Thank you so much for your incredible patience, dear readers. I intend to finish the saga I began over the next few months.

I hope you enjoy.

Aeneas lay down with some hesitation. Although Deiphobe had told him exactly how to enter the Underworld, now that the moment had arrived, his skin crawled.

"Pray," she instructed. "Pray to your mother, the Goddess of Love. Pray to Morpheus, who is Sleep. Pray to the night, the Goddess Nyx. Let them show the way." The aged seer lay a hand on his forehead and brushed his hair lightly.

Aeneas took one last look at the stars, just in case he never saw them again. He had said his farewells to the crew, to his men, to his son. Ascanius had told him that he would be vigilant and wait for his return. But that self-same dread was there in his boy's eyes – that horror that he may never wake up again.

The Underworld did not let go of the living lightly.

Aeneas watched those heavenly lights and silently prayed. Then he closed his eyes.

"Stand," the seer commanded from his side. He stood.

"Walk," she whispered. He did so, trusting her guiding hand on his shoulder.

His trepidation grew. He remembered the stories of Orpheus, the man who could have had his wife returned to life if only he'd not looked behind him at the mysteries of death. But the poor tragic hero had doubted that his wife was there and looked around at the last moment. Aeneas squeezed his eyes tightly shut, heeding the warning of the story. There were some mysteries that mortals were not to know if they wanted to remain in the world of the living.

He concentrated on walking, on the breath sailing through his chest. He was alive. He was still alive, and going to the Underworld.

The golden bough was clenched between his aching hands.

He breathed and walked, trying to master his shivering limbs.

"I am with you," Deiphobe uttered. "You may now open your eyes."

Aeneas opened them and blinked.

The world had been soaked in grey. Everything – the stones, the sky, the dirt beneath his boots, the water of the river that ran – it was all a uniform grey with barely distinguishable dips and shadows. The water ran but it was thick and dark – not like any water he'd seen before. He felt a chill as he realised he was actually steps away from the Styx.

Deiphobe nodded and pointed. Her finger headed down the path of the river and Aeneas saw what she was gesturing towards.

The Gates to the Underworld. It was too surreal – the oddest of all nightmares seemed to be pressing in around him.

He moved slowly along the treacherous ground. Only the golden bough seemed to have any colouring – it still glowed between his fingers and gave him strength. Looking at it reminded him of his goal and dispelled the slow, dreamy horror tearing at his resolve. Deiphobe was skilful and quick to move along the shoreline, never faltering in her next step.

"You have seen this place before, in your visions?" he asked her. The way she moved spoke of confidence in where she was headed, as though this was a familiar path towards some treasured place.

She actually grinned at him for a moment. Her long white hair shimmered in the gloom.

"I dreamt of this journey endlessly. For hundreds of years I have been through this trek in my mind. I have been here often enough that I could have touched every stone on the ground in my visions. But it is here. It is now. I have finally accomplished this moment."

Aeneas recognised her glee for what it was – relief that she was finally conducting this walk for the last time. He was impressed.

"This is all new to me," he admitted. "I had but one instruction – to build a city. A glorious city, an empire that would grow to be formidable. I can see a picture in my head – dim but splendid. I don't even know if the image is foretelling or whether I just imagined it the way I do. But I could not imagine seeing it for hundreds of years…"

"I would not recommend it," the seer told him in a subdued voice. "But it is my fate. I have finally arrived."

At last the door loomed over them. Deiphobe murmured something and reached for her pocket.

"Cerberus guards these Gates," she told Aeneas. "I have something for him."

Aeneas drew back in shock.

"I doubt he can be bribed." He swallowed and clutched the bough to his chest.

Deiphobe actually smiled.

"I have something more effective than bribery," she promised.

They pushed at the doors. Although enormous, they moved soundlessly inwards. Aeneas felt the cool stagnant breeze from within and almost lost his nerve. Deiphobe's steady patience and self-assurance was the only thing keeping him steady.

He tried to process what he was seeing but it didn't do much for his nerve.

The River Styx rushed by beside him and split in two, gushing to the right and left. Ahead lay a dock of some kind, white with age and flimsy against the impenetrable waters. Along the boards were Shades of the dead – unmistakeable in their colourless and fluid-like state. He could make out the shapes of people but they had no spark – they didn't breathe, they didn't talk, they didn't even really move much. They had lost their essential selves – they were just waiting.

But before the dock lined with Shades of the dead was a mammoth shadow, four stout legs and three pairs of glowing red eyes in the darkness. Aeneas felt the ground beneath his feet tremble as the gigantic hound sniffed, turned faster than he could have believed possible and caught sight of the seer and himself between the Gates of the Underworld.

Cerberus!

