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Zagreus limped his way to the surface, his father just vanishing back into the earth. He slung his shield on his back, walking through the archway and awaiting his inevitable doom.
But he felt a strength wash over him, where his body pushed on. He walked through the tall grass where it peaked out of the snow. The sun was just rising, the reds washing the ocean.
He took a few cautious steps, ready for his body to give out. Frowning, he wondered if his mother had returned to her cottage, and he could be guided there again. That was enough to push him forwards until he reached the cliffside.
There, sitting on the edge, was a figure. One that was not Persephone.
He stopped right in his tracks, having not seen anyone else besides her on the surface. He could see a long braid that shifted with the wind.
They turned over their shoulder, bronze skin warmed by the rising sun. They stared at each other for a moment, Zagreus almost beginning to wonder if they were a hallucination—or some spy from the gods, encroaching on his mother’s cottage.
“Hail, fellow traveller,” they called out, voice even and clear, “Would you rest a while? You look as though you could use it.”
“Uh—” he blinked, not from their words, but now a better read of them.
This was no god, no monster. No ghost.
A mortal, sitting at the edge of the Underworld.
“Okay,” he said and walked up carefully.
They shifted over, allowing him to sit beside them. Two strands of dark hair framed their face, whipping in the cool wind. They were dressed simply, with white wraps around their body that seemed too little in the chill of winter. He could hear the blood pumping through their veins, red, just like his own.
They were turned to face the sunrise, staring relentlessly into the sun, even as it burned his own eyes. He could see theirs watering from the intensity.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” they said, voice softer now, “It’s my favourite time of day.”
“Who are you?” he asked, curiosity more than piqued.
They glanced at him, their chest rising in a deep breath, “Just a traveller on the road. I suppose it’s time?”
“Wh—” Zagreus couldn’t finish, feeling a sharp pain tug at him, his spirit fading.
A flash of concern passed over the stranger, reaching a hand out to touch, but falling just short.
“Are you okay?” they asked, “Can I help?”
“I—” he felt his spirit fade as he tried to claw at the ground to stay, but the Styx took him regardless.
Zagreus stepped out of the pool of blood, body renewed and weakened all at once. He stared to the other end of his hall.
He had to get back there, to get answers about the stranger.
He glanced in his journal, just in case. But there was no mention of this stranger. He placed it away.
He cleaned off his spear the next time he was at the archway. He quickly moved on, not trying his luck with the river there. Fish would have to wait.
He made the trek back to the cliffside, and the figure wasn’t there.
His breath caught, wondering if they had moved on.
“Damn,” he muttered, scratching at his neck.
But as he raised his head, he saw the mortal roasting something over a crackling fire, smoke rising. They glanced at him over the flames.
“Traveler,” they called, “You’ve returned. Are you alright?”
“No,” he admitted, “I only have so long, I can’t…I can’t stay on the surface. I don’t know how I’m staying this long.”
They hummed in thought, poking the fire with a stick, sending flames up into the air. They chewed on something, watching him curiously.
They pulled part of the meat off of the stick, placing it in front of them, in his direction. They looked at him expectantly.
He stepped up, staring down at it.
“Are you…offering this to me?” he asked, baffled.
They tilted their head, “Isn’t that what you want?”
“No? I—Look, I just want to know who you are. This isn’t a place that mortals should have been able to find.”
They smiled at that, and took another piece of their skewer, “Good.”
His head was swimming with questions—and then really swimming. He groaned, clutching it, and falling to his knees.
The mortal got to their feet, brows drawn together in concern.
“Does it hurt? Can we stop it?” they asked.
He shook his head, “I’ll be back, I—”
And he was gone.
Returning to the House of Hades, Zagreus came to Nyx, confusion across his features.
“Nyx, there’s…someone strange when I get to the surface. Which is strange in itself, because I can stay up there again,” he admitted, glancing up at her, “Can you see them?
She was quiet for a moment, her long robes fluttering around her, plunging into an endless night.
“I can, child. They’ve cross over my veil, a mortal.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, “Because if they were able to break your veil—?”
“Not break,” she correct, “They slipped through, as do the birds and other wildlife. It’s curious, they have the stench of death.”
Nyx glanced to the side, pondering, “And a touch of fate.”
“Should I speak with them?” he asked, “…Scare them off? Are they in danger, here?”
“No danger, I sense no malice from them. But be cautious, child, to speak with mortals directly comes with risk.”
“I’ll be careful,” he said with a nod, before turning to his room, ready for the next ascent.
It had been difficult, as he slung his bow across himself. A hard-fought fight, he felt like he was getting sloppy in his desire to reach the surface again. Thoughts of seeing the mortal distracted him during the battles.
He pushed through the archway, climbing up at the cliffside. They were there, back pressed against a tree. They rolled over, opening one eye. They held a hand to their face, covering a yawn.
“Traveler,” they greeted, sitting up, their toga pooling across bare legs, “You did promise you’d be back. Does it hurt?”
“What?”
“When you die. It looks painful,” they frowned, face tight.
“A little,” he admitted, “But not for long.”
Really getting to take them in, he saw just how mortal they looked. Not even the same way Achilles did, far from it. They looked frail, diminished. He wondered if all living mortals looked so—weak.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
A few snowflakes landed in their hair, little white flecks in the dark strands. The snow that hit him melted instantly.
