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Chapter Text

The tales of Hades are few and far between, so potent is the fear the God of the Underworld sows in those who know of him. The tales of his Chthonic children, even rarer. Many of their exploits were never written. Some were misheard. And others simply vanished. For though the gods leave their marks upon our world, some deeds sow consequences beyond what anyone, even the Fates themselves, could ever foretell…

On a night like many others that came before it, a light voice echoed in the darkness.

"Can't stop me this time, Mother."

THE LETHE

There, dashing down the stone outcroppings of the isle, was the youngest goddess of a generation. As she sprinted her way toward the water's edge, her flaming feet seemed to dance off the dewey grass, as if she had never stepped on solid ground at all. She wore a burgundy-colored chiton that ended mid-thigh, with a bronze belt at the waist that had been fashioned with small figures of wide-eyed skulls. The brooches on her shoulders held the swirling symbol of the House of Hades, as did the two bronze armbands clasped around her upper arms. A single gold bangle circled her right wrist, engraved with the symbol of an hourglass.

The goddess breathed a sigh of relief as she finally descended to the edge of the shoreline. In her hands was an intricately decorated lyre, with etching of feathers, scrolls, and laurels carved into the wood. Her long hair, as dark and wavy as that of her father, was tied up and back with a thick ribbon the same color as her dress. A shining laurel crown rested on her head, which was, again, like that of Lord Hades. It glowed with a faint light, like those of the goddess' feet, allowing her to navigate the rocky shoreline that led to the riverbanks.

Right as she reached the edge, a ray of sunlight cut through the air. The goddess gasped as a swirling sphere appeared before her. It was a starkly bright yellow, showcasing an icon of two circles, one inside another. It was almost like the symbol of her cousin, but different enough she could tell the difference at a glance.

"I was right," Princess Macaria whispered breathlessly. "I was right! I saw it, I knew I saw it! And now I just have to say the words which were, erm…"

The goddess schooled her expression and raised her chin, exactly as she'd seen her father do. She stretched out one hand to touch the glowing Boon, saying, "In the name of Hades, I accept this message!"

The light of the Boon expanded, and Macaria saw the image of a god.

Macaria's first impression of the man was that everything about him was striking. He had a wide, brilliant smile, dark brown skin, and golden eyes that almost seemed to glimmer in the light. Heavy, thick muscles were barely covered by a chiton as red as blood, and he sat upon a black steed that held his head high. Circling his head was a crown so brilliant it shined brighter than gold, and even through the Boon, Macaria could sense the man's astounding height and wide-set frame.

"There she is!" Helios, the Sun Incarnate, let out a hearty laugh. "I gotta say, I never know if your cousin's pulling my leg or not, but there's no mistaking that red and black eye. You're a daughter of Hades, alright! Even if the other eye looks a mite different from that of those siblings of yours."

"I understand your hesitation, Lord Helios," Macaria said, angling the right side of her face away from the Boon. "Though he's taught me much, Cousin Apollo can be a tad… hyperbolic, let's say."

Helios laughed once more, and the Boon itself shook from the weight of his voice. "Forgive the irony, but calling him hyperbolic is putting it lightly. Either way, glad to finally meet ya, little oracle! Now, let's see if there isn't something we can do to upgrade that lyre of yours. Or…weapon? Ah, whatever it is, let's add some of this!"

Macaria gasped as the Boon shifted, splitting itself into three. There it was. The power of fusion, as Helios had decided to name it, though Macaria couldnt quite understand why. One option would empower her lyre, another, her melody. And the third would empower her… her casts…

Macaria placed her hand on the first selection. Power coursed through her lyre, making it warm to the touch.

At the sense of power entering the isle, the ground stirred beneath Macaria's flaming feet. Symbols bearing the mark of a skull adorned with flowers shone before her. As they disappeared, figures took their places in a flash of maroon light. They looked like shades of Elysium, with blue-green skin, and many of them held instruments familiar to the goddess. Flutes, tambourines, even castanets.

"I will make your might shine, Lord Helios," Macaria vowed. "And that right soon."

The goddess strummed her lyre, and the sound of fusion-infused string echoed forward.

Macaria dashed between the soundwaves the shades created. The Brightflutes shot out sound waves in a straight line, tinging the night air with pink lines that resembled lightning strikes. The Rhythmmen beat out shock waves in the shape of circles with each beat of their tambourines. The Clickers, wielding small castanets, chased her with small shockwaves that could only hurt up close.

Most would see these foes as odd. Unthreatening. For how could music, nothing but sound, be shaped into something physical and deadly? But Macaria knew, perhaps because she herself was odd. And also she knew, better than anyone, how something that could seem so innocuous, in certain hands, could be used to harm.

The goddess plucked at the lyre's strings, twisting and dashing away when a shade got too close. At a distance, she strummed her instrument, letting her own sound crystalize into bludgeoning force. Up close, she, quite literally, smashed her lyre into her foes. And yet, even when she slew her first foe, the others were undeterred.

Macaria stuttered as she accidentally dashed into another shade. As she was running away, but before she could fully get her feet beneath her, a shockwave crashed into her side.