Aeneas felt a scream rise in his throat. He barely held it in. Deiphobe stood tall and threw something small that she had concealed in her pocket. Cerberus jutted forwards and Aeneas saw the three heads of the beast snarl and snap at whatever she had thrown. The great middle head caught it between his jaws and snapped it up.

Deiphobe threw again. The left head growled and caught her morsel between its teeth. She hefted her small handful for the last time and the right head sniffed and snapped, closing around whatever she had flung. Cerberus eyed her with all six of those shimmering red pupils for a moment and then the beast went still. Drool pooled from the mouth of the left head and the gooey mess stretched downwards.

"He shall sleep now," Deiphobe assured Aeneas. "Morpheus himself helped me make those cakes. None can fight against them."

Sure enough, the beast was yawning, its great jaws falling loose. Its limbs trembled, and then gave way. The ground jumped and shuddered as Cerberus collapsed. The Shades scattered like leaves in the wind so as not to be crushed as the dog fell, its sides panting, to sleep. Aeneas didn't dare let his breath escape until every last one of the gigantic animal's eyes had closed and its chest had eased into the heavy, natural rhythm of very deep sleep.

Deiphobe was already moving, beckoning him further. Aeneas hurried along, not eager to be left behind. He took care not to brush Cerberus.

The dock was full of ghosts. They stood along the shoreline, some of them up to their knees in the swirling water, silent and watchful. Aeneas perceived that some of the Shades were curled up on the ground, silent and solemn. He asked Deiphobe why they were not waiting as eagerly as the others on the dock.

"They weren't buried properly," she told him. "They have nothing to give the ferryman and so cannot cross. They are doomed to stay forever until they have payment or until the day Charon becomes charitable."

"Aeneas?"

Aeneas spun, hearing his name echo from behind. Heart thudding, he watched the outline of one of the Shades grow nearer. In the glow of the golden bough Aeneas finally recognised the Shade's face and his heart sank.

"Palinurus?" Aeneas whispered. Here was his old friend, long dead at the battle of Troy. There he was – large as life and still in the armour he had died in.

Palinurus's Shade nodded gloomily.

"But you are not dead?" Palinurus asked, squinting at the shining thing in Aeneas's hands. Aeneas shook his head.

"I was guided to the Underworld by the gods," Aeneas replied, nodded at his companion, the seer. "I am not yet dead."

Palinurus groaned.

"Can you spare me a coin?" he begged. "Anything? I fear I will never be at rest, my friend."

But suddenly Deiphobe was there, Deiphobe was pressing something against the Shade of the deceased Palinurus and whispering for him to keep quiet so that not all the other souls would harass she and Aeneas for gold or silver. Palinurus nodded and smiled his gratitude before fleeing into the shadows, the coin she had given him hidden between his palms like an offering.

"Goodbye," Aeneas uttered as his friend disappeared into the queue. He wondered with dread how many old friends and enemies he would have to encounter to find his father.

But there was no time to fret – the ferryman was coming. Charon on his long, slim vessel approached the dock quickly, expertly negotiating the flowing waters. The Shades on the dock surged forward, their payment in their hands.

"Hurry," Deiphobe urged.

With their solid bodies they parted the Shades easily, as though walking through mist. Aeneas reached the edge of the dock and stared at Charon. The ferryman's cloak hung low over his face and his features were concealed in shadow. His arms, taut with muscle, clenched the oar of his boat and held it firm.

"You're not dead, heroes," Charon spat. "I don't make the crossing for nothing."

Deiphobe touched the golden bough in Aeneas's hands, raising it so the ferryman could see.

"Our payment must firstly be to your Queen and King," Deiphobe stated firmly. "But the gold of this bough will surely pay for safe passage." She glared at the ancient figure, daring him to disagree. Aeneas caught no expression from the ferryman but as the Shades filled the raft, Charon did not protest their presence any further. He followed Deiphobe onto the prow of the boat and stood, waiting.

Charon set off from the shoreline with great effort, sighing as he dug in his oar. Some of the Shades on the shoreline watched their progress with mournful eyes. Aeneas tried to see his friend but there were simply too many figures lining the edge of the water.

Aeneas shivered as the waters hissed and spat against their raft. The Shades did not seem frightened or intimidated by the ghostly surroundings. He couldn't see much except for the River stretching into rocky darkness and occasionally a black-sanded bay would appear out of nowhere, which Charon would carefully avoid. As much as Aeneas found Charon unnerving company he had to concede that the ferryman knew his business – he had never experienced such a smooth and skilled journey over water before.

Deiphobe stared into the gloom and started to whisper to Aeneas, gesturing deftly at the stretching passageways of water.

