching at his lips. He looks like a cat. A wet, bedraggled one, but a satisfied cat nevertheless.

"Did you succeed?" she asks unnecessarily from her spot at the door, leaning nonchalantly against the frame as though she'd been the very opposite of worried.

He comes to a stop just in front of her, hands smoothly sliding into his pockets. She tries not to focus on the droplets of water running from his hair down to his neck and disappearing behind his white shirt, though the shirt itself is plastered to his skin and doing a valiant job of asking for attention. 

"Success," he says, pulling out the flask and waving it at her. 

In the end, it was Triptolemus and Persephone who had come up with a plan to aid Prometheus' trap for Poseidon. To put it simply, they'd planted a seed. Instead of just filling the flask with normal alcohol, they'd enchanted absinthe, a spirit derived from plants like fennel and green anise. Across the world, it was the one alcohol classified as one of the most hallucinogenic. And unknown to Poseidon, something Triptolemus had bet on, it was easier for them to enchant a potent liquid with such high plant-based properties, to create a temporary bond with any other who drank the liquid. 

In this case, Hades.

"Tomorrow, when Prometheus tempts him to come to the Underworld, he won't be able to resist following the bait," Hades confirms. 

They grin at each other victoriously, the feeling of a plan successfully executed buoying their moods.

"I'm going to hug you," she announces pushing herself off the door. He looks a little surprised. "Sure?" he replies, taken aback.

"I really am," she warns, jogging a little in her place. He huffs out a laugh and raises his arms a little.

She skips down the steps and throws herself into his arms, revelling in the feeling of him - albeit wet and cold. If he's spent as much time having waves of salt and chill break over him, she's currently only feeling waves of relief break over her.

"We'll win this," she says solemnly, before leaning up to kiss him, pouring her relief and triumph into it. There's a clatter as the tainted flask falls to the ground and Hades' hands wind around her arms, rubbing up and down before wrapping around her tighter. She's dizzy and happy and confident, wants to peel all the wet clothes off her husband before the saltwater ruins her own, wants to let her vines creep out of her fingers and wrap around him to hold him closer. This is different from the rage she's felt before and channelled into her new powers. This is something positive, a glimpse at conquest. It's heady, addictive enough to rival enchanted absinthe.

"We haven't won yet," he whispers, breaking away from air, though his lips still unconsciously chase hers like a magnet.

"We will," she repeats, closing the gap.

Chapter Text

The last time a concentrated war effort had been mounted by god-like beings had been when Zeus overthrew the Titans. 

"We will not fail," Prometheus says confidently, first to break the silence between himself, Charon, Demeter, Hades and Persephone. He bows low, then walks away and Charon follows, both fading into the distance. Hades watches as they leave, trying to fight the urge to call them back. He trusts Charon to look after himself, but his concerns centre around the Titan next to him. Prometheus has proved to be a much greater friend than foe but Hades has a bad feeling about dispatching the boy—for he behaves like no more than a boy, a younger sibling to train and protect—to act as bait. 

He eyes Demeter and his wife idly staring after Prometheus and Charon as well. To be fair, every plan they have revolves around someone or the other playing at being bait; himself included. Persephone's hand reaches to meet his, fingers interlacing between his. 

Demeter sighs, still looking off into the distance. "The Cycle has changed," he says. Startled, they stare at him until he looks at the two Gods next to him.

"I have checked with as many minor Gods as I could have. I even asked Artemis. She's been travelling with her Huntresses ever since the nature threat became known, but she told me she has no memory of anything like this happening. And that matches with my own memories and what others have told me too."

Hades wants to rebel against this information, wants to avoid the implication of what Demeter is saying, but even as he resists, his mind supplies information helpfully to corroborate. "I have no memory either. I thought at first it was because of whatever Persephone and I have been fated to repeat, but I did check with some of the minor gods here, and while our patterns seem to continue-"

"Poseidon's murder spree seems to be a new addition to the mix," Persephone finishes.

Demeter nods resignedly. "It means that Poseidon has already accomplished his first task; he has succeeded in changing our Cycles enough that we are essentially going in blind."

"With no reassurance of our own happy ending," Hades murmurs, swiping his thumb across Persephone's gently.

"None at all," Demeter agrees, then walks to the dark Range Rover parked at the Gate, giving Cerberus a quick pat as he passes. "Say goodbye and come quickly," he calls before climbing into the driver's seat and firmly shutting the door.

They exchange looks, Persephone eyeing their clasped hands apprehensively.

"It's not goodbye," Hades starts, but she looks up at him with a blazing, determined expression that makes him fall silent.

"If something happens to me, don't try to come and save the day," she says calmly. 

Briefly, she presses her lips against his then walks away.

-

"Abeoji."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I may not come back this time. This Cycle, I mean."

"I know."

-

Click.

He feels Poseidon's presence, brazen and loud as it is, overconfident and unbearable before he sees it. 

Click.

Hades watches in his mind's eye as Prometheus, unsettlingly pitching to one side, hand pressed against his abdomen, heads towards the "common entry" for newly-minted dead people and beckons for Poseidon to follow.

Click.

Inside his body, mixed with the ichor that runs in his veins, Hades feels the enchanted star anise rush in his blood, making him want to seek out Poseidon. It's not like his bond with Persephone; instead, it is like a morbid desire to stand and watch a car crash which means Poseidon must feel the urge to come closer too, without recognising why. If their plan is working, it's making him far more impulsive than he'd normally be.

Click.

They reach the River Styx, where Prometheus weakly gestures for Poseidon to alight Charon's Ferry, before getting on himself, leaving behind a trail of ichor from his wound till the bank of the river like breadcrumbs from a twisted fairytale.

