Chapter Two
The Underworld was forged by Hades himself, carved from shadow and silence.
To each of his children, he bestowed a realm: Tartarus, the prison where souls linger in waiting, suspended between life and death until judged and sent onward either to Hell or to one of the other domains.
The Fields of Mourning, a sorrow-laced place where hearts heavy with grief must strive to mend what was once broken.
And the Meadows, a realm of quiet eternity, where souls simply dwell, neither condemned nor sanctified, existing in peace without the weight of judgement.
Yet there is a fourth realm, untouched by Hades’ hand.
It was not shaped by him, nor may he enter it. No god of the Underworld may.
This place, sacred and sealed, was forged by another deity entirely. It is said to be reserved for the purest of souls, though no one truly knows what lies within its borders. It cannot be reached, not by force or magic and once entered, it cannot be left.
In the Underworld, it is known as Elysium.
But across the mortal lands, it is whispered by many names.
Among phoenixians and drakonians, they call it simply; Heaven.
Tabitha Wysteria
‘I cannot believe we get to go on an adventure!’ Makaria exclaimed, her eyes wide with pure delight.
Mal, unable to resist, allowed herself a small smile as she leaned casually against an archway that served as a window, though no glass filled its frame. Her attention drifted downwards, to the vast drop below, and her heart tightened at the thought of her wyverns, far from her reach.
‘Are you certain about this?’ Thanatos asked as he strode past her, a glimmer of amusement shining in his black eyes.
‘It was your master's idea,’ Mal replied, schooling her features into innocence, though she could not quite suppress the satisfaction when she caught the irritation flashing across the god’s face.
‘Very well,’ Thanatos said, adjusting the black leather straps of his vest. ‘We shall begin in your region, Makaria.’
Makaria clapped her hands together in unrestrained enthusiasm before darting to Mal’s side, clutching her arm as though afraid the promised adventure might be whisked away at any moment.
‘You are going to love my region,’ she beamed.
Mal harboured more than a few doubts, but she could not bring herself to dampen Makaria’s exuberance. Instead, she gave a reluctant nod, offering a smile she hoped would pass for reassurance.
‘Where is Zagreus?’ she asked.
‘He will meet us in his own region,’ Thanatos replied.
Mal inclined her head in understanding. With one final, lingering glance at the now-silent hall of the wyverian castle—its dark, towering spires carved into the heart of the mountain—she laced her fingers through Makaria’s small, eager hand and followed Thanatos out.
They left the towering black citadel behind, descending a narrow, winding path that led to the Forest of Silent Cries, a place she had once known intimately, often visiting the Seer who had dwelled within its shadows.
Here, however, the familiar had been twisted into something strange and half-remembered, as though the Underworld wore the mortal world’s face like a fading mask.
It still bore the same haunting trees—trunks pale as bone, with leaves as dark as spilt ink—but unlike the mortal realm above, where the Forest of Silent Cries marked the threshold to the Underworld, a sacred wood only the dying dared enter to find their final rest, here it was something else entirely.
Here, it was no more than a forest, an eerie, eternal passage that gathered wandering souls and ushered them into this new, unending existence.
As Makaria tugged insistently at her hand, Mal couldn’t help but be swept into memory, back to a time when she had been a child, dragged laughing through the forest by her father, King Ozul.
She had never questioned why he so often took her to visit the Seer; his attention alone had been a treasure she clung to.
In a world where a king’s attention was so often pulled elsewhere, Mal had never taken his for granted.
Her childhood had been steeped in love and laughter.
She had learnt to fight under Kai’s unyielding instruction; spent countless evenings with Haven, tangling each other’s hair into wild, unholy messes; and listened, rapt, as Kage recounted tales of distant kingdoms. Her mother had played endless games with them all, and at night, their father would gather them close and read them stories spun from old magic and forgotten stars.
And yet... now, standing here in the dead forest of the Underworld, Mal could not quite fathom why her father had been so determined to lead her to the Seer time and again.
‘He knew what you were,’ Thanatos said, his voice slicing into her reverie as he slowed his steps, allowing Mal and Makaria to draw level with him.
Mal froze mid-step.
‘He can read your thoughts here,’ Makaria whispered, squeezing her hand gently.
A growl rumbled low in Mal’s throat. ‘And why can I not do the same?’
