Chapter Seventy-One
Hades always pretends to be the victim. But the truth is this; he is the reason all of this started. He never allowed me to leave. He twisted our daughter’s mind to believe that I hated her. All because he could not deal with me falling in love with a mortal man. He is at fault for everything.
But he will never admit to it.
Tabitha Wysteria
Kage did not know why, whenever he returned to the Underworld, his feet always carried him back to Tartarus.
Perhaps it was because of Zagreus. Perhaps he had glimpsed something in the god that reminded him too much of himself. A loneliness, carved deep and silent beneath the surface.
Or perhaps Kage simply did not wish to be alone.
He had noticed the way Zagreus had grown attached to the great white wolf that wandered the prison halls, and how Wren often lingered nearby, keeping the god company without question or fear.
And that alone had told Kage enough.
Wren was one of the purest souls he had ever known. If she trusted Zagreus, if she chose to remain at his side, then Kage believed he could do the same.
So he returned, again and again, hoping perhaps to help the god with the eternally sorrowful eyes.
But this time, the world seemed determined to mock him.
It always did that, he had begun to realise. The moment he made peace with something, the moment he finally settled his mind… the world twisted everything apart again.
Kage halted at the entrance to the prison.
Zagreus was not seated upon his throne of skulls as he so often was, staring into the endless nothing with that quiet, distant superiority of his.
No.
This time the god sat upon the black volcanic earth itself, his body slumped against the side of the great white wolf.
At first the sight merely seemed unusual. Then it almost looked peaceful—two lonely creatures sharing the silence of a forgotten place. But when Kage saw the wolf’s blue eyes…
When he noticed the creature’s laboured panting and the sorrow glimmering in its expression…
He knew something was terribly wrong.
Kage approached slowly and stopped a few paces away, leaving a careful distance between them, as though stepping any closer might allow their sorrow to seep into him and drag him beneath its weight.
‘Wren went with Mal to Hell,’ Zagreus said quietly, without lifting his head. His hand moved slowly over the wolf’s white fur, stroking it with absent tenderness. ‘She returned not long ago and collapsed. She won’t get up… She can hardly breathe.’
As if to confirm the words, the great white wolf let out a soft, pitiful whimper.
Zagreus’ shoulders tightened.
‘She’s dying,’ he said, his voice breaking on the last word.
The tenderness in the god’s voice startled Kage.
Zagreus was many things; cold and distant, but this quiet grief was something Kage had never expected to hear from him.
The words themselves unsettled him even more.
Wren was already dead.
She could not die twice.
And yet the truth was stranger than that. Wren had been reborn into the valkyrian named Ylva, while the fragment of her soul that had once been Wren had taken form here in the Underworld as the great white wolf that now lay trembling beside Zagreus.
If Wren was dying…
Kage slowly glanced up towards the vast darkness stretching above the prison.
A terrible suspicion crept through him.
Something was very wrong.
‘It’s all right, Wren,’ he said softly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets to hide the way his fingers had curled into tight fists. ‘I’ll find out what’s happening.’
Zagreus looked up, those mismatched eyes shining with fragile hope.
‘I’ll be back.’ Kage turned away before Zagreus could speak. He refused to say goodbye.
Goodbyes carried a terrible finality. And he was not ready for that, not yet.
No.
Wren was strong.
She would endure.
She had to.
Kage felt the familiar pull of the curse tightening around him, drawing inward like a coiling chain. The sensation contracted sharply, preparing to drag him back into the mortal world.
A heartbeat later, he reappeared in the vast main hall of Velunthar.
Chaos greeted him.
Bodies rushed past in every direction, boots striking stone as soldiers hurried across the hall. Voices shouted orders that echoed off the towering walls, each command colliding with the next in a storm of urgency and confusion.
The calm he had carried with him from the Underworld vanished in an instant.
He had returned expecting answers. Instead, he had stepped into pure chaos.
‘There you are,’ Willow Hawthorne said.
Kage glanced over his shoulder. His expression remained carefully neutral as he took in the sight of the princess clad in armour.
Willow was striking to behold; her white hair bright against her dark skin, her presence both regal and fierce.
The image stirred an unexpected memory.
For a brief moment, Kage was no longer standing in a war-torn hall.
Instead, he found himself remembering another time entirely—when he had travelled with his siblings to a drakonian castle to witness Mal marry the Fire Prince.
He had seen Flora Hawthorne there, walking through the castle gardens with her sisters.
He had not truly spoken with them. But he remembered the sound of their laughter drifting through the sunlit paths, the way they moved freely through the gardens as though the world itself could never turn cruel.
Careless. Bright. Untouched by war.
Kage wished, fleetingly, that he could step back into that moment.