"What will you do if I take you across the Styx to Hades?" Prometheus asks him weakly, holding onto the oars before they set off. 

"I think I'll just try killing him," Poseidon says casually. He kneels to get closer to the water over the side of the boat, examining the jet black waters underneath. It's not the answer he had to give and the boat remains still.

"I can't start unless you provide me with a definite payment," Prometheus begins to explain. In the blink of an eye, his face is smacked at the temples with Poseidon's trident. "My payment will be Hades' death. Now move."

Click.

Through his bond with Persephone, weaker now that she is so far from him, but still present in his every cell, he can feel steadiness and a little bit of impertinence. He smiles to himself, clicks his lighter shut and slides his hands into the jacket he's wearing, looking around at the riot of pink, purple and green surrounding him. He picks at one of her half-gem creations with a wry smile, then turns around, gathering the vengeful spirits at his disposal behind him as he always does, ensuring they melt to look like shadows gathering around him and not echoes of the dead. Poseidon will, as usual, think it a parlour trick.

In fact, he's not sure anybody in the pantheon knows he cannot command shadows, that they are merely imitations of the deceased, but they tend to not pay close attention to his realm of death anyway. Persephone had figured it out eventually, while he tried to explain his new trick of calling dead plants to do his thorny bidding.

"And what brings you here?" Hades calls out cheerfully as Poseidon finally steps into view. His brother's eyes widen slightly in surprise, then he sighs and turns to look at Prometheus in mock disappointment. "Turns out you're predictable after all," he says, then moves to clutch Prometheus' neck and squeeze, pushing him against one of Persephone's trees.

"You've really become a one-trick wonder," Hades comments idly. "All this murder has become something of an addiction, I take it."

Poseidon rolls his eyes, not changing his stance but turning his head to give Hades a sardonic look. "It takes some getting used to, but I seem to be good at it," he confirms sarcastically. "Now if you'll excuse me."

"Ah, of course," Hades nods, gesturing for him to go ahead.

"Any last words, you spineless traitor?" 

Prometheus gestures at the hand at his throat and Poseidon exhales in frustration before stepping back and droppings his hand, swiftly bringing up his trident to hover at Prometheus' neck.

Hades' skin begins to itch at this posturing but is imperative to encourage, he knows, so he tries not to roll his eyes.

Prometheus says nothing for a moment, slowly unfurling a smile. "I hope you liked your journey to the Underworld, please enjoy your stay," he recites, voice suddenly sounding very different. The lines around his face begin to blur, as his height and weight tailor themselves, settling into the outline of a tall Caucasian man. "A fee unpaid for a ferry ride by the Ferryman of the Underworld cannot go unpaid," he intones. To Poseidon's credit, it clearly takes him only a few seconds to understand what's been done to him. Anybody who cannot pay the Ferryman his fee is doomed to roam the banks of the River Styx forever; Hades and Charon's carefully plotted back-up plan in case imprisoning Poseidon to Tartarus didn’t work. Effectively, they have trapped him with his own words.

He swings the trident forward at Charon, but Hades flicks his hands and his shadows rush forward to cocoon Charon, who takes advantage of the darkness and runs. At the same time, a smoky smell evades the air around them and the two brothers pause, sniffing. 

"Is that... something burning?" Poseidon asks, looking at Hades like it's personally his fault like he's a chef at a restaurant with a faulty oven. To be fair, it is his fault, but a deliberate one.

The smell gets stronger and Hades finally sees what he can smell, what he knows started the moment Poseidon had reached the vineyard. The only reason the Lord of the Sea hadn't noticed it was because of how dulled his senses were because of the absinthe in his system. 

There are large flames making their way steadily towards them, licking up the vineyards and trees in their way, heat from the fire already making itself known. Poseidon instinctively backs away, raising his hands and waves for water. It's a little too late, unfortunately, because they've basically lit something akin to a forest fire in a vineyard which, once spread unabated, can become exceedingly difficult to bring under control. Especially as a God not in his own realm, but a rival's. In the distance, Hades sees Prometheus's outline and he knows the boy's succeeded in his part of the plan. Charon, as the former doppelgänger, is missing, probably having hightailed it to nurse his wounds. Taking advantage of his distracted state, Hades lets loose on his shadows and the echoes rush forward, twining around Poseidon to wrap around his arms like bandages that begin to sink into his form. Seeking his body heat, the spirits begin to stick to his skin in search of the life they can feel shining through. Poseidon grunts in pain, sending Hades a look of hatred. At their feet, a storm begins to brew, quickly gaining momentum and turning into a hybrid of powers as seawater starts to rain down on them in thick sheets, wiping out the flames. The shadows stick on like leeches, adamant and determined, but it's enough for Poseidon to refocus his energies on Hades. Stepping forward, he takes aim and throws.

Hades sidesteps the trident smoothly, knocking it aside with a wave of more shadows, flicking his fingers for the skeleton warriors he's kept lying in wait to rise. They rise through the dirt and stand in front of him, letting Hades take more precious steps backwards as the trident flies back to Poseidon's hands. Impatient, he directs the storm against the skeletons, stepping forward to advance through the battalion.

"Coward, stop using other beings to face my attacks," Poseidon grunts, lunging forwards again as they reach the edge of the vineyard, entering Hades' private gardens. They're finally twenty steps short of the entrance of Tartarus - or rather, the door to what purportedly is his wine cellar.

He comes to a stop. If they get any closer, the sinister feeling that always surrounds the door will make itself known, and even in a frenzied, irritated, impatient state, Poseidon will feel it. He needs to follow the plan, pushing his brother to the edge both physically and mentally, until it’s too late to save himself.

