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My hands firmly grip the hilt of Stygius as I plunge it through the ephemeral robes of the Wretched Sneak. It tries to warp away, but a thick, purple fog envelops my blade and the Sneak in turn, hissing as it melts away the rounded edges of dilapidated pillars and walls.
The smog dissipates with my adversary; golden doors beckon me towards the next chamber. I enter slowly, anticipating the dissonant cackling of the Sneak’s kin. Instead, I’m in an open pavilion, where aimless shades mill about and commiserate. A well-trodden trail winds through the lifeless grass, leading nowhere from the heights of Tartarus. I step through the incorporeal forms of the dead to the sealed exit on the other side.
The earth beneath my feet trembles, then quakes forcefully. I look to my left and flatten my body up against the wall, as a cloud of dust speeds down from the peak. A voice comes with it, yelling something like “Slow down, Bouldy!” until the cloud comes to a grinding halt.
Behind me, there’s a boulder with a smile carved into its stone face; directly to its right stands a boulder of a man who waves at me. His mouth is fixed in a sheepish grin and his broad shoulders are draped in a tattered cloth that may have once been a robe. “Your Highness! Apologies about Bouldy here, he kinda got away from me, as he tends to.” He scratches the back of his neck, then looks up. “Oh! I haven’t introduced myself— I’m Sisyphus. This is Bouldy.” His grip nearly crushes the bones in my hand.
“Zagreus, Prince of the Underworld. But it seems you already knew that.”
“You’re really quite popular among the shades, Your Highness—talk of Tartarus is that you intend on escaping. I hope you don’t mind my asking, but is that true?”
“I’m on official business, totally approved by the House of Hades.”
“Oh, if that’s the case, don’t allow me to hold you any longer.” He reaches behind Bouldy and proffers a selection of wares. “I must insist, however, you take one of these.”
I pluck the small canvas pouch and hear the jingling of obols. “Thank you, Sisyphus.” I bow towards Bouldy. “You as well, Bouldy.” As I turn to leave, his file comes to mind, a remnant of my sentence in the records room. “Say, Sispyhus?”
His forward progress evaporates as he slides backwards at the sound of my voice. “Yes, Your Highness?”
“Why exactly were you cast down to Tartarus? All I remember from your file is your reign as a king. Hardly seems deviant enough to warrant an eternity of torture.”
His grin fades like the smaller shades he steps through to get to me. “If you wish to know, I will tell you. However, I hope that you can find it in yourself to excuse my past transgressions.”
I nod.
“I was punished for cheating Death—your colleague, Thanatos,” he continues.
“Cheating Than?” I think back to countless failed practical jokes by Hypnos and me. “I wasn’t aware that was possible. How’d you manage that?”
“I’m not proud of it, I’ll have you know. Olympus decided my reign should end and I disagreed,” he sighs. “And so Thanatos arrived in the murky cover of night, bearing the chains that now weigh me down.” Sisyphus extends his arms out to better emphasize the steel links that dangle from his wrists and torso. “As a dead man’s final request, I asked him to show me how they worked before chaining me in Tartarus.”
“And what happened next, if you made it to Tartarus? No shade has ever escaped the Underworld.”
“Thanatos never took me to the Underworld. Not the first time. He thought me a fool.” His eyes glaze over. “Perhaps I was. Regardless, when he opened the chains, I closed them over his arms. I still don’t understand it, but once I did that, your colleague was dragged away by the Styx. Eventually, your father found me and the rest is history.” The crack of a whip echoes throughout the pavilion and his eyes go wide. “Well, I’d better get back to it. Thank you for chatting with me, Your Highness.”
“No, thank you, Sisyphus. I just wish there was something I could do to help.”
“Don’t worry about me. I did what I did, and now I must carry on with any regrets I may have.” He begins his ascent up the hill, but not before shouting, “You can’t escape your past, Your Highness! But you can learn to live with it.”
My blood boils as I’m ferried across the River Phlegethon. I languidly cast Lord Uncle Poseidon’s rod into the lava, half-expecting it to burst into flames. Instead, a tug at the end of my line sends a chrustacean tumbling through the air. I snag it by its ridged tail and hand it to the ferryman.
The lovely ride ends and my gondolier disappears, infernal hate flooding the air in the wake of his thin, shadowy form. I unsheath Stygius and it rings with the distinctive screech of Underworld-forged metal.
There’s no need, though. I’ve arrived at a private island in Asphodel, where even the searing coals underfoot are somehow a little cooler. The surroundings are absolutely brimming with delectable scents and irreplicable melody. I follow the sweet and smoky beckoning of nectar to a haven in the wreckage.
I step over a collapsed stone wall and a forest nymph yelps, a cauldron in her left hand and an overflowing ladle in her right. I crane my neck upwards to see her completely, and she’s very pretty; her… hair, I suppose, is curly and tied up in a golden sash, and she’s adorned in all sorts of vibrant colors and patterns.
She clicks her tongue at me, but her startled expression fades to reveal an easygoing smile. “Your Royal Majesty, I’ve heard a lot about you.” The nymph curtsies slightly, setting her cookware down on a smooth stone countertop. “I’m Eurydice.”
