CHAPTER XXIX

[Warning: Dark, Mature Content]

Authors Note: Apologies for the hiatus, I've just moved into my first apartment!. This chapter is a long one, so enjoy!

Summer.

The oppressive heat of the sun scorched the plains of the kingdom. Leaves perspired before they dried up into grey husks, rivers spluttered, winds panted and the air was chalk.

Everything waned beneath the sun's gaze and from its blinding glare, there was no escape.

With a silk handkerchief, Hera swabbed at the beads of sweat above her brow, at her temple and beneath her chin. The parasol above her head could only shield her so much from the brutal sun.

The screech of cicadas filled the thick air and winged pests zipped about, their restless wings a chorus of their own. Hera flinched as an insect buzzed past her ear before shooting a stern glance at her handmaiden. The young woman started and fanned the Queen with greater fervour than before. Hera returned her gaze to the sight before her.

The construction of a fortifying wall around The King's Palace had been commissioned by the Queen and she planned to oversee its completion herself.

Palace labourers worked tirelessly in the sweltering heat, their backs damp with sweat and blotched pink and red where the sun had been especially unkind. With narrowed eyes, Hera observed their careful craftmanship.

Each hammer's blow resounded in her head. Perhaps it was the unbearable heat, but their rhythmic pounding sent her mind to places far beyond the palace grounds. They sent her mind to dark places where one's voice rings off of the walls, where time echoes and each moment passes like tar through a sieve.

Zeus' outburst at the council meeting hardly surprised Hera. It had certainly been a while since she had seen him so riled up, but she had been dealing with his temper for millennia.

No, he hardly surprised her. But she certainly had surprised herself.

Minutes passed after the King's dramatic exit before Hera concluded the meeting and hurriedly ushered the council members out of The Great Hall. She assured the members that Zeus merely needed some time to cool off before commanding the Hall's doors shut before her, leaving herself alone in the belly of the behemoth room.

The Hall glittered around her, yet her eyes could see none if its light.

How reckless, she thought.

Once again, she allowed her unchecked emotions to run rampant before her fellow Olympians, surely making herself seem a fool in the process.

Pomposity. Pageantry. All this performance for someone who wasn't even here to see it.

She knew that night Zeus would be completely unapproachable. He needed time to sulk and simmer, to fly around the kingdom and cause drama amid the clouds. Only once the turbulent weather cleared, would he be ready to speak to her again. But then days passed, and the pain of sitting idly grew too great for her to continue to do so. One night, donning her favourite plum coloured cloak, she slinked out of the palace.

A chill spread across Hera's skin as she stepped into Hades' throne room.

It was empty. Cavernous. The sound of her footsteps echoed as she made her way to the centre of the massive hall.

Pushing back the hood of her cloak, she gazed about the room and its never-ending walls, its dark, hollow interior. She took a breath and cool air rushed into her chest.

He was here – she could tell. The same way on those cool evenings, amid the shadowy recesses of the palace gardens, she could tell he was nearby.

Almost as though the thought escaped her mind, a plume of glimmering black smoke bloomed just above the seat of one of the thrones.

In a moment, Hades' form manifested before Hera's eyes. Her eyes widened. He looked the same as ever, donning a black suit and a grim expression. With one leg crossed over the other and his hands placed in his lap, he looked down at Hera with dull eyes.

A silence hung between them that felt louder than any clap of thunder Hera had ever heard.

'Hello,' she said, unable to draw her gaze away from him.

For a long while, he said nothing. Instead, he regarded her with a look that she could not read. Even in a moment as tense as this, Hera could not help but wonder – what was it that lay behind those dark eyes? Contempt? Disgust?

With what eyes did Hades regard her?

'Poseidon was never fond of coming down here,' he began evenly, 'which gave very little use to the Ocean's Pass. So, when I saw it had been activated once more, I figured it wasn't him.'

He paused. His eyes bore into her.

'But certainly, I didn't think it would be you, Hera.'

With her name, came an agonizing ring that resonated across the walls.

It was true, the Ocean's Pass had been rendered defunct for millennia and was discarded into the vaults of the King's Palace as a relic of a time gone-by. But Hera, with her memory like a vault itself, could remember where every old artefact had been stored in the palace. Like a phantom, she slipped into one of these old rooms undetected and nicked the Ocean's Pass before making her way towards the nearest portal to the Underworld.

The Pass gave her passage across Styx with minimal grumbling from Charon, and safe passage through the Underworld gates with minimal snarling from Cerberus. Now she stood before this dark realm's patron, having marred their first meeting alone in centuries with deception.