"Blast!" she cried softly. She charged at the shade, swinging her lyre in the motions of a warrior wielding a short axe. But though her instrument did not slice, it did not break or creak as it bludgeoned the shade until it vanished.

Exhilaration and trepidation filled Macaria as she turned to the final shades. Her first true combat, away from the fields and the eyes of others, was as hard as she had divined it would be. It was almost enough for her to launch out her cast. But even as she was left panting, and the back of her leg got caught in an attack from a Clicker's castanet, she held back.

"I can do this without her blessing," Macaria said. She dashed away from the final shade, turned around, and strummed her lyre thrice.

The foe, defeated, faded into the ground.

"I… I did it," Macaria panted. "I mean, I knew I would. At least for the first encounter. But… I did it! Homer, I actually did it!"

Despite having foreseen her own might, the young oracle of the Underworld, unsure of her own capabilities, prevailed in her first ever encounter.

The princess rolled her eyes. "You know, Homer, I can never tell if the next words of yours will be an insult, a compliment, or both."

The waters at the edge of the isle stirred. Now that the magic that had summoned the shades to bar the princess' path, a single raft, made out of thick wood, bubbled to the surface. The symbol of Parchment appeared in its center.

Macaria stepped onto the raft that would take her across the river Lethe, onto one of the many small islands that led the way deeper into the Underworld. But before she could touch the symbol and continue her journey forward, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the bright blue water.

There's no mistaking that red and black eye, Lord Helios had said. You're a daughter of Hades, alright! Even if the other eye looks a mite different from that of those siblings of yours.

It was no secret on the Isles that the princess did not enjoy looking upon her face. Lord Helios had not meant to be cruel, Macaria knew, but he had touched upon the goddess' insecurities—even if he had been kind enough to not mention the scar.

Like all of the children of Hades, one of the goddess' eyes was bright red with a black sclera. Macaria's was on the left side of her face, similar to that of her elder sister. But, unlike her siblings, whose opposite eye was identical to those of their mother, her right was wholly different. Mainly because it wasn't really an eye at all.

There, in the princess' right eye socket, was a glowing green orb. Its shade was the same bright green her eye had once been—before it was torn from her skull. Its odd, unnatural glow was something she had long since accustomed herself to, even as it illuminated the long scar that spanned the entire right side of her face. It streaked from the tip of her chin, across her right cheek and eye, until finally ending at the top of her forehead.

Scars weren't inherently odd. The princess' large, extended family boasted many of them. But Macaria knew that hers was different. For she did not bleed gold, like her father and grandfather. Like her grandmother and uncles and aunts and cousins. She bled red, like Zagreus. Like Melinoë. That's why her scar was different.

But unlike Zagreus and Melinoë, her scar never healed. And due to the circumstances by which it came about, it never would.

Macaria shook her head. "I know if I dwell on it, I'll never leave."

She pressed her hand to the Parchment symbol on the raft. The boat jolted forward, and began to carry the young goddess across the river.

Macaria heaved heavy breaths as another raft jolted forward. Her legs ached, her lyre felt heavy in her arms, and her hand shook as it grasped the bottle of hard-won Nectar in her palm.

"This… is far more difficult… than the vision… made it out to be!" the goddess panted. "It can't have been this hard for Zag… and Mel… Could it?"

The princess' mind wandered as the raft waded down the river, her thoughts muddled by the many, many injuries that left her hanging near death's proverbial door.

"No need to be so pedantic about it," Macaria said. Pulling herself upright, she carefully tucked the Nectar into the enchanted purse hanging from her hip. The small trinket had been a parting gift, from one Princess of the Underworld to another.

"It's not a gift if I'm giving it back," Macaria mumbled.

The rest of the journey was quiet, save for the rush of the river. Its bright water was deceptively inviting, though the goddess knew well enough to avoid touching it, much less drink it, for the river could affect even the gods themselves. But it was enough to distract the princess until she arrived at the bank of the next small isle, and nearly missed the plume of maroon smoke that revealed a cluster of very large, very muscular, shades.

"Ah, pardon me!" Macaria said. She raised her lyre and dashed away from the closest Percussionist, who slammed his massive mallet into the ground where the goddess was previously standing. She strummed her fusion-powere lyre and winced upon seeing the meager damage it did to his health. "Any chance you could let me reach the raft over—Ah!"

Though the goddess rushed to slam her instrument into another Percussionist, her attack would have been for naught. For the other foe was already looming over her shoulder, and a single hit of its heavy mallet was enough to squash what little remained of the goddess' life force.

"No!" Macarias cried out. "Not yet!"

All at once, the world around her went dark. All of the princess' senses began to dull, as if she were being wrapped up in an invisible blanket. Her lyre slipped from her hands. Her body naturally began curling in on itself. And just as her eyes fluttered shut, she heard a familiar tune. It was light and soft, as if played on the smallest of wind chimes.

Ding. Ding. Ding-ding.

It was the tune of the House of Hades—what she heard every time she fell asleep, and was cursed to hear for the rest of her eternal life.

With that, the goddess drifted off into slumber, and her body and lyre transformed themselves into a kaleidoscope of shining butterflies. They fluttered away, guiding the goddess back to safety, where she would reform on the isle that she had desperately fought to escape.

"No…" the princess whimpered, even in deep sleep.