“Alcene,” they responded, “Is this why you keep returning?”
He blinked, “No, I—maybe? It’s just I’ve never seen someone here before. Not a mortal, at least. You’re close to the Underworld, you know?”
Perhaps he should not have said it, but he had visions of satyrs escaping from their halls and trampling them.
“It’s dangerous, do you have someplace to go?” he finished.
“I know it’s my time. Isn’t that why you’ve come, Lord Hades?”
He startled, “Lord—!? No, no, I’m not—”
He sunk to his knees, feeling the Styx wash over him, pulling him away, “Not now ,” he gasped, “My name is—”
And he was returned to the House of Hades, frustrated and climbing out of the pool of blood.
“Damn, every time I get closer…” he shook his head, shaking it off.
He would just need to do it again, no time to rest.
Alcene was waiting on the cliffside again, dangling their feet off the edge. There was the crunch of snow beneath his feet, that melted before his flame.
“Hello, traveller,” they said, still facing out to the ocean.
“Zagreus,” he told them, “My name is Zagreus.”
Alcene turned then, looking him over, “Zagreus?” they let it roll over their tongue, “I like it. Forgive me for not recognizing it.”
“Nothing to forgive, I’m not…” his shoulders tensed, “It’s complicated.”
“But you are a god,” they said, no question in their tone.
“How could you tell?” he asked, head still spinning with the idea of being mistaken for his father by this mortal.
They laughed at his question, covering their mouth with their hand. The sound was warm, not mocking.
“How could I tell? You cannot see your own power?” Alcene looked amused, “If you were standing where I was, there would be no doubt in your mind.”
He glanced down at himself, wondering what exactly they saw.
“Your glowing feet with a clue as well,” they gestured with a smile, to where the snow melted around him, “But I did not know gods could die. Is that what happens?”
He nodded, “I return to the Underworld. I usually cannot stay up here long, I don’t know what’s different.”
“Maybe you are just eager to see me,” Alcene smiled, playful.
And when he doubled over, hand bracing himself along the ground, he did not cry out in pain. They both knew he would return.
And he did.
Alcene was waiting for him, resting against one of the snow-covered boulders. They shivered in the cold wind until he approached.
“You warm up this place, you know?” they pointed out, “It’s like sitting in the sun when you’re here.”
He took that as a sign to get closer, sitting across from them. He watched as the snow rescinded, turning to water, and the goosebumps across their legs began to fade.
“So, who are you? You said you were a traveller, do you have no place you can go? Nowhere you are from?”
Alcene shrugged, glancing away, “Not anymore. I left it all behind. I’ve moved around my whole life. I can rarely stay in one place.”
“Why is that?”
They smiled sadly, “It’s hard to get close to others.”
“And why did you think that I was my…that I was Hades?” he asked, “You kept saying that it was your time.”
“I thought you had come to fetch my soul,” they admitted, glancing back at him, “You were far kinder than what I expected.”
“Hades isn’t the one who collects the souls,” he scratched his neck, “That would be Hermes, or Than, or maybe Charon from here.”
“Than?” they asked.
“Thanatos,” he corrected himself, “We’re…close.”
They let out a laugh, a little wonder in their eyes, “And you haven’t come to reap my soul? I figured you would have done it by now.”
“No,” he said, but felt confused, “Do you expect me to? Do you…want me to?”
They let out a sigh, “I wouldn’t have a choice, would I?”
And neither did he, as the Styx claimed him again.
“Achilles, sir,” Zagreus said to him, once back in the House, “May I ask you a question about your time as a mortal?”
“You may, lad, though I cannot promise I will answer it,” he said, a smile both warm and sad.
“Did you fear death?” he asked, curious, “I had heard that mortals are often terrified of their final moments, and do everything they can to avoid coming here.”
“I was,” he admitted, “For many years before. I did terrible things in the name of keeping myself alive. But when there was nothing for me to live for, I went gladly to the jaws of fate.”
He swallowed thickly, a human gesture that carried on past death, “Why, lad?”
“I…I’ve met someone,” he admitted, “A mortal at the border of the realm. Their name is Alcene.”
“It’s been many years since I walked the earth,” Achilles told him, “If you are expecting me to know the name. Do they fear their death?”
“I don’t know,” Zagreus said, quiet, “They seem resigned to it.”
“Better attitude to have.”
He was resolved to get back to the surface and ask them himself.
“Are you afraid of death?” he asked.
They were standing, the skirt of their toga blowing in the wind, long legs revealed beneath. They had their arms raised in a stretch, taking a deep breath of the cold air.
Alcene was quiet, looking away from him.
“Alcene?” he asked again.
“…yes.”
They turned over their shoulder, braid spilling down their back.
“Though I shouldn’t be,” they continued, “I know it has been coming for a long time. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, a few steps forwards, almost beside them now.
Seeing them on their feet for the first time, he realized they were of similar height. Tall for a mortal.
Alcene shook their head, turning now to face him right on, “There is nothing to be done. My fate was sealed a long time ago.”
“It might not be,” he insisted, “I know of the Fates, I can check the prophecies—”
They held up a hand, “It’s okay. Unless you can undo the very magic of an Olympian, don’t waste your time.”
He startled, “You mean the gods of Olympus? What did they do to you? And why?”
They let out a weak laugh with no humour, “ Why? What reason does a god need to do anything? You could strike me down in an instant, on a passing whim. On a slighted insult.”