Hera glanced about, searching for something to look at, something she could use to spur a conversation. But there was nothing. The room was barren except for its dark walls and its looming thrones.

Except for Hades.

'It seems,' Hera adjusted her cloak, 'awfully gloomy in here. And cold. It can't be good for one's health.'

'You're worried for my health?' he asked, but it was hardly a question. She fidgeted.

'A little sunlight does us all well.'

He regarded her quietly.

'Sunlight,' a sour amusement creeped upon his face, 'now, where would I find that?'

Hera gazed up at him. He was so far away. High up on his throne, leagues away in this immense room. Yet, she could see his dark eyes as clearly as she could in the moon's light centuries ago.

'Your gardens,' she cleared her throat, 'are beyond here. Are they not? You will not even escort me through them.'

'You've seen what they have to offer. There is nothing in my gardens that would be new to you.'

'I don't believe you.'

'Yes, well, that seems to be a trend between us.'

Stillness. Hera glanced down at the floor.

She knew this would not be an easy conversation, and yet his words offered her a sting she couldn't anticipate. Poising herself, she placed her hands one over the other and planted her feet firmly on the ground. She looked up at him.

'It may delight you to know,' she said, her gaze steady, 'that Olympus has been thrown into veritable chaos at the news of Typhon's imminent resurgence.'

Hades rubbed his chin absently.

'Such news does tend to do that.'

'But the Olympians are not completely lost,' she continued emphatically, 'They offer solutions, means of securing the future of our kingdom—'

Hera swallowed hard.

'—means that would necessitate your contribution.'

Silence hung in the air for a moment too long. Hades' lips curled into a smirk.

'Oh?' he queried, raising his brow.

Hera felt doubt seep into her. Perhaps coming here was indeed a mistake.

Hades held his hand out above his lap and a plume of black smoke bloomed in his palm. The smoke cleared and where it had been, a blood red pomegranate appeared in a small, ornate bowl.

Hades placed the bowl neatly in his lap before grasping the pomegranate in both hands. With little effort he squeezed the fruit and twisted it, splitting it in two with a resonant crack. Hera watched as the pomegranate's scarlet juice spurted from its seam and trickled down Hades' slender fingers, bleeding down to his palms. The little bowl in his lap received little of the juice.

'Who comes to me today and asks of my contribution?' he began, plunging a finger into the fruit's flesh.

'Hera, Mother of the Great Kingdom, fertile womb of the realm?' he scooped out a dozen seeds at a time, 'Hera, Queen of Olympus, most dignified consort of the King? Is it perhaps Hera, landscaper extraordinaire and avid Olympian gardener?'

Hades dug his fingers deep into the pomegranate and carved out what was left of the seeds, flicking them into the little silver bowl with a splat.

'Or is it Hera, long suffering wife of Zeus? Ever loyal, ever present, ever neglected dear Hera.'

Hera felt her chest become hot. Whatever heat suddenly kindled within her spread to her neck, her face and right to the tips of her ears. She clenched her fists to hide her trembling fingers.

Hades began work on the other half of the pomegranate, eviscerating the fruit with reckless fingers and tossing the ruby seeds into the bowl carelessly.

'Is the Hera who comes to me the Hera of the garden or the Hera of the Great Hall? I never know; you wear so many faces. Perhaps, that which approaches me…'

In his hands, the two hollow shells of the pomegranate ignited, red flames and embers spitting out from between his fingers.

'…is a Hydra.' He finished.

It was as though the very bones in Hera's body began to vibrate. The vibration grew stronger with each passing second, the force seeming to separate the water from her blood. Her lips pulled taut across her teeth and she could hardly fix her tongue to speak.

'How…dare you…? To liken me…to say something so cruel —'

Hades gazed at his stained fingers absently as Hera seethed before him.

'Oh, I'm the cruel one,' he remarked, sucking the juice from his thumb with uncharacteristic uncouth, 'every time I thought I had you figured out, thought I had slain the mystery of one of your many heads, two new ones sprouted in place of the old. But perhaps I was a fool. So delighted was I by your company that by the time I thought to cauterise our bond, I was already bitten.'

He picked up the silver bowl, filled to the brim with bloated seeds, and extended it to Hera. A small smile appeared on his lips.

'Pomegranate?'

Hera felt the area behind her eyes burn. No longer did she have control of herself. No longer could she feign poise and queenly grace. Tears sprung to her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks, scorching them as they raced to her chin. She clenched her fists, feeling the air escape her chest.