How quickly everything had changed.
How violently their world had twisted into something unrecognisable.
How long ago had that day been?
A year? A year and a half?
Perhaps two.
And now here he stood, facing Willow Hawthorne dressed not in silks beneath summer sunlight like her sisters had, but in armour.
‘We must prepare for war, Kage Blackburn,’ Willow said.
It was still strange to remember that this young girl—barely fifteen in appearance—was no child at all. Beneath that youthful face lived a goddess in hiding, one of the most powerful beings in existence.
‘Where is Bryn?’ Kage asked, his gaze sweeping the hall where valkyrians and Fae hurried about, readying weapons and armour.
‘Who?’ Willow was busy fastening a sword to her hip. ‘Oh, the wolverian prince?’
‘King,’ Kage corrected.
Willow shrugged as though the distinction meant little to her.
‘He left.’
Kage stilled. ‘What do you mean he left?’
Willow adjusted the belt of her armour with mild irritation.
‘He left. Do not ask me where.’ She glanced towards the distant entrance where soldiers continued to rush in and out. ‘We are about to fight the witches. Not only them, Kage Blackburn, but my daughter Eris. This will be a bloodbath. We cannot waste our time chasing after a wolverian prince.’
‘King.’
She waved a hand dismissively. ‘Then perhaps he has gone to fetch me a wolverian army.’
But Kage had already turned away. He did not remain to hear anything else. His boots carried him swiftly across the hall, searching for Bryn through the swirling chaos of movement and shouted orders.
Then something caught his attention.
Far in the corner.
Kage was not sure what had drawn his attention there, some quiet instinct perhaps, or the hand of fate itself.
He slowed as he approached.
Two bodies lay upon the ground, resting on enormous leaves that had been used as makeshift stretchers.
Kage paused a few steps away.
Only then did he notice the strange contrast surrounding them.
The hall itself was breathtaking—great tree trunks rising like living columns, vines curling across stone walls, flowers blooming in vibrant colours.
Small rabbits and mice darted through the greenery as though this place were a garden rather than the heart of a fortress carved into the belly of a mountain.
It was a place of impossible beauty.
And yet death had arrived here all the same.
In that moment, the beauty around him soured, twisting into something ugly, something unbearable.
Kage sank slowly to his knees beside Ylva’s body and gently took her hand. He assumed it must be cold, though it was difficult to tell. His own flesh no longer held warmth either, not since death had claimed him. The difference between living skin and lifeless flesh had long since blurred for him.
He glanced towards Arden, who lay beside her.
They both looked peaceful. As though they had merely fallen asleep beneath the quiet shelter of the leaves.
Kage had never known Arden as deeply as he had known Ylva. Wren, as he had first known her. But during their travels he had come to appreciate the Black Lotus warrior far more than he had ever expected.
Arden had been good company.
Steady. Loyal. Brave in the quiet sort of way that rarely drew attention.
And now they lay here together.
Dead.
If Ylva had died in the mortal world, then it made sense that Wren’s spirit in the Underworld had begun to fade. Souls were not meant to exist in two places forever. Eventually, one form had to follow the other.
He wondered where her soul would go now.
Wherever it was meant to travel, he hoped she would find peace there.
Joy.
Perhaps she would find her parents again. Perhaps she would be reunited with her sisters.
And perhaps Arden would be there too, watching over her, making certain she did not wander into trouble as she so often did.
Yes.
Kage liked that thought.
He hoped Wren would find the kind of afterlife she deserved.
The kind he himself would never know.
Kage leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
‘It was a pleasure meeting you,’ he whispered.
With a creeping sense of dread, Kage realised something that made his chest tighten painfully.
By the time day began once again and the curse allowed him to return to the Underworld… the great white wolf might already be gone.
The thought hollowed him.
A sorrow so deep it felt almost unbearable settled over him at the idea that he might not have the chance to say goodbye—to either of them. Not to Ylva, whose hand he still held, nor to Wren, whose spirit was slowly fading in the darkness below.
He had not truly said farewell to Ylva. But at least he had found her here. At least he could sit beside her for a moment longer.
Yet he hoped that he would return to the Underworld in time. That the great white wolf would still be there, breathing softly beside Zagreus. That Wren would still be able to hear him.
He wanted to wish her luck.
To tell her how much she had mattered to so many people.
To him most of all.
Kage had never been one to pray. Faith had never been something he placed much trust in, and even now he suspected that speaking prayers aloud was foolish at best.
But he did it anyway.
Quietly, beneath his breath.
He prayed to the world itself and to fate, to whatever unseen force still lingered beyond the reach of gods.
For one simple thing.
Just one.
A chance to say goodbye to his friend.