Page 8 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Her gaze drifted over the crowd toward the hall’s center. There, twelve thrones commanded attention, arranged in a sweeping half-circle atop a dais. The thrones of the Olympians—gods and goddesses who ruled all, their power shaping the world, woven into the very fabric of existence.
Each seat was unique, a reflection of its powerful occupant. At the center, Zeus’s throne gleamed like captured lightning, a gold beacon of authority blazing in the torchlight.
Further along the line stood her mother’s throne, a seat carved from polished oak and adorned with twining vines of silver and gold. A quiet echo of Demeter’s dominion over life and harvest, rooted within the earth.
Kore had not seen it often. She and her mother seldom visited Olympus, Demeter preferring the open fields and sun-warmed groves far below. Only during the solstice did they make the ascent to gather with the rest of the pantheon. Yet each time, Kore thought the throne beautiful, a still, enduring display of strength and grace.
Thunder rumbled low, silencing the lull of conversation.
Zeus entered the hall like a storm given form, vast and commanding. His deep navy himation swept behind him, fastened at the shoulder with a heavy golden brooch. Storm-blue eyes crackled with power, and silver threaded the dark hair curling just beneath the burnished crown on his brow.
He ascended the dais without pause. As he reached his throne, his stern gaze swept the assembly. Then he claimed the seat, and the air shifted at once. It grew taut, humming with tension—a subtle warning, like the first sign of a storm gathering.
One by one, the Olympians followed, ascending the dais to claim their thrones. Hera. Apollo. Aphrodite. Hephaestus. Artemis. Dionysus. Ares. Hermes. Athena.
Finally, Demeter entered, her chin lifted in serene poise. As she ascended the dais, her gaze flicked briefly to Kore, softening momentarily before she settled into her throne.
But Kore’s attention drifted to the throne beside Zeus’s.
It stood empty. Carved from obsidian, the throne seemed to swallow the firelight. The seat was dark and bright as night, striking in its stillness, beautiful in its severity.
The sound of measured footsteps drew her gaze back to the arched entrance.
Kore watched as the last god entered.
He was tall, broad through the shoulders, his presence quiet but unmistakably formidable. A dark himation draped his frame, fastened at the shoulder with a simple golden pin. At his waist, a wide belt gleamed, its intricate gold relief catching the torchlight in fleeting flashes as he passed. Dark hair, loose to the shoulders, framed a sharply carved face. A close-cut beard traced the edge of a hard jawline, drawing focus to his smooth, unsmiling lips.
But his eyes—
They were russet, deep as tilled earth, flecked with shadow. There was gravity in them, an intensity that pierced to the marrow. Not cruel, but absolute. A gaze weighted with solemn authority few could withstand.
Hades.
He crossed the hall in silence and ascended the dais without ceremony. The obsidian throne awaited him, its surface swallowing the firelight, as if shaped from the void itself. The base of his bident touched the marble with a quiet clang as he sat. Then he leaned back, and the stillness that settled around him was more fearsome than any display of force.
Pray Lord Hades does not cast you there himself for your intrusion.
Erato’s warning echoed through her, unease tangling with awe.
Though his throne stood with the others, none would have ever mistaken him for a true Olympian. He was a deep shadow among theirradiance, his presence a silent reminder of what lay beneath Olympus. His domain, the Underworld.
But none would have dared deny his right to be there.
The eldest son of Kronos, Hades was an equal to Zeus and Poseidon—one of the three powerful rulers of the cosmos. So his throne stood, Olympus bowing in acknowledgment to the dark, eternal Underworld and its ruler.
A low growl of thunder shook the hall.
“This council begins,” Zeus intoned, his voice booming across the silent hall. “Ares, give an account of the mortals.”
The god of war rose, his towering form sheathed in thick, battle-worn armor. A wickedly sharp spear was gripped in his fist, its tip glinting brightly. Behind him, his throne was a menacing mass of twisted blades and shattered shields, forged from fallen foes. A stark reminder that Ares thrived where others faltered, in chaos and bloodshed.
“War stirs among the mortals,” Ares began, leaning against his spear. “Agamemnon’s armies gather to march on Troy.”
He paused. Silence swelled awkwardly as his gaze flicked up.
Kore followed his line of sight across the dais. There, Aphrodite reclined languidly in her crystalline throne, honey-gold hair cascading over one bare shoulder. Her eyes, the color of opalescent ocean, were fixed on Ares in a lover’s gaze, warm and inviting.
For the barest moment, something passed between them, unspoken.