"Okay," Hades finally says, shrugging, waving his hands. Poseidon pants, glaring at his brother, skin covered in red marks that look like he's been whipped with a poisoned switch.

"Do you think you're winning at whatever you're doing while we play cat and mouse like this?" He asks darkly.

Hades raises his eyebrows, reaching into his pocket to pull out his lighter and flick it open nonchalantly, noting Poseidon eye it with irritation. Good. Keep him irritated. That's when he's impulsive, which makes him stupid. "I'm not doing anything," he says innocently. "Just protecting myself. I don't know if you've noticed, I don't like being atta-"

"Do you think your precious Queen is safe, just because I’m here? Because I can guarantee that Hera will never let her live free.”

Hades snaps the lighter shut with a sharp click.

-

They know something is wrong the moment they step into the lobby of Mount Olympus, because it's devoid of the usual crowd of Gods and minor Gods. As they walk towards the Throne Room in abject silence, hearing their footsteps echo loudly, Demeter and Persephone exchange a look. "Shall we continue as planned?" he confirms, and she nods.

Once they reach the Throne Room, she closes her eyes and transforms, turning herself into a small bat again, nestling into her father's tweed jacket pocket. Throwing open the doors, he strides in and... stops. She peeks out of the pocket and has to stop herself from audibly groaning. The room is empty, hearth crackling merrily. She thinks she sees Hestia hovering silently in the smoke rising from the hearth, but she winks in her direction, which Persephone takes to mean 'I'm hiding'. The thing that makes her want to groan, however, is the sight of Zeus on his throne, with Hera kneeling at the floor, head on his knee, dramatic smudges of mascara running down her face.

Dramatic bitch, she thinks in distaste, invading her father's mind.

Indeed, Demeter agrees, tone mild like they’re discussing biscuits, as Zeus jumps up with surprise. "Demeter!"

"See, my lord? Demeter is alive like I said!" Hera cries, standing up and dramatically swooning into his arm. Zeus automatically supports her, making Persephone want to gag. Doesn't matter if they're human or Gods, she thinks. Males are so predictable.

"I'm not lying, my Lord. Poseidon had tricked me, and despite it all I tried to stop myself from hurting poor Demet-"

"I am alive, it's true," Demeter confirms calmly. "Because I escaped using my own wit, not because a very murderous Goddess was fighting a trick of some kind."

Hera sends him a dirty look. 

"Now, now, Demeter," Zeus starts to say placatingly. "We can all-"

"Zeus," Demeter says with a sigh. "Are you really falling for this? You're not this much of a fool, are you?"

Wow, Abeoji. 

Zeus' hackles rise and he frowns. "How dare you-"

"Oh, shut up," Demeter snaps irritably. "You're willingly overlooking-"

Persephone sees the panther form before anyone else does, creeping up from behind the thrones, aiming straight for Demeter. As quickly as she can, she flies out of Demeter's pocket, transforming back to herself. The panther is too close and too fast, though, and she knows it's going to reach its destination before she reaches hers. The hearth suddenly flares up, sending wild sparks into the air, forcing Zeus to step back. The movement puts him farther away from the thrones and at angle where he can suddenly see the panther. A lightning bolt forms in his hands as he raises it to attack, but Persephone gets there first, sending vines shooting across the room to cage around the panther.

There's a shocked pause as Zeus stares at her.

"Zeus," she says impertinently, curtseying at him.

He gapes at her, then turns on Demeter. "Have you both gone absolutely insane?" Behind him, Hera starts to inch her hands up again, and Persephone sends the panther careening into the Goddess, resulting in a sprawled heap on the floor. 

"And here I thought it would be difficult to prove you're a traitorous snake," she says archly, dropping her vines as the panther winks out of existence.

"That was a direct attack on my life, Zeus," Demeter says, crossing his arms and smiling, like a professor whose favourite student has just won a contest.

Zeus rounds on his wife, but before he can say anything, Hera snaps. 

"I've had enough of this," she mutters. She draws herself up to stand regally and with a wave of her hand, shining pigeon feathers appear and dart at the three Gods in front of her. Persephone throws up her hands to shield her face, but as they pierce skin, she feels them sting and burn.

Poison, she realises with horror, recognising the sting as one she's felt before. Only then, it had been diluted by water. Now, it is strong enough to feel like she's on fire. Behind her, she hears her father and Zeus curse, and at the same time, she feels a sudden spurt of fear emanate from her chest, which she knows she's feeling second-hand. Persephone reaches for the fear she's just felt from Hades and yanks at it, like a thread she needs to pull to unravel the fabric of a very, very shit sweater. This time, her creepers are adorned with thorns, almost shining at their tips. Hera's scream of pain as they make their way to twine around her echoes satisfyingly around the chamber.

-

At the mention of Persephone, Hades allows himself to be distracted for the briefest of seconds, panic shooting through him like a knee-jerk reaction. Before he can gain control of himself, Poseidon is throwing his trident once more and it meets its mark, piercing Hades' arm, delivering searing pain. He stumbles back, already pulling the ridiculous thing out of him, but Poseidon advances again. Hamming up the injury, even though the flow of ichor dimly informs Hades that it's likely a worse wound than he's realised, he leads the two of them closer to the cellar, coming to a stop at the entrance.

Evilly, Poseidon smiles. "You know, I don't know why I thought I'd settle for just Zeus' powers. I can clearly take yours too," he declares, swinging his trident back once more. Now would be a good time to follow the plan, Pan, Hades thinks irately. A minute too late, there's a wild rumble and the two Gods look up to see wraithlike horses rising out of the grounds and come racing towards them. Pan runs in the centre of the throng, having turned back into his half-satyr self, running at breakneck speed on his goat legs.