Zagreus frowned, confusion rippling through him at their bitter, sharp tone, “But I would never, not to you or—or anyone.”
Alcene’s expression softened, “Forgive me, Zagreus. I know. You are not like the others. No other god would offer to help me, knowing that I am cursed by one of your own.”
“Cursed? What—” he doubled over, a searing pain wracking through him.
He glanced up at them, eyes blurring as they stood there, hair blowing in the wind.
“Next time,” they promised, “Return to me.”
It took longer than he had hoped.
Wielding the Rail, he had been cut down, embarrassingly, by Theseus in Elysium. He returned to the House in frustration and was quick to abandon the rail and grab his trusty sword instead, ready for another climb.
But he was growing sloppy, as a witch’s bolt hit him square in the chest and blasted him back into the lava. He sunk into the depths, before waking up once again in the pool.
He swore, bracing his hands against the stairs. As he walked through the ghosts lined up to speak with his father, Hades glanced down at him as he passed.
“Growing tired, boy?” he sniped, eyes glazing over the papers in front of him.
“Never,” his jaw clenched.
His relationship with his father was still—tenuous, and he tried to ignore the comment.
“Are you alright, Zagreus?” Persephone asked, voice soft.
He glanced at his mother, shoulder slumping.
“Fine,” he glanced away, “It’s good to see you.”
Deciding that perhaps he did need a break, he went up to Cerberus, giving him a scratch under the chin, stroking the only head that would let him.
“How’s my boy?” he asked, feeling the tension in his shoulders release.
“What’s on your mind?” his mother prompted, encouraging and curious.
“I—” he stepped back from Cerberus, glancing towards her, “There’s someone on the surface, not far from where you stayed.”
She took in a sharp breath, but he raised a hand.
“It’s alright, they’re just…they’re a mortal. Nyx said that she doesn’t think they mean any harm,” he explained.
“Who are they?”
“That’s the thing, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. Their name is Alcene, they said they were cursed by the gods of Olympus. They said that they could be fickle, and cruel.”
Persephone locked her hands together, looking down, “They are right, you know. Especially to mortals.”
“Is there any way to break such a curse?” he asked, hopeful.
She bit her lip, “Perhaps, but it would be difficult. Such things are often determined by the god who made the curse.”
He nodded, absorbing that.
“But be cautious,” she warned, “Such matters are not to be trifled with lightly. I know you are bold, but often the gods claim such mortals, and to break their curses would draw unnecessary attention.”
“I understand,” he promised.
When he next reached the surface, he was relieved to see Alcene waiting for him.
They were curled up beneath a tree, shivering. They looked up to see him approach, “My fellow traveller returns. I thought perhaps you had lost your way.”
“It’s not easy as finding the path,” he admitted, “To escape the Underworld—”
“Is that what you’re doing?” they asked, “Escaping? You cannot walk freely?”
He shook his head, regretting his words, “It’s an impossible task.”
“You’ve done it, many times now.”
“But the Styx claims me anyway,” he gave them a self-deprecating smile, “There is no escape and all of that.”
He sat across from them, and they took to the warmth.
“Now, if I remember correctly, you promised to tell me about this curse?”
Alcene sighed, “I know of the gods' wrath, tasted it without ever incurring it myself.”
He frowned, “How can that be?”
“Mine is the tale of many. Of a wayward husband, and a jealous wife. Not long after I was born, the King of the Gods walked among the mortals of my town. He saw my mother and disguised himself to be mortal as she was. He charmed her, and they began an affair. Naturally, Hera found out about his transgression. He discarded my mother, not doing a thing to defend her from Hera’s wrath. Her curse was not for my mother, but instead for the thing that she loved most.”
“You,” he felt a sinking in his stomach.
“And who are we to blame?” their voice came out strained, “The jealous wife, who cursed not her husband but the lover who never knew the truth? Or the wayward husband, who had gone astray and abandoned his vows, and then his new plaything to be tossed aside?”
Alcene clenched their jaw, “I condemn them both .”
Zagreus half-expected to see a bolt of lightning strike through the sky, but Nyx’s veil protected this mortal from blasphemy.
Alcene saw his expression of worry and gave him a soft smile, “What are they going to do, damn me more?”
“They can’t reach you here,” he shook his head, “You’re under the protection of Nyx. And mine, as long as I’m here.”
“Would you fight the gods for me?” they asked, laughing at the notion.
“I would explain that you did nothing wrong and that your curse should be removed,” he said, returning the smile, “Speaking of—what exactly is your curse?”
But before they could speak, he felt a sharp pain in his head as he clutched it.
“Better get back fast, I might need you to fight off Hera with me,” they joked, even as their expression looked pained as he faded.
“I’ll be right there.”
And he was, washing streaks of his blood off of him in the river as he pushed through the heavy snow.
It was growing colder, and he saw Alcene. They looked even frailer from a distance, a small shape, a dot against the expanse of the ocean.
“Any gods attack you while I was away?” he jested, coming to rest. He could see the footsteps where he had been last, slowly filling with snow.
“No gods, some noisy birds,” they glanced towards the tree, “Don’t you love their songs?”
They both fell quiet, listening to the chirping of the birds. The sound was soft, pretty. Not unlike the pluck of a lyre.
“It’s beautiful,” they finished, watching one fly out of the tree, “Another of my accursed loves.”