This was not the Hades she knew.

The Hades of old was stern and taciturn. He had a phlegmatic disposition, a dull sense of humour and the gloomiest of expressions. But he was certainly never this unkind.

The god who strolled through the dark mazes of the palace gardens those many moons ago was ruminative and poised in his rumination. He was oddly graceful, keenly attentive – and on occasion, he laughed.

His laughter was low and quiet, and when Hera laid eyes upon him, she saw the skin at the corner of his eyes crease with delight and a faint rosiness come to his cheeks. His glee would enthuse her, as her words had enthused him.

This was the Hades she knew. This was the Hades she had bitten.

'Y-you…you bastard!' her shrill voice cracked, 'None of this – none of it – would have come to pass if it were not for your petty, interminable feud with Zeus! Neither of you are fulfilling your duty – neither of you are doing what's right for the kingdom! Why am I being caught in the middle of all this—'

'You should really try the pomegranate, Hera.' Hades interjected coldly.

'I don't want your bloody pomegranate you foul , reprobate—!'

With a flick of his wrist, Hades hurled the silver bowl in Hera's direction. Flying across the hall, the dish hurtled towards her, threatening to contact the centre of her face. She flinched, shutting her eyes and recoiling at the impending impact.

But nothing came.

No impact, not even the resounding ring of the bowl clattering to the ground. Just weighty silence.

Hesitantly, Hera's eyes fluttered open. The silver bowl hung only a foot from her face and in its surface, she saw her warped reflection. All of the seeds that had been nestled in its base rested suspended in the air surrounding her, like red twinkling stars haloing a weeping moon in the vacuous sky.

Bewildered, she glanced around trying to make sense of scene through misty eyes.

In a moment, Hera was jolted by a burst of fiery, radiant scarlet.

Every pomegranate seed had bloomed into a furiously glowing flower and each flower burned with a pulsating light, dark veins running through their petals. Their furry pistils were made of alternating rings of black and amber, rendering them the appearance of glowering eyes.

The flowers watched Hera with anticipation. They bore into her, observing her with hungry curiosity, imploring of her questions she could neither read nor answer. She stared at them, awed. Awed by their brilliant colour, their arresting light, their unrelenting gaze.

They were unblinking, unwavering, almost unkind. And just as Hera felt herself being drawn into them and out of this dark, hollow room, their petals began to curl inward. The flowers folded into themselves as though commanded by some shared sentience, returning to their tiny pomegranate seed forms.

In an instant, the seeds dropped to ground along with the silver bowl, clattering in the very way Hera first anticipated.

The last of her tears streamed down her cheeks, though she had long since stopped crying. She glanced at the seeds around her, her gaze almost willing them to perform once more.

'A new botanical invention of mine.' Hades began equably, 'Well, I say "invention" but in truth they were more of a mishap than anything else. I became overzealous in my scientific exploits, yielding…peculiar results that befuddled me. At first. But now things are clearer.'

The bright, ghostly light of the flowers still swam in Hera's eyes. Hades' words were far too cryptic for a spinning mind.

'What? I don't understand…' she said quietly.

He observed her for a moment.

'They only respond to fury. It's like sunlight to them, nourishing their frail bodies. Or at least that's what I thought at first but seeing them respond to you now…I believe they do not exist to consume anger. They observe it.'

His words sunk into Hera's mind.

'You could feel it, couldn't you?' he asked.

'They were watching me…' Hera drew her cloak tight over her shoulders, 'searching for something in me…and you provoked me,' she turned to him, indignant, 'you were purposefully trying to spur me on—'

'You asked to see my gardens. I brought them to you.'

Hera stared at him, feeling a pressure build between her ears. Behind her eyes.

'I wanted to walk through them. With you.'

Hades glanced down at the floor. There it was. That deeply pensive expression Hera could recognise.

He gazed into the marble, seeming to travel deep into the recesses of his own mind for a long time. Eyes vacant, his lips fixed to speak.

'I have no recollection,' he began distantly, 'of our childhood in the bowels of Gaia. That time seems too long-gone to still deem a memory. And yet, I see vignettes at times. Glimpses into that dream, that fleeting dimension we call our youth. Instinctively, I know that I've seen this before and that I've felt this before.'

He looked up at Hera and for the first time in centuries, she felt as though their eyes had truly met.

'This must be residual from that time, Hera. A remnant…debris from our past. Because every time you come to me with these eyes – eyes of fear, of anguish – I feel a cosmic pull, an unshakeable instinct to attend to you.'

