Zagreus sat up, rubbing his eyes with his pale hands. Looking more like a disgruntled teenager than the son of Hades, the young man stayed seated on the ground, back hunched and eyes shut in the light.
“I’ll get you next time, Father,” he muttered, “Blasted Spirit Vases…”
Zagreus stretched his arms, finally straightening his back. Eyes still shut, Zagreus ruffled his hair, shaking the last of the blood out of it. He hated waking up in the Styx. He couldn’t even tell whose blood this was. It was warm and comfortable, like walking out of a bath, but… blood is still blood. It is especially discomforting when one is covered in blood that is, in fact, not theirs.
It was in the middle of this thought that Zagreus jerked to his feet, eyes wide and arms close to his face, as Achilles had always taught him..
Every time he awoke from the River Styx, Zagreus found himself stepping into the central corridor of the House of Hades, in the middle of a spring that derived its waters directly from the river Styx. There was a direct hallway that led towards the Throne of the Underworld, in which sat Hades and the Three Mortal Kings behind him. Zagreus had pretty constantly and contently changed the decorations of that hallway (mostly to irritate his father), it was simultaneously always the same. That was the fascinating thing about the House of Hades. There was a fundamental permanence about the whole place, as if the very architecture reminded you that the walls cannot be moved, that death is permanent, that there is no escape. Zagreus felt that he would never truly leave that hallway.
And yet, here was Zagreus, no longer in that hallway.
Zagreus found himself in a clearing in the middle of a forest. It was unlike the one he had found near the entrance to the mortal realm, which was thick with frost and sent chills to your bones. If Zagreus had to use a word for this place, the word would be “wet”. Wetness clung to the air and suffocated it, as if the Anemoi had pissed all over this place. But it was also warm. Zagreus was always used to ice-cold water (not counting the Phlegethon, of course), but this wetness was sticky and warm.
“Ugh,” Zagreus said to himself, relaxing his stance a little, “Not a fan of this weather.”
The godling also found he wasn’t a fan of the noise. There was a constant whirring in the noise, like thousands of little screechy wheels that were all being spun by tiny gremlins. There was birdsong, which Zagreus was assured sounded lovely, but Zagreus winced at the piercing sounds of the shrill cacophony. It almost sounded as dreadful as the godling’s lyre practices.
“I can still hear you, old man,” Zagreus snapped at the narrator as he continued to observe his surroundings.
“Zagreus,” a child’s voice whispered.
Now, Zagreus was not a stranger to telepathic voices. Since he began his mission to escape the Underworld, Zagreus had come in contact with most of the Olympians. They were unable to hold a regular conversation with the godling, given their inability to enter the Underworld, but they spoke in his mind. It sounded like the direct translation of concepts, but also like a thousand copies of the same voice overlaying on top of each other flooding your ears from the inside. Even your humble narrator had a booming whisper to his voice that dominated his eardrums.
But this new voice? Zeus have mercy on Zagreus, but he could’ve sworn this new voice was… something more powerful than Olympus itself.
Which was, of course, not entirely possible. Though Zeus was far from omnipotent, he was the most powerful being in the universe. So whoever this was was extremely good
“...Hello?” Zagreus attempted.
“Zagreus,” the mysterious child repeated.
The godling looked around again. There were scarcely any children in the Underworld, but he was hard-pressed to say he was in the Underworld at all. He looked at the big ball of light in the sky, and within seconds its brightness started burning into his cornea. Zagreus wagered this was why he had difficulty opening his eyes.
“Hello, Lord Apollo,” Zagreus mumbled.
He said this, of course, trying to oppress the growing panic in his heart. How did he arrive here? He remembered seeing his father, again, blocking his way, again, and blathering on about blasted rules, AGAIN. Zagreus remembered drawing his sword, the comfortable hefty weight of Stygius. He remembered feeling Ares’ wrath embrace its blade. He remembered how the edge glinted in the blinding whiteness of the snow.
Zagreus rubbed his brow. It was usually never this difficult to remember what had happened. There was a fight, of course. Lord Hades had done all he could to return Zagreus to blood. What a father, hm? He even broke his own rules, summoning the spirits of the dead to distract Zagreus as he prepared some sort of horrible attack. He shot out beams of pure hellfire. Zagreus could scarce forget the smell of brimstone.
