Persephone
Chapter fifty
We had returned, screams thankfully fading into the din behind us, from the Styx to a building that lay just beyond on the way up to House Hades.
Its hallowed halls were black, just like everything else here, and specters were everywhere.
This was where feral souls came from Charon’s boat, the next phase after crossing the river into the realms of the dead, Hades was explaining.
He walked just ahead of me with his hands clasped proudly behind him, not to leave me in his shadow, but to lead me, to showcase his life’s work, the story of the Underworld.
A hymn with much more than fear behind it, another direct opposition from what Mother had taught me.
Yes, the Phlegethon and fields of punishment housed shades that deserved punishment, but the judges and Hades seemed to withhold that for souls who genuinely deserved it.
Souls who truly and maliciously hurt others in their life.
He looked at the realm the way a child beheld a jewel—with wonder and awe that even after all his eons here never quite faded away. The Underworld was a burden, certainly, but in his own way, I think he loved it.
“Once the souls cross the River Styx, they must drink from the Lethe to help them forget their former life,” Hades explained, pointing to a vial of water one specter gave to a new shade.
“It makes moving on easier. Over time, they’ll gain their memories back, after they’ve processed their death.
When they can bear it without breaking.”
“The shades,” I mused. “They must be so fragile. So afraid.”
Hades opened his mouth to reply when a thready shriek rung through the air, disturbing the stillness like a grave robber in the quiet of night. I jumped, shrinking back. Hades touched my arm, grounding and steady.
“It isn’t common, but some shades resist,” he said plainly. “It’s not unheard of. Attachments… cling. Linger.” Another strangled cry cut him off and his arm looped my back. “Come. You don’t want to see this.”
The shade just ahead threw the vial of water away, pleading with the uncomfortable specter before him, his voice so small, so full of sorrow and helplessness. “No, please, no… my son…”
I moved without meaning to, shrugging off Hades when he reached for me. I turned back only enough to whisper one thing, “Trust me.”
I’d enjoy his stunned silence at a later time.
Instead, with a wave of my arm, I dismissed the helpless-looking and now empty-handed wraith, and fell to my knees with the distressed shade.
Hades hovered behind me like a shadow I could feel, as if a silent anchor to us both.
The shade’s eyes flared, mumbling a string of apologies even after my hand gently fell onto his.
I was surprised, being able to feel his cold hand underneath mine.
“Your feelings aren’t an inconvenience.” I whispered the words to him that Hecate had given me only days ago. “Speak your pain, and I will hear it, shade. Might you begin with your name?”
“Haldrin,” the shade whispered, eyes slowly, hesitantly rising to mine. “My name is—was—” he corrected himself with reluctance, “Haldrin.”
“You’re not lost, Haldrin. You are found, though where you find yourself is new. It’s okay to be fearful. I think it’s only natural when going into a new beginning.”
“It’s not for me that I weep, my lady.” His face fell, too broken to even meet my gaze.
“Tell me, what is it that troubles you so, sweet Haldrin?” I squeezed his hand in what I hoped was an encouraging gesture.
“It’s my boy. My son.” His face contorted, making me want to crush him to me. “I held him. Every morning. He smelled like oranges….” A sob broke through his delicate resolve. “I can’t let him go. I can’t.”
My heart cracked open, his pain forcing my own to rise up in my chest, unwelcome.
I missed my mother in a similar way. I found myself wanting to show her this place, to show her it wasn’t what she’d originally thought.
Hades’ saddened eyes met mine briefly before I returned my full attention to the weeping soul before me.
“Memory doesn’t disappear simply because you release it.
It plants a seed, part of what comes next. ”
“A seed?” Haldrin asked in a tight, small voice.
“Yes. You loved him deeply, enough that your very soul is formed by that love. That cannot be diminished, not by any magic. You will carry that with you into your time here.”
“But forgetting… it feels like a betrayal.”
“Not a betrayal. Not an abandonment. It is rest. You have done your duty as his father, Haldrin. You need to allow yourself to rest. You needn’t carry this wound around for eternity.
” An idea hit me like a lightning strike.
I rushed forward before logic or Hades himself could derail me. “Tell me your son’s favorite color.”
The shade paused, confused. “Color?”
