Chapter 5 Smoke and Mirrors
Word had spread like wildfire. Professor Ward had carried me back to my dorm, and by the time I stepped into his lecture hall, the story had grown ridiculous: a knight in tweed armor sweeping a damsel away.
The mortification was instant—along with the memory of his steady heartbeat, the intoxicating scent of cedar and smoke.
The room buzzed with that odd electricity I’d come to associate with him. Students filed in, chatting, while Professor Ward stood with his back to the room, writing on the whiteboard.
THE MYTH OF DESCENT AND RETURN
He glanced up, and immediately his eyes found mine.
He set the marker aside and took a few steps toward me. A few steps that somehow closed the entire distance. My pulse stuttered.
“Miss Blumenthal.” His voice was low, meant only for me. “How are you feeling?”
I froze, hyperaware of every student watching. “Better. Thanks to you.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I keep running into you. And then fainting on you, and—”
The corner of his mouth curved into a gentle smile. “No need to apologize. Just take care of yourself.”
I blinked, startled by the softness in his tone. For a moment, something like recognition or concern passed between us. Something that went deeper than professor-to-student.
Then he straightened and returned to the whiteboard.
I slid into my usual seat, my heart still fluttering in my chest.
Amy nudged me. “Your academic crush is showing.”
I shot her an aggravated look, taking a long swig of the dirty chai Amy had gotten me. “Shut up.”
“Never,” she whispered, grinning into her matcha.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Xavier watching me from across the room, his gaze calculating.
I ignored him and kept my attention on the board.
Professor Ward turned to face us, glancing around the room. He paused briefly on me, just long enough to send a jolt through my spine, then continued.
“Good morning,” he began. “Today, we’re continuing our exploration of descent myths. Stories that center on journeys into the Underworld. These narratives involve transformation, sacrifice, and the redefinition of identity.”
He moved across the front of the room. “There are countless tales of the Underworld across all cultures. Who can name one?”
A few hesitant hands lifted.
“Orpheus and Eurydice,” a young woman at the front offered.
Professor Ward gave her a small smile and nodded. The woman practically swooned.
“Very good,” he said, turning back to the class. “Today, we’re looking at a different variation: the tale of Kore, the Maiden.”
I perked at that, thinking back to the books and failed internet searches. I reached for the name in my mind, but it slipped through my fingers. The beginnings of a headache built behind my eyes.
“Most people know her as Persephone,” he continued, underlining the name on the board.
A sort of pressure seemed to release. The strange block on my mind dissipated like smoke, and suddenly, I could see the myth in my mind, as though I’d always known it, but I hadn’t been able to reach it until her name left his lips.
“But before she was Queen of the Underworld, she was Kore, the Maiden,” Professor Ward continued, his gaze sweeping the room. “A figure who disappears into the earth, changes and returns… altered.”
There was something reverent in the way he said her name that made my chest inexplicably ache.
“Some versions describe her descent as an abduction. Others suggest a willing sacrifice. Still others hint at something more complex: an awakening. A claiming of power disguised as loss.” His gaze flicked toward me, lingering just long enough for heat to bloom up my neck.
“Today, I want us to question what descent really means. Is it always a tragedy? Or can it be something more?”
Around me, pens scratched against notebooks. I could barely hear them over the roaring in my ears.
Kore. Persephone.
Both names rang through me like bells, familiar and foreign all at once.
“Mel?” Luz’s voice was low, urgent. “You need your inhaler?”
I blinked at her. “What?”
“You gasped like you couldn’t breathe.”
“I’m fine. I just…” My fingers dug into the desk. “I’ve been trying to remember that name all week. It kept slipping away every time I tried to hold it, and then he said it and—” I stopped, shaking my head. “I can actually remember it now.”
Luz’s eyebrow arched. “That’s really weird, amor. Are you still sick?”
I didn’t respond, suddenly unsure of myself.
Professor Ward paced the front of the room slowly. “Let’s start with what we know. Who was Persephone before the Underworld?”
Hands went up. He pointed to the girl in the oversized sweatshirt.
“She was the goddess of spring,” she said. “Flowers and renewal?”
He nodded. “Yes. Kore, ‘the Maiden.’ A symbol of youthful innocence and fertility. She was often depicted as a girl on the cusp of womanhood. But the myth doesn’t let her stay there, does it?”
He clicked the remote. A classical painting appeared of Hades abducting Persephone amidst dark horses, trembling flowers, and her hand outstretched.
