Chapter Twenty-Seven
To be cursed is unlike anything. It is the worst punishment. For witches that have committed terrible crimes, their punishment is not death or to be imprisoned for the rest of their days. No. They are cursed.
Each curse will be different. Harsher. A living nightmare to relive every single day.
Many pray for death to grant them a final release from the torture.
And yet, that is the way with curses. One cannot escape them.
Tabitha Wysteria
Kage stood motionless, watching the sunrise bleed slowly across the horizon, knowing he had only minutes left before the curse would claim him once more.
Night was the only mercy afforded to him on mortal soil; with the coming of day, he would be dragged back to the Underworld, back to the truth of what he was now.
From where he lingered, he could see into the small hut where Bryn Wynter slept. Then the wolverian prince stirred. He sat upright suddenly, panic flaring in his movements, his voice raw as it cut through the quiet morning.
‘Kage?’
The sound of it wrenched at Kage’s chest. Every instinct urged him forward. To step inside, to crouch beside Bryn and murmur reassurance, to promise him that he was still there, that he would not vanish without warning. He hated the strain in Bryn’s voice, the fear threading through it like ice.
‘Kage?’
The pull came then.
The ground beneath Kage’s feet shuddered, the snow cracking and sliding as a dark hollow yawned open below him.
The Underworld was calling him home. His black eyes dropped to the widening void, then lifted again to the hut, where Bryn was already stumbling to his feet, fumbling in his haste to reach the door.
Kage wanted to shout, to tell him to stay where he was, that night would come again, that he would return. But the moment had already slipped through his fingers. Bryn could no longer see him. Could no longer hear him.
The Underworld took him.
He exhaled softly as the world shifted, shadows folding in around him. When he turned, he found Zagreus watching him from his throne of bones, his expression drawn into a thoughtful frown. At Kage’s side, Wren bounded forward, licking his arm with bright, unthinking enthusiasm.
Kage did not return it. His thoughts were still above, in the snow, with a prince calling his name into the empty dawn.
‘Back so soon?’ Zagreus drawled, inspecting his nails with feigned boredom. ‘You should have remained hidden away, wyverian prince. If my mother—’
‘Where is she?’ Kage cut in, his voice level and unyielding.
Zagreus’ mismatched eyes flicked up at once, surprise flashing across his face. ‘You wish to speak to her?’
Kage inclined his head. ‘I do.’
‘With my mother?’ Zagreus echoed, a slow, intrigued smile beginning to curl his lips.
Kage said nothing.
‘How interesting,’ Zagreus said, rubbing at his jaw as his smile sharpened into something wicked.
‘You were trembling at the thought of her not long ago, and now you return unafraid. What a sudden change of heart, Kage Blackburn. My sister comes to collect you, and suddenly you grow bold. You have my full attention.’
Still, Kage did not rise to the provocation. He slipped his hands into his pockets and turned away, already moving. He did not know precisely where Persephone would be, but the castle was the most likely place to begin.
He had taken only a few steps when he heard Zagreus sigh behind him, followed by the scrape of bone as he rose from his throne.
‘Wait,’ Zagreus called, falling into step with an easy, unhurried gait. At Kage’s brief look of confusion, he chuckled. ‘If you are truly intent on delivering yourself into my mother’s hands, I refuse to miss the spectacle.’ He glanced down and patted his leg. ‘Come along.’
Wren padded obediently after them, her pale form silent against the dark stone as the three of them made their way deeper into the Underworld.
They passed through the Underworld in silence, their footsteps swallowed by the endless gloom.
Kage could not help but notice how the souls scattered the instant they caught sight of Zagreus.
They fled as though chased by fire itself, veering away in hurried terror, fearful that one wrong glance or misstep might earn them a one-way descent into Hell.
Kage slowed as the castle gates rose before him. It was still unsettling, this sight—a fortress so painfully familiar it tugged at something raw within him. A mirror of his own home. Or rather, he reminded himself, his home had been the imitation all along.
‘Souls of the Underworld cannot cross these gates,’ Zagreus remarked lightly, amusement glittering in his mismatched eyes. ‘But if you ask nicely, I might be persuaded to invite you in.’
Wren released an irritated huff, and in that instant Kage was certain that, were she capable of it, the wolf would have rolled her eyes. Instead, Kage merely cast Zagreus a flat, unimpressed look and stepped forward, straight through the gates.
A sharp gasp sounded behind him.
Zagreus froze, clearly poised to demand an explanation for how such a thing was even possible, when the air itself seemed to ripple.