Silence. Maddening silence. The weight of the vacuous hall crushed Hera, forcing air out of her lungs.

Hades chuckled to himself for a moment.

'Even now, to see you bubble and fume over being called something as silly as a Hydra. To see your face flush and your eyes well like a small child…I don't know Hera. It all feels familiar – too distant and yet so close. This all has to be from that dimension. If that's the case, and you can still come to me after all this time…then I must've been a good big brother back then, right?'

Hera was frozen. No, perhaps it was not herself that was frozen but time instead. Or Hades. Her mind swam as she stared at him and he gazed back at her.

Dimensions, vignettes, debris. The palace of Hades' mind sounded much like The Underworld itself, Hera thought for a moment. And yet, even in that vast palace, there were rooms – vaults perhaps – that captured her image. That held her image.

Even from so long ago.

Tears lined Hera's lower eyelids and spilled onto her cheeks once more, unbeknownst to her. There, in her chest, an insatiable vacuum formed threatening to consume all the matter in its wake. It devoured air, the lungs in which that air resided, her ribs and the flesh that sat on her bones. It devoured all it could until but a husk was left.

'Dry your eyes, sister,' Hades' voice came as his eyes dropped to the marble, 'such fanciful thoughts have no place on our plain of existence. Vestiges of the past – of another world – should remain where they are born.'

Hera shut her eyes, the last of her tears escaping her lids. She raised a trembling hand above her head and placed it over her swollen eyelids. `

'I came here,' her voice was low and unsteady, 'to make a plea for your council, Hades. To ask for your help.'

She drew her hand down her face, gazing up at the high ceiling as she wiped the dampness from her cheeks.

'I…my kingdom…my home is…all I have. It's all there is to my name, to my existence and I can't let it be taken from me. My husband…my children—'

A ball formed in her throat. She swallowed hard and released a rattling sigh.

'I don't know why I came here tonight. I didn't think you'd agree to all of this, really. I don't deserve to ask of you such tasks.'

Hades watched his sister with an unwavering expression. His eyes dropped.

'No, you don't.' he said.

In the silence that passed between them, Hera swore she recognised a warmth in those words she had long since forgotten.

'Persephone long since contacted me.' Hades said evenly. Hera looked up at him.

'According to her account, her mother abhorred the thought of her doing so, so our correspondence has been in secret. I only know of what Demeter relayed to her – which is not much of substance outside of hysterics.'

The two gods stared at one another and Hera was sure she saw Hades' gaze harden.

'Understand this. I will contribute to Olympus' effort for little reason outside of my wife's protection. At first, I thought should the kingdom be crushed under the weight of Typhon's resurgence, Persephone would be safe here, hidden beneath The Underworld's enchantments. Here with me.'

A small pause.

'But like you,' he continued heavily, 'she has a fierce loyalty to the kingdom that bore her. For that reason alone, I will aid Olympus to the extent that she is kept out of harm's way. As for whether the King will allow such a development within his kingdom – that is where you come in, I suppose.'

Hera's body was stiff and weighty, and yet her head felt light. So light that she felt it might simply drift away. Perhaps, she thought, all of the tears she shed had drained the substance from her skull.

'Of course,' she said quietly.

This was her true task and perhaps she had known it all along. It was up to Persephone to appeal to her husband – and up to Hera to appeal to her own.

'Then, I shall leave it to you,' Hades stood finally, his tall figure all the more imposing before his throne.

'Should there be any correspondence between us, I ask that you relay it to Persephone. Currently she is the only resident of Olympus with whom I have the fastest and most direct line of communication. I shall await Zeus' answer.'

Buttoning his jacket, he gazed upon Hera with an unreadable expression. She watched him with wide eyes. Wide doe eyes that, once again, felt all too familiar to him.

'Until then, Hera.'

Hades' form erupted into a swirling display of black smoke and as spectacularly as he arrived, he vanished, leaving Hera in the cavernous hall, wholly alone.

The clanging of work hammers made Hera's ears throb. She swiped at a droplet of sweat on the nape of her neck before it could travel down her shoulder blades.

It had been months since that encounter with Hades. Between that time, spring ignited into summer, the station of the Queen had become inundated by an insurmountable workload and Hades and Hera had not liaised since.

Today, however, that would change.

Hera gazed up at the white-hot sky, narrowing her eyes to its light until they shut.

'Come,' she said, lowering her head, 'let us escape this heat.'

With a swish of her day dress, she retreated towards the cool confines of the palace arches, her servant faithfully in tow.

Drawing in the dry air surrounding her, Athena released a ragged breath.

