Page 10 of Where Darkness Bloomed
His fist closed around the bident.
The air shuddered.
Then itthrobbed.
A pulse of power radiated from the dais, deep and primal, older than sky or sea. The earth itself, silent and vast beneath the chamber, seemed to lean toward him, await his command.
Kore’s pulse hammered as the two gods stood, opposed. Apollo blazed like the sun incarnate, brilliance made flesh. But Hades—he stood like night itself: silent, still, and watching.
For an instant, she saw it. A flicker of hesitation in Apollo’s eyes. A brief but unmistakable fissure in his gilded confidence.
But the moment buckled under a crash of thunder.
“Enough.”
Zeus’s voice boomed through the hall, cutting through the tension like a blade. Lightning cracked against the dark sky above, splitting the night with veins of white light.
“Sit, Apollo,” Zeus commanded, his tone heavy with warning. “Hold your tongue before it invites greater insult. You were not there during the war with the Titans. You did not bear its weight and you would do well to respect those who did.”
Thunder rumbled again, deeper this time. Another warning.
“Even now, it is Hades who bears that burden,” he continued, eyes hard. “It is his power that binds the Titans in Tartarus. His kingdom that jails the force that once threatened our very existence.”
Apollo hesitated, jaw clenched, golden fire still simmering in his eyes. Then, slowly, he obeyed, returning to his throne. The bow rested at his side, untouched but not forgotten.
Across the dais, Hades lingered a moment longer, eyes still fixed on Apollo. Then, without a word, he reclaimed the obsidian seat.
As the tension bled from the hall, Poseidon’s trident struck the floor with a sharp clang. “I agree with Hades,” the sea god rumbled. “The mortals have always made war. This is no different.”
“But it is,” Hera interjected. “They’ve never endured war of this scale, and it canstillbe prevented.” Her disdainful gaze returned to Aphrodite. “Paris must return Helen.”
Aphrodite’s eyes burned as she rose, her full lips curling with scorn. “Menelaus will kill her if she returns to Sparta. You know this.”
“She’ll die in the war anyway.” Hera’s tone was cold as glittering ice. “And whose fault will that be? Paris possessed no courage of his own.Youemboldened him.”
Aphrodite stepped forward, her voice a low hiss. “Try taking her.”
A dagger flung between them.
From where he stood, Ares’s gaze shifted between the goddesses. His fingers twitched at his side, restless.
But Hera didn’t flinch. She sat back with a cold, triumphant smile. “I need do nothing,” she replied. “The Greeks will raze Troy to dust. And Paris, the dear boy, will not last five sword strokes against Achilles.”
Worry flickered across Aphrodite’s flawless face.
“Oh, yes,” Hera purred. “All men fear Achilles. So great is his prowess in battle, they even say he’s immortal.”
Ares snorted, a sound of dark amusement. “I will gladly prove otherwise.”
But Apollo’s expression hardened as he shook his head. “You’ve not seen him swing a sword,” he said tersely. “He is unmatched among the mortals. His gift for killing is the only reason Agamemnon tolerates his insolence.”
Ares’s grin faded into a scowl, his grip tightening on the spear.
Zeus rose, and once more silence claimed the hall.
“Hades is right—this is a quarrel between men,” the lord of the skiesdeclared, his voice echoing through the hall. “Our influence will only feed the flames of their war.”
His storm-filled eyes moved to Aphrodite, who still stood trembling, her beauty sharpened to a dangerous edge by rage. “Paris should have won her with valor,” Zeus said coldly. “With strength and honor, not stolen her like a common thief. His insult will not be forgotten.”