"Brother, Sister… Where are you…?"

THE FUTURE REMAINS UNKNOWN

Chapter Text

When the Princess of the Underworld stirred awake, she was greeted by the familiar blue rays of light that cascaded through the open balcony door. She was, quite predictably, lying atop her feather-soft bed, surrounded by plush pillows that encircled her in a crescent shape.

"Ungh…" Macaria moaned. She pushed herself up and placed her blazing feet on the marble floor. "Back here again. Heh. What else did I expect…?"

The goddess allowed herself a moment of self-pity and took her time walking around the bedroom. It was a spacious one, with tall marble walls and pillars that were the same bone-white color as the floor. Aside from the myriad of pillows, the bed had a simple blue comforter, and was as disorganized as the several misplaced chitons, sashes, and ribbons that were strewn about the floor.

Further away from the bed lay the discarded 'projects' Macaria had devised, begun, and subsequently abandoned. One section held half-painted clay pots. Another held a gem polisher with semi-cut gems and a large cloth unceremoniously draped over it. An abandoned loom was overrun with tangled spools of yarn, next to dust covered potter's wheel.

"If you're so frustrated by it, you could always clean it yourself," Macaria said.

Fortunately, not every corner of the princess' bedroom was as disordered as the above arrangements. For one, the princess' desk was as ordered as it had been the first time she laid eyes on it. Not to see it was pristine. The well-worn desk held faded ink stains from spilled inkwells, but every scroll, every feather pen, and every non-spilled inkwell lay organized in neat rows across the wood.

"No missives today," Macaria said, placing the Parchment she had acquired the previous night in the jars beside her desk.

A few paces away was the princess' workbench. Its tale was similar to that of the desk. Though it bore the weight of several-years toil, with slashes in the wood, bumps on the table, and the like, Macaria had taken good care of it. The workbench remained clean and free of wood shavings, and all of the tools were hung in the hooks that dangled off the table's edges.

"Still need to find more bronze," Macaria mused. "And some more cypress. Though, now that I think about it, some of those rafts on the Lethe might've been made out of cypress…"

The final ordered section of the princess'bedroom were the shelves. They were tall—nealry as tall as the walls themselves—with each cubby filled with a wide collection of poems, epics, music sheets, and more. And all of them were perfectly ordered in a system so precise, a single new scroll could see the goddess spend hours rearranging the shelves.

"Not hours, Homer!"

With a shake of her head, Macaria stepped out onto the bedroom's balcony.

THE ISLES OF THE BLESSED

Said to hold only the most elite souls of the Underworld, these isles were the ultimate reward for mortals. They consisted of dozens of isles filled with luscious green trees, cascading waterfalls, and gardens that were in perpetual bloom. Even the air was pristine, with only the faint scent of honeysuckle being carried along by the gentle wind.

"Another day, the same view," Macaria said. "Or, well, night. But according to the Shades, this doesn't look like any night they've seen. Or day, either."

The goddess was correct. As they were in the Underworld, the blue light that illuminated the isles was one conjured by the mystical rocks that made up all of Elysium. It made everything glow in a bright hue—even the raft that transported the residents between the larger isles.

"It'd be much easier if I could ride one of those rafts," Macaria bemoaned. "Alas, all the rowers work for my mother. I can only imagine the reward they'd receive for telling on me… Or the punishment for not telling…"

Macaria turned and sprinted out of her room. Fully refreshed from the sleeping curse, there was little to slow her down as she exited her bedroom and made her way down the hall.

This particular isle, though not as grand as the one her Grandfather lived on, was still filled with Shades. Some of them were merely walking about and enjoying the sights. Others were waiting, knowing they'd likely catch a glimpse of one of the God of the Dead's children. But even so, Macaria knew that there were far more Shades milling about than there should have been.

"I should ask someone what's going on," Macaria mused. "Anyone will do. Well, anyone except—"

"Eeey, Ari! There you are!"

Macaria grunted. "Anyone except him."

Macaria, begrudgingly, slowed her pace as she turned to face the god who'd called her name. He was tall, with a thin build, beady blue eyes, and long silver hair that'd been twisted into a knot. He wore a green chiton adorned with silver accents, as well as a pin in the shape of a comedy mask fixed to his shoulder. His shoes were simple sandals, but he leaned against a tall staff adorned with gold and bronze. At the top of the staff was a floating blue orb that was surrounded by a snake. And that is all without mentioning the three actual snakes that slithered around his body.

One snake slithered by his feet, sticking its tongue out in greeting as Macaria walked over. The second snake coiled itself around the god's waist, almost as it was a belt. And the third snake was draped around the man's shoulders like a scarf, its orange scales contrasting the god's gray, death-like skin.

"So… how far d'ya get?" the Chthonic God asked. "One isle? Two? Eh, doesn't matter. You're back here, just like I said you'd be."

Macaria sighed. "Hello, Momus," she deadpanned. "I thought you were off performing this evening."

"Oh, I was," said Momus, Mockery Incarnate himself. "Until I realized that last night was going to be your little foray onto the river. When I learned that, I stopped the show early and came right back. Probably shouldn't have, since that little butterfly spell of yours means you slept through the whole day. Been waiting here for hours for you to wake up!"