“Nice to meet you, Eurydice. I’m not married to formality like Father; please, call me Zagreus.”
“Okay, Zagreus . What brings you through my tucked-away corner of Asphodel?”
I spin Stygius playfully in my right hand while I speak. “Oh, you know, just official business. Real important stuff, so I’ll be on my way, if you don’t mind.”
Eurydice shakes her head vehemently, scattering dry leaves to the ground. “Not a chance you’re leaving here on an empty stomach.” She gestures to the wide spread of delicacies, meticulously presented. I reach for a reddish porridge and take a bite. I’m loath to leave behind such a delicious treat, so I scarf it down in a refined manner.
She smiles at my incredulous expression. “I make everything with love and some special ingredients. Pomegranates are easy to come by, but something tells me they’re a little different from those on the surface.”
“I wouldn’t know. But, Eurydice, truly, that’s absolutely exquisite.”
“Why, thank you. It’s been… quite a while since someone’s tasted my cooking, if I’m honest.” She leans back and sighs. “Say, I’m sure you know a lot of shades down here, right, Your Royal Majesty?”
“Again, Zagreus is fine. But, yes, I do know more than my fair share. Why do you ask?”
The question lingers on her tongue like the taste of her porridge on mine. “Would you happen to know an Orpheus? Spindly, whiny-voiced musician?”
I clap my hands together. “Of course! He serves in an official capacity down at the House, as the court musician.” Her face falls; that wasn't the answer she was hoping for. I follow up with, “Lately, he hasn’t been doing much singing. Says he’s lost without his muse.”
Her eyes roll back. “Oh, I’m sure he is.” She sighs again, this time far more bitterly. “Be sure to ask him about the time he tried to rescue his muse from the depths of hell.”
We stand there in silence, Eurydice casting her gaze somewhere beyond me, Asphodel, or even the entirety of my Father’s realm. “I think we’re finished here, hon. If you’ll excuse me.”
She turns away from me and I take that as my cue to board the next unmanned ferry across the isles. As my shade ferryman begins to row, I hear a melody carry clear across the acrid atmosphere of Asphodel.
♫ Goodbye to all the plans that we made. No contracts, I’m free to do as I may. ♫
Elysium offers me a brief moment of respite along the cool riverbank of the River Lethe.
I thank Olympus; the Exalted shades demand unequivocal precision if you wish to avoid being cleaved in twain. And that’s to say nothing about the incessant witches, whose mortal dedication to the forbidden arts makes for rather annoying immortal enemies.
I mark my steps carefully, still wary of fallen warriors starved for glory. This is the farthest I’ve made it under the watchful eye of Father, and I don’t intend to fall short of the surface. However, the phantom aching in the small of my back reminds me of a certain minotaur’s axe and his vainglorious companion. But it seems quiet in this chamber of paradise, and so I sheath Stygius and take a deep breath.
I quickly realize I am not alone. A shade lays on the riverbank, basking in its spray, trailing his fingers over the river’s surface. He hasn’t noticed me yet, or if he has, he’s decided that my presence is of no consequence to him. I approach slowly and overhear him.
“...it’d be so very easy to just… forget it all. And yet, with the opportunity before me, I hesitate. Why?” The faint rustling behind him draws his gaze to me. “Go on, stranger. I’ve no intention of fighting.”
“Nor do I. I’m Zagreus, sir. May I ask your name?”
“A name alone on the banks of the Lethe is doomed to be forgotten. Please, continue on your journey.” His eyes settle on Achilles’ vambrace on my forearm. “But first, take this.” In his calloused palm lays a shimmering spearpoint, its silver surface marred by innumerable blemishes.
“I thank you. ‘Til next time.”
The shade grunts and returns to the river.
Asterius, unfortunately, makes short work of me in the following chamber. The waters of the Styx run from my shoulders in a crimson curtain as I return to the House. Achilles is on duty, standing guard outside of Father’s bedchambers. His Codex feels heavier, as though requesting my attention. I open it and the pages flip to a section titled “Others of Note.”
There, just above a detailed portrait of my Elysian acquaintance, gilded letters spell out “Patroclus.” However, where Achilles is typically wont to wax poetic about the debased tendencies of the tortured shades in Tartarus, there is only a single line. “It is not my place to say much of him, now.”
He sees me poring over the pages of the Codex and calls out. “Lad! How do your attempts fare?” A thin smile forms on his face. “Though, if you’re here before me, I’ve a ghost of an idea.”
I shrug. “Slowly, but surely, Achilles.”
“Something within the Codex seems to have captured your attention. What is it?”
“It’s just… while I was out in Elysium, before I became the latest spectacle of their colosseum? I met your Patroclus.” I present him with the broken spearpoint before continuing. “He seems alright, far less cavalier than the rest of the shades there. Is there anything you’d like for me to say to him, if our paths cross again?”
Achilles’ shoulders slump slightly under the weight of my news. “So you’ve met Patroclus…” He seems to realize his pronounced melancholy, and straightens unnaturally. “If you see him again, lad, give him… give him all of my love.”