She thoughtthe light would blind her, but it didn’t. The smell of soil, grass, and flowers filled her nose. Cyane breathed in deep, having forgotten it all even in such a short amount of time. It helped a little with the growing void in her chest.
They neared the end of the tunnel, just visible at the end of a short rise. She could see brief glimpses when the ferns that blocked it swayed.
He wasn’t there when I looked back.She’d hoped Cerberus would stop her, wanted the primordial near-god of him to save her, not leave her. She’d been prepared for many things, but losing him, and so quickly after everything? She hadn’t been prepared for that.
You belong with me.Yet, he had done nothing but urge her to go. Now that she was right at the threshold of the realms, she wasn’t sure she even had any choice in the matter.
She was sick of not having a choice. Cyane gritted her teeth despite her sorrow. She was sick of the illusion of control.
When they reached the entrance to the cave, Cyane hesitated.What happens when you come back from the realm of the dead?Hermes was waiting for her, holding the foliage that obscured the opening to the tunnel to the side and looking less patient by the second. She only had two options.Really just one option,she sighed.
Cyane took the final step.
Hermes helped her through the crack of the entrance, pushing the rest of the vines back. The once great river of Styx had become nothing more than a brook, babbling over rocks and stones.
Cyane straightened in the growing dawn light. She hadn’t realized how cold and numb she’d been in the Underworld until the warm air blew across her flesh. Her stomach growled. She swallowed, feeling incredibly thirsty. Normal aches and pains assailed her. Everything returned.
Cyane rubbed her arms against the onslaught of feelings, of her bodily functions returning. God, was she hungry.
“You’ve crossed over,” Hermes said, drawing her attention. He no longer appeared as a gilded, winged god, but like a handsome man aged into his forties. He wore jeans and a shirt which hid his once-bare chest, and even had light blonde scruffy beard. “It’s not always easy leaving a timeless place.”
Cyane glanced down at herself. She still wore her gold gown and sandals. “Where are we?”
“Northwest of Taygetos mountain, near the plateau of Tripoli—depending, of course, upon the names of this time period. Greece, to make it easier. The Alpheus river, or part of it I suppose?” Hermes kicked at a rock. “The entrance to Tartarus changes.”
Cyane pulled up the vines they’d just crawled through, finding nothing but a small hole where the water trickled. “Oh.” She frowned.Oh...
“You won’t find your way back, not without help.”
A soft cry and a rustle of bushes sounded nearby, startling both Hermes and her. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the brook and behind a thick copse of trees and bushes. He pressed a finger to her mouth as the noises grew closer, and they both knelt to watch through the leaves.
Three women appeared and walked along the brook, stopping where Cyane and Hermes had been standing moments prior.
“My beautiful, fair as the morning sun, a budding flower at first light,” Hermes murmured like a love-sick puppy.
They were incredibly beautiful women. Hecate Cyane recognized, though she no longer wore regal regalia, but instead a long black skirt and matching vest with puffy white sleeves pouring out of it.
Beside her was a woman with blonde hair pulled back, wearing worn jeans and a loose-fitting green top that hung low on her heavy breasts. Her arms were bare and slightly tanned, gold bangles circled her wrists, and there were gold chains draped from her neck. She held the hand of a third woman who looked very similar, if not a little younger.
Demeter and…Cyane gasped, the sound making Hermes narrowed his eyes upon her in warning.
Persephone.
The women spoke with each other, but Cyane didn’t hear any of it.
I know her!The revelation nearly made her stand up and rush to the women without thought, but a hand clamped down on her shoulder.
The paintings in Cerberus’s room came back to her suddenly. The very paintings she couldn’t look at for more than moments without having to turn away because of the pain that filled her head.
Persephone wore a dress similar to Cyane’s, the only one of the three that looked like a true Grecian goddess, but Persephone’s was a pale yellow, a soft chiton that clung and accentuated the maiden appearance of her. That was the difference between Demeter and Persephone, one had the aura of a mother…the other, an eternal maiden.
Persephone beamed with fresh radiance, blue skies, and soft sunshine. It was impossible to look at her without being filled with love. The kind of love that needed protection at all costs because it could so easily wilt.
“I know her,” Cyane whispered in awe. That feeling of pure love filled her. It nearly eclipsed everything, all that she had been through, everything with Cerberus, even the horror of the Underworld and Hades. She knew Persephone so deeply, so fully, that it made her throat close and her chest tighten.
Hermes’s hold on her tightened, but she barely registered it as she stared at the goddess.
Hecate raised the vines for Persephone as Demeter hugged her daughter fiercely, tears pouring down her cheeks. The young goddess hugged her mother back but quickly untangled herself from the embrace. A bright reassuring smile pulled at her bow-shaped lips, however, Demeter wasn’t having it and crumbled to the ground. The grass and weeds around her dried up and browned.