“Is your curse why you moved so often?” he asked.
Alcene nodded, watching the birds, “Hera cursed me to give my heart away. Each time I loved, I would get weaker, and weaker still. Until one day I will be nothing but dust.”
“That’s…horrible,” he swallowed.
“My parents had to send me away, to protect me. We had a dog and—” and that, their voice caught, and their eyelashes fluttered, “How could you not love him? But it was killing me. And it was breaking their hearts.”
They shut their eyes, tears trailing down their cheeks, “It didn’t matter what love. I loved my craft until it hurt to do. It’s in my nature to love. To love what I do, to love the sound of the birds, to love my neighbours. I had to isolate myself, to live in misery, just to survive.”
Alcene stopped, staring out at the ocean, “So I fled. Ran until my feet couldn’t carry me any longer. I don’t have the strength to return, nor is there anything to return to. This place was beautiful, and it felt safe. Perhaps that is this veil of the night you spoke of. The water…I grew up in a coastal town. I love the sound of the waves, and the vastness of the sea. And it’s killing me, but I love it anyway. I cannot help myself.”
“Alcene…I’m so sorry,” Zagreus told them, taking that all in, “That’s horrible what she did to you, for something that was not your fault. How could she do that to you?”
“They do not care about us. The gods do not care about mortals. If they did not love offerings and prayers, they would smite us down, if it pleased them.”
He thought of the Olympians, his relatives. He was growing closer to them, but he knew of their wrath when things did not go their way.
“I’ll find some way to make this right,” he told them, “There must be something I can do.”
“How? By talking to Hera? You’d have an easier time convincing a mountain to break apart to allow you passage through. Besides, it’s not like I have anything to live for,” their tone was light when they said it, joking almost, but they couldn’t fully disguise the pain underneath, “Don’t waste your time.”
Zagreus felt the Styx call, falling to a knee, “But you’re worth it.”
And he was gone.
As he passed through his room, he saw a new prophecy scrawled across the pages, left by the Fates.
His fingers traced over the words.
The son of the god of the dead will someday break the curse of an unfortunate mortal, and relieve them of their suffering of their cracked heart.
He smiled, letting out a sigh of relief, “I knew I could do it. I promise, Alcene, I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“What is it, Zagreus?” Meg asked, her whip in hand as she blocked his path.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re out of here like a bat out of hell,” she pointed out, voice drawling in the irony of the statement, “And you’re not just aiming to impress.”
“There’s a mortal on the surface,” he admitted, “They’ve been cursed, by Hera. I’ve been able to survive up there when I speak to them, and I—I promised to help break their curse.”
“Messing with the Fates? It’s a bad idea,” she pointed out.
“I’m not, actually,” he said, cheerfully, “The Fates have decreed that someday I will , in fact, break their curse. If I don’t, they’ll die.”
“Did they ask for your help?” she pointed out.
“Well—” he diminished, “Not exactly. But I can’t let them give up hope.”
She let out a long sigh, looking down at her whip, “If it wasn’t my job—”
“I know, Meg.”
And they fought, and even as she groaned when he landed the final blow, he knew now that things were so much better between them.
“I’m not going against Fate,” he said as he approached, “There’s a prophecy, that I will be able to break your curse and relieve your suffering.”
“Does it say how?” Alcene questioned.
“Well, no, a lot of the prophecies are…vague. But I haven’t failed one yet, sometimes they just…take a while,” he scratched the back of his neck, trying not to think of the list of prophecies still waiting for him.
They huffed a laugh, and looked at him softly, “You’re sweet for trying, but don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work. I’m long resigned to my fate.”
“But you said you were afraid,” he pointed out.
They were quiet, wringing their hands together, “I am but…I’m just trying to make peace with it. I don’t want it to hurt, I suppose. And I don’t know what will happen after.”
“You’ll arrive at the House of Hades,” he explained, “And my father decides where you’ll rest.”
Their eyes softened, “The son of Hades. You’ve never told me what your domain is.”
“My domain?”
“What you are the god of?”
“Oh,” he scuffed his foot in the snow, “Achilles suggested I might be the god of blood, but I’m not sure. It’s not like they tell us or anything. Or maybe they tell the others, but no one has ever told me.”
That made them laugh, and look at him in wonder, “Achilles? The hero of legends?”
“He’s my mentor,” he explained, “You know of him?”
Alcene shrugged, “I’ve heard stories, of wars long before my time. Just as stories of the gods make their way to campfire sides, so do the tales of mortals who rise above their station to legend.”
“What did you do, if your life before? Were you a warrior?”
They laughed again, and Zagreus thought that he enjoyed the sound. It was warm and brassy in a charming way.
“No warrior,” they admitted, giving a pitiful flex of their arm, “My craft was building. I love to design, to create . I used to build buildings in the town I was sent to, I would design them and put them into motion. My life’s work and I loved it with all my heart.”
They smiled sadly, brushing a lock of hair from their face, “So of course…”
“It was killing you too,” he finished, brows drawn together in concern.
“They’re still out there,” Alcene said quietly, “My buildings. I hope they survive whatever wars and fires and floods the gods deem to send their way. I hope I’ve built something that will last. That was my greatest wish.”
“I’m sure you have. Even with your curse, I’m sure that people remember you, even just in your work,” he consoled.
They smiled at him, “You’ve been a great comfort to me. I’m glad your path turned my way, traveller.”
