Chapter 38
Elara's POV
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
No matter how tightly she wrapped her arms around herself, the memory replayed again and again—the beast lunging, her scream, and then... that light. That impossible, searing light erupting from her hands as if it had been waiting, buried inside her all this time.
Elara sat at the edge of her bed, knees drawn up, breath shallow. The scent of ash still clung to her clothes, a reminder that it hadn't been some dream. She'd done that.
Her palms tingled as though the power still lingered beneath her skin, alive, waiting. She rubbed them hard against her thighs, willing the sensation to fade. But it didn't.
"What are you?" she whispered to herself, voice raw.
She had come to the Underworld believing she was nothing but a pawn, a mistake pulled from her world and dropped into his. Now she wasn't sure if she was something far more dangerous. A bridge, yes. But bridges weren't supposed to burn like that.
Her chest tightened. If Hades hadn't been there—if she had lost control—what if the light had hurt him? The thought sent a spike of fear through her. She couldn't bear it.
A knock at the door made her flinch.
Her heart stuttered painfully. She knew who it was. No one else would dare approach her chamber like that—firm, steady, but not demanding.
"Elara," came his voice, low through the wood.
Her pulse raced. For a moment, she stayed frozen, staring at the door as though it might swallow her whole.
She didn't want him to see her like this—fragile, trembling, terrified of herself.
And yet... part of her longed for the calm in his presence, the strange safety he carried even when everything else seemed like chaos.
"I know you're there," he said gently. Not commanding. Not coaxing. Just... certain.
Her throat tightened. She hesitated, hand hovering over the handle, debating whether to send him away. He was a god. The Lord of the Underworld. What would he see when he looked at her now? A threat? A mistake?
But something deep inside—something just as insistent as the power that had burst free earlier—urged her to open the door.
With trembling fingers, she unlatched it. The hinges creaked as she pulled it open, just enough to reveal him.
Hades stood in the dim corridor, shadows curling faintly around him as if they were drawn to his unrest. His eyes met hers immediately—dark, steady, searching. She expected anger, or suspicion. But instead she saw something far more disarming.
Concern.
"Elara," he said softly, her name like an anchor. "May I come in?"
For a heartbeat, she almost said no. Almost shut the door and hid from what he might say, from what she might be becoming. But then, with a reluctant nod, she stepped aside.
And just like that, the distance between them grew thinner than it had ever been.