Page 91 of Where Darkness Bloomed
He stopped at her side, glancing down at the helm in her hands. “They did,” he replied. “A powerful gift.”
Her fingers skimmed the dark-gold surface. “Why was it given to you?”
Again, she surprised him.
The war between gods and Titans was etched into the bones of Olympus, known to gods and mortals alike. Nevertheless, curiosity was an invitation. A door that opened not just to his history, but hers as well.
“We were young gods then,” Hades explained. “The Titans were old powers, vast and mighty beings. Our first victory came when my brothers and I freed the cyclopes from Tartarus. Grateful, they reclaimed their forges beneath the sea and crafted three weapons. Zeus’s lightning, Poseidon’s trident”—he nodded down to her hands—“and my helm.”
Persephone listened in silence, gently placing the helmet back on its pedestal.
“It was my first descent into the Underworld,” Hades added wryly, his hand gliding over the short bristle of his jaw.
The memory surfaced mightily—that first descent into an endless abyss, souls churning like a maelstrom. The unjudged and lost, all anguishing for the world above. Alongside his brothers, he’d carved a path through darkness to reach Tartarus where the cyclopes waited, bound in chains of black iron. And there, the chains had been shattered, the giants freed from their chthonic prison.
Persephone started to speak, but hesitated. Then she said quietly, “I did not know the Underworld existed before you.”
A chuckle rumbled low in his chest. “Long before. But it was different then, nothing more than a void of chaos. A place where all souls drifted, righteous and wicked alike. Only Tartarus was set apart, holding those who defied Kronos. Unchallenged, he ruled for millennia.” He paused, his expression darkening. “Until your father freed me.”
Another memory rose—the heaving darkness, a sickening lurch. The foul experience of being expelled from Kronos’s gut.
Persephone’s voice was hushed. “What happened?”
“I was the eldest,” he said. “When Zeus tricked Kronos into drinking the wine and mustard, I was the first to be freed. Together, we dragged our siblings from our father’s stomach.”
Blunt, yet accurate.
Persephone studied him still. “And then?”
Doubt flickered through him. He looked down at her. “Surely your mother has told you these stories.”
She shook her head, her hand shifting where it clutched the blanket to her chest. A small movement, but his gaze dropped anyway to the curve of her collarbone, the bare slope of her shoulder.
“She rarely spoke of it,” she admitted. There was a note of embarrassment there, as if ashamed of what she did not know.
He dragged his eyes back to hers, exhaling through his nose. Understanding dawned, quiet and bitter.
“Demeter was... reluctant in her role after the war,” he said, unable to suppress the grimace that tightened his mouth. “Though she eventually accepted her dominion over earth and harvest, it did not satisfy her for many ages.”
“She wished for a different role?” Persephone asked. The question came soft, but something startled lived beneath it.
Guilt stirred in Hades’s gut, low and sharp.
The truth was thorny, a tangled, sharp-edged thing. But it was hers to know—her beginning. And his too. The Fates had wound their threads together from the moment she opened her eyes.
“Zeus chose your mother the moment she emerged from Kronos,” Hades said slowly. “Their union created you. But it also awoke in Demeter a desire to rule, as Zeus came to.” He paused. “When Zeus chose Hera for the crown, your mother never forgave him.”
He looked away, jaw tight. “Though she wasn’t the only one left dissatisfied after the war.”
“You were too,” Persephone said quietly.
“I was.”
He raked a hand through his hair, recalling the moment that had shaped his eternity.
“After we imprisoned the Titans, my brothers and I cast lots. It was the only fair way to divide governance. Zeus received the heavens. Poseidon, the sea. The Underworld fell to me.”
A dry smile touched his lips. “But I was a warrior then, with no desire to be a jailer. I resented it.”