"You know that isn't 'my' spell. I can't even cast them!"

"Exactly!" Momus grinned. "Gotta say, you're giving me great material for the next stand-up—the Shades'll love it! I already told them you'd crash and burn, but now I've got proof. Hah. Didn't even need those fancy oracle powers of yours to figure you'd bomb."

"I did not, in fact, bomb. I don't even know how to make explosives," Macaria tilted her head back, letting both of her odd eyes shine under the isles' light. "But tell me, who did tell you I'd be out last night? Was it one of your little snakes? I see them slithering up and down near the amphitheater when they think I'm not looking."

Momus raised an eyebrow. "You really wanna know?"

"Yes."

"You suuure?"

"Yes."

Momus' grin grew. "I heard about it… from your mother."

Macaria stilled. "Oh, shit."

"Mmhmm," Momus said. "She's at the pavilion."

Not wanting to give Momus another word, Macaria brushed past him to get to the central area of the isle. Similarly to the ones Macaria could see from her balcony, this isle was also adorned with luscious trees, flowers in full bloom, and soft grass that was only intercut with fine marble pathways. In its center was the pavilion, made out of the same bone-white marble everything else was, with ivy creeping along each of its pillars. In the middle of the pavilion was a large bench, but it did not hold its usual occupant.

"Hello, Daughter," Persephone said. "Glad to see you're up and about so quickly."

Little introduction is needed for the Queen of the Underworld. But for this written version of the tale, a brief description shall be given.

As ruler of the realm, Persephone carried herself with a calm, regal countenance. Unlike many denizens of the Underworld, her skin was a light, warm tone to it. It contrasted her wheat-colored hair, which was more spiked than straight. The upper half was styled in a way similar to the way her son, the prince, styled his, and the rest was pulled back into a low ponytail.

As Persephone stood, her long, flowing white peplos glided with her. It was adorned with delicate embroidery, depicting symbols of flowers and wheat, but also of precious gemstones—rubies, emeralds, and the like. A glowing wreath of the Underworld's royal family circled her head, highlighting her light green eyes as they looked over Macaria, scanning the young goddess for any lasting injury.

"Mother. What a surprise." Macaria put on her fake smile—one which came easily to her. "I didn't expect to see you here today. Actually, I thought Grandmother was expecting you. I mean, today is, oh, the second day of spring?"

"It is." Persephone did not raise her voice, but she did place both hands on her hips. "Or, should I say, it was supposed to be. Unfortunately, I heard that someone was trying to leave the Isles, and I figured I'd come see for myself."

Macaria grimaced. "Ah. Well, as you can see, everyone is well accounted for. You should be off, then. Don't want to keep Grandmother waiting—"

"Oh, I believe she'll be waiting quite a while," Persephone interrupted. "As I am to remain here and keep an eye on a certain goddess who does not understand why the rules of the Underworld exist as they are."

Years of practice kept Macaria's calm smile in its place. "That still does not explain why you need to be here, mother mine. After all, Father can observe that entire world from the House, you don't exactly live here on the Isles, and I thought that Grandfather was in charge of looking after me."

"He was in charge of looking after you. But, as you know, the residents of the Isles have commandeered much of his attention. Which has conveniently made it easy for you to slip away from his sight." Persephone took in a deep breath, clearly holding back a sigh. "As such, I will stay here until I'm assured that my security wards will no longer be tripped by my own child leaving literal paradise."

"Then you'll be dooming mortals for a long winter, it seems." Macaria's smile did not falter, but her eyes grew colder as she matched the Queen's stare. "I'm not a child anymore, Mother. I don't need you 'looking after me'."

"We'll see about that," Persephone said. "Now, since I will remain here for a time, I will be listening to some of the Shades' concerns. We do our best to care for them, but perhaps they'd feel assured knowing their Queen was checking in on them, as well."

Whoops and cheers erupted from the crowd of Shades, and Macaria bit her tongue.

"Of course, Mother." The princess dipped into a curtsy, as she knew was proper to do, particularly in front of the Shades. "May you attend to our blessed mortals."

As soon as Macaria rose, she sprinted away from the pavilion. The Shades paid no mind, too excited to talk to the Queen herself. She sped through the open courtyard, interspersed with simple but clean benches, and far too many Shades for her liking. The whole reason they'd chosen this isle for Macaria was because it'd been quiet, with few Shades about. But now, the Princess was forced to push down her emotions as she looked for an escape.

Fortunately, she spotted it nearly immediately. Though most of the isle's surface was high above the riverbank, there was a tall hillside that provided the height to create the rivers that flowed through the island. Part of that hillside contained a stone outcropping, where one woman was writing a new tale.

"Lady Calliope!" Macaria cheered.

Calliope smiled as the goddess ran toward her. Like all of her sisters, the muse had brown skin, dark hair, and a braided headband adorned with purple laurels. Calliope herself styled her hair in an elegant knot that let stray curls frame her face. Her dress was a draped chiton, and it was the color and texture of vellum paper. It cascaded down both shoulders, but left her arms bare, allowing anyone to see the ink and wax stains that were ever-present on her skin. Her large writing tablet leaned against a rock formation, and the muse wrote on it like a painter would work upon a canvas.

