Chapter 2: Shaken
With one last step out of the Underworld and wearing a nondescript mortal guise, Hades roamed out of the earth and into brightness and colour. Traveling wherever he pleased, he took his limitless time to fully explore, passing through villages and towns before finally settling on the rural outskirts of a city. Finding a house he fancied, he purchased a humble cottage with a river running on one side of the mortal-realm abode; a field took up the rest of the acreage, covered in various types of both flora and fauna. Accumulating money was simple, as the mountains, the soil and everything hidden within fell under his domain. Gold and jewels speak, regardless of the ever-evolving nature of printed currency, and Hades used it to his advantage; trading them as he needed in order to obtain the currency for each region he had found himself wandering into.
Eventually he fully settled into his new home, furnishings purchased and bookshelves filled with the essentials: encyclopedias and how-to manuals on the current technologies as well as a myriad of other subjects. Letting out a sigh of mixed emotions, Hades sat down on his couch, resigned to familiarizing himself with all of the technological advances humanity had made since last he viewed their progress. Every day over the course of his first few weeks there, he would pore over books and further engross himself; devouring them with a voracious thirst for knowledge and all information on the modern age. Especially impressed by the creation and evolution of computers and televisions, he became interested in expanding his horizons further and acquired a laptop; subsequently becoming quite adept, utilizing the internet along with the various books to better his grasp on the current era. Books, however, would remain his first choice; a familiar favourite that hadn't evolved quite as much as other things.
"I have to hand it to them," he said to himself, "for living such short lives, they certainly have come a long way without the Gods interfering."
Even with all the reading, quite a few books in Hades' collection had lain untouched; unopened and gathering dust on the highest shelf of the bookcase. Blindly reaching for another and taking no note of the title, his palm touches the spine of a book; fingers wrapping and gripping it tightly as he pulls it down from the shelf. Mythology, the title reads in bright, but otherwise unremarkable embossing. Specifically, Greek Mythology. Hefting the book in his hands, it splits open and falls on a very familiar story. Their story. A flurry of emotions floods him: love, grief, fury, and the ever-present hopelessness of the entire situation.
Shutting the book with a loud snap, he places it back on the highest shelf; leaving it there to gather dust again until the next time he decides to torture himself and deftly reaches for another book.
'Botany and Biological Sciences,' his mind snipes, flipping through the pages of the book he had picked on his second whim, 'of course I'd pick something related to her.'
After a few more minutes of thumbing through the pages and easily retaining the knowledge offered, Hades lets out a sigh of resignation, unable to quell his thoughts. Struggling to decide between placing it back on the shelf to be forgotten and continuing his education on that which his late wife was born for, he sets the book aside on his desk. He soon finds himself sitting at the computer, mindlessly browsing through a plant nursery site and perusing a myriad of shrubs, trees, and flowers, even ordering a vast amount of them before he realized what he was doing. As soon as he completes the extensive list, he reclines back in his chair, watching the screen as it all sinks in. He gives himself a few moments before standing up and retiring for the first night since arriving many weeks ago.
Just a short week later, the first shipment of seedlings arrived. Giving them a quick inspection, Hades proceeds to head out to his shed and retrieves every tool he deems useful for his endeavor. With tools in hand, he lowers himself; churning the ground by his own labor, turning his land into workable dirt and the fertile earth eager to obey him. After days of rising early and retiring late, covered in dirt and sweat, the land he toiled over began to take shape. Rocks, weeds, and even the grass all turned into loamy soil, partitioned off and molded into rows. Sections were sporadically dispersed throughout the field and accompanied by small pools of water with which to feed the thirstier plants.
Slowly he fills the land in, starting small with simple, fragrant perennial herbs and branching out into flowers. Lavender, thyme, lemon balm, sage, and rosemary were the first planted, growing and expanding out into more medicinal herbs and colourful flowers. The first year alone covered a good fraction of his land, drawing attention from those passing through the city to look over the more rural outskirts. Soon, he had his first visitors, stopping on the periphery of the land to take pictures and look on in awe. He paid them no mind beyond a sneer and always returned to his constant work; as long as they did not interrupt or disturb his work or his land, they can gawk as they pleased. It mattered naught to him.
Hades leans forward on his shovel, surveying his land as the first year comes to its end; no autumn nor winter coming to put a halt on the life cycle. It has always been like this since Persephone first faded. No winter. No death with which to fertilize the land. Humans have begun to overpopulate and boom and while they still passed on through other means, the lack of the harvest and dead season have slowed the process quite notably. The river Styx remained at a constant flow, but the waters no longer churned violently and grew calmer and calmer with each passing era.
'Demeter must be having a field day, the surreptitious cow,' Hades snarls in his own mind. 'Always perfect season for growing, but still the humans cannot feed all of their kind. She prefers seeing the population double and triple, yet allow so many to starve and suffer. To deny balance is to deny what being an immortal means. We cannot protect and guide these creatures without give and take. There has been far too much giving.'
He narrows his eyes, appraising the verdant acreage that he had labored over with such restless devotion, and found himself a little less bereft and cynical. The exact emotion given back to him flitting by too quickly for him to grasp or examine, though his heart did flutter a short, staccato beat that silenced as quickly as it began. Dismissing it with a disdainful snort, he shakes his head and turns to go inside as the sun begins to disappear at the horizon.
The following morning, Hades opens his front door and discovers a young sapling, the roots and dirt held together with simple burlap. Attached to the sapling is a rolled note, bound in string, which reads:
"Plant this in half sunlight and half shade. Harvest all it has to offer the moment it's ready. -Helios."
Looking up from the sapling, he analyzes his field, noting the only available space was about twenty square feet of dirt which had yet to be utilized. Pocketing the note, he heads to the shed, picking up only a trowel and trekking to the very edge of his property. Finding a spot that offered both sun and shade in equal measure, he digs an adequate cavity in the soil and places the young sapling, the earth eager to embrace and accept what would be his last addition. That one, solitary gift.
Months rolled by slowly; his vast garden flourished, with the lone sapling being the only exception. No matter his efforts, both mortal and divine, the sapling refused to grow. A silent insult and a reminder that he was God of the Dead. As if slapped in the face by nature itself, he began to feel that he had no business dawdling in the matters of life and growth. Perhaps this sapling was a sign that some things could never fully thrive under his care.
For months more, this continues, the field growing in reputation and Hades finding it harder to escape the burgeoning popularity of the extensive and prismatic landscape. Deciding that his obsession of caring for the terrain had waned, he finally gave up tending over the land, the earth still flourishing and providing for the plants despite his abrupt neglect. He turns his back on his work, keeping to himself as the land protects and nurtures itself; the giant garden's popularity thriving just as vibrantly as the plants within it, people still stopping to peruse and enjoy the scenery. Meanwhile, the man who wrought it faded into legend.
The cottage remained standing. The plants remained full of life and just as beautiful as if left frozen after their first bloom. There were whispers of their caretaker, shadows just beyond the curtains and creepy tales of small lights in the windows at night as ivy overtook the cottage. It would stay like this for many years.