Shadows gathered and reshaped near the castle doors, coalescing into the familiar figure of Thanatos, his sudden appearance cutting Zagreus’ questions cleanly in half.
Thanatos betrayed nothing as he regarded them, his face a perfect mask of shadow and bone. After a long, measuring silence, he turned and led them onward, his presence guiding them through the halls until they reached the throne room where Persephone waited.
It was a grand, hollow space. One that, in the mortal world, the Blackburns had never truly used.
As Kage stepped inside, memory stirred. He recalled his father, King Ozul, seated upon a throne in years long past, hearing petitions with all the ceremony expected of a ruler.
But time had worn such formality thin. Ozul had grown weary of distance and ritual.
He preferred the closeness of his people—visiting their cities and towns, sitting among them, listening.
And when someone came to the castle seeking judgement or aid, the king never summoned them to a throne.
He welcomed them into the main hall, bade them sit, and shared a meal as they spoke.
There was a reason he was so deeply loved.
Kage had seen Persephone once before, when she had come to visit Zagreus in Tartarus. Yet standing before her now, truly face to face, was different. He had expected anger to rise in his chest, sharp and righteous. Instead, what settled there was something far quieter.
Pity.
And the realisation unsettled him more than rage ever could.
‘What should I call you?’ Kage asked quietly. ‘Freya or Persephone?’
It was still strange to behold the transformation. The valkyrian with freckled skin and clear blue eyes was gone, erased as though she had never existed. In her place sat a goddess now—ancient, formidable, and unmistakably dangerous, power coiled around her like a living thing.
Persephone let out a soft chuckle. ‘Call me whatever you wish, Kage Blackburn. Though I must admit, I am surprised to see you here, given that your sister and I are…less than friendly.’
‘And not because you stabbed me?’ he asked evenly.
Persephone shrugged, careless. ‘I may have held the dagger, but it is your sister who is to blame for your death.’
Kage’s brow furrowed. ‘How so?’
‘She is the reason all of this began,’ Persephone replied, tilting her head as she studied him with a predator’s patience.
Kage’s gaze drifted, unbidden, to the black antlers crowning her head—an easy reminder that it was she who had shaped the Fae and gifted them their magic.
‘This chaos was born the moment your sister realised she could not live knowing her mother did not love her. Or rather, did not love her in the way she wished to be loved.’
‘A mother’s love matters,’ Kage said quietly. He caught the faint tightening of Thanatos’ expression from the corner of his eye. ‘You are a mother. You love your children.’
Persephone inclined her head, then glanced towards Zagreus, who rolled his eyes and pointedly looked away.
‘Children never understand the sacrifices made in their name,’ she said, her voice smooth and unyielding.
Zagreus’ jaw clenched.
Kage did not falter. ‘Then you would do anything to have your daughter back,’ he said, ignoring the weight of Thanatos’ stare upon him. ‘Surely you want her returned to you.’
Persephone leaned forward, the black antlers crowning her head catching the dim light.
‘This is rather brave of you, Kage Blackburn. To walk into my realm so willingly.’ Her lips curved, sharp and knowing.
‘I could trap you here. I could force your sister to come crawling back to save you…’ She lifted her hand, fingers poised to command the very laws of existence. Power stirred, then faltered.
Nothing happened.
Persephone’s dark eyes widened, fury flashing as she turned sharply towards Thanatos. ‘Explain this. Why can I not touch him? Why do my powers fail?’
‘He has been cursed,’ Thanatos replied evenly.
Persephone hissed, the sound raw and furious, while Zagreus threw his head back and laughed, delighted.
‘How very clever of your sister,’ Persephone said at last, her voice cold and honed to a blade. ‘And yet, how utterly unsisterly. To condemn you in order to spite me.’
Kage only shrugged, unbothered.
‘So,’ Persephone said, reclining once more against her throne of black volcanic stone, arms draped languidly over its armrests, ‘why are you here, Kage Blackburn?’
‘I wish to strike a bargain,’ he said calmly, ignoring the way Thanatos stiffened at his side. ‘I know you intend to take my sister’s child.’ His gaze did not waver. ‘I will bring Makaria back from Hell, if you swear to leave Mal’s child untouched.’
Something flashed in Persephone’s eyes—something sharp, hungry, and calculating—but Kage could not name it.
Thanatos stepped closer, tension radiating from him, clearly aching to intervene. Yet he remained silent. To do otherwise would be to reveal too much.