Her face was perfect. Wide, light brown eyes shone in the light, enhanced by a simple eyeshadow. Her lips were drawn into a wide smile that was as bright as the sun, and were even more beautiful than the golden earrings that'd been shaped to resemble lyres. So stood Calliope, Muse of Epic Poetry, and the most beautiful deity in both the Overworld and Below.

"Princess." Calliope placed down her wax stylus, giving Macaria her full, immediate attention. "I see you have greeted our guest. You did well, but were slightly curt at the end. No matter. You've taken great strides in managing your tone, and I give you full marks. I believe the Shades would have, as well. They certainly would have frowned if their Princess had rebuffed the Queen."

"Is that all you have to say?" Macaria asked, her previously repressed anger spilling into her words. "That's where you sit? When did she tell you to move? I know she's the Queen, but tell me she at least asked you!"

"To answer your questions," Calliope said calmly. "No, I have some thoughts on the matter. Yes, I have sat there, but only for some time. She did not request that I move. And she did not ask, because I suggested she sit there myself."

"W-What?" Macaria stuttered. "But… Lady Calliope, why?"

"Because, Princess, she is the Queen, and I am merely a guest. It would be quite rude to insist I sit there, and she elsewhere. And besides, I needed a change of scenery. I think the view from here is quite nice, do you not?"

"What—But!" Macaria's chest suddenly shook with hard breaths. "It's still—She just arrived—And you—Ugh… Nngh."

"Breathe, Princess." Calliope reached out and placed her hands on Macaria's shoulders. "I should have told you this from the start, but I placed some charms in this area. You see this circle around you? You can say and do what you will, and no one outside will see anything besides the two of us talking. Do you understand?"

"I… Yes." Macaria focused on her breathing, as the muse taught her to do, and pressed a hand to her face. "It's just… I want to tell her to leave. To leave me alone. But I can't, because I'm the Princess, she's the Queen, and the angrier I am with her the more she'll think I'm a child. But I'm not! And now she's here, and you're not where you were supposed to be, and now… Nngh…"

"All of which is understandable." Calliope squeezed Macaria's shoulders. "But remember what I've taught you. The more measured your words are—"

"The more you can hide within them," Macaria continued. "And the more words you control…"

"The more of the world you control." Calliope's smile grew softer. "I know that, sometimes, understanding the true meaning of actions and words is difficult. But it is a battle that is worth being fought. You stop, you look, and assess."

"I know," Macaria said. With her emotions back under her control, she lowered her arm and looked up at the Muse. "But, Lady Calliope, wouldn't things be so much easier if you could just say everything you think and feel? Not just.. Picking and choosing when you can, I don't know, be angry at your mother?"

"It would and would not. Especially not for someone in your situation, Princess. But do not fret too much. After all, there is a time and place for emotions. One I think you found last night." Calliope smirked. "Tell me, Princess. How did you like the thrill of battle?"

Macaria grinned. "Empowering. I… I never knew I could feel like that."

"And now you have."

Macaria chuckled. A thought occurred to her, and she looked around the clearing. "Where's Cass?"

Calliope sighed. "Checking in on the waterfalls, I'm afraid. Apparently, one of the Shades wandered into the glade that diverts the water here. Decided to have a little party with some friends, and only stopped when they saw Cassandra storming up the hillside."

"Did she tell you how long ago she prophesied that?" Macaria asked.

"Just before breakfast, actually. And by that, I mean that the prophecy actually came just before breakfast." Calliope let out a light chuckle. "You'll be able to use the waters when she gets back. And based on the rant she was going on…"

"It'll be a while?"

"Mmm… Maybe more."

Macaria nodded. Just as she was about to cross her ankle, she realized she was still in Calliope's illusion. Once she stepped out of the ring, she turned and gave Calliope a deep curtsy, which the Muse did, in turn.

"Right," Macaria said. "I could probably head off now. It's not like there's anyone else here to talk to, so…"

The Princess of the Underworld walked toward a solitary marble staircase, unknowingly walking away from someone else who had wished to converse with her.

"Ha!" Macaria cheered. "So he is here! Thanks, Homer!"

Uh—Ugh…

Ahem! The Princess most certainly did not use the narrative voice to ask about the potential appearance of a Shade. And she certainly did not use him instead of going to look for said Shade herself.

Macaria chuckled. "Homer, you and I both know he doesn't make it easy for anyone to find him. Thus, I must use all my resources available to me. Besides, Lady Calliope goes on about using my words wisely. Why can't I use them wisely with you?"

The narrative voice did not sigh.

After shamelessly announcing her intentions, Princess Macaria rerouted her walk until she reached the edge of the isle's clearing. It was at the border of the marble walkways, right before the island became a set of trees, bushes, and simple footpaths. The goddess knew that her friend liked to take the long way around the isle, meandering through the forest.

The Shade's preference for stealth would, however, be more effective if not for his glittering bronze armor.

Macaria failed to stop a laugh. "There you are, loner."

The man was leaning against the tall trees of the island, his arms golden across his chest and a single foot propped up against the tree bark. He had short, close-cropped hair, umber skin, and sharp eyes that took in anything and everything they saw. Like all Shades of Elysium, he wore a headband with blue-tinged laurels and a lapis lazuli gem in its center.