Thanatos merely shrugged, careless. ‘Because you have not yet learnt how.’
Mal’s purple eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Then teach me.’
‘Oh?’ Thanatos drawled, a smirk curving his lips. ‘I thought you said you had no need of me, Melinoe. That I had nothing to teach.’
In a blur of movement, Mal dropped Makaria’s hand and slammed Thanatos back against a tree, her forearm pressed hard against his throat.
‘You will not invade my mind,’ she hissed, her voice dark with fury.
He showed no fear, if anything, he appeared amused. Lifting a hand, he brushed a strand of her black hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear.
‘I will not invade your privacy,’ he said solemnly. ‘I promise.’
‘If you ever read my mind again, Thanatos, I swear to the go—’ Mal ground her teeth together, realising too late the mistake she'd made, and saw at once that he had caught it.
‘Swear to the gods?’ he teased, even as her pressure on his throat increased. ‘You may swear to me instead, if you like, Melinoe. Or better yet... worship me.’
Mal spat on the ground beside them, her lip curling.
‘I would sooner eat a wyvern’s shit,’ she muttered.
Thanatos laughed, unbothered, and Mal released him with a forceful shove, stepping away with a look of disgust. The urge to punch him surged through her, but instead she returned to Makaria’s side, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her anger.
Behind them, Thanatos followed, the very image of infuriating amusement.
The forest of ghostly trunks and blackened leaves abruptly gave way to a wide, open field, a field of black roses stretching as far as the eye could see.
Mal's breath caught in her throat at the sight.
She knew this flower well; in her own world it was called Nightrose.
Drawn as if by an invisible thread, she reached out, brushing the tip of her finger lightly against one velvet petal.
The field unfolded endlessly before her, a dark sea flecked with thorns and sorrow. Among the roses, souls drifted, some tending the blooms with patient care, others wandering aimlessly, lost to any sense of direction.
A soft laugh rang out, and Mal turned to see Makaria rushing ahead, her hands snatching at the roses as she made her way towards two drakonians busy gathering blooms into woven baskets.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Makaria called over her shoulder, her voice bright with innocent wonder.
At Mal’s side, Thanatos spoke, his voice low and steady. ‘The souls of those who have died from heartbreak,’ he said. ‘They roam these fields until their wounds are mended. Once they are whole again, they are moved to the meadows, or to Tartarus.’
‘And if they never heal?’ Mal asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
‘Then they remain here,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘Time holds no dominion in this place, Melinoe. The souls here would not even know how long they have wandered.’
Mal was about to respond when something caught her eye, movement far across the field. She stepped forward, instinct tugging at her, but Thanatos' fingers closed swiftly around her wrist, halting her.
‘Do not wander off,’ he said.
‘I am not a child.’
‘I am well aware of that,’ Thanatos replied, his tone even. ‘But these are not mortal lands. The souls here... they are desperate. They seek an anchor back to life. You may wear the mantle of a god, but you are still strongly tethered to the mortal world. They will try to cling to you.’
Mal exhaled sharply and stepped back. Reluctantly, Thanatos released her.
‘Do you know the truth about my father?’ she asked, her eyes drifting back to Makaria’s lively figure amongst the flowers.
‘Which father do you speak of?’ he asked, a glint of mischief in his voice.
Her jaw tightened. ‘King Ozul.’
‘I do,’ he said.
‘Then tell me.’
Thanatos chuckled darkly. ‘I thought we were searching for Allegra?’ He flashed her a wicked smile, before stepping forward into the field of black roses, turning back to glance at her with a silent invitation to follow.
Mal hesitated, frowning. She wanted to demand why he would not simply answer, but pride kept her silent. He would tell her eventually, whether by will or by force.
Her gaze slid back to that movement she had seen earlier. She turned, her heart leaping in her chest as her eyes widened at the sight.
‘What is it?’ Thanatos asked, turning sharply to scan the horizon for whatever had caught her attention.
‘Nothing,’ Mal said, stepping forward, keeping her secret close, as he kept his.
She followed him through the sea of roses, Makaria humming a soft tune under her breath. Yet Mal’s glare lingered across the fields, to the figure that watched from afar.
A creature she had seen before.
A white wolf.
…
‘How are we meant to find Allegra?’ Mal asked as they made their way deeper into the endless fields.
‘We ask the river,’ Makaria answered brightly.