Page 159 of Where Darkness Bloomed
The stars above burned brighter, as if recognizing one of their own.
***
They touched down on the Epirus shoreline beneath the moon’s watchfuleye. Persephone staggered as her feet touched earth, the world swaying beneath her.
She braced herself against Pegasus’s broad side, palms pressed against his warm flank. He nudged her shoulder, the shake of his head a soft farewell.
Gently, she touched her brow to his soft muzzle. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice frayed with wind and weariness.
Pegasus’s wings unfurled behind him, catching the moonlight like a veil of stars. Then he was in the night sky, a streak of silver against black. A constellation reborn.
She was alone. The sea whispered behind her, and the wind breathed. Ahead, the jagged cliffs loomed darkly—ancient, but now familiar.
Nestled in the shadowed crags, the hidden cave glinted faintly in the dark. A gentle beacon, waiting for her. No longer a threshold of fear, but of welcome.
The path she’d once dreaded now rose to meet her. Her feet remembered its curves, its warm soil underfoot. The mortal world fell away behind her. Sea and brine slipped from the air, replaced by something deeper. Moss, mineral, riverstone, and ash.
It was not a descent, but a return. The darkness that gathered around her wasn’t an empty void. It wrapped around her like velvet, a soft mantle of shadow that whispered welcome.
To her. Its queen.
And ahead, in the dark—a presence. One she knew well. A quiet pull beneath her ribs. Calm and steady, like the first moment of stillness after a storm.
A low huff echoed in the dark.
This time, her heart lifted.
Cerberus lay ahead, his massive form sprawled across the passage’s mouth. All three heads were raised, watching her come. At his side, a familiar figure stood, waiting.
Her heart stuttered.
He moved before she could take another step. She didn’t try to meet him—couldn’t. Her body was worn with distance, limbs heavy with the long journey. But it scarcely mattered.
In a breath, Hades was there, reaching for her with hands that knew her shape. His arms closed around her, drawing her into him. He murmured her name low, rough with waiting, edged with relief.
The ache in her feet was forgotten, the weariness unravelling againsthim. She pressed her face into his chest, and the world tilted gently back into place.
He was cedar and shadow, the silent anchor deep beneath the shifting world. She breathed him in, and the steady thrum of his heart met hers, quieting it.
His lips touched her temple, lingering there. “You are home,” he said softly.
In that sanctuary—held by the one who had always waited—she knew: she had not returned only to him, but to herself.
Chapter 59
“We must burn it.”
Laocoön’s voice boomed through the hall.
The words fell heavily into silence.
The stillness was broken by Paris’s scornful hiss as he rose from his throne beside Priam’s. “Have you lost your wits?”
He threw a hand toward the window. Outside, the great horse towered just beyond the city walls.
“A symbol of Poseidon’s favor, and you would have us spit in his face?” he demanded.
Laocoön sat stiffly between his sons, jaw clenched. “The sea god fights for the Greeks,” he replied tersely. “He guided their ships to our shores. Poseidon hasn’t favored Troy since the days of King Laomedon.”