A warm wetness spread from her nose and down the curve of her upper lip. She swiped at it before giving a careless inspection of the glistening red that stained her fingertips.

She glanced down at the quivering mass beneath her barefoot. Without hesitation, she plunged the sword deeper into the creature's flesh. It convulsed violently, wings twitching as though they might take flight one last time. With a spluttering cry, the beast seized before becoming limp.

Beads of sweat trickled down her back and locks of hair clung to her damp temples. The screeching of cicadas filled her ears. She gazed down at the creature, its beady eyes glossy, golden and lifeless.

Her eyes followed the beast's form. With the enormous, hulking head of a bull, the large wings of a harpy and the tail of a serpent, it was certainly a sight to behold. This was one of the ill-bred ones, Athena surmised. Not so much in its composition as in its reaction to its own composition. This beast was never meant to be born and based on its erratic behaviour, abysmal flight aptitude and inconsolable wailing, the beast knew that much too.

Athena's gaze fixed upon the point on the creature's body wherein her sword was still firmly lodged. Gripping the sword's hilt firmly, she slowly drew it from the flesh, revealing only an inch more of the weapon. Blood bloomed from the wound and quickly seeped into the creature's feathers.

The creature's belly was covered in small, fine feathers that were smooth to the touch. Beneath Athena's foot, she could feel their texture. Her mind becoming distant, and her skin burning at the sun's violent rays, she slowly pressed her weight into the beast's body.

Her sword bucked into her grip and a spring of blood spurted from the wound. It streamed through the air, soiling the ends of her dress before travelling across the beast's belly. Athena watched absently, the pool of blood staining the creature's feathers and creeping towards her toes as her mind retreated into itself.

Blue light. It flooded her retinae, threatening to pierce the tender flesh of her eyes. A thunderous boom followed, rattling her form.

The Great Hall quaked with Zeus' exist, ancient tapestries billowing furiously and marble columns tremoring in his wake.

To Athena, it felt as though eons of silence passed before anyone dared to utter a word.

It was Hera who rose from her seat first and with little ceremony, she adjourned the council. The Olympians hesitated, glancing at one another with uncertainty. Mumbles and murmurs brewed, spurring Hera to reiterate the council's adjournment with greater force. Demeter was the first to shoot up from her seat, her layered robes flying up with her. She glowered at her sister in silence.

'I hope you know,' her voice was firm and low, 'exactly who is culpable for today's charade.'

Hera fixed her gaze upon Demeter, her eyes cold and expression dark.

With a huff, Demeter gathered her robes before pushing herself past her throne. As she crossed the hall, whose large doors creaked open upon her approach, she offered Hera one last passing retort.

'You're horrible, Hera,' she muttered with an unsteady voice before charging out of the cavernous room.

Athena dared to glance at Hera out of the corner of her eye and swore she saw the Queen's disposition falter.

The Olympians slowly made their exodus from The Great Hall.

'So, what? We come here to learn that soon we will be gazing into the gaping maws of Typhon once more and…nothing else? Zeus absconds?' Dionysus inquired, failing to hide his exasperation. Hestia placed a gentle hand on Dionysus' shoulder as the two crossed the threshold of the Hall's large ornate doors.

'The relationship between Zeus and Hades is…deeply complicated,' Hestia said, her expression troubled, 'it always has been. It was the seed that bore the fruits of chaos in the council meetings of old, long before your appointment as an Olympian.'

'Even so,' Dionysus pressed, 'it's pretty evident that we need Hades' knowledge and his power to impede Typhon's resurgence. Will Zeus truly ignore that fact in favour of maintaining his standing in their feud?'

'If there is anyone for whom Zeus has an unyielding tenderness – for whom he will surely concede – it is Hera. Do not underestimate her influence over him. Give them time. Give her time.'

'Time isn't exactly on our side, Lady Hestia,' Hermes said, catching up to the two; he glanced back at the Hall's interior, 'and if we're to speak about underestimating influence, perhaps Hera could have given Persephone more credit? She could really be our key to convincing Hades to assist our cause. I think she was too hard on Persephone…'

'If Demeter's reaction were anything to go by,' Dionysus snorted, 'then I'd agree.'

'Do you two always gossip so casually about your elders?' Hestia asked, her voice stern. The two glanced at one another sheepishly, fumbling through a series of weak excuses.

Athena followed behind Dionysus, Hermes and Hestia as they chatted among one another. Exiting the Great Hall, she found herself standing in the foyer, stranded. Olympians gathered in small groups, murmuring to one another. The foyer brimmed once again with fear – and now, frustration.

