"I see it," she gasps, her voice tight with exhaustion and hope in equal measure. "Oh, Theron, I can smell the surface. I can taste the real air."
The smell reaches me too—salt and wind and the clean scent of snow falling on open water. It's the most beautiful fragrance I've ever encountered, more precious than any perfume or incense. It speaks of home, of safety, of a world where the living walk freely beneath stars and sun.
The shades' attacks grow more desperate as we near the top of the spiral, their projectiles coming faster and more accurately. But my song-bursts have grown stronger too, and Eurydice has learned to anticipate the rhythm, ducking and weaving in perfect time with my defensive melodies. We move like dancers now,like partners who have practiced this deadly choreography for years.
Blessedly, my hooves touch something solid—real stone, dry stone, the bottom edge of an opening that leads up toward the world of the physical. I boost Eurydice ahead of me, watching as she scrambles through the gap with desperate energy. Her laughter echoes back down the spiral, bright and alive and impossibly beautiful after so long in the kingdom of the dead.
I follow close behind, my massive frame barely fitting through the opening. As I pull myself through, I feel the spiral stair shudder and begin to collapse, the magic that held it together finally failing. The necropolis is sealing itself again, but too late—we've escaped its grip, climbed free of its eternal hunger.
Above us, the real world waits, and with each breath, each heartbeat, each shared note of our victory song, we rise toward the light that will soon paint the sky with colors the dead have forgotten how to see.
28
EURYDICE
My legs cramp with exhaustion as we climb through passages that grow brighter and more real with each repetitive stroke. The water here tastes of actual salt instead of the honey-sweet medium of the depths, and I can feel currents that speak of wind and weather rather than ancient magic. But the ascent is taking its toll—my breath comes in ragged gasps, my muscles burning with the effort of swimming upward for what feels like hours.
Behind us, the drowned choir has reformed, their voices no longer the perfect harmony we shattered in the amphitheater but something more desperate and hungry. They've realized we're escaping, that their newest recruits are about to slip through their grasping fingers and return to the living. Their song follows us like a net of sound, trying to wrap around our minds and drag us back down into the eternal lament.
But their music is different now—corrupted by our influence, infected with fragments of hope that make their sorrow less pure, less powerful. I can hear notes from our festival tune woven through their dirge, scraps of the lullaby we sang in the chapel echoing through their chorus like cracks in a perfectmirror. We've changed them, just as they tried to change us, and the transformation weakens their hold on this place.
They shape my name like a lure, their thousand voices calling "Eurydice, Eurydice" in harmonies that would be beautiful if they weren't so desperate and cold. They try to make their summons sound like Theron's voice, like my mother's voice, like everyone I've ever loved calling me back to safety. But I know the difference between the music of the living and the songs of the dead. I know which voices truly love me and which ones only hunger for what I carry.
I answer with our festival tune, the melody that started this whole journey when we danced beneath Milthar's lanterns. My voice is weak and trembling with exhaustion, but it carries the warmth of real memory, real love, real hope for the future. The tune cuts through their lament like sunlight through fog, reminding them once again of what they've lost—not just life, but joy, celebration, the simple pleasure of singing together in happiness rather than sorrow.
But even as I sing, disaster strikes. My cramped leg betrays me at the worst possible moment, muscles seizing with pain just as we're navigating a particularly treacherous current. I slip on a piece of debris—a broken tile from some ancient wall—and suddenly I'm tumbling backward through the water, my grip on Theron torn away by the unexpected fall.
Pain blooms through my shin as I strike something sharp, and I feel warm blood mixing with the salt water around me. The current grabs me, trying to sweep me back down toward the depths where the choir waits with open arms. For a terrifying moment I'm spinning in the dark, disoriented and alone, the surface light a distant dream above.
"Theron!" I cry out, my voice breaking with pain and fear.
His massive hand closes around my wrist—the one bound with the red ribbon—just before the current can claim mecompletely. The silk holds, thank the gods, though I feel it stretch and strain under our combined weight. He hauls me back against his chest, his other arm wrapping around my waist with desperate strength.
"I have you," he rumbles, his voice rough with fear and determination. "I have you, my heart. You're not going anywhere without me."
The pain in my leg throbs with each heartbeat, but I forcibly ignore it. We're so close now—I can see actual starlight filtering down through the water above, the first real light we've seen since this nightmare began. The winter solstice is ending, and with it the power that allowed the necropolis to reach so far into the realm of the living.
"Just a little farther," I whisper, more to myself than to him. "We're almost free."
But the effort of the rescue has cost us precious energy, and I can feel Theron's strength beginning to flag. He's been carrying both our weights through this entire ascent, protecting me with his songs and his body, never once complaining or asking me to do more than I'm capable of. But even minotaur endurance has its limits, and we've been pushing those limits for far too long.
The choir's song grows stronger below us, feeding on our momentary weakness. I feel their music trying to seep into my bones, whispering promises of rest and peace if only I'll stop fighting and let them carry me back to their eternal halls. The temptation is real—I'm so tired, so cold despite the warming oils and thermal cavern's blessing. It would be easy to simply close my eyes and drift, to let someone else make the hard choices for once.
But then I feel Theron's heartbeat against my back, strong and steady and utterly alive. I hear him humming our lullaby through gritted teeth, pouring the last of his strength into keeping us both moving upward. This man—my golden bull, mybrave and gentle beast—has literally descended into hell for me. The least I can do is find the strength to help him carry us both home.
I begin to sing again, adding my voice to his despite the pain in my leg and the exhaustion that makes every note an effort. Together we weave a melody of determination and love, a song that speaks of dawn coming and winter ending and the promise that no darkness lasts forever. Our harmony rises through the water like a beacon, calling to the light above and pushing back against the shadows that want to claim us.
The surface grows brighter, closer, more real with each stroke. I can smell pine and snow and the blessed scent of air that has never known the touch of ancient sorrow. Somewhere above, the bells of Milthar are ringing, welcoming the end of the eternal night and the return of hope to the world.
We're going to make it. We're going to survive. We're going to see the sun again.
I hold tight to that thought as we swim toward the light, our bound hands a symbol of love that death itself could not break.
29
THERON
The final corridor stretches before us like a tunnel carved from crystallized silence, and I understand immediately that this is the necropolis's last, most terrible trial. The Hush is a place that eats sound itself, where the very air seems to devour music and voice and breath until nothing remains but the crushing weight of absolute quiet. The water here feels different—thinner, hungrier, pulling at my vocal cords like invisible fingers trying to strangle my song before it can emerge.
