‘What do you want?’ she demanded, breathless despite herself.
‘A silly question, woman,’ he said, laughing. A rough, wicked sound that reverberated through his chest. ‘It will bemost enjoyable, changing your mind.’
‘My mind?’ she frowned, uncertain. ‘About what?’
Thanatos only chuckled, his smile lingering as he finally released her and moved away, retreating into the shadows as if he had never touched her at all.
‘About me,’ he said.
The Underworld was forged by Hades himself, carved from shadow and silence. To each of his children, he bestowed a realm: Tartarus, the prison where souls linger in waiting, suspended between life and death until judged and sent onward either to Hell or to one of the other domains. The Fields of Mourning, a sorrow-laced place where hearts heavy with grief must strive to mend what was once broken. And the Meadows, a realm of quiet eternity, where souls simply dwell, neither condemned nor sanctified, existing in peace without the weight of judgement. Yet there is a fourth realm, untouched by Hades’ hand. It was not shaped by him, nor may he enter it. No god of the Underworld may.
This place, sacred and sealed, was forged by another deity entirely. It is said to be reserved for the purest of souls, though no one truly knows what lies within its borders. It cannot be reached, not by force or magic and once entered, it cannot be left.
In the Underworld, it is known as Elysium.
But across the mortal lands, it is whispered by many names.
Among phoenixians and drakonians, they call it simply; Heaven.
Tabitha Wysteria
‘I cannot believe we get to go on an adventure!’ Makaria exclaimed, her eyes wide with pure delight.
Mal, unable to resist, allowed herself a small smile as she leaned casually against an archway that served as a window, though no glass filled its frame. Her attention drifteddownwards, to the vast drop below, and her heart tightened at the thought of her wyverns, far from her reach.
‘Are you certain about this?’ Thanatos asked as he strode past her, a glimmer of amusement shining in his black eyes.
‘It wasyourmaster's idea,’ Mal replied, schooling her features into innocence, though she could not quite suppress the satisfaction when she caught the irritation flashing across the god’s face.
‘Very well,’ Thanatos said, adjusting the black leather straps of his vest. ‘We shall begin in your region, Makaria.’
Makaria clapped her hands together in unrestrained enthusiasm before darting to Mal’s side, clutching her arm as though afraid the promised adventure might be whisked away at any moment.
‘You are going tolovemy region,’ she beamed.
Mal harboured more than a few doubts, but she could not bring herself to dampen Makaria’s exuberance. Instead, she gave a reluctant nod, offering a smile she hoped would pass for reassurance.
‘Where is Zagreus?’ she asked.
‘He will meet us in his own region,’ Thanatos replied.
Mal inclined her head in understanding. With one final, lingering glance at the now-silent hall of the wyverian castle—its dark, towering spires carved into the heart of the mountain—she laced her fingers through Makaria’s small, eager hand and followed Thanatos out.
They left the towering black citadel behind, descending a narrow, winding path that led to the Forest of Silent Cries, a place she had once known intimately, often visiting the Seer who had dwelled within its shadows.
Here, however, the familiar had been twisted into something strange and half-remembered, as thoughthe Underworld wore the mortal world’s face like a fading mask. It still bore the same haunting trees—trunks pale as bone, with leaves as dark as spilt ink—but unlike the mortal realm above, where the Forest of Silent Cries marked the threshold to the Underworld, a sacred wood only the dying dared enter to find their final rest, here it was something else entirely. Here, it was no more than a forest, an eerie, eternal passage that gathered wandering souls and ushered them into this new, unending existence.
As Makaria tugged insistently at her hand, Mal couldn’t help but be swept into memory, back to a time when she had been a child, dragged laughing through the forest by her father, King Ozul. She had never questioned why he so often took her to visit the Seer; his attention alone had been a treasure she clung to.
In a world where a king’s attention was so often pulled elsewhere, Mal had never taken his for granted. Her childhood had been steeped in love and laughter. She had learnt to fight under Kai’s unyielding instruction; spent countless evenings with Haven, tangling each other’s hair into wild, unholy messes; and listened, rapt, as Kage recounted tales of distant kingdoms. Her mother had played endless games with them all, and at night, their father would gather them close and read them stories spun from old magic and forgotten stars.
And yet... now, standing here in the dead forest of the Underworld, Mal could not quite fathom why her father had been so determined to lead her to the Seer time and again.
‘He knew what you were,’ Thanatos said, his voice slicing into her reverie as he slowed his steps, allowing Mal and Makaria to draw level with him.
Mal froze mid-step.
‘He can read your thoughts here,’ Makaria whispered, squeezing her hand gently.