"Protect your Lord," he roars, the power of the Wild clear in his voice, egging on the dead horses to attack the Lord of the Horses by instinct alone.

"I'm their Lord," Poseidon hisses and Hades knocks the trident out of his hand, throwing a very human but satisfying punch on his brother's face. "When they're dead, I am," he corrects grimly. The horses reach them and Hades feels them bypass him smoothly, as he'd known they would. A shot rings out and Poseidon groans, grabbing his stomach as ichor begins to spill. Hades turns to see Charon reloading his gun to take aim at Poseidon again. He always was a good shot. 

Hades grabs him bodily, using his knowledge of combat to dance them towards the cellar. Poseidon's eyes suddenly widen and he knows the presence of Tartarus has finally made itself obvious.

"You think I'm falling for this?" he growls, even as Hades lands two more satisfying punches on his face, then grabs his arm and twists it till he hears a crunch of a bone breaking. Enraged, Poseidon throws his weight into the fight, but with a broken shoulder and gunshot wound in his stomach, he's finally battered. Next to them, Charon takes aim again.

"No, you don't, you unimportant nothing," Poseidon roars as the shot hits its mark on Poseidon's legs. He tackles Hades to the ground at the entrance to the cellar, then swipes his hand through the air as the trident, from where it had been in the dirt, lifts and hurtles into the air to sink into Charon's neck. A burning sensation spreads across Hades' skin, which tells him exactly what's happening to Persephone, but he tries to ignore the pain and focus on his struggle against his brother, resolutely not looking to his left to see what has happened to his loyal lieutenant. Before he can react, Poseidon summons a lethal-looking fish spear and plunges it into his chest.

-  

Persephone feels it, like a thorn, a forest fire burning down vegetation, an earthquake shattering integral beams inside of her. She gasps and comes to a halt, feeling pain irradiate through her body, though there is no ichor to be seen.

Hera smirks cruelly at her from behind the vines she’s caged in, judging from Persephone’s expression that tables have turned.

The pain builds, clawing its way out of her throat, trying to escape as Hera’s eyes mock her from the safety of her cage. Demeter and Zeus rush to her side, concerned, but she falls to her knees, seeing black at the edges of her vision.

-

This won't work, Hades realises dimly. Poseidon is, after all, too strong to be beaten down and thrown into Tartarus on his own. He'll need an anchor to weigh him down. 

-

A sob wrenches itself out of her and it’s followed by a short scream, visceral pain untamed once released, echoing around the chamber.

“Have you lost after all?” Hera taunts.

-

Summoning up the last of his strength, Hades mentally apologises to Persephone, then throws all his weight into twisting Poseidon off of him and holding him in a perverse hug. Tipping them over, he lets them fall.

-

The rage dances at her fingertips, no longer cold and in her control, but fiery and dark, surrounding her like the shadows of the ghosts he so loves to shroud himself in to avoid detection, attention, the eyes of a judgemental world that only sees his surface and not the world under it.

She points towards Hera making the shadows—his shadows—entwine her vines and rush towards the widening eyes of the Queen of Heaven, who finally, finally, seems to understand what it means to dread. 

With a sob, Persephone falls back to her knees, job done, unwilling to see the results. Shaking, she presses her hands into her chest, sure that she can hear an audible crack as her heart splits into two, bereft of a presence that has cocooned it for months now.

Unbidden, she imagines running downstairs and hugging him, kissing him among grapevines, sitting in his throne as he knelt at her feet and smiled. 

She feels nothing, which can only mean that there is nothing more to feel. The Lord of the Dead is no longer connected to her.

Chapter Text

Persephone sends Hegemone and Pan back to the world of the living. Turns out, there are no real rules against it, as long as they 'earn' their existence back. So, she sets arbitrary tests for them—things like managing to 'escape' without her knowing, or tricking Cerberus—and pretends to be mildly disconcerted at their ability to have bested her. 

Demeter wonders out loud if he'd planned it all along and she does not confirm or deny it, but she remembers seeing him looking up case precedence for heroes being excused before from the Underworld. It hadn't made sense to her at the time; she'd assumed he was just doing some light reading of his own work in this Cycle for fun. 

Demeter does not leave the Underworld, except for their meetings with Zeus and the rest of the pantheon. At first, she hadn't wanted to attend, reluctant to leave her home and her last tether to him, but Demeter hadn't taken no for an answer. "We need someone to represent the Underworld," he'd said sternly, before melting a little. "Who do you think he'd rather have in his stead? Nobody? Or the one he entrusted with his crown?" And so Persephone attended the meetings, stubbornly wearing all black, but for her pendant, crown and lipstick. If she must show herself outside, she will look as she feels, albeit with armour.

The meetings themselves are, for once, not a farce. They actually focus on fixing what has been turned so horribly wrong in the past few months. Hestia is brought to the pantheon and reinstated as a major God, given most of Hera's duties and responsibilities, though marriage and childbirth cannot be handed over to the maiden goddess. They attempt to give both to Persephone, except she glowers the moment the discussion heads in that direction until the idea is hurriedly tabled. Aphrodite is eventually given marriage—much to her distaste—followed by an ungainly snort from her husband, Hephaestus. Normally, Persephone would have been excited to snoop a little into their lives to find out how many of their cheating rumours were true but instead, she shifts away from them, fingers abstractly tracing the designs carved into the black throne she's been assigned. It's like the one at home, only more fearsome and cold to look at, without the cushy seat. In her mind, she imagines teasing him about it and him pretending to have never noticed. There are skulls at the base, she knows she would say bluntly and he'd probably look away and pretend to be interested in a file on his computer or some dumb flower she'd brought to their throne room.