"Beyond here is the House of Hades – the seat of the Lord of the Dead's kingdom. The River Styx stretches off into many other smaller rivers…. That way goes the Lethe – the waters of forgetting… This way leads to Tartarus through waters of fire…"

"The Phelegethon?" Aeneas remembered the stories and the murals of the Underworld he had seen as a young man. He strained but there was no light in that darkness, no hint of fire he could detect with his weak mortal eyes.

Charon struggled and strained, grinding at the bottom of the river until the raft slowed. Another dock loomed ahead and then, a grand hall behind it. The line of the dead here seemed tense, expectant. Deiphobe tapped Aeneas on the shoulder.

"The Hall of Judgement." She tilted her head left. "We will have to go around to get to the House of Hades."

But they were expected. At the dock the dead silently took their places and a nymph strode forward, dressed in a simple black, to bow and direct them away from this place of judgement. Aeneas watched the walls as they walked along the path behind the nymph, wondering what sort of process final judgement was, unable to tear his mind from contemplating his own decision yet to come.

"I… am meant to see my father?" Aeneas asked Deiphobe, as it occurred to him that his long-deceased relative would have passed through that hall many years before. She nodded passively.

"We must pay tribute before we see him," she reassured Aeneas quietly. "Just follow. We approach the Silent One."

Aeneas envied her certainty but did not question her further.

The path to the House of Hades was actually quite lovely in a dark, creepy kind of way. There were decorations and as they approached, more immortals waved to the nymph who was their guide. It was a friendlier atmosphere than the silent, waiting Shades who they had kept company with up until then.

They kept a quick pace and entered the House of Hades, which was rich with decadence and grand mystique. Aeneas followed their guide and suddenly, there were guards announcing their presence. He swallowed, stroked the bough, watched Deiphobe brush back her long hair in a rare display of nerves. His lungs seemed to be caught somewhere up in the back of his throat. The diamonds in the walls winked in the firelight. He tried to stare at them and instead felt his heartbeat thundering behind his eyes, shaking the image he saw. He felt like he may vomit.

"The Lord Hades, King of the Underworld and the Dead. The Lady Persephone, Queen of the Underworld and the Mysteries of Death!"

The crier opened the doors to the throne room and Aeneas forced his legs to move.

Deiphobe led him into the centre of the room and Aeneas stared. He knew on some level it was ill-mannered but he could not help himself. His mother had manifested herself to him many times but he had little experience with other deities – this was his first experience face to face with a god.

Hades and Persephone were a revelation.

The King was horrifying. Sleek and strong, as imposing as any royalty Aeneas had ever encountered, Lord Hades was extraordinary. His skin spoke of never seeing sunlight, his hair was darker than the longest night and that expression on his face and in his eyes crushed any courage Aeneas may have gathered immediately. Aeneas was captivated and repulsed all at once, his heart screaming at him to flee before he was murdered where he stood for daring to approach this powerful being and his eyes transfixed to Hades's glory.

Deiphobe grabbed his forearm and forced Aeneas into a deep bow.

"My Lord and Lady, we have been guided here by divine will," Deiphobe spoke clearly and loudly in her deep salutation to the god and goddess seated above. "Aeneas, son of Aphrodite, has been charged to build the new kingdom by the gods and goddesses of all."

Aeneas had seen much beauty in life. His mother has always adorned herself with the loveliest of company and material goods, showering herself and her supplicants in grandeur and roses. But as he gazed at the Queen of the Underworld from his prone bowed position, Aeneas was reimagining his definitions of beauty. Persephone was bright, fresh and warm, even amongst the shadows of her throne and kingdom. She seemed to glow from somewhere within and there was a sort of light that shone from her eyes and smile that illuminated even next to Hades. Her gown was black and draped over her body like the Styx, sure but there were flower designs down her sides and she had bright red across her waist.

There was horror and death all around, yet here Persephone was, positively shimmering with life and light. Aeneas wondered if the rumours of her abduction were true.

Hades merely nodded to the seer. Deiphobe didn't even blink.

"We bring an offering in tribute to your majesties, and seek an audience with the shade of Aenea's father if we have any hope to follow the will of the Fates."

Aeneas held the golden bough high in the air. A dryad or a nymph moved forward and took the offering, giving it to Hades to examine.

"A symbol of rebirth, of divine knowledge and a receptacle for precious sustenance." Hades held the gold between his fingers, turning it over as he eyed the gift. "Fitting for my wife, I should think." Hades offered the bough in one hand to Persephone. "Accept this, my love, and the hero may continue to follow the course Fate has designed."

Aeneas shivered but caught the movement from Persephone as she accepted the golden bough.

"Your father's shade resides in the Elysian Fields," Hades pronounced. "I will call upon the Goddess of the Isle of the Blessed to arrange your required meeting."

Deiphobe stiffened and Aeneas began to panic at his ruling.

Who?