Chapter Text
The young princess of the House of Hades is but a babe when she is swept to the Crossroads in the Witch’s arms. The Shades that once occupied those Halls scatter across the Underworld, pushed out by the first foray of the Titan’s forces. Some of these long dead join the usurper. Those who resist are imprisoned within the Underworld. Those who remain silent wither into unending stasis, a half-existence under the new rule.
With Death chained, there is no more peaceful death for the mortals above. The Keres, fellow children of Nyx, reap their due in the titanic battles that rock the mortal world. Starvation, illness, and violence send hundreds to their ends, but there is no House to judge them and send them to their final resting place. By the winding ways that connect the land of the living to that below, the new dead are drawn to Erebus.
They follow petals the color of the wine dark sea.
The Mistress of the Crossroads at first notes the massing Shades with worry. The spies of Chronos could be anywhere. Her torches and enchantments permit none but those loyal to the House to enter, but what would these newly dead know of the true master of the Underworld?
“Steady,” she says, rocking the babe swathed in saffron cloth in her arms. “They shall not harm you. I will permit no harm to come to you.”
Beside the tent that will become Melinoe’s abode, Hypnos sleeps away, in his hammock overgrown with poppies. Hecate senses that other Titans may yet awaken, but in his domain, Hypnos is all powerful. He will be of no aid should Shades attack in the waking world.
A small Shade, no larger than a crow, drifts closer.
The twin torches behind Hecate twitch as she readies a spell to twist the Shade to her means.
Melinoe raises a fist glowing with saffron light.
The Shade watches, enraptured.
Hecate feels the surge of magick as her charge waves her fist, first to the left, then to the right. The pinpricks of light that serve as the Shade’s eyes widen. It sways in place, as Melinoe begins a short rhythm with her hands. Left, right, both hands at once – all the while, flowers with dark petals bloom in the grove to reveal bright orange stamen.
A deep gong vibrates through the air.
More small bird-like Shades chirp in the burble of the dead, and rush to join the first. They flutter around Melinoe’s swaddled form. When the glow subsides, they move as one to hold Hypnos’s hammock aloft.
The sleeping god murmurs something akin to, “thank you… visit… house of Hades…”
Hecate rarely cares to listen to the dead. She needs not their words to work her ways. But she listens as light wanes and waxes within Melinoe’s hands, and the Shades slowly disperse around what will become the Crossroads’ camp. Some Shades take up new guard posts around the baby goddess; others beckon to Witches in their midst and begin a chant that strengthens the wards.
“Interesting, little one,” Hecate muses. “So you possess an innate affinity with Shades, and magick at that! If only your mother were here to see you…”
Shrouded in the mists of Erebus, Hecate makes a decision.
“You shall reclaim your home, Princess.” White hot flames tinged with green dance through the air, as the waxing moon watches over the clearing. “You will have your rightful place in the Underworld, when you slay the usurper. Death to Chronos.”
Melinoe’s mismatched eyes open wide, reflecting the moon above. She burbles.
Dead and faded as they are, her Shade guards seem to smile.