Rubbing her eyes, Athena sighed. Progress had been halted.

Little had been decided, even less had been agreed upon and now the only person with the power to authorise important moves had vanished in a spectacular show. And not before offering the council a few choice words.

Once again, it was all a waiting game.

'Athena,' a gruff voice called from behind her.

Turning, Athena saw Hephaestus approach, the clunk and creak of his metal foot brace following him.

'You ought to have that upgraded,' she smiled, gesturing to the brace, 'I'm sure there is a blacksmith around here who'd be happy to grease some of those hinges.'

Hephaestus let out a raspy chuckle. He patted his left leg, coming to a halt with a final clang.

'Believe me, I know the design is outdated. But for all my tinkering, I can't recreate a brace quite as sturdy as this one. It has a weight to it that I like.'

'I suppose it suits you, then.' Athena gave him an assured nod.

For a short moment, Athena appraised the smithing god. It wasn't very often that she had the opportunity to see him out of his lair. He had a monopoly over the creation of Olympus' finest weapons, leaving him little time to go cavorting about the kingdom at his leisure. But seeing him now, out of the dark, humid confines of his smithy and in the grace of the palace's light, he certainly was a sight to behold.

Sporting a large, burly frame – forged from the grunt work of ceaseless smithing, no doubt – Hephaestus towered over Athena. He was a labouring man, with large calloused hands, solid arms and a face covered in scars. A thick slate grey beard – darted with two streaks of white on either side of his chin – covered the greater part of his face, matching the dark grey of his hair.

The smile with which Hephaestus approached her had now disappeared and his expression grew grim.

'I should apologise in advance about…' he nodded at the doors of the Hall, now firmly shut, 'in there. Perhaps I should have kept the detail about the horse's enchantment – and said enchantment's origins – to myself until the meeting was over. Surely, my admission was the straw that broke the camel's back.'

'No, Hephaestus,' Athena waved away the notion, 'you are hardly at fault. You cannot be held responsible for the tenuity of Zeus and Hades' relationship. Besides, it is important that we found out the true nature of the horse's composition now rather than later. We haven't the time for more secrets among ourselves.'

'I suppose you're right,' he sighed, 'Then what of the army? Admittedly, Zeus' messaging a moment ago was somewhat…mixed. Should we begin construction now, there is no guarantee that either Hades will provide the enchantments necessary to animate the army, or Zeus will allow their existence within the kingdom.'

'As far as I'm concerned, "Have your enchanted toy army," is as much allowance as we need from Zeus' end. As for Hades, there is evidence to suggest that his reluctance to assist the kingdom is little more than a front to get under Zeus' skin. With a little persuasion, I'm sure he would be willing to come aboard this project. Although, I'm wary as to whether Hera is the person up for the task.'

'My natural pick would be his wife, Persephone,' Hephaestus pondered, his arms folded across his chest, 'but after Demeter's performance, I doubt she would allow it.'

Athena thought of Persephone. She thought of her large, round eyes, her cascading auburn locks and her tender expressions.

She thought of the slight blush that would bloom on Persephone's cheeks at the mention of Hades.

'I have a suspicion,' Athena began, 'that circumventing her mother's demands may be within Persephone's capabilities. If I can convey to her in secret what it is we need from Hades, I'm sure she'd be willing to convince him on our behalf.'

Hephaestus stared at Athena, blinking away a thought. A grin formed on his lips.

'You believe her to be rebellious?' he asked, raising a brow.

'I get that impression,' Athena shrugged, 'why?'

'Well, then you two are rather alike.'

Taken aback, Athena gazed at Hephaestus blankly for a moment. A bubble of incredulous laughter formed in her chest before spilling out of her.

'Us—how so? You think me to be rebellious?'

'I just thought,' he began, her laughter infecting him, 'that the Athena of the past wouldn't dare speak of "circumventing" the elders' wishes, let alone take one of Zeus' rants as permission to do the very thing that incited the rant in the first place.'

'Are you perhaps lecturing me?' she prodded, cocking her head.

'Hardly at all,' his smile was diplomatic, 'I'm merely intrigued by the change.'

Athena's gaze drifted to the ground, a rueful smile curling the ends of her lips.

'Yes well, I'd have to admit I see it too. This change…' her mind withdrew as she sighed, 'I can't exactly tell if it's for better or for worse. Nowadays, I often wonder if it renders me too alien to the Athena who saw to Typhon's defeat once before.'

A moment passed between them.