She is asked to allow Triton a return to the world of the living as well, and she agrees to set him another 'impossible' test that he passes with flying colours. So, they hand him most of the watery responsibilities his traitorous father had left behind. Poseidon's other jobs, like Hera's, are distributed equally amongst the rest of the pantheon. Unlike Hestia and Persephone, however, they leave the Lord of the Sea's throne empty. "I do not want it," Triton tells them contemptuously. "I have no interest in joining the ranks here, I can rule comfortably from the seas." It's an insult, but the Gods have been shaken by the events of the last few days, so his behaviour is excused without a bat of an eyelid. 

Every time she leaves the Underworld with her father, she considers visiting Hera's prison but decides against it. It's a pattern in her head, but she always has the same conclusion; she does not want to offer her the importance of a visit. Viciously, she takes solace in the glimpse she'd seen of Hera after her attack, through her own tears and gasping pain. Her face had been marred with wicked cuts across her face and hands, but most importantly, the shadows—his spirits that she'd somehow channelled—had struck her legs, leaving the formerly graceful goddess on the ground without the power to stand. Even in her pain, Persephone had smiled. Her only regret was seeing Hera surrounded by ichor and not blood - that would have been a sight that would ease her raw soul. Debased and brought to the level of a human being.

Another new entrant to the Underworld who stubbornly refuses to leave is Prometheus. She'd allowed herself an hour after... everything, in their burned and ashy vineyards, intermittently weeping and slashing through plants in anger. But then she'd pulled herself together, returned to the mansion—resolutely ignoring the open cellar door—changed into a black suit and settled into their throne room. Her first step had been to set up Charon's farewell, attending as the guest of honour to watch her husband's loyal lieutenant burned in a pyre, wrapped in a silk black shroud that bore the drawing of a ferryman's pole. Unlike Triton or the others, Charon had not been killed in the world of the living, but that of the dead; by an object that bore unimaginable power stored after millennia of being used and featured in myths. There would be no second chances for him, not until their Cycles reset.

It had been after, when Prometheus visited her, that she'd realised she'd need to hire a new Ferryman. "I can do it," he'd claimed, eyes suspiciously red for someone who'd only just met Charon. She'd had no choice and let him, thinking she'd make it a temporary move until she figured out where she could find a new psychopomp. As it turned out, Charon had spent more time than she'd noticed—wrapped up as she'd been in her own little quest and selfish romance—with Prometheus, apparently showing him the ropes and the cheerful Titan had smoothly retained the knowledge. 

She tried to gingerly ask him if he wanted to return to the world of the living, but he'd speechlessly stared at her over the bowl of noodle soup he was sharing with her. They'd taken a brief sojourn to the human realm out of a mutual craving for spicy food, Persephone having discovered that only Prometheus shared her love for it. (He had hated it, though he'd indulged her time and again, bringing her food from the human realm that made him turn shades of red even her flowers couldn't rival.) "I want to stay in the Underworld," Prometheus had finally said simply. "It's the only place where I feel like I can be safe." 

And that was that. 

Within a few days, existence begins to move on, though the entirety of the Underworld carries a strange hush to it, as though every stick and stone in the realm is holding its breath in the hopes that its Lord will return.

"Hades," she whispers fervently at the cellar door every night when she's alone and nobody can hear how broken her voice sounds when she says his name. But there's never a response, no answering tug in her chest, not even the barest hint of a voice in her mind. She hates it, him, the irony of how, despite all his talk about being unbothered with principles of justice, he had very literally dived into Tartarus with Poseidon just to lead the wrongdoer to punishment. She does not whisper anything else at the door, choosing to sit in silence and wait for unconfirmed miracles.

Hope eventually comes like spring does not. After all, there is no Goddess of Spring to roam the world and tell nature to wake up again, though the God of Harvest has graciously allowed for agriculture to return to its previous state, assuring a bountiful harvest of winter crops for all those who'd suffered a bad season across the world.

Hope comes in the form of a post-it note, turning up illogically out of nowhere just like the harvests her father has bestowed upon the living world. She is idly reading a drab report about mortality rates from Thanatos and intermittently staring out the windows at what should be a spring morning when a little sliver of yellow catches her eye - it's a little paper corner visible under her squat pot of flowers in the centre of their table. She abandons Thanatos' report, sure the post-it will be more interesting than the paperwork and yanks at it. It's covered in his handwriting but strangely, in Hangul, the Korean alphabet. As far as she knows, when it's handwritten, he prefers writing in Italian. The post-it bears the address of some building in South Korea and a name.

She feels a bone-deep certainty that anything he'd go to such lengths to hide badly in a shared room would not be something he didn't want to be explored. Ignoring that this circuitous thinking makes her sound daft, like some dumb human in denial, she heads to the cars, settling into his favourite Range Rover. 

She doesn't know what she'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't a run-down old building that housed pawn shops and random snack bars. Ignoring the youth loitering near the entrance, she slips into the place to find the shop number that was mentioned in the note.

It's not a shop. She stares at the doors of a Buddhist temple for a second before snorting. The name on the post-it had merely been Jeokha. He must be a monk.

Walking into the sparsely decorated temple and hovering at the entrance, she patiently waits for the solitary figure sitting in the centre to look around. When he does, he smiles widely at her, then frowns and looks a little nonplussed for a split second before relaxing once more. "Please, come in," he says formally, bowing to her. Within moments, they're seated across each other, warm tea in her hands. He does not prompt for conversation, choosing instead to mutely drink his tea, looking for all the world as though he was used to random Gods popping in for tea.

Or maybe he actually was.

"You know who I am," she starts, trying not to sound accusatory. He nods, as though she'd merely pointed out that he is bald and he wished to confirm the fact. 