Though any fighting was strictly prohibited on the Isles, like many of its residents, the man still had a well-oiled spear. It rested on the tree beside him, alongside an intricately carved shield with the visage of a Chimera carved onto its front.

He was Glaucus, Lycian Hero.

"Aria," the Shade greeted warmly, with a voice far softer than his broad shoulder and well-built physique would imply. "Take it last night didn't work out for you?"

"Yeah." Macaria sighed. "Look, I knew I probably wasn't going to make it on the first try. But I know I can learn what I did wrong, I am using my weapon right, no, I'm not crazy for using my instruments, and I don't care if my mother's still here, I'm—"

"Going to get out of here," Glaucus replied. "I know."

Macaria blinked. "You… You know. Glaucus, how? Don't tell me you've been secretly studying with Cass or something?"

Glaucus chuckled. "I wish. Got no talent for all that oracle stuff. I just go about my business and listen in from the trees, remember?"

"Oh, right." Macaria blushed. "Sorry, just… what did you mean by 'you know'?"

"Well, I suppose I don't know-know." Glaucus gave her a wry smile. "But I do know that the Isles' rowers get a missive from the Queen. Apparently, someone caused a ruckus last night. Said that, out of everyone who's ever been in the Isles, the person who tried to leave last night made it farther than anyone else has. In the entire history of the Underworld."

Macaria stuttered. "I-I—you're serious. I did? But these are the Isles. The greatest of the greatest are here! And I… I didn't even make it that far."

"You did. If you don't believe me, I can go back and try to steal a missive, if you like."

"No, no," Macaria said. The light blush returned to her pale cheeks. "You don't have to. And with how Mother is right now, I don't want you to do anything rash. These are the Isles of the Blessed, Glau. You should be enjoying paradise. Not skulking from the trees for my sake."

"It's not rash," Glaucus replied. "Like you said, I'm a resident of the Isles. I honestly doubt there's much I can do to risk my stay here. And if I'm being entirely honest, that 'skulking' you're talking about? That might be the most fun I've had since I got here."

Macaria grinned. "Well… Alright, then. As long as you promise you'll be careful."

"I swear on my heart, long buried in the glens of Telandrus, that I will be careful. At least, my definition of it." Glaucus looked down at the golden bangle around the princess' wrist, before nodding toward the marble staircase in the distance. "Off to the amphitheater, then?"

Macaria nodded. "Off to the amphitheater."

When Macaria, Princess of the Dead, was brought to the Isles, the choice of which island she would reside in was quite a simple decision. This isle, while typically quiet and peaceful, also contained an amphitheater.

It wasn't unusual for the Isles to have such entertainment venues. As they served only the most heroic souls in the Underworld, such amenities were expected. This amphitheater in particular was, again, made out of bone-white marble. The main viewing area, the theatron, lay empty, with bare seats. The skene—where the actors would perform—had a backdrop of the isle's hillside. A gentle waterfall cascaded down the middle, coalescing into a small pool that broke off into two small streams that disappeared into the earth. And in the center of the amphitheater was a raised altar, meant for members of the orchestra. Six pillars stood in the middle. One of them held a familiar lyre.

For the goddess, this place was the most beautiful spot on the entire isle.

It has also never held an audience.

Macaria sighed. "Did you really have to bring that up, Homer?"

For narrative context, yes.

Macaria shook her head. With quick feet, she made her way to the skene. Although the waterfall, however gently it fell, should have made noises that reverberated through the amphitheater, the water was barely audible. It simply filtered its way down mossy rocks, falling into a pool of water that was less clear than it ought to have been. It was clearly to the annoyance of the two swans, one white and one black, who typically resided there. They honked at the princess in displeasure.

"Knowing how Cass is, my guess it'll be a couple nights before I can use the waters," Macaria mused.

The swans honked again.

"No prophecies for now, my darlings," Macaria said, reaching out to pet the foul creatures. "Do you mind keeping an eye out, though, and let me know when it's ready?"

Against all laws of nature, the diabolical swans accepted the pets.

Macaria then sprinted over to the altar. With deft fingers, she plucked the lyre from its pillar. A spot it always seemed to return to, no matter where Macaria left it the night before—even if she had been fine tuning it in her bedroom's workbench. Still, she could not hold back a grimace as she thought about last night's catastrophic end.

"Rough night, Mac?" came an odd voice. One Macaria knew well.

Off to one side of the amphitheater, a Bloodless stood tall, walking stick in hand. He had a long white beard, a shaggy head of hair, and bright red eyes. A long red cape had been pulled around him in a himation style, like those of philosophers, with three medals pinned to the fabric. And, on his right wrist, was a golden bangle with the etching of an hourglass.

"I think 'rough' sums it up quite well, Skellymeus." Macaria walked over to the blue-tinged skeleton. "My mother didn't leave for the surface. Apparently her security wards can send her messages. Even when she's already supposed to be out of the Underworld."

Skellymeus grimaced. A difficult feat for a skeleton. "I was more talkin' about how your whole I'm gonna run away from the Isles thing went, but… oof."