Alcene took a few steps towards him, but then stopped themself, “Will you fade, soon?”
“I can feel it,” he admitted, and closed the distance between them, “But I feel like I can last longer, each time with you. I don’t understand it.”
He reached out and took their hand. They flinched, wrenching back as his eyes widened. They clutched their hand, wincing.
“I’m sorry,” he told them, “Are you alright? I should have—”
“No, it’s not your fault,” they looked down at their hand, “You just burn .”
He looked at them sorrowfully, about to apologize again. Alcene shook their head, and reached out a hand, touching his cheek. He felt in contrast, how cool their skin was.
“Is it hurting you?” he asked, concerned, and pulled away.
They just gave him that trademark sad smile, “Not more than anything else does.”
And the call of the Styx took him.
The next time he made it to the surface, he had something with him.
Alcene was sitting on one of the boulders, waiting for him.
“Alcene,” he said, pulling out a bottle of amber liquid, “I wanted to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed our chance to speak. I wanted to give you this, as a token of my appreciation.”
They took the bottle, looking it over, staring at the sloshing liquid inside.
“Zagreus,” they breathed, “This is nectar .”
“Yes? I want you to have it.”
“I can’t…” they looked at him, “This is the drink of the gods , I couldn’t—”
“What are they going to do, damn you more?” he joked, echoing their own words back at them.
That made them laugh, and they just shut their eyes, “No, I mean, I don’t think I’m physically able to. I have no godly blood, for all I know this would reduce me to cinders.”
“Oh,” he froze in place, “I didn’t mean to—”
They reached out and placed their hand on the back of his. He saw the slight wince, but they pushed through it, “No, you’re sweet. I will cherish it, regardless.”
They were quiet for a moment, and he watched the snowflakes land across their skin. Unlike him, they rested there a while before melting. He wonder how cold they were, and moved closer to allow his aura of warmth to cover them. They smiled, recognizing what he was doing.
“Then I would grant you this in return,” they said and pulled something from a pocket.
It was a chisel, carved from stone. Simply made, but well worn.
“This was my first chisel, one of the only things I brought with me when I left. I created beautiful things with it. I want you to have it, as a memory.”
“It means a lot to you,” he said, staring at it in their hand, “You should keep it.”
They shook their head, “What am I to chisel? The snow? I’d rather you have it, to remember me by.”
“During my trudges through the Underworld, to remind me of what I’m coming to see?” he asked, eyes sparkling.
But they didn’t smile back. They looked frailer than he had ever seen them, and they nearly swooned off of the boulder.
He reached out, steadying their arm. He could see how his skin glowed compared to theirs. Their bronze skin seemed diminished.
“Are you alright?”
They forced a smile, “I’m fine, just tired.”
They looked up at the sky, swirling snowflakes coming down. They reached up a hand, catching a few.
“I love the snow,” they said, quietly, “It’s a shame nature has to be so beautiful. It’s breaking my heart.”
They laughed quietly, bowing their head.
“I appreciate whatever is allowing me to stay up here with you because you’re right—it is beautiful. The snow, the sky, the sea, the birds…” he told them, meeting their eyes.
They jumped off the boulder and took both of his hands in their own. Even as the prolonged contact threatened to blister their skin, they were stubborn.
They spun in a circle, looking up to watch the snowflakes fall. The snow crunched beneath them.
They stood together as the snowflakes fell, and until Zagreus fell as well.
He looked at the chisel in his hand, brow furrowing as he marched back out there.
After a gruelling battle in Elysium, he glanced over to where Thanatos drew his scythe over his last victim.
He teleported next to Zagreus, conceding the competition and acknowledging his win.
“Than,” he started, “What happens when a mortal drinks Nectar? A living one, that is.”
He narrowed his eyes, hovering over the ground, “Why are you asking? Do I even want to know?”
“Just curious,” he said cheerfully, but Thanatos wasn’t buying it for a second.
“Nectar is jealously guarded by the gods. It’s a miracle it even ends up here ,” he pointed out, “If you gave nectar to a mortal—”
“What would happen if they drank it?” he insisted, “Is it dangerous?”
“Just the opposite, it cures all wounds, heal illness. Mortals would kill for a chance at a taste. That’s why it’s dangerous. If it fell into the wrong hands—”
“It won’t,” he promised.
“What have you done?” he asked, face morphing to a frown.
He explained Alcene and their story.
“The prophecy said that I’ll break their curse, maybe it can be cured with the nectar,” he said, “I have to get back to them.”
Than crossed his arms, looking at him sternly, “And if you do? If you cure them? What then, Zagreus?”
“Then their life will be saved,” he said.
“A mortal is just that. Their lives are fleeting . Even if you delay the inevitable, you’ve bought them a handful of years. You should not have gotten attached to something so feeble ,” he sighed, brow furrowing, his next sentence less harsh, “You’ll only get hurt.”
“They’re not feeble ,” he protested on their behalf, “They’ve withstood this curse for years. And when they die, they’ll just end up here, right?”
Thanatos glanced around the fields of Elysium, “Are they a great hero? A great mind? Someone who changed the course of history?”
“Well, no, but—”
“They won’t be here ,” he told him, trying to get through, “They’ll be in the burning fields of Asphodel, lost in the heat.”