'I, for one,' Hephaestus' tone was filled with gravity, 'have great faith in your ability to lead our charge to victory, Athena. There are few others with whom I would entrust this kingdom's success. A changed woman or not, the storm on the horizon is not one to be weathered alone. Should you ever be in need of my aid, it is yours.'

Athena looked up at Hephaestus. The features of his face were hardened with age and weathered by toil, but beneath his heavy brows rested a set of peculiarly tender almond eyes. She smiled, heartened by his sincerity.

'Thank you, Hephaestus,' she said.

Hephaestus smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing. They were a honey-brown colour, which Athena had never noticed before.

Perhaps their conversation had reached its natural conclusion, or perhaps they had simply run out of things to say, but the two quickly found themselves in an abrupt silence. Athena looked him over, seeking out the seeds of a new exchange, but could find none. Instead, she found herself fixating on silly details about him, like how his hair was rather lengthy for a blacksmith and had been pushed back in a careless attempt to make himself presentable for the day's event. Eventually, she withdrew her wayward thoughts and returned to the present where she noticed that, in this awkward quietness, he had been observing her just as closely.

'You know,' he began hesitantly, 'if ever you—'

'Athena.'

The hairs on Athena's nape rose as she heard the rumble of a deep voice behind her. Balking, she turned and found Ares standing with a hand in his pocket, his eyes fixed upon her intently.

'Can we talk,' his voice was low and even; his eyes flicked to Hephaestus, 'alone?'

Athena turned back to Hephaestus whose expression had darkened. It didn't take much for her to deduce that Ares was in line for a verbal assault. Hephaestus huffed.

'I see you have no courtesy as per—'

'Hephaestus,' she intercepted his tirade, 'that's alright. Give us a moment, will you?'

Hephaestus glanced down at her, his eyes inquiring her in concern. With a smile she nodded and before he could protest, she turned to Ares.

Ares glanced a final time at Hephaestus, a faint amusement flashing across his face before laying his eyes upon Athena and nodding towards the exit. She approached him, hesitating to close the distance between them.

'What is it that you need to say to me that can't be uttered in this very foyer?' she asked quietly, her eyes darting to the other Olympians.

'Don't underestimate the hearing on his bunch,' he answered, his voice equally low, 'I've found somewhere quiet where we can speak, so come with me.'

'There is nothing to speak about—'

'Athena,' he offered her a meaningful look, 'please.'

'No,' she spoke with finality, 'I'm not going anywhere with you, Ares.'

Ares stared at her. His brows furrowed and colour rose to the surface of his face.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' he snorted, 'are you afraid I might infect you?'

'What?' Bewildered, Athena recoiled at his tone.

'A disease, that's what you called this, didn't you? Does the thought of being alone with me repulse you so?'

Athena gaped at him. Feeling sweat pool on the small of her back, she glanced around at the other Olympians in the foyer. Ares' voice had not yet roused their attention, but his agitation was sure to draw eyes.

In fact, it seemed it already had. Athena found herself caught in Aphrodite's gaze. The goddess stared at her and Ares, her sinking black eyes, vacant. There was a nothingness in those irises that unsettled Athena, and yet she was sure that behind those vacuums brewed contempt.

Athena turned to Ares, feeling her face heat up. This was the last place she wanted to start a scene. Offering him a cold glare, she brushed past him and charged for the exit.

Hurrying down the stairs leading out of the foyer, Athena marched past bustling servants who hopped out of her away as they saw her approach. Behind her, she heard the thudding of Ares' heavy footsteps.

'Am I wrong? Those were your exact words, Athena,' he called after her.

'That was just a stupid metaphor,' she huffed, 'and besides, I did not say that you were the disease. I said that our situation, the Psy-Syn that was forced upon us, was the disease—'

'Of which we are both the symptoms, then? Is being bound to me such a cruel fate that you would liken it to an affliction?'

'I'm surprised this is even bothering you so much,' the two marched down a second flight of stairs, servants passing them with curiosity, 'how can you not see why I would think that way? It was just two nights ago that we were at each other's throats.'

The staircase led them to a long quiet hallway and Athena couldn't believe that she was still leagues away from the palace's exit. The collar of her dress felt tight around her and her face was flushed.

'Really?' Ares caught up beside her, his face equally flushed, 'a small tiff like that is enough to deem everything between us a disease?'

'No!' Athena boomed. She halted and yet her voice travelled throughout the hallway. Ares stopped; his expression incredulous. He turned to her, searching her face desperately for answers.

