Chapter Text
Nothing suggested this night was going to be any different.
The woods of Erebus felt ever the same in Melinoë’s quest for vengeance and justice against the malignant Titan of Time. The same restless souls, malformed and aggressive, seeking to send her back to the start by all means necessary. Few of them knew tactics, and even less – fear. The princess of the underworld did not blame them for their waywardness; malformed by the ongoing situation and left without guidance, these pitiful creatures were long past help. Or, at least, she wasn’t qualified to assist them in such a fashion. There were still plenty more Lost Shades to find in the woods and areas beyond them.
As it was, the saffron-clad witch’s main task remained the same. She could give these poor souls a temporary rest, at least, before the same merciless Time would recall them from oblivion to serve as obstacles in her path.
The malformed shades of Erebus should know no fear… and yet, in what seemed like an ordinary skirmish, Melinoë observed the unusual: a Casket, normally the kind of menace to stay behind its bigger kin and pepper her with foul energy from afar, slithering toward her from an innocuous spot in the Erebian greenery where it was a moment ago. These malformed shades weren’t always bright, but the notion still struck the princess as unusual.
True enough, there was something there.
With the fighting done, she spied a silvery gleam amid the grass. Kneeling down, Melinoë picked up an item of interest: a small silver coin, long tarnished with use until a thin black layer covered its entirety. “Strange…” Such things were not something that just occurred out of the blue, even if the villainous Titan of Time still held the Three Fates in his captivity. This coin was something that didn’t belong here, she could tell this much.
But, the princess also knew a thing or two about not belonging and breaking through curses and impositions thought inconceivable to defy.
The power that hummed against the palm of her hand was ancient and yet it felt young all the same. The tingling sensation coursed along the arm and throughout her body, just from the mere act of holding it. She turned it, spying a familiar hourglass on the reverse. Was this a trick of Chronos’s? Some cursed artifact one of his servants left here? The old ghost could visit the edge of Erebus as a projection or halt her advances temporarily by flinging her into another corner (and another time) of the Underworld… perhaps this was within his power?
The malformed shades of Erebus didn’t count among his legion of followers by choice; they were mere scraps of thoughts and emotions given form. If a stronger being appeared among them and left behind such an artifact, it stood to reason it could give them a rare fright. On the other hand, subterfuge like this did not seem like Chronos’s style. The Titan considered her a mere annoyance (although she’s made sure to make him regret that a few times by now), and the extent of his tactics seemed to be “send more and more Satyrs her way” and not much else.
He did swallow a rock thinking it was Lord Uncle Zeus as a toddler. “The old are seldom wise”, indeed.
It was something to think about later. She couldn’t let distractions deter her from the main mission. The tarnished coin hidden on her person, Melinoë resumed her descent.
----
Things were calm, or as calm as they could be when battling through the ranks of the damned.
An addition she welcomed to tonight’s run was a startling lack of locked passageways. All of them led her where she wanted to go. A visit with Narcissus, listening to his self-interested monologue, parting ways with a Pom of Power he so graciously offered to her. Confronting Scylla and her band, emerging victorious to the not-chlam’s utter dismay and surprise (one would think she would learn by now it would be better to just let Melinoë pass…) - and descending down the oppressive atmosphere in the Fields.
There, the princess stumbled upon a new variable.
The vast plain stretched up and into a cliffside overlooking the diminished wheat fields below. The witch frowned, eyeing another of the bough-like structures blocking further passage – only a couple of steps away from her current location. This part of the Fields lacked much in length. What it did have, rarely for the environ, was a clear sky. Melinoë stared briefly. Was it a real sky to begin with? Or merely another facet of this dour place, something to beat down further on the languishing Shades gathered here? A way to mourn something that they would no longer be truly witness to, here as the dead of the underworld?
Someone sat there, on a rock overlooking the fields below . The princess approached with quiet steps. It wasn’t Echo, though Melinoë suspected she would like the view. The woman was no one she knew, yet… she seemed familiar. Perhaps she saw her in passing during her earlier visits to the Fields? But no, that couldn’t be it. Few beings here could maintain such a form. And the familiarity she had with this stranger felt too… familiar, for lack of a better word.
“...please, sit with me.” The woman didn’t turn, but invited her with a gesture. Her hair was black, and it was a strangely familiar hue. The princess hesitated. “You must be weary. Your path was long, and there is more to come yet.”
“...so it is.” Melinoë blinked. Was the second rock next to the woman always there? The young goddess approached and sat, regarding the woman again. She had an outfit not unlike hers, though white – long grayed out and tarnished – and lacking in decorations. A well-proportioned body, not unlike a god’s, too. Where did she see this face before? “Hail, spirit. Are you new in these parts?”
“In a manner of speaking. I think I have always been there… but…” The woman tilted her head slightly. “Since I’m seeing a friendly face, something must have changed.”
“Tell me about it.” The two looked at the endless wheat fields below. “I cannot stay for long. My task is underway, and cannot be delayed.”
“Of course. But, I have a feeling I will see you yet.” The woman smiled, bowing her head. “If you would have it, let me offer you something for the road.” In the palm of her hand was a ball of what seemed like purple smoke, trying and failing to escape its ideal round shape. Melinoë watched and felt the power swirling there, so innocuously offered. “It is a humble gift, but some say humility goes a long way.”
“...who are you, spirit? This… is no mere offering.” No, no it wasn’t. The power felt subtle at a glance, at a first touch – but the thrumming underneath wasn’t unlike that of Olympian boons she gained along the way. It might have even been more, in some fashions. Melinoë was a witch with some of the greatest teachers of history, but even were she a mortal practitioner, she would be able to tell the significance of this gift.
This felt… wrong. And yet it felt right.
“I am someone who wants to see you succeed, my lady.” The woman bowed her head. “The machinations of the Titan are known to me, though I cannot act against him. Not directly, at least. Go now.”
Melinoë recalled one of Odysseus’s mortal sayings from a few nights back: “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”. Of course, he hastily added after that this is best not said near Lord Poseidon, sometimes considered a patron of the equine beasts despite his usual marine domain. This woman, whoever she was, wanted to help her. This was good enough for now.
“Thank you, and moonlight guide you, spirit.” Accepting the purple ball and letting it mingle with her own energy – an intoxicatingly good sensation, of thorough knowledge – the princess exhaled and rose from her seat. “...though, what is your name? It feels rude to accept a gift like that without knowing.”
“I am of no concern. Some mortals of the olden age called me Ananke, though I think this was a misguided belief.” The woman rose too, offering a smile and a slight bow. For the briefest of moments, the saffron-clad witch and protegee of the wise Hecate thought she saw a pair of resplendent wings behind the spirit. But, it must have been a trick of the mind.
The woman straightened back, her eyes glowing gentle green, not unlike one of her own. “You can call me lorío, my lady.”