Even with Nyx’s blessings and the embrace of shadows, Zagreus felt his body fall onto the ground- Wait, not this time, actually, did it? This time, Nyx lifted him up again. He felt it. He had defied death, and continued to fight. So then… what happened?
“Blood and darkness,” Zagreus muttered, in absolute shock, “I won.”
Zagreus let out a chuckle, which grew into a full fit of laughter. He looked up at the sky, this time tolerating the absolutely scorching rays of Helios.
“I BEAT HIM!” Zagreus shouted into the sky.
Eh-hem. Anyway.
Zagreus looked around, finding Stygius stuck in the dirt behind him. He unceremoniously drew it from the ground, and with his bloodstained hand, he wiped the dirt off of the blade. It drank in the blood, and glowed happily for a moment.
“So where am I?” Zagreus mumbled.
The godling had a habit of speaking to himself. After the centuries of being left mostly alone by his pale-fingered father, Zagreus had to keep his own company. At times like these, when things seemed dire, and when Zagreus truly didn’t know what to expect, he spoke to himself. It helped him distance himself from the anxiety of the situation, he supposed.
“That’s quite enough,” Zagreus snapped at the narrator again.
“Zagreus,” the childish whisper repeated.
“And enough from that as well,” Zagreus grumbled, releasing Stygius. It smouldered in the air, and vanished in a fit of ashes. “Who are you?”
There was no response. Zagreus sighed. Well, at the very least, now that his father was back in his House, there would be no further interruptions in his search for his mother.
“Wait,” the son of Hades flinched, “It… can’t be, right?”
Zagreus looked around the clearing again.
“...Mother?”
“What? No!” the childish voice snickered, “Do I look like-”
“So you do talk.”
The childish voice silenced itself. Zagreus rolled his eyes.
“Fine. I’m coming. Where do I go?”
The woods itself seemed to respond by giggling. Well, an approximation of giggling. The leaves rustled, and branches folded back as the trees moved.
“Odd,” Zagreus mumbled, “Achilles instructed me explicitly that those aren’t supposed to move.”
And yet, they did. The trees crawled and shimmied side-to-side, eventually revealing a smooth path through the rainforest.
“Fine,” Zagreus said. After all, he was never one to question how things came to be.
Zagreus squinted into the air for a second.
“I can still hear you, old man,” the godling repeated, then started trotting down the path.
“I’ll get you next time, Father,” he muttered, “Blasted Spirit Vases…”
Zagreus stretched his arms, finally straightening his back. Eyes still shut, Zagreus ruffled his hair, shaking the last of the blood out of it. He hated waking up in the Styx. He couldn’t even tell whose blood this was. It was warm and comfortable, like walking out of a bath, but… blood is still blood. It is especially discomforting when one is covered in blood that is, in fact, not theirs.
It was in the middle of this thought that Zagreus jerked to his feet, eyes wide and arms close to his face, as Achilles had always taught him..
Every time he awoke from the River Styx, Zagreus found himself stepping into the central corridor of the House of Hades, in the middle of a spring that derived its waters directly from the river Styx. There was a direct hallway that led towards the Throne of the Underworld, in which sat Hades and the Three Mortal Kings behind him. Zagreus had pretty constantly and contently changed the decorations of that hallway (mostly to irritate his father), it was simultaneously always the same. That was the fascinating thing about the House of Hades. There was a fundamental permanence about the whole place, as if the very architecture reminded you that the walls cannot be moved, that death is permanent, that there is no escape. Zagreus felt that he would never truly leave that hallway.
And yet, here was Zagreus, no longer in that hallway.
Zagreus found himself in a clearing in the middle of a forest. It was unlike the one he had found near the entrance to the mortal realm, which was thick with frost and sent chills to your bones. If Zagreus had to use a word for this place, the word would be “wet”. Wetness clung to the air and suffocated it, as if the Anemoi had pissed all over this place. But it was also warm. Zagreus was always used to ice-cold water (not counting the Phlegethon, of course), but this wetness was sticky and warm.
“Ugh,” Zagreus said to himself, relaxing his stance a little, “Not a fan of this weather.”
The godling also found he wasn’t a fan of the noise. There was a constant whirring in the noise, like thousands of little screechy wheels that were all being spun by tiny gremlins. There was birdsong, which Zagreus was assured sounded lovely, but Zagreus winced at the piercing sounds of the shrill cacophony. It almost sounded as dreadful as the godling’s lyre practices.