“Some versions say Hades took her against her will. Others suggest she was curious and wandered too close to the border between worlds and chose to descend.”
He let the silence settle before walking to the board and drawing two columns:
KORE (Maiden) | PERSEPHONE (Queen)
“Let’s fill this in together. How do her roles differ before and after the descent?”
Luz raised her hand. “Before, she was sheltered. Her identity was defined by her mother, Demeter.”
“Excellent.” He added notes under Kore’s column. “She lived in her mother’s shadow. Untouchable, but passive.”
Another student chimed in. “After, she rules the Underworld with Hades. She’s the goddess of death.”
Professor Ward smiled. “More than that. She becomes a goddess of duality. Still tied to growth and spring, but now also to decay and the mysteries of death. In some traditions, she’s the one souls answer to, not Hades. She gains sovereignty. Power.”
He added corresponding notes under Persephone’s column.
“The myth of Persephone, like many descent myths, is not just about being taken,” he continued. “It’s about transformation. About shedding the old self to become something new.”
He paused.
“That’s the core of this course. Myth as a mirror. We’re not just studying stories, we’re asking: What parts of us have to die so we can become who we’re meant to be?”
He let the question hang like smoke in the air. Then, he turned to me.
“Miss Blumenthal,” he said. “On our first day, we discussed how the gods weren’t lost. They simply shifted into new forms. Do you think Persephone’s time in the Underworld could be viewed the same way?”
My mind scrambled. “I—I guess it’s less that she vanished and more that she changed forms. The maiden part of her faded, but something deeper emerged.”
He nodded. “So you’re saying the Underworld didn’t erase her. It revealed something already inside her.”
“Yeah,” I said, growing surer. “It made her into someone people didn’t expect. Someone they couldn’t control.”
He smiled approvingly.
“And that,” he said, turning back to the board, “is precisely the power of descent. We don’t disappear when we’re pulled into darkness. We become something new. Sometimes, something more dangerous.” He paused. “More divine.”
His gaze landed on me again, and I felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing.
“In today’s reading,” he continued, “you reviewed Persephone’s abduction, her descent, and her eventual return. Many interpret it as a seasonal change or patriarchal control. But let’s explore another lens: psychological and spiritual transformation.”
He leaned back against his desk, arms folded. “Tell me, Miss Blumenthal, what does Persephone’s journey into the Underworld say about the self? About what it means to become?”
I hesitated, feeling all eyes on me. But his steady gaze held mine patiently, providing a comfort I hadn’t expected.
“I think…” I began slowly, “Persephone’s descent isn’t just literal. It’s symbolic of necessary loss. She had to leave behind who she was to become who she was meant to be.”
He tilted his head, encouraging.
“She starts as the Maiden, innocent, untouched,” I continued. “But in the Underworld, she becomes Queen. The descent reshapes her. It’s traumatic, but it’s also where her identity transforms. She doesn’t go back to who she was before. She can’t.”
A slow smile touched his lips, his eyes bright with satisfaction and pride.
“And what do we call that kind of journey?” he asked.
I reached for the word. “Transformation?”
“A rebirth,” he said. “But one born of descent, not ascension. Persephone doesn’t rise until she falls. It is in the Underworld that she meets herself.”
Silence settled, deep and charged.
“Some say we meet our truest selves in the dark,” he added, his gaze locking on mine.
For a moment, I had the strangest sense he wasn’t talking about mythology anymore.
The conversation continued, but Professor Ward shifted his attention to other students. I needed the reprieve—needed distance from the intensity of his focus.
When class ended, the room exploded into motion. Chairs scraped, bags zipped, and students spilled into the hallway.
I stayed seated longer than necessary, heart still drumming. Luz and Amy stood, glancing toward me.
“You coming?” Luz asked, eyebrows raised.
I hesitated. “Actually… you two go ahead. I wanted to ask Professor Ward something about the project.”
They both blinked. Amy arched her brow. Luz tilted her head, pure chisme energy radiating.
“About Persephone,” I added quickly. “She’s the goddess I picked.”
“Mhmm,” Luz said, smirking. “Sure.”
“Use protection,” Amy teased.
“What?” I yelped, but they ignored me, cackling out the door.
I shook my head, my face burning, and turned back. The group around him was already thinning.
I stepped forward as the final student left. His gaze hit me like a current.
“Miss Blumenthal,” he said, a small smile tugging his lips.
My throat went dry. “I wanted to ask about Persephone. About the project.”