Holy crap. You know, I never knew until I started doing a bit of research for this fic just how complex Greek mythology is. Besides the usual pantheon that every kid knows, there are so many different minor gods and goddesses and deities and this and that and it's enough to make your head spin in ten different directions at once. Whew!

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Time passes, as it always does. When the remainder of the six months was over, Persephone returned to the outside world, bearing her two children with her. Though perhaps the word 'children' wasn't entirely accurate—they grew in the way of the immortals; that is, very fast.

Anticipation filled the air of Mount Olympus, as the various deities waited and wondered what these two mysterious children would look like, and what duties they would assume in the mortal world. Demeter was particularly keen to see the children; on the plains of Greece, the grain and fruits of the field flourished as never before.

Of course, there was somebody else who waited to see the children. Hecate, called dark, waited for them to come out into the light of day—and conversely, into the dark of the moonless night. Out in the world, Hades would have no command over her, and no protection over his children while their mother was asleep.

And so gods and goddesses alike, they waited.

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In the calm, misty air above the river Styx, a raven and a falcon circled together in a strange, complex dance. By the shore, the lost souls waiting to be ferried to the Underworld stared as the two unearthly birds skimmed over the surface of the water, sending a murky spray flying behind them.

They did not have time to stare long at the birds, for following them onto the shore was an even stranger sight—two young adolescents, a boy and a girl, who looked to be maybe sixteen or seventeen. The girl had straight black hair that fell to her waist, with pale skin and dark, serious eyes. The boy was her opposite, with tan, bronze skin and short golden hair, and had a dark red birthmark that swathed his left arm and palm.

They were unusual in the fact that they were coming out of the Underworld, as opposed to going in—and also the fact that they were lit with the unmistakable glow of godhood, or immortality.

"Muninnnnnnnn! Horuuuuuuuuuuussss!"

The birds responded immediately to the cry; they wheeled around in graceful twin arcs and swooped back towards the youths. The souls shivered and wondered as they saw an unmistakable pair of gods appear from the darkness behind the unlikely duo—Hades, the god of the underworld, and his wife, Persephone.

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"You'd better not let those birds run of control when we're aboveground," Persephone warned her children, shaking her head in an exasperated manner. "It's bad enough that they run amok from Elysium to Tartarus, but above…"

"Of course we wouldn't," Pelathon said, miffed. On his shoulder, the falcon Horus shifted from talon to talon, seemingly looking down its beak as Persephone. "Besides, Mother, Horus always comes at command. You know that."

"For now," Lethe, his sister, said from beside him. She raised an eyebrow as Pelathon turned to look at her and said dryly, "You must admit, that bird does enjoy consorting with lady birds a bit too much."

"Better than Muninn," Pelathon retorted, gesturing at the raven on her arm. "All she does is eat all day."

"Children, enough," Hades said mildly. Turning to Persephone, he said, "All's ready, then?"

Persephone looked into his eyes and smiled. "Of course, my love. All's ready."

Hades inhaled deeply, then let the breath out with a small sigh. "Then you'd best go," he said, keeping his voice cool and neutral. "I will see you in six months, then."

He raised a hand, beckoning Charon. The aged boatman nodded, raising his oar in creaky hands. Pelathon and Lethe scrambled onto the boat, nearly tipping it over in their eagerness as they squabbled comfortably about the seating arrangements. Their excitement was understandable; it would be the first time that they set foot on the outside world.

Hades watched them, his eyes distant. It was just six months. They were grown now; they had and would have their own roles to play in the world. He couldn't keep them in the safety of the Underworld forever…

"We'll come back," Persephone whispered softly into his ear. "You know we will."

Hades looked down at his wife: at her glowing golden hair, the light blush in her cheeks—and the gentle love in her eyes. "I know," he said softly, allowing his own wistfulness to tinge his voice.

They shared one more kiss—a soft, tender kiss—before parting. Hades stood on the shore as he watched his wife and children fade into the distance; he waited until he could see them no more before leaving the shore and retreating deeper into his own domain, the Underworld.