"I have heard much lately about your recent trials," he adds, meeting her eyes. She sees a flash of sympathy in them, which oddly does not make her want to scoff or scream. "I was sorry to hear about Lord Hades," he continues. "It must be difficult to be separated for even such a little bit of time." Something about hearing his name from Monk Jeokha's mouth soothes her, as though she'd wanted to touch Hades' name for all this time but it had been surrounded by thorns as prickly as her own, and the monk's voice had turned the thorns to rosebuds.

His few words make her want to ask a dozen questions: how does he know? Who is he really? And what does he mean for a 'little bit of time'? 

She asks him only the last, uncaring for the monk's origins and mysteries. Besides, whatever she's witnessed is incredibly likeable. She thinks she'd like to preserve the mysterious walls he's clearly built around himself.

To be known in this world, both living and dead, is to be endangered. 

"No room is ever truly locked," he says to her. They gaze at each other for a second until Persephone snaps. "It would be helpful if you didn't speak in riddles."

He smiles widely at this, eyes sparkling with some kind of mischief for a second, before settling back into his whole dignified-but-knowledgeable shtick. 

"I merely mean to say, Lady Persephone, that Tartarus, like every other part of this world, has an exit. It may be - oh, for the lack of a better example, a safe built to withstand most hackers and explosives, but it's got an exit nevertheless."

She stares at him uncomprehendingly for a second, but then the hope that had bloomed with the post-it expands until she's sure her heart is now a full-scale meadow. "What do I need to do?" she asks excitedly, shuffling forward. The lines of his mouth turn down a little at this.

"Unfortunately, the texts I have read do not have much of an explanation - they merely state that some have been set free before, but not how. However, I can tell you that it was always a God who did so. A powerful one."

Well. She's a powerful God now. Hades had said it himself. They talk lightly for a while longer, but she is eager to return to the Underworld and get to work, so she drains her tea and bids him goodbye, promising a favour in return for his knowledge. She's at the doorway to Nanyak Temple when he calls her name.

"There is a back entrance as well, I would suggest you take that," he says gravely. She cocks her head to the left. "And why should I sneak out?"

He looks meaningfully up at the ceiling and she understands that he's actually gesturing to the floors above. "There is someone you might be mistaken for."

It takes her a second, but she finally understands and gasps softly, turning her own face up to the ceiling, as though she'll be able to somehow see through layers of cement and brick to spy on her doppelgänger. 

Gods do not create their own appearances, but merely choose them from a pre-set available. Unlike human video games, however, this wasn't some closet of fashion wear to choose from. It just meant that, while they shaped their own faces, they were unconsciously using the forms of one of the 7.9 billion people in the world of the living. They usually do not try to find their lookalikes, though she knows minor Gods choose to do it in twisted attempts to indulge in sex acts or games. She'd never thought she'd even want to meet her own doppelgänger, but apparently, she'd walked right into the woman's place of work.

"Who is she?" Persephone asks, despite herself, imagining a humble shop owner of some kind.

"A lawyer," the monk replies, and she detects a hint of pride in his voice. Ah, so she—whoever she is—is his friend.

"What is she?" She asks, now interested.

"In many ways, Queen Persephone, she is a ruler as well."

She wants to ask a third question, if this human has her own Hades as well, but she cannot bear to hear the answer, sure she'll be jealous if the response is 'yes'. Turning to bow one last time at the helpful monk, Persephone leaves using the back entrance.

She throws herself into two things after that; the rebuilding of her precious burned vineyards and finding ways to yank her errant husband back from the clutches of Tartarus. Demeter seems doubtful about this but gamely helps her think of ways to free Hades, though he warns her that, should he see her place a foot into the door, he'd set Cerberus on her.

"He's my dog," she says indignantly.

"Technically, you're not. His owner is in the very pits of Hell," Demeter snaps, rooting through encyclopaedic tomes he's found from Hades' library.

"Maybe we should just send him to play fetch, then," Persephone responds sourly, going back to her list of possible exit options.

Ropes do not work. 

Letters are thrown in and never seen again. 

They even make many wraiths stand at the entrance for a whole hour, making either horrible noise or playing opera music to see if that would entice an irate Hades out.

Normal options like ghostly messengers are also a bust. 

She grows frustrated very quickly, feeling the days slip past. Knowing the Underworld, she has a suspicion the way to do this is going to be something painfully simple, but short of just standing and yelling at Hades to come home, they'd tried everything.

She even sinks to her knees and prays, but to no avail.

Her nightly vigil at the cellar door becomes an almost uninterrupted one, and she takes meetings in the throne room only for short hours before racing back to the doors to try something new. 

She tries dangling her pendant over the doors and chanting Hades' name, which predictably doesn't work. It's the last time she'll ever take Aphrodite's unsolicited advice. The Goddess of Love has decided her new responsibilities as Goddess of Marriage mean providing useless marriage counselling and Persephone has become the target.

Her last attempt is to burn some witch's brew upon the advice of Hecate, the Goddess of witchcraft, who assures her it's the most powerful summoning spell in the world. It doesn't work either. 

She waits for night to fall again, then crumples in front of the cellar, feeling tears prick at her eyes, tears she hasn't allowed to flow since that first, dreadful day. 

"Hades, can't you just come home?" she cries, smacking her hand against the doorway, then cradling it to avoid the shooting pain it leaves. She is so caught up in examining her hand that she almost doesn't notice the sudden warmth that flashes through her chest.

"No," she says, eyes widening, hands scrambling to push aside the collar of her shirt and press against skin. The pendant is shining a lustre it's not held for nearly two weeks, and she can feel an answering tug in her chest. She stands, as though in a daze, heaving the doors open and squinting into the darkness.