"Oof, indeed. My only saving grace are the charms Grandfather placed around the amphitheater. Without them, I wouldn't be surprised if Mother confiscated my instruments and sealed off the divination waters. That, or she'd goad Momus into doing the deed for her. Bet he'd probably think it was his own idea, too."

"Well, guess what. The only ones allowed here are me, you, and those swans you got over there. And they don't even need one of these!" Skellymeus shook the wrist that held his golden bangle. "But let me tell you, it better stay that way. Because if anyone, especially your ma, finds out I'm here, our whole mission is toast!"

Macaria looked away, subconsciously hiding the scarred side of her face. "Right…"

"Come on, chin up! You're not getting anywhere if you skulk about and act out one of those little tragedies you keep goin' on about. Now… attack me!"

Macaria obliged.

With short, quick strikes, Macaria pounded Skellymeus with the lyre. The instrument thumped against the skeleton's bones, and Skellymeus grunted from the pain.

"Ugh. Good," the skeleton said. "Now, your special actually uses the instrument like those Muses taught ya! Focuses your power into something you can control. Try it!"

Macaria rearranged her grip on the lyre. With quick plucks of her fingers, she felt the power in her body shoot out and coalesce into the sound produced by the instruments. It turned itself into a whirlwind of force, almost like the gale from a strong wind. It was powerful enough to push Skellymeus back, as if he'd been hit with the blunt end of an axe.

This power, which has taken much time for the princess to control, now was second-nature to her.

Skellymeus chuckled wryly. "Hehehe. That's it. That's what I'm talkin' about! And remember, you can use your attack and special to make your combo attacks. When you make a combo, you build your focus. The more you focus, the more damage you do. Now let's go!"

Macaria took a deep breath. This was simple, she knew. She attacked three times in quick succession, feeling the momentum of battle build up inside her. Once she had the adrenaline running through her, she plucked the string of her lyre. The 'special', as Skellymeus called it, thrummed with the goddess' innate power. And with the momentum of the attacks, its damage was even greater.

But the skeleton was still standing. Macaria did another combo she knew would best synergize with the instrument. A special followed by a dash-strike, followed by another special. Her focus climbed as she kept up the pressure, and she felt her attacks do more and more damage.

That is, until she went to start another combo, only to forget what to do. Her focus went down, and she stood still, suddenly resigned.

Skellymeus grunted and reshifted a bone that'd popped out of his spine. "Lost your focus, Mac."

"I know." Macaria turned her head again—something which was a recurring habit for the young goddess. "I know the combos. I mean, there's no way I couldn't, since I came up with them myself. But when I'm fighting, my mind just…"

"Goes blank? Yeah, happens to the best of us. But look, you keep practicing, keep going out there, and soon enough, those little combos'll be second nature to ya."

Macaria raised an eyebrow. "Are you just parroting back what I've been told in my lessons?"

"Uuuh… Nope. Not at all!" Skellymeus bounced his boney shoulders. "Alright, before I let ya go, there's one last thing we gotta go over. Your cast."

Macaria grimaced. "About that… Skellymeus, I don't think I wanna use it. Not anymore. It's my mother's, and…" Macaria sighed. "It's her powers that are keeping me from leaving the Isles. Her wards. Using her cast feels like playing into her game."

"Whaddaya mean it's your mother's? You see her waving an instrument around and making it shoot force barrages? 'Cause I sure don't!" Skellymeus tapped Macaria's leg with his walking stick. "Look, kid. That cast is your cast. Sure, it might look like your mother's, and act like it. But at the end of the day, it's yours. And if you don't use it, you're just handicapping yourself for no reason!

"Look, I get your thinkin'," Skellymeus continued. "But! Consider this! You use that cast, you're usin' your mother's powers against her. Beat her at her own game. You think your brother didn't use his casts just because they worked like your father's?"

Macaria blinked. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Skellymeus parroted. "And those casts of yours are good. You plant'em in the ground, wait a second, and then let nature do the rest. Now hit me with 'em!"

Skellymeus moved back into target mode. He held his arms wide open, and without the help of his walking stick, his back hunched over.

Macaria took a breath. Twisting the fingers of her non-dominant hand, she pulled at a different source of power. This was one she could feel rushing up from her feet, teeming with dual energies. It was like the feeling of spring and winter at the same time. Something that somehow felt contradictory, but also a natural evolution at the same time.

Macaria sprinted forward. Once she was beside Skellymeus, she ducked down and planted her cast into the earth. A circle appeared around it, the same purple colors as Queen Persephone's wards. A moment passed.

The circle exploded in a burst, damaging Skellymeus, but leaving the princess unharmed.

As soon as the cast activated, Macaria dashed again. Her cast, which had reappeared as a pomegranate seed, sunk itself back into her body. The princess attacks and planted the cast again, using it, her attacks, and the powerful force from her instrument's specials to batter the talking skeleton. His life force was slowly draining, until, at last…

Skellymeus jolted. The skeleton became undone, and he grinned. "Now… you're… ready…"

"Thank you, Skellymeus." Crossing her feet, Macaria gave the disappearing skeleton a curtsy, this time with a joyous spin.

The goddess smiled down at her lyre. "Better damage than I expected. I still need to finish fortifying it, but I'll get to it. Eventually…"

Macaria turned to the theatron. To its empty seats. There were three rows of staircases that led up to the highest seats, and Macaria sprinted up the one on the eastern side.

