Page 43 of Aïdes the Unseen
And no god, nor mother, nor king of the Underworld could call her forth.
For Kore did not rise, and Persephone did not descend.
And the world held its breath in mourning for the goddess who had chosen both—and vanished into neither.
And I—I have searched every shadow. Every silence, and I will never stop.
For even should the sun burn black and time unravel, I remain?—
Aïdes, the unseen. The god who waits.
Part Two
THE PRESENT
Chapter
Seven
IRINA
I’d always had a thing for beginnings.
First days. First blooms. First cups of coffee in a new neighborhood where the pigeons don’t recognize you yet. There's a kind of hum in those moments, low and soft. It reminded me of a violin tuning under your skin.
I chased that feeling. Maybe too often according to some people.
I’d moved cities three times in the last four years. Changed my name once—not legally, just enough to feel different. I told my friends it was a branding decision. Artists can get away with things like that.
So now I was Irina Bloom.
Itfit.
I worked at the Greenhouse Annex in Lower Manhattan, a museum–laboratory hybrid that smelled like soil and ozone. I curated interactive botanical art. Living installations that reacted to movement, breath, skin temperature. Nature met tech in a gentle combination. The kind of work that made people slow down.
Today, a new exhibit opened:Future Flora. Ourfirstday… My latest piece,Regrowth, was a half-sculpture, half-plant that responded to a person’s presence. If it liked you, the flowers bloomed. If it didn’t… they stayed shut like secrets. It was the product of so many hours of research and work. I couldn’t wait to seeRegrowth’sreactions. It was all I could think about.
I wasn’t expectinghim.
He came in around noon. Tall, sharply dressed, the kind of dark that absorbed light instead of reflecting it. Everything about him looked… intentional. From the black dress shirt to the matte watch on his wrist. He didn’t have the distracted posture of a tourist or the bored stance of a funder. He stood still. Like he was waiting for something.
The moment he stepped nearRegrowth, the petals tensed. I caught it from across the room—barely perceptible, but enough. The plant recoiled. That had never happened before.
I walked over, curious. “She’s not usually shy.”
He turned his head slowly. His eyes met mine. Pale gray. Cold, but not unkind. The rest of him was dark, from his raven hair to his sun-kissed skin that seemed edged in bronze. If someone wanted to transform him into a statue, he’d be—perfect.
“Maybe she’s not shy,” he said in the softest of elegant British accents that proved both tempting and hypnotic. “Maybe she’s just aware.”
“Of what?”
He studied me like he could read the answer in my eyes. “Things that don’t belong here.”
I laughed, unsure what was making me nervous, him or his words. “You don’t strike me as a nature guy.”
“I’m not,” he replied. “But I know how to respect what’s alive.” Something about the way he said it made the airaround us shiver. Not awkward or electric. Just—brimming with possibility.
He left without giving his name. No card. No pretense. Then again, I hadn’t really asked him for his name, had I?