Zagreus stopped, hand grasping at his spear. He thought of how they had flinched away from his initial touch, how they appreciated his warmth, but adored the cool wind and the snow. The thought of them in the overflowed lava fields was not pleasant.
“No,” he said, stubborn, “Once we break the curse, they’ll have a new lease on life. They can do great things with it, and be rewarded with Elysium.”
Thanatos gave him a look that was a mixture of frustration and pity.
“You do that, Zag.”
And he vanished.
“I will,” he said, gripping his spear and marching through the next door.
“The nectar,” he called, running up the cliff to them, “You can drink the nectar.”
Alcene glanced over at him, looking even weaker. They were against a tree, looking like their movements were painful.
“Please,” he insisted, “It will cure you. I know how to help you now.”
They reached for the bottle, and he tilted it back, helping them drink. They placed their hand over his, the point of contact rushing across his skin.
As they drank, he saw part of the healthy flush of their skin return. Their eyelashes fluttered, and they let out a breath.
“That is…it’s nothing I’ve tasted before. It’s sweeter than sweet, all of the light in the world in a bottle,” they said, a little breathless, “What a gift you have given me.”
“How do you feel?” he asked, concern etched in his voice.
They smiled, touching his cheek again, “Fine, now that you’re here.”
“Did it work?” he asked, “Are you cured?”
They sputtered a laugh, closing their eyes, “I wish, you know how I wish that were so.”
He frowned, looking at the bottle, “I thought—I thought this would be how I could save you.”
“Zagreus,” they said softly, “I don’t think I can be.”
“I’m not going to let you die ,” he insisted, “The prophecy said—”
“Will you sit with me?” they cut him off, “Please.”
He did as they asked, sitting side by side.
They stayed that way until he could not hold out any longer. They did not let go of his hand until he was gone. With the nectar coursing through them, the burns did not touch them.
Zagreus stared at the Fated List of Minor Prophecies in frustration. He wished it was more specific in how he could help them.
He turned away, determined to get back to their side.
When he reached the snowy surface, the back of his father awaited him.
“Boy,” he rumbled, “You have been persisting beyond the border.”
“I have,” he said carefully, waiting.
Hades turned, both hands on his spear, pressed into the snow. That same heat radiated off of him.
“I don’t understand how,” Zagreus finally admitted, “There’s someone out there. A mortal.”
“So I’ve heard,” he grumbled, “Encroaching far too close on my borders.”
“Don’t hurt them,” he said, reaching for his blade.
Hades did not make any move, “Interesting.”
The god of the dead looked to the side, “Your mother explained that her magic in life force was enough to sustain you for the few conversations you had before bringing her down here. Does this mortal have such powers?”
He shook his head, “No powers. Just a curse. Hera cursed them to be drained of life every time they loved.”
“Then your answer is there,” Hades told him, “It is your connection. You have the blood of mortals and gods, life force, like your mother. You are taking their life to sustain your own.”
“ What !?” he demanded, taking a step back, “I never meant to—I don’t understand—”
“This is why I have warned you against the other gods. See what they are capable of? Perhaps I shall finally have you in the ground again, knowing that winning means the doom of this lover of yours.”
He rose his spear, and the battle began.
But Zagreus was victorious, striking the final blow. They stepped towards the archway, hesitating.
If he went to them, it would kill them. He saw how weak they were getting.
“Maybe this is how I save you,” he theorized, resting his hand on the archway.
He instead let himself back to the Underworld and was taken by the Styx.
Zagreus was loitering about the kitchen. He had dropped off his catch of fish and had spent time roaming the House.
What he hadn’t done, is made another escape attempt. He was delaying it.
His father had grumbled something about slacking off, but mostly was consumed with backup in the bureaucracy and took advantage of not having to guard the exit.
Zagreus stood in the lounge, too anxious to sit, and trying to think of any way to save Alcene. On the wall, a portrait of Cerberus was placed as the featured employee.
“Oh, hey Prince!” Dusa said as she was cleaning up the lounge.
“Hi, Dusa,” he greeted, notably lacking his usual cheer.
“Oh, is everything okay?” she asked, floating over beside him, “I might have noticed that you’re hanging around more. Usually, you’re out and about, right? You’ve been here for a while.”
“Yeah, just…taking a break,” he glanced down at the table.
“That’s good,” she said, “You told me breaks are important.”
“They are,” but he couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice, “It’s just…it’s hard to explain.”
“If there’s anything that I can help with, you can always count on me,” she told him, “You’re my best friend.”
That made him smile, glancing up at her appreciatively, “Thank you, Dusa. You’re mine too.”
She did a happy flip in the air.
“It’s just…I’m trying to figure out how to save someone I care about. But every time I go to them, they get weaker, and they’ll eventually die. I don’t want that to happen, but I want to be there for them.”
She hummed, bobbing up in down in anxious thought, “Oh, that is tricky.”
The gorgon thought for a moment, “You really care about them?”
He nodded, “I do.”
“And do they care about you?”
“I think so,” he said, soft.
“Then you should ask them,” she encouraged, “At least let them be a part of the decision. Because maybe they just want to see you.”
He sucked in a breath, “You’re right, I—I think I’ve waited too long. I need to go before it’s too late.”
“Good luck, prince!” she called after him as he ran for his room.
He was sprinting out once he reached the surface. The battle against his father had not held such high stakes since he was trying to find his mother. Perhaps Hades sensed his desperation, fighting back with heavy strokes.