There is no way that all she had to do was ask. 

But there are footsteps, then sounds of coughing and muttering, the dim smell of a cologne she recognises. A head of tousled hair emerges from the darkness, followed by shoulders covered in rumpled clothes and dried ichor. 

"Fuck off," she says automatically. 

Hades frowns at her, one hand rubbing at the palm of the other, in the exact spot she'd hit hers. "Nice to see you too, sweetie."

-

Persephone follows him around quietly as he cleans himself up, though she waits in his bedroom as he takes a shower, giving him privacy to wash dried ichor and dirt off him. With a pang, Hades notices that she looks pinched and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes.

As hot water beats down on his head, he tries not to think about his time in Tartarus, which was akin to spending time in a large and crowded government building of people who constantly took lunch and tea breaks, then passed his case file on to other offices so he could stand in line again. And that had been as someone without punishment. He shudders to imagine what would happen to those who were sentenced to the worst penalties. But for him, what had made every moment much, much worse was the emptiness in his chest, the lack of buzz under his skin which usually told him how Persephone was doing. It had hurt viscerally even as he'd fallen, as though the fall was ripping his heart out. 

If she'd felt even half of this while capably trying to fulfil her duties as Queen of the Underworld, he knows she's probably feeling as raw as he is. Or rather, as though someone has been rubbing sandpaper on his healing wounds. 

He checks on them now. They'd been improving in Tartarus, but slowly, too slowly for a God. Now, however, as rivulets of water run past his chest, he can see that the mark of where Poseidon's spear had sliced into him has already become a dark red scar.

By the time he's walking outside the bathroom, rubbing a towel on his hair, wearing a pair of silk pyjamas, she's still sitting at the same spot in his bed, looking off into the distance. 

"Persephone," he says gently, coming to a stop in front of her. She stands up and pulls the towel out of his hands and puts it aside before shuffling forwards and nestling into him, hands tightly clasped around his back. He melts into her, breathing slowly. His lungs feel like they're working for the first time in days, as though they don't recognise oxygen when it's not laced with pomegranates. "You're really here," she breathes out softly, hands beginning to loosen from around him, coming to a rest at his front as she steps away. Distractedly, she runs them across his chest, as though she's an art collector checking a painting for wear and tear. He waits patiently until she's done, unwilling to push her out of this contemplative silence. When she lifts her face to gently kiss the corner of his mouth, he feels an almost childish flutter in his stomach, as though days apart have reduced him to being nervous around her, like they've never kissed, let alone been together in a far more intimate way. 

"I missed you," she says. The thrum of warmth in his chest flares a little at this, as though she's charged at just being able to say the words. "I thought about you every day," he says, leaning forward to kiss her.

She pulls her face away and smacks his bare shoulder.

"What was that for?" he cries, rubbing the area. It's stinging and she's already raising her hand once more. Quickly, he grabs her wrists and yanks her to him, gathering her hands in between them. 

"If you were going to miss me so much, why would you throw yourself into Tartarus, you fool?" Her eyes are blazing with a cocktail of anger and worry. "What would you have done if I'd never managed to get you out of there? Are you insane?"

He laughs, which only serves to incense her more. But he cannot help but laugh, letting go of her hands to cradle her face. Maybe he is insane.

"I trusted you," he says simply, dropping a kiss on her lips.

She narrows her eyes.

"And the monk's address?"

"Just in case you ever needed someone who reads scriptures and mythology," he says nonchalantly, leaving another kiss on her lips, then a bonus one on her cheek. 

"Because you knew I wouldn't be able to read anything pre-dating this Cycle," she continues, as though she's a lawyer questioning her witness in court. 

"Yes," he confirms, placing more light kisses on her jaw, heading to the lobe of her ear. He softly tugs at it with his teeth, then sinks into her neck to bite the spot that he knows will make her gasp.

"Hades, stop it, I'm irritated with you," she says breathily, though her hands slide up around his neck. Still, he stops and draws back to meet her eyes. "Should I stop?" he asks courteously, though he knows if he teases her too much she'll probably throw him down Tartarus herself. 

"If you stop, I'll give you a real scar," she mutters, yanking him down to her for a searing kiss. They kiss languidly, one of her hands roaming up to sink into his hair while he grabs her waist tightly. He kisses her like he's starved, as though he's a soldier going to war and not a man just returned home, like it's his only chance to show her just how sorry he is for abandoning her and leaving her half of their soul feeling as empty as his. She sinks down to the bed, looking up at him through her big eyes, fingers deftly unbuttoning and sliding off her shirt. 

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, just as she's hoisting herself to scoot back on the large mattress. She opens her mouth uncertainly and he kneels down in front of her, grabbing her hand and turning it over so he can place a gentle kiss on her ring. "We're partners," he says. "And I'd made a promise to you. You trusted me. I should not have just made a decision-"

"You don't need to be sorry," she cuts him off. "Well, you don't need to be sorry about having to break a promise," she amends. "Sometimes, circumstances demand it."

"I'm sorry I hurt your part of our soul," he insists, cradling her hand in his like she is his tether. Maybe she is. 

She scoots backwards in bed, settling into the pillows and sliding her hands torturously slowly down her torso, before unbuttoning the black jeans at her waist. One hand disappears underneath the fabric and she closes her eyes. 

"Make it up to me, Hades," she says, her other hand outstretched towards him. 

He takes it.