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There was a surprise waiting for them at the foot of Mount Olympus. It began with a tremendous shriek of, "PERSEPHONE!" as Demeter rushed forward, embracing her daughter in a suffocating hug. Naturally, then followed a round of hugs as the rest of the deities took turns welcoming the goddess home.

"Mother, family," Persephone said when she managed to extract herself from the round of welcome, "This is Lethe, and this is Pelathon. My children."

Hundreds of divine eyes scrutinized the twins, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. After a long pause, Demeter stepped forward, enclosing them both in a warm hug. "Welcome," she said. "Welcome home, to where you belong."

Pelathon and Lethe exchanged looks; the latter was especially unenthusiastic. On Pelathon's shoulder, Horus uttered a harsh cry. A beat later, Muninn echoed it, the sound reverbrating through the suddenly silent hall.

"Thank you," Lethe said at last, her voice soft. "We appreciate the welcome."

"Well," Dionysus roared, "I should think that anything should would be welcome after that drafty underworld, especially—" the god threw out his hands explosively, indicating the surroundings—"wine!"

Laughter erupted as the god of wine shoved goblets into the twins' hands, breaking the tension with his usual careless good cheer. The icy silence dissolved into easy chatter, with various deities coming up to alternately congratulate Persephone or give the twins' jaw-shattering congratulatory slaps across the back.

And as with most divine parties (especially with Dionysus there), the gods and goddesses inevitably got—drunk. Very drunk. Sometime around the point when Zeus started kissing Hestia (Hera watching with a decidedly stormy expression), Persephone decided it was wise to usher her children to a less intoxicated setting, where they could settle down and regain their bearings.

Behind them, two goddesses followed.

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"I rather liked it," Pelathon said a bit petulantly, hiccupping at random intervals. "There's nothing so fine as honey-brewed wine where Father is…"

"Oh, you sodding drunk," Lethe said, sounding irritated. "You're swaying already. I suppose you want to become the patron god of wine, then?"

"No, that's—hic—Dionysus," Pelathon said, gesturing extravagantly. "I wouldn't dream of evicting him, especially since he's doing such a—hic—excellent job already—"

"I hadn't quite planned for you to get drunk on your first day here," Persephone said a bit ruefully, "but I suppose I should've expected it, with my cousin there and all…"

"Am I disturbing you?"

The twins and Persephone looked up. "Artemis," Persephone said, sounding startled. "Half-sister—what brings you here?"

Artemis smiled, looking uncharacteristically shy. The goddess glanced up at the night sky—it was a full moon, the bloom of Artemis's power. "Merely to bestow a gift upon your children," she said. "I thought it best to leave the party," she said in response to Persephone's questioning look. "Father Zeus was a bit—well—"

"The goddess he was kissing didn't look too happy," Lethe muttered.

"That was Hestia," Persephone said, looking slightly embarrassed. "As Zeus's sister, I suppose she's only used to it…still, I hope she stays a virgin. Especially after tonight."

Lethe made a face, but Pelathon was too tipsy to understand what was going on under his nose. He smiled vaguely at Artemis and made a clumsy bow, nearly toppling over, just barely stopped by Lethe's helping arm. "Hi," he said, as Horus hovered disapprovingly over him. "I'm Pelathon."

Artemis summed up Pelathon's condition with a single glance, and murmured to Persephone, "Perhaps the nectar and ambrosia was a bit too strong tonight…"

"Perhaps," Persephone said, a light blush in her cheeks. "Half-sister, what is it that you wanted?"

"To bestow a gift," Artemis said. "A—rebirthing gift, I suppose. Celebrating their birth into my brother's realm…" Gracefully, the goddess reached up, appearing to touch the moon with gentle fingers. Away in her hands came a bow, shining silver, curved gracefully like the crescent moon. Bowing, she presented it to Lethe. "The gift of the moon. May your aim always be true."