But just for a moment—he faltered on what should have been a deadly blow. Zagreus plunged his blade into his chest, and Hades sunk to his knees.
He glanced up at his son, “Go to them, then.”
And he faded.
Zagreus pressed on, running up the hill towards Alcene.
“Alcene!” he called out, the wind cold and howling, “Alcene!”
There was no response.
He plunged forwards. He would have known, wouldn’t he have? He would have heard Hypnos check them in, unless…unless…
He saw a figure on the ground. He ran for them.
Alcene was there, their hair coming loose from their braid, kneeling over in the snow. Their breathing was ragged, and they looked up. They were clawing at the ground, pushing aside the snow, trying to push through the frozen dirt.
“You came back,” they said in a rough gasp, “I thought you left. It’s what gods do, don’t they? Leave, when you need them most. My mother learnt that lesson.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, taking their head, voice breaking, “It’s because of me . Your curse—that’s how I’m surviving on the surface. It’s because I’m the one draining your life force.”
They took his wrist, closing their eyes, “I know . I know that.”
He frowned, “You did? Then why didn’t you say anything!? I’m killing you, that’s why I left, I didn’t want you to—”
“I’m glad it’s you,” they said with a watery smile, “I’m glad I have something to look forward to every time you arrive. I haven’t been able to talk like this with anyone, in so long. Because of the pain it caused. Thank you, Zagreus. For coming back, for being kind.”
“But why didn’t you say ?” he asked again, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I didn’t want you to stop coming. I hoped you wouldn’t figure it out,” they laughed as tears slid down their cheeks, nearly freezing in the wind, “I understand now. I get it. How easy it is to fall in love with a god. To stand before you, to have something so great and powerful care for you, in your fleeting mortal life. It’s terribly easy. Dangerously so, as both I and my mother had proved now.”
He looked down at the dirt, “What are you doing?”
“I need a grave, and a coin,” they said, voice growing weak under the wind, “I need a coin for the ferry. I need to be buried so they come to collect my soul.”
“I’ll make sure you get back safe, I—” he could feel him start to fade, “No, wait! Just hold on! Please, I’ll be back, I’ll be right back, just hang—”
And he fell right into their arms, before fading.
His heart was in his throat the entire time. He cut down those who stood in front of him, his hands wrapped in the twin fists of Malphon. He battled his way out, rushing forth, trying desperately to get to them.
As he ascended to the Underworld, nothing could stand in his way.
Not even Hades, who stood, guarding the exit.
“I need to get to them,” he practically begged.
Hades’ face was solemn, “Then earn your way through, boy. They are a mortal, there is nothing extraordinary about a mortal’s death.”
Zagreus launched himself into battle, fighting fiercely until exhaustion. He struck down the god of the dead and pushed passed through the archway.
He ran up the cliff, calling their name. He could see them, sitting on the cliff edge like they first were when he had met them.
“Hail, fellow traveller,” they called, voice weak, staring up at the sky, “You made it just in time.”
He walked up to them, sitting beside them. Together, he watched as the first rays of sunlight touched the sky.
“Your favourite time of day,” he said, throat feeling tight.
“I wanted to see it again,” they said, “And the ocean, and hear the birds and breathe the air.”
They turned to him, “And to see you.”
They were weeping openly, and he reached for the, brushing away their tears.
“I’m scared,” they admitted.
“Don’t be, I’ll be with you the whole time, okay?” he promised and wrapped them in his arms. His heat chased away the cold.
Alcene rested their head on his shoulder.
“Thank you for being here,” they said, “You don’t know how much it means to me. And what I said before—I meant it, but I expected nothing in return. I just enjoy your company, Zagreus. I know that gods are different—”
He cupped their face and kissed them.
It was different, then kissing Meg, and Than. They felt so frail in his arms, their lips soft. He held onto them, pressing them to his body.
Alcene kissed his forehead, and he could feel their tears against his cheek, taste the salt on his tongue.
“Thank you,” they whispered, and their strength faded completely.
They fell limp in his arms, and he could no longer hear the beat of their heart.
At that, his own tears rolled down, feeling his strength beginning to fade, still holding them.
He looked up and saw Thanatos hovering above him.
“Zagreus…” he sighed, bowing his head.
“I promised to stay with them,” he said, voice breaking, “I won’t be separated from them. Please , Than.”
He shut his eyes, “You should not have gotten so attached.”
But he let out a long sigh, “Only for you.”
And as the Styx claimed him, he continued to hold Alcene in his arms.
When Zagreus opened his eyes, he was walking out of the pool, still holding them. But their form was different, not the solid weight of a body, but a shade, tinged with green.
Alcene stirred, blinking. They looked up, and their eyes widened.
“Zagreus,” they whispered.
“We made it. See? I promised I’d be with you,” he said with a smile.
They reached up for his cheek but looked panicked when their hand passed right through.
They floated to the ground, landing, but not solid. They looked themself over and took a deep breath that didn’t do much of anything.
“Can you see me?” they asked, glancing around at the other shapes, “Or am I a…blob?”
“I can see you,” he told them.
They reached for his hand, “I can’t…I can’t touch you, or feel your warmth.”
He frowned, watching as his hand passed right through theirs.
“I’m here, I’m still here,” he assured.
“I know,” Alcene finally cracked a smile, “That was…long awaited. But not as scary, since I had you. I’m glad that in the end, my heart was given to you.”