Unbeknownst to everyone save Skellymeus, and, perhaps, Cassandra herself, there was a small crack in the wall that surrounded the back end of the theater. It wasn't visible from the skene, and it certainly wasn't visible from outside the amphitheater's protective wards. It opened up to a ridge that, while treacherous, was the princess' path to freedom.

"Zagreus… Melinoë…" whispered Macaria, the Oracle of the Underworld. "I'll find you. And I'll beat death to do it."

The princess squeezed through the wall, and began making her descent to the rocky shores below.

"Let's try this again."

THE LETHE

Macaria gracefully skipped down the dewy stones. Though the water should have made it difficult for her to keep her grip, her blazing feet dried away the excess water. She was soon greeted by the gentle waves of the Lethe lapping against the shore, and the ding of a glowing boon materializing before it. It glimmered before her a brilliant blue light, and held a familiar symbol.

"The trident…" Macaria breathed in awe. "I had a feeling it wouldn't be long before you found me, Lord Uncle. In the name of Hades, Olympus, I accept this message!"

The sound of rushing waves echoed from the boon. The image of Poseidon soon appeared, showing the god with a wide grin. A belt adorned with glimmering corals and shells encircled his waist, holding up a flowing blue cloth that covered his legs, but left the upper half of his toned abs exposed. A long sash twisted itself around her uncle's arms and shoulders, twisting in a series of wave-like patterns, but constantly shifting. Almost like the sea itself. He held his customary trident, which was as splendorous as Macaria remembered it to be, but held it aloft, as if he was one move from launching it outward.

There was something else that was different about the Sea God. His hair and goatee were the same color as his sea-green eyes, but they were different from what the young goddess had expected. Macaria did remember that her uncle's hair was made out of flowing water, but right now, her uncle's 'hair' was wild. It exploded outward like a mane, with froth culminating at the edges. It resembled less of the water in a river stream, and more of the water that was shaken about by a forceful hurricane.

"Ah!" Poseidon boomed. "There she is! Been a long time since I saw you, dear niece! Thought your parents tucked you away for safe keeping! But I know those burning feet, and I know my rivers—even those in the Underworld. The Lethe's effects are too potent for me to whisk you down it, but I can give you this!"

Macaria stared at the boons in awe. Just as she was about to pick one to enhance her specials, her eyes spotted the third option.

Tidal Cast. It was to infuse her cast with the power of the sea, making it burst with the power of a sea's storm.

"Thank you, Uncle," Macaria said. No more words were allowed, as the boon faded, and Persephone's wards were triggered. Gleaming circles with the symbol of a flower-crowned skull emerged, and Macaria buried her cast into the ground where they were forming.

The enemies emerged.

With the might of the sea, Macaria's cast blew them to pieces.

"Finally…" Macaria breathed. She was quite worse for wear, with several blows to her body and an ache in her feet. It was impressive she was still standing, despite the Centaur Heart she'd managed to find on the way. Now that the island on which she stood was free of enemies, she sprinted over to collect her well-earned reward: a bundle of River Glass.

"This should help me focus the divination waters," Macaria said. "Well, when they're ready…"

The princess had done better than before. Though she oftentimes fumbled her self-appointed combos, the goddess had begun to enter a flow state. She could feel the focus forming within her, though she couldn't sustain it while travelling between each of her encounters.

Placing the River Glass in her purse, Macaria walked over to the following raft. There was only one available this time, with a backboard made out of cypress. Macaria grinned as she saw the Trident symbol pop up again, but winced when she realized the small skull just above it.

"Oh… That can't be good."

But there was only one raft, so she'd have to take it.

On the journey to the next island, Macaria struggled to yank the cypress backboard from the raft. It was too securely attached. Macaria didn't dare attack it with her instrument, lest it deanimate the raft and immediately sink into the Lethe. And as she reached the following island, the raft disappeared before she could attempt to hack off the cypress.

"Damn it!" Macaria shouted.

"RAAAARGH!" the warden shouted in return.

Macaria spun to face her new enemy. It was akin to a swirling mist that vaguely resembled a human figure, shifting like an image behind a waterfall. Two glowing yellow points were the closest thing it had to eyes, and it raised a twisting trail of mist in attack.

Macaria groaned. "Oh, what even are you?!"

The creature slammed its 'arm' downward. Macaria dashed away, launching out a special as soon as she caught her breath. She attacked in a simple combo that began building her focus, even managing to avoid a sudden spin attack.

The princess rushed forward and planted her cast in the ground. But she rose up, her fingers brushed the creature's mist, and her body went numb. She felt out of tune with herself. With her sense of focus. The focus she had built up vanished, bringing her back to square one.

"Oh, seriously?!" Macaria complained.

Yes. Just as serious as the creature's second spin attack, which drained what little remained of the princess' life force.

"Not again!"

But it was, again. Just as before, the goddess involuntarily curled inward until she was in a curled, calm fetal position. Her eyes fell shut, and the last thing the princess felt was her body transform into a group of shining butterflies.

Ding. Ding. Ding-ding.

THE FUTURE IS UNKNOWN