Lethe looked down at the bow, then up at Artemis, smiling uncertainly. "Thank you," she said at last, her fingers closing about the bow. "I will treasure it always."

Artemis nodded, turning to Pelathon. Her face, gilded by the moon, showed the distant serenity of a goddess before mortals, her features gentle and severe all at once. "And for you, Pelathon, my brother Apollo would give to you the sun," she said. "This, I think, is apt—for we are opposites of each other, as are you and your sister." A bright light flared in her palms, as luminous and frightening as the sun, before condensing into a fluid, elegant bow.

Pelathon appeared to sober up slightly at the sight of this gift—he gave a jerky bow (at least he didn't fall over) and said, "Thank—'ankyou. Artemis. Thank you."

Artemis nodded, and her features softened somewhat—no longer so divine, no longer so—so frightening. Turning, she vanished into the trees.

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"I want to be just like her someday," Lethe said wistfully. She stared down at the bow in her hands, caressing it with gentle fingers. Muninn hopped from her shoulder to the bow, pecking at it with curiosity.

Pelathon and Persephone were still staring at the gap where Artemis had left; Pelathon seemed stunned, while Persephone was more worried. "Wow," Pelathon said after a moment, still looking a bit hazy. "Apollo's bow?"

"I know," Lethe said, excitement in her voice. "I can't wait to fletch some arrows and try them out." She grinned conspiratorially at her brother. "It would be amazing."

Pelathon started to reply, but the motion of Persephone's hand cut him off. "Children," Persephone said softly, "you must be careful."

The twins' eyes riveted onto Persephone, confused. Persephone continued to stare at the place where Artemis had left, her eyes worried. "Why?" Lethe said at last, her voice just as soft. "She gave us gifts."

"Exactly," Persephone said, her voice firm. She sighed, glancing at the perplexed faces of her children. "Hidden in your father's realm, you have not learned our ways—the manners of the eternal, the games that we play. We do not give gifts, Lethe. Not without expecting something in return."

"But—" Pelathon said.

"Listen to me, Pelathon. I don't know what you two will eventually guard over—what aspect of mortal life you will rule, what control and command you will wield. But Artemis and Apollo—they will expect something from you in return. Especially Apollo; of the twins, he is the one who always wants more for his goodwill."

There was silence, and then Lethe said softly, "It's just a pair of bows, Mother."

"Divine gifts are always more than they seem," Persephone said darkly. The spring goddess looked around uncertainly, inhaling the aboveground air slowly. "And often, you will not know what you've accepted until it's too late."

"Should we—" Pelathon paused, then said unwillingly, "…discard them, then?"

Persephone gave a short, cynical laugh. "If there's something that they hate more than an unreciprocated gift, it's a rejection. No, keep them. Just be careful of your dealings—the deities may be family, children, but—"

She paused, then said slowly, "The mortals are afraid of your father's realm, for to them it represents darkness. But darkness is not necessarily the worse when compared to the light of Olympus, for that light is infinitely more dangerous to the unskilled."

"And we're unskilled?" Lethe said slowly.

Persephone smiled tiredly. "I trust you will learn soon," she said. "But, enough. Night dies, and dawn draws near. We have a new day ahead of us, and better topics to turn our mind to…"

The birds shuffled slightly, seeing what their masters could not in the darkness. Unwisely, the deities ignored them, turning their faces instead to the rising sun.

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It's been a long time since I've updated this. o.O Or any other story for that matter, haha. XD At any rate, please read and review! –huggles-

Muninn, Memory, is from Norse mythology, one of Odin's ravens (the other one is Huginn, Thought). Horus, I think everybody knows, is from Egyptian mythology, as the god of sky and light and goodness. He's depicted as a man with a falcon head. So yep.

Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! –dances- I'll try to update soon (definition of 'soon' subject to change. XD), but anyway, hopefully once every two weeks? That is, if you review! –runs in circles-