But he shook his head, “It’s not mine. Perhaps that’s what your curse is, but you are wholly your own.”
And he felt something come over him—a prophecy fulfilled.
“The prophecy,” he whispered, “It…came true? How?”
“What was it, exactly?” they asked.
“The son of the god of the dead—that’s me—will someday break the curse of an unfortunate mortal, and relieve them of their suffering of their cracked heart,” he recited.
“An unfortunate mortal?” they laughed, “I suppose that’s true. But it did work, Zagreus. I can feel it. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Now that I’m dead, the curse is ended.”
And they laughed again, an almost wild laugh, “Gods above, I wish I could kiss you right now.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
“But you did,” Alcene told him, “You did .”
They got in line, and Zagreus stayed at their side.
“Hello, hello!” Hypnos said, scrawling on his parchment, “And welcome to the House of Hades. And oh! You came in through the Pool of Styx, with Zagreus. Looks like you died because of…a curse? Interesting! Those will get you, you know. Well, I’ll sign you in, and you can talk to the Master over there.”
Hades was at his desk, currently denying the request of some poor shade.
Alcene bowed their head, “Thank you for the warm welcome.”
“Very polite,” he said cheerfully, leaning back on his chaise, “Just like your friend there.”
He gave Zagreus a sleepy grin, and he and Alcene went up to the desk, waiting in line.
Hades glanced up, looking at both of them, “Boy. This must be the mortal.”
He looked at them with an unreadable expression.
Alcene got down on one knee, their body working better than Zagreus had ever seen it, “My Lord Hades, it’s an honour.”
“It is?” Zagreus asked, baffled.
They shot him a look, and Hades rumbled.
“At least one of you knows how to speak to their betters. To where do you claim to be judged?”
Alcene swallowed, and Zagreus saw that hint of fear. He wished he could touch them, to reach out and take their hand.
“I’ve lived a simple life, my Lord. I am not a hero and have not done any great deeds. My life has been a cursed one, and I’ve just tried to not hurt anyone.”
“Asphodel,” Hades took the implication.
“Wait!” Zagreus stepped forwards, “Alcene acted with courage in the way they handled their curse, which was granted through no fault of their own. Only because one of the gods acted vindictively, Hera cursing the child of a woman her husband had an affair with.”
Persephone looked up at that, from where she was tending to Cerberus. She and Hades shared a look.
“Please, they cannot be wandering the fields of Asphodel. They deserve more than that.”
“Boy, if I allowed every shade with a sob story into Elysium—”
“It doesn’t have to be Elysium,” he protested.
“Zagreus,” Alcene said softly, “It’s okay. You’ve done so much for me already. I know my fate. You can come to see me, won’t you?”
“Do you care for him?” Persephone spoke up, “Do you care for my son?”
They looked over to her, and dropped to another bow, “I do. Very much so. The nature of my curse was giving my heart away each time I loved. It eventually ended with my death, as you can see. I have little practice in love, but I know enough to know what I do love. I love sunrises, the ocean, and the sound of birdsong. I love the snow, the smell of rain, the wind against my skin, and a million other little moments. But he is more than that to me, as it was him that I died for, not anything else. I died not for my love of the sun, but for my love of your son.”
Persephone took that all in, a hand against her chin. She looked up at Hades.
“They’re an architect,” Zagreus spoke up, “A builder, a designer. They could work here, at the House. Help the contractor make this place perfect. To build something that will last.”
“Is this true?” Hades asked.
“It was my craft in life,” Alcene explained, “My greatest passion. To continue it, and for a god—there would be no greater honour.”
Hades considered it, looking over Zagreus.
“If I create a contract, then I will bind any of their failures to you as well,” he warned.
“I will take them gladly because I know there won’t be any,” he said with a bright grin, “And because I care for them too.”
He and Alcene shared a glance, and they smiled, their form flickering and tinged with green.
Hades drafted up a contract, huffing, “Very well. For your mother’s sake, if nothing else, boy.”
He looked over Alcene, “Should you disappoint—”
“I know the risks,” they said, “It’s funny. It took dying to actually have a chance to live.”
They signed the contract and slid it back.
Something in their form shifted, the green vanishing, and they looked solid, just as they were in life but—more. Without the curse holding them back.
“Dismissed,” he said, and Zagreus took their hand—and he could grab it.
He pulled them aside, and pulled them into an embrace, sweeping them off their feet in a kiss. A shade passing rolled its eyes at the pair of them.
“Zagreus—I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you enough,” they said, voice thick with tears, happy ones.
“You don’t need to thank me, but—maybe joining me for a drink in the lounge would suffice?”
They laughed, and it was his favourite sound, he realized.
They sat together, sharing a bottle of nectar. They were glowing, he realized. Not in the way a god did, but because of the happiness radiating from them that never had before.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Free, for the first time in my life. There’s no pain, no cold. I get to do my passion, and—I get to be with you, if you would have me.”
“Of course,” he took their hand, “Selfishly, I could not stand the thought of you in Asphodel. I wanted to be able to see you.”
They took his face in hand and kissed him again. They tasted like nectar.
“You’ve given me forever. You’ve given me a chance,” they whispered, “I love you, Zagreus.”
He rested his forehead against theirs, hands entwined.
“I love you too,” he whispered back, warmth spreading across his chest, “I love you too.”