Page 136 of Aïdes the Unseen
Others came.
Artemis, silent and fierce, pressed a crescent-bladed knife into my palm.
Athena, who lingered longest, said only, “I see now. We were wrong.”
Dionysus, chaotic and bright-eyed, brought wine older than even this realm. “To freedom,” he said, “and to the queen who earned it.”
Even Poseidon arrived. He did not bow. But he didkneel.His trident laid at my feet, his head dipped low. “I was cruel,” he said. “And you did not deserve it.”
“I know,” I replied. “But now—do better.”
It wasn’t forgiveness, only acceptance. He rose and vanished without fanfare.
Even Apollo and Ares made their own overtures, their gifts to curry favor, and the offering of an olive branch that I neither needed nor wanted. Still, I accepted, because I would have this time for us.
And yet—two did not come.
Not Demeter.
Not Zeus.
Their absence echoed louder than all the others’ who came, but the Underworld did not mourn their lack. BecauseIdid not mourn them.
Aïdes stood at my side, his gaze never wavering, his presence the anchor I had long forgotten I needed. I could feel the rage still simmering in him, what it cost him to let the others speak without striking, but he did it. For me.
Kerberos laid his body across the steps of the throne dais. Watchful. Loyal.
I looked at them both, and for the first time in all my lives, I did not feel torn.
I was whole. This was not a war. This was areclamation.The gods had seen it. They had come to honor it. Not with chains. But withrespect.
She came at the last, but I should have expected as much. Hecate was not known for needing the show any more than I was. We just wanted to exist. In her eyes were a myriad of mysteries and her smile held fast to her secrets. When I hugged her silently, she returned the embrace and held me tight.
“Good,” she whispered finally as she drew back. “Now…live.” Then she too was gone.
We’d never needed words.
The airin the Underworld garden was thick with jasmine. Petals drifted on unseen currents, weightless as breath. Somewhere nearby, a spring bubbled up through ancient stone, feeding the roots of trees that should not have grown in this place. Olive. Pomegranate. Cypress. Laurel. All living together in quiet contradiction.
We walked side by side, barefoot. He had slipped off his armor, though I knew he would don it again if I so much as faltered.
Aïdes. Graven. My shadow-twin. My keeper and beloved. My mirror. “You’ve made it beautiful again,” I murmured, brushing my fingers along a low-hanging bough.
He gave a half-smile. “It was always yours to shape. I just kept the path clear.”
A gentle breeze stirred the hem of my robe. Kerberos followed behind us, quieter now, just one head visible, panting contentedly like any oversized mutt, though his eyes tracked the far edges of the grove. Still guarding. Still vigilant.
“You said earlier,” he murmured after a time, “that you had a gift.”
Had I? Oh yes, the words had come to me before the others arrived. I stopped beside the olive tree. The one that always found me, even when I had forgotten how to find myself.
“I do.”
He looked down at me, eyes darker than shadow and deeper than time. “You don’t have to give me anything,” he said softly. “I haveallI need.”
I reached up and brushed a curl away from his brow. My fingers lingered on his skin—warm now, alive with divine pulse. “This isn’t something new,” I said. “It’s something old. Something that wasstolenbefore it could be spoken.”
He frowned, uncertain—but not afraid. Never afraid of me.