They have done this before, but acting under the giddy passion of an old romance discovered anew, feeling the constant zing of their bond between them. Now, as he worships at the altar of her hips, he recognises that it is different. Somehow, his trip to the depths of Hell and back has changed the burning fire of their connection to a warm hum in their veins, as though time apart has made it more mature. They don't rush, enjoying the feeling of each other's skin on skin, savouring the reaction as the other gasps when fingers press just so, or teeth nip at the right spot. When she comes, he waits, holding her to him as she gasps for breath, admiring how she relaxes back into the pillows for a short while before blindly grabbing him to initiate another kiss. 

When he's sliding into her, she laces one hand through his tightly, as though no amount of contact is enough, as though the loss of him was just as painful for her as it had been for him to roam, discontent and lonely, in Tartarus. 

She looks beautiful, hair spread out on the bed, head tilted back to expose the column of her delicate neck, sweat gathering at her temples. He is muttering nonsense into her ears as he begins to lose rhythm, a mixture of language and sound, trying to convey his apologies and his love and his promises to do better in one confused speech. 

Later, as they watch the sun rise and begin to send rays of bright, happy light into the room, she tells him she loves him too. 

-

When Demeter sees him, he drops a fatherly sort of hand on Hades' shoulder proudly, like he's just returned from some kind of business trip and not (self-inflicted) eternal punishment. 

"Glad you're back," he says, beaming. Stepping closer, he lowers his voice. "Now I can actually leave without worrying about her."

Persephone's indignant Abeoji! is loud enough to startle some wraiths sweeping the pathways outside of Elysium.

When Demeter eventually leaves, he thanks Hades, then pats Persephone gently on her cheek. "You must make a decision," he says softly, and she feels her stomach plummet. She'd only just been reunited with Hades, did she have to think about leaving him? But as her father trudges away across the back gates, towards a waiting Triptolemus' car, she has to admit that the idea of returning to wake up the plants is not altogether distasteful. She just wishes there was a way to do it without leaving Hades behind. 

-

While Prometheus is (ably) manning the Ferry, Hades drops by the empty docks to stare at the rushing waters of the Styx. He thinks about Charon's relentless determination to help him, even at times of complete peril. He'd been an expert spy and confidant and the fact that Hades had not even seen his shroud burning hurt more than he'd expected. Sighing, he leans down to water a small sapling near the dock. Persephone had told him she'd planted a singular white poppy plant there in honour of Charon and with her blessing, it was already growing healthy and green. 

As he sees the Ferry approach in the distance, hearing Prometheus' happy chatter echo across the waters, in direct opposition to what had been Charon's typical stoicism, he smiles. 

-

Zeus, ironically enough, is the most satisfied to see Hades return. He sighs and sinks into his throne with palpable relief when he sets his eyes on his brother. "Oh, good," he mutters, then sends Persephone an apologetic look. "Not that I minded you being on the throne-" he begins to say, but she waves him away. It is much easier to like Zeus when he's being humble.

This should last for another, oh, three months, Hades says snidely in her mind,

"I didn't enjoy it anyway," she tells Zeus, ignoring Hades' mental commentary. "I'm more suited to being the Queen and Goddess of Spring. Lord of the Dead requires a little too much paperwork," she says flippantly. Zeus rolls his eyes.

"Does this mean you shall return to your post? It's now February, and the human news is littered with news about global warming and dismal things about spring never coming. It's frankly a little too much to deal with on top of the consequences of all the mayhem of the winter." 

Hades and Persephone exchange looks, though they know she can only have one answer.

-

"I promise I will return," she whispers, as they hold hands and walk down the new pathways in their re-grown vineyards. It's not even strictly a vineyard anymore, because she's changed the very biology of the trees to be hybrid things that sprout pomegranates and grapes all at once. There's an added charm of black thorny vines interspersed everywhere, which she assures him is a protective measure for them as much as an aesthetic one. 

He grips her hand a little tightly at her words, though he tries to keep his tone light. "You can come back whenever you like," he tries to say cheerfully. They come to a stop and he leans down to press his lips against hers, trying to memorise the feeling. She leaves him at sunrise to set the world's seasonal cycle right again and he knows it'll be months before she can return to him. Logically, they know nothing is stopping each other from visiting, but the nature of their jobs means neither can stay away from their realms for too long. "I'm telling you I'll come back," she tries to say but trails off at the expression on his face. He knows he's having a hard time hiding his regret at this impending departure, can see it reflected in her own face. He wants to so badly ask her to damn the world and stay with him, wants to shower her with luxury and power to entice her, wants to trap her with -

He puts the thought resolutely out of his mind. He will not resort to the one option he has left, because it is better she willingly leave him for months than stay forever a prisoner. Suddenly, she is wrenching herself out of his arms and stalking towards the trees. 

"What are you doing?" he asks, baffled, as she reaches up and plucks a pomegranate. The fruits are no longer gems or half-gems because her new hybrid trees are all real. Knocking the red skin sharply, she runs a fingernail down the side of the fruit as it cracks open. Inside, he sees ruby-red clusters of the seeds. "Persephone," he starts, moving towards her, his body understanding what she's going to do before his brain can. 

"No, Persephone, don't b-"

Even as reaches her and knocks the fruit out of her hands, he can see it is too late - she already has a handful in her hands and she's dropping six into her mouth.

"Why would you do that?" he asks her fiercely, eyes on her lips, now slightly stained with the juice of what she's eaten. She kisses him, tasting of moonlight and pomegranate and recklessness.

"I will return, Hades," she says, equally fiercely. "As the seasons turn to autumn, I will return to you, and take my place at your side." 

He sighs, letting his forehead rest against hers. Of course she found out that eating food in the Underworld would doom any being to staying. In hindsight, he doesn't know why he thought keeping it from her would work. "I didn't need you to do that," he says.

"Fool," she says affectionately. "I bit into temptation a long time ago. What's some fruit in the grand scheme of things?"