|c.3|

The Underworld pulsed with a unique rhythm, one that spoke of both eternal endings and quiet beginnings. It was a place where beauty and terror wove together seamlessly, and as Penelope stood on the polished obsidian dais outside the grand throne room, she felt both. The dress she wore was a masterpiece of deep emerald silk and black lace, flowing like water over her figure. The intricate embroidery of vines and blossoms glittered faintly in the dim torchlight. Demeter had dressed her with care, every detail meant to sell the illusion that she was Persephone.

But Penelope was no goddess. She could feel it in the way the cold air of the Underworld seemed to seep through her skin, the way the weight of the realm pressed down on her mortal soul.

The massive doors swung open, their carved surface depicting scenes of life, death, and everything between. A man stepped through, his presence filling the space as though he carried the Underworld itself within him. Hades. His name alone sent a shiver down Penelope’s spine.

He was taller than she imagined, his broad shoulders draped in a dark cloak that shifted like shadows caught in a tempest. His sharp, chiseled features were framed by raven-black hair streaked with hints of silver, and his storm-gray eyes locked onto her with an intensity that rooted her in place. Those eyes swept over her once, lingering briefly, and Penelope swore her breath hitched. His expression remained unreadable, though something flickered in his gaze, something Penelope couldn’t place.

“Persephone,” he greeted coolly, his deep voice resonating in the cavernous room like a distant thunderclap.

Demeter stepped forward, her smile a serene mask as she inclined her head. “Hades, may I present my daughter, Persephone.”

Hades’ eyes briefly moved to Demeter, his gaze sharp and calculating. Then, they returned to Penelope, lingering with unnerving focus. For a moment, his expression didn’t shift, but behind that calm mask, his mind churned. This is not Persephone. As the god of death, he had an innate ability to see souls, and the one before him wasn’t Persephone’s. It was pure, untainted by godhood, yet radiant in its own right. A mortal? Why is Demeter playing this game?

But he betrayed nothing. His expression remained impassive, even as a flicker of intrigue took root in his mind.

“Welcome,” he said smoothly, his tone revealing nothing of his thoughts.

Penelope curtsied awkwardly, her hands trembling as she gripped the flowing fabric of her skirt. “It’s an honor to meet you, my lord.”

Demeter’s serene smile didn’t waver, though her eyes glinted with tension. “She’s eager to begin her time here, Hades. I trust you’ll treat her with the care and respect befitting a queen.”

“Of course,” he replied, his voice cool and detached. He could sense Demeter’s anxiety beneath her calm demeanor, and it intrigued him further. The goddess who was known for her overprotective nature had sent this mortal—this stranger—to his realm and expected him to accept her without question. Something was amiss. “Every role must be fulfilled, after all.”

Demeter’s lips thinned slightly at his words, but she inclined her head. “I’ll leave her in your capable hands, then.”

She turned to Penelope, and for a moment, the mask slipped. Her gaze bore into her with an unspoken warning: Do not fail me. Penelope nodded stiffly, too nervous to speak, and with that, Demeter vanished, leaving a deafening silence in her wake.

Hades—Thanion, she reminded herself—studied her for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. The air between them was thick, and Penelope fought the urge to fidget under his intense gaze. Her heart raced as she tried to piece together what to say, but nothing came.

“Would you like to see the Underworld in its true glory?” Thanion asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

The question startled her, and her response came out more rushed than she intended. “Yes—yes, please. Thank you, Hades.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and his eyes darkened slightly. “Thanion,” he corrected, his tone calm but firm.

Penelope’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly, her voice laced with sincerity. “Demeter—Mother—she called you Hades, so I assumed…”

Thanion’s gaze softened slightly, though his lips twitched in amusement. “Mother,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. He shook his head and gestured for her to follow. “Come. There’s much to see.”

She trailed after him, her curiosity warring with her anxiety. They arrived at a grand courtyard where his chariot awaited, flanked by three magnificent stallions. Their sleek, pitch-black coats gleamed like polished obsidian, and their eyes glowed faintly, burning with intelligence.

“These are my stallions,” Thanion said, his voice carrying a rare warmth. “Nyx, Acheron, and Erebus.” He approached them and ran a hand over Nyx’s mane. “She’ll be staying with us for a while,” he told them, his tone soft but commanding. “Be kind to her.”

The stallions regarded her with wary eyes, their ears flicking back. Penelope hesitated, unsure of what to do until Thanion nudged her gently forward. Tentatively, she reached out to Nyx, her hand trembling slightly. The stallion’s tension melted as her palm brushed his muzzle, and he let out a soft huff, nuzzling her hand. The other two followed suit, their suspicion replaced by a strange, quiet acceptance.

Penelope turned to Thanion with a hesitant smile, and for a moment, he felt his breath catch. Her soul shone brightly in that instant, untainted and pure, and he found himself captivated. She was nothing like the goddess she was meant to impersonate, and that only deepened his curiosity.

“Come,” he said, his voice rougher than intended as he helped her into the chariot. With a flick of the reins, the stallions surged forward, and the Underworld stretched out before them.

Thanion narrated as they traveled, his voice carrying a mix of pride and curiosity as he described the realms. Penelope listened intently, her wide eyes taking in the surreal beauty around her. The Fields of Asphodel stretched endlessly, their ghostly flowers swaying in a breeze she couldn’t feel. Rivers shimmered like molten silver, their currents whispering secrets. Even the more terrifying places, like Tartarus, held an otherworldly allure.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, her voice full of awe.

Thanion glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Beautiful?” he echoed.

She nodded, her cheeks warming. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s... magical.”

His lips twitched slightly, and he let out a quiet laugh. “You are... unique, mortal.”

They rode in silence for a while, the air between them calm and almost companionable. But Penelope’s stomach growled loudly, shattering the quiet. Her face turned crimson as Thanion chuckled.

“It seems I’ve been a poor host,” he said. “Let’s fix that.”

When they arrived at his mansion, Penelope’s breath hitched. The towering structure, carved from black stone and inlaid with silver, loomed majestically. Despite its dark palette, it was far from morbid. It was regal, commanding, and impossibly elegant.

“You live here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Thanion stopped and turned to her slowly. “You can see its beauty?” he asked, his tone tinged with disbelief.

Penelope nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “Shouldn’t I?”

His gaze lingered on her, searching for something she couldn’t name. Then, with an enigmatic smile, he said, “Most wouldn’t.”

Inside, the mansion was even more breathtaking. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings and shimmering details, every inch of the space exuding power and grace. When they reached the dining area, an immaculate spread awaited them. Thanion pulled out a chair for Penelope, his movements smooth and practiced, and she sank into it gratefully.

As they ate, Penelope realized just how hungry she was. She devoured the food greedily, her cheeks burning as she caught Thanion’s quiet amusement.

“What does Demeter have up her sleeve?” he asked suddenly, his voice sharp and cutting through the air like a blade.

Penelope froze, her fork hovering in midair. Her heart thundered as she searched for an answer, unsure of how much she should say. Thanion’s piercing gaze bore into her, his interest palpable. He wanted to understand her, to unravel the mystery she presented. And for reasons she couldn’t explain, Penelope felt the same pull—an inexplicable urge to know the man who called himself the god of death.