'No, because its not just last time or the time before that, its every time! We cannot get through a decent conversation without becoming like this. We can't get through a night together without nearly killing one another. It is not normal – can't you see that the Psy-Syn is doing this to us?'

'And what if it isn't the Psy-Syn? What if—What if there are no external forces and this is truly how we feel? How we're meant to be?'

'If this is all organic then how are we getting it so wrong?'

'Ha! I don't know what to tell you,' Ares laughed bitterly, 'so we argue, so we fight. Everyone does – that does not mean that we're getting it wrong. And even if we are getting everything wrong, being with you doesn't feel wrong to me!'

'Well, it doesn't feel right either!'

'If you think I'm too beneath you then just come out and say it—'

'I did not say that—'

'Everyone in this kingdom thinks it and everyone says it. I'm ruining your good girl image, I know but—'

'I didn't say you're ruining anything!'

'Then what are you saying?!'

'I'm saying that I'm frightened all the time, Ares! I'm terrified and I don't know why. Is it something that I'm doing wrong? I've never done this before, I was always alone—'

'If you're frightened, then trust me—'

'I did! And then when I told you to trust me – when I tried to do the right thing – you berated me and made me feel like I was nothing. Is that how we're meant to be? Is that organic to you?'

'…Athena—'

'Persephone and Hades are organic; Apollo and Calliope are organic—you and Aphrodite are organic! This is not organic. This is not just 'how we are meant to be'. I've always wanted better—for everything! For Olympus, for the Olympians, for my army and even for you—'

'Athena listen—'

'—So why, if this is how we're meant to be, who we truly are, why am I so lost when we're together? Why can't I do better? Why can't you do better do better? Why are we getting this so wrong—'

'I don't know!'

The hallway shook with Ares' bellow. Athena shrunk, the resonance of his voice near bowling her over. She had not noticed it before, but there was a burning weight behind her eyes threatening to force its way to the surface.

She watched through misty eyes as Ares sighed deeper than she had ever heard him sigh before. With tremoring hands, he cupping his face before shoving back the stray locks of hair that had found their way to his brow. His eyes shut and he stayed frozen like that for a moment.

'I don't know, Athena,' his voice was small, 'I don't know, I just…don't. I am just as confused about all of this as you are and I feel just as foreign to myself as you do. I don't know if this is the Psy-Syn or if its…organic. I'm not even sure whether it matters to me, at this point. All I know are two binaries, two worlds. In one, you are with me and in the other, you are not. I know which of those feels organic to me. That's all I need to know.'

Athena stared at him, the weight behind her eyes unbearable to withstand. Tears welled in her lids and her stomach twisted into knots.

Ares' hands dropped to his sides. Suddenly, a wave of tranquillity washed over his face as he regarded Athena with a tenderness she had only seen on the nights they spent together. She gazed at him, through him, and was unable to recognise the man who stood before her.

'What are you truly afraid of, Athena?' he implored, his voice as even as she had ever heard it.

'What?' she was inaudible.

'Just tell me what it is. It's alright.'

Athena could barely see Ares' expression through the distorted image of her tears, but she was sure she saw a hint of a contrite smile.

'Everyone in this kingdom winces in anticipation of what comes out of my mouth. It's only natural for you to do the same. So, just tell me, are you afraid to hear me say that I love you?'

Athena stared at him. He laughed ruefully.

'I won't say it then. But I do.'

'…Ares?'

'Yes?'

'That night, after I left…I cried a lot, you know.'

'Yes, I know.'

Time passed over their heads.

'Ares?'

'Yes, Athena.'

'I think I want to be away from you.'

With a heave, Athena wrenched her sword from the beast's belly, blood spewing onto her dress and droplets of it landing on her face. Beneath her barefoot she could feel a dampness. A hot dampness.

Yes. She sighed. This was what she had been seeking all these months.

Warmth.

The warmth of life – of lifeblood – as it drained through this forsaken beast.

The summer had been long, arid and unforgiving, the sun blazing through the plains of the kingdom. In the cruel heat, Athena had worked, she had stood and she had fought. And yet, even as the sun's rays threatened to split her skin open, she could feel nothing.

She could feel its heat and none of its warmth.

This beast, even in its death, bled the remnants of its short, ill-fated life. And in its blood was a familiar warmth, one that Athena sought since that day. This was the heat she had left behind.

The heat of a wretched, yearning beast.

The blood that streamed from her nose, her own blood, felt cold in comparison even as it trickled between her lips. She gazed up at the sky, her dull eyes burning at the sun's white light.

Behind her, twigs crushed and snapped beneath the weight of approaching hooves.