“I can still hear you, old man,” Zagreus snapped at the narrator as he continued to observe his surroundings.
“Zagreus,” a child’s voice whispered.
Now, Zagreus was not a stranger to telepathic voices. Since he began his mission to escape the Underworld, Zagreus had come in contact with most of the Olympians. They were unable to hold a regular conversation with the godling, given their inability to enter the Underworld, but they spoke in his mind. It sounded like the direct translation of concepts, but also like a thousand copies of the same voice overlaying on top of each other flooding your ears from the inside. Even your humble narrator had a booming whisper to his voice that dominated his eardrums.
But this new voice? Zeus have mercy on Zagreus, but he could’ve sworn this new voice was… something more powerful than Olympus itself.
Which was, of course, not entirely possible. Though Zeus was far from omnipotent, he was the most powerful being in the universe. So whoever this was was extremely good
“...Hello?” Zagreus attempted.
“Zagreus,” the mysterious child repeated.
The godling looked around again. There were scarcely any children in the Underworld, but he was hard-pressed to say he was in the Underworld at all. He looked at the big ball of light in the sky, and within seconds its brightness started burning into his cornea. Zagreus wagered this was why he had difficulty opening his eyes.
“Hello, Lord Apollo,” Zagreus mumbled.
He said this, of course, trying to oppress the growing panic in his heart. How did he arrive here? He remembered seeing his father, again, blocking his way, again, and blathering on about blasted rules, AGAIN. Zagreus remembered drawing his sword, the comfortable hefty weight of Stygius. He remembered feeling Ares’ wrath embrace its blade. He remembered how the edge glinted in the blinding whiteness of the snow.
Zagreus rubbed his brow. It was usually never this difficult to remember what had happened. There was a fight, of course. Lord Hades had done all he could to return Zagreus to blood. What a father, hm? He even broke his own rules, summoning the spirits of the dead to distract Zagreus as he prepared some sort of horrible attack. He shot out beams of pure hellfire. Zagreus could scarce forget the smell of brimstone.
Even with Nyx’s blessings and the embrace of shadows, Zagreus felt his body fall onto the ground- Wait, not this time, actually, did it? This time, Nyx lifted him up again. He felt it. He had defied death, and continued to fight. So then… what happened?
“Blood and darkness,” Zagreus muttered, in absolute shock, “I won.”
Zagreus let out a chuckle, which grew into a full fit of laughter. He looked up at the sky, this time tolerating the absolutely scorching rays of Helios.
“I BEAT HIM!” Zagreus shouted into the sky.
Eh-hem. Anyway.
Zagreus looked around, finding Stygius stuck in the dirt behind him. He unceremoniously drew it from the ground, and with his bloodstained hand, he wiped the dirt off of the blade. It drank in the blood, and glowed happily for a moment.
“So where am I?” Zagreus mumbled.
The godling had a habit of speaking to himself. After the centuries of being left mostly alone by his pale-fingered father, Zagreus had to keep his own company. At times like these, when things seemed dire, and when Zagreus truly didn’t know what to expect, he spoke to himself. It helped him distance himself from the anxiety of the situation, he supposed.
“That’s quite enough,” Zagreus snapped at the narrator again.
“Zagreus,” the childish whisper repeated.
“And enough from that as well,” Zagreus grumbled, releasing Stygius. It smouldered in the air, and vanished in a fit of ashes. “Who are you?”
There was no response. Zagreus sighed. Well, at the very least, now that his father was back in his House, there would be no further interruptions in his search for his mother.
“Wait,” the son of Hades flinched, “It… can’t be, right?”
Zagreus looked around the clearing again.
“...Mother?”
“What? No!” the childish voice snickered, “Do I look like-”
“So you do talk.”
The childish voice silenced itself. Zagreus rolled his eyes.
“Fine. I’m coming. Where do I go?”
The woods itself seemed to respond by giggling. Well, an approximation of giggling. The leaves rustled, and branches folded back as the trees moved.
“Odd,” Zagreus mumbled, “Achilles instructed me explicitly that those aren’t supposed to move.”
And yet, they did. The trees crawled and shimmied side-to-side, eventually revealing a smooth path through the rainforest.
“Fine,” Zagreus said. After all, he was never one to question how things came to be.
Zagreus squinted into the air for a second.
“I can still hear you, old man,” the godling repeated, then started trotting down the path.
1285/2500 words