“Yes. Tell me his favorite color. When I return next to the mortal realm, I’ll plant a flower in the honor of you both.
His favorite color near your home. I’ll take the love you have for him and plant it, so any time he sees it, he’ll feel how much you loved him.
Your love will bloom again for him. How could anyone feel abandoned that way? ”
The shade lifted his head slowly, blinking. “You would do that?”
“For you both, it would be my honor.” I bowed my head. His expression softened from anguish, to wonder, to gratitude.
“Will I see him again?” Haldrin whispered. I looked to Hades above us, not wanting to lie to this pained soul. Hades nodded, a warm smile softening his features.
“Souls have a clever way of finding one another,” Hades said, coming down to kneel with me so he could be with Haldrin at his level. “I’ll watch for him. And I’ll do my best to ensure your reunion.”
Tears welled and spilled from Haldrin and me both. “Blue,” he whispered, squeezing my hand. “Godric’s favorite color is blue. Like the sky after a thunderstorm.”
“Then the moment I’m topside, I’ll plant that flower for you and for Godric.
Perhaps some forget-me-nots. Wouldn’t that be beautifully appropriate?
This is my vow to you as a goddess.” Placing my hand over my heart, I bowed my head once more.
The shade’s trembling slowed until ceasing at last. His face fell, not in sorrow but exhaustion, and beneath that, like peeling back the layers of an oil painting, was relief.
Hades himself offered Haldrin a vial of Lethe water. This time, without a tremor, Haldrin took it. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
And with that, Haldrin drank the water, his features going blank as the magic of the river washed his memory clean, cradling rather than consuming.
Hades and I stood slowly, shucking the weight of the last few moments with several long breaths.
“You made him feel seen,” he murmured after a heavy swallow. “You gave that soul great comfort.”
“I offered hope and nothing more, Hades,” I said quietly, my hand on his arm. “I had no semblance of hope when I arrived here. If I have the ability to alleviate that hopelessness for another, I will.”
“You’re angry with me,” Hades observed, and suddenly, I realized he was right when my anger swirled angrily within me.
“All these shades over eons have been terrified,” I stated. “They’ve needed comfort, love, support and you what? Forced them into forgetting because they’d forget the trauma anyway?”
He looked away, trepidation bleeding into guilt.
“No more.” I raised my voice so every shade, every ghost, every nymph, and the god of the dead heard me unwavering.
“I’m to be summoned if this happens again.
Fear should never be the last thing a soul remembers.
Fear should not be anyone’s defining moment—certainly not in a place that’s supposed to cradle them in their most vulnerable time. ”
Hades blinked, clearly unaccustomed to taking orders. But he recovered with a soft smile—not a grin, not a smug smirk. A genuine smile, something akin to pride.
He glanced around, meeting every eye. “You heard her. You’re to summon either of us should a soul struggle like this.
I want more nymphs stationed here to aid in this as well.
This is not a request.” Either of us. Not just me.
Hades turned his gaze to me. “You’re surprised.
I can admit when I’ve made foul, and I can learn to correct my oversights. ”
If you quote Demeter every time you look at me or a new situation, you’ll never know what you think.
“Good that a dead dog can still learn new tricks.” My mother’s version of Hades was disintegrating before my eyes.
I didn’t quite know what to make of that, of the monster falling away and leaving something undefined in its place.
Something gentler. Something half formed.
A story told wrong and unjust, trying to right itself.
Something that was a new kind of danger.
His hand reached up, a ghost that whispered over mine. I hadn’t even realized I’d been bracing myself on his arm. With a furious blush, I moved to pull it away, embarrassed, but he held my hand firm in his, his hand warm over mine. That warmth spread to my chest, my cheeks.
I realized all of a sudden, without ever noticing the signs, that my heart had softened for the god of the dead.
It wasn’t just today either. He saved me from the Lethe, a river I noted was carefully absent from today’s tour.
Somewhere along the way, even when I hadn’t seen him, I had seen the results of his influence.
Nobody in the Underworld treated him as the monster my mother had made him out to be.
In the wake of the mist-drenched realm, the basalt and blackened sand, and stones more ancient than any of us, something shifted between us, within us. Something deep and primal. Real.
Something completely unforeseen.