Page 27 of Aïdes the Unseen
As we slipped from the edge of the circle, between bonfires and thickets and drunk, gleaming mortals, I felt the turn in the world.
Harvest always ends. The grain is cut. The bounty taken. The field emptied. For the first time, however, something wasbeing taken with me.
Not by force. Not by fate. By choice. Byher.
Kore.
No longer only spring. No longer only seed.
She was the girl who danced in firelight then found me in shadow, and asked to go where no living thing goes willingly.
And I—I was no longer the god who waited. I was the god whotook. Becauseshe asked me to.And by Gaia’s sacred breasts, I could not refuse.
The fires faded behind us. Laughter dimmed to echoes. The songs bled into the dark. Even the wine-heavy wind seemed unwilling to follow, trailing off like a dream that knew it was ending.
We walked in silence through the olive groves, past the stones the gods no longer named. Her hand in mine was warm. Sure. She did not stumble.
I knew where I was going. She did not ask. She just came.
Not with haste. Not with fear. Just the steady rhythm of her breath beside me. Her hair caught moonlight. Her footsteps did not pause. Not once.
We reached the cave just before dawn. The light behind us had lightened the sky to gray. Ahead, the mouth of the earth yawned open revealing a doorway. Old as bone. Older than gods.
It knew me. It bowed.
The stone shifted subtly, breathless, like a creature waking from a long slumber. The arch deepened. Shadows widened. The air turned still.
Welcoming. Not to her. Tome. Yet, I stepped forward alone and released her hand. The moment I did, the chill returned. It slid up my spine and across my shoulders. I stood just past the threshold, wrapped again in the weight of where I belonged.
The underworld knew me.
But it did not yet knowher.
I turned.
She stood a few paces away, watching me, haloed by fading starlight. Behind her, the last breath of night curved around her like a veil. Her ribbon had come loose. One tendril of hair curled against her cheek.
She didn’t speak at first, just looked at the threshold, at me, and at the choice before her.
Then—softly, lightly—teasingly. “Well. This isn’t exactly the triumphal arch of Olympus.”
I blinked.
She smiled. “Bit of moss. Some fog. Very dramatic, though. A shadowed welcome worthy of legend.”
A laugh caught in my throat. A real one.
She stepped closer. “Do you bringeveryonethrough here?” she asked. “Or am I getting a special tour?”
I didn’t speak. I only lifted my hand. Not reaching for her. Just offering. Open. Waiting.
Her smile softened. The mischief in her eyes didn’t fade, but something else joined it now—something quieter. Deeper. Determination. Without looking back, she crossed the threshold.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate.
The earth shifted beneath her, not rejecting, not resisting—just adjusting. Accepting.
Welcoming.
