Seraphim's world was turned into an endless cycle of darkness and venom. While he was awake he was constantly holding back pained grunts, as the venom dripped into his eye. He would like to say that with each drop he got slowly used to it, but it'd be a lie.

Instead, he'd retreated into the familiar depths of his anger and hatred, clinging to his contempt, trying to shut out everything beyond it. It was a pitiful attempt at comfort, yet it was all he had.

His mind drifted somewhere between sleep and the unconscious, unable to stay fully awake for any longer. Then, there was only darkness, no dreams or nightmares.

Until, suddenly, he was yanked from that cold half-slumber by a sharp, icy splash of water.

He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to focus, to gather his bearings, and once he did, he glared at the god standing above him.

"Take a walk with me," the god ordered.

Seraphim let out a guttural snarl, his hands flexing instinctively against the bonds.

"You wake me like this, just to ask me to go on a stroll with you?" he spat, his voice rough.

"Yes," Hades replied, undeterred by the venom in Seraphim's tone.

Then, he waved a hand and the binds holding Seraphim to the tree unwound, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. The demon hissed as he gathered himself, his limbs aching and unsteady.

Hades barely waited, turning and expecting Seraphim to follow him into the dim, winding pathways of the Underworld.

"Why not bring along that meddlesome nymph?" the demon muttered bitterly as he dragged himself to his feet. "I'm sure she's better company."

"Zorya has her own tasks today," the god replied with a shrug, leading the way with a casual stride.

Seraphim scowled, the muscles in his face tightening as he followed Hades, limping along the uneven path. It felt like a lifetime ago that he was allowed to move, much less walk. He hated how unsteady he felt, how uncoordinated his movements were.

But the god didn't say anything about it, only slowed down slightly, letting the demon regain his balance and grace.

It wasn't long before the air shifted—the stale, cold draft of Tartarus gave way to a different scent, one Seraphim hadn't expected to encounter in the Underworld. Wheat.

Around them stretched a vast field of gold, swaying gently as if touched by a phantom breeze. The sight was surreal in this world of shadows and ash. Despite himself, Seraphim couldn't suppress a flicker of surprise.

Hades walked forward, his fingers trailing lightly over the heads of the wheat as he moved deeper into the field. They walked in silence until Hades stopped, his gaze fixed on the endless rows of wheat, his expression distant.

But then, the god shook his head with a quiet sigh and continued. Seraphim made no mention of it, simply enjoying the bit of freedom he was given while it lasted.

The next stop they made was when they reached a river.

"Do you know where we are?" Hades asked, glancing towards the demon.

But Seraphim had no answer. He could guess, but he doubted he would guess correctly. He never paid proper attention to the stories about gods and their domains, unless it was something he found interesting. And the stories of the Underworld and death were not something he was taken by at the time.

"My heart aches, and my senses fall, for into the Lethe River I've sunk," Hades recited, his voice surprisingly soft. "Every time I pass, I contemplate drinking its waters. For the Lethe erases all memories and pain. Frees you of the past and all that ails you."

Seraphim watched the god, something unreadable crossing his own face. He'd never expected to see Hades like this, exposed, even vulnerable. It was a side of the god he could hardly comprehend.

But he didn't let it deceive him. He knew that gods never did anything without a reason. There would be no reason for Hades in revealing this vulnerable side of himself if he didn't expect something in return.

Probably another approach to try to get Seraphim to become his pawn.

"But I don't. Do you know why? What would become of my wife? My children? They'd still be bound to this place. As would I," he paused, casting a fleeting glance at Seraphim. "Maybe one day, we'll be free from it in the world above. That is what I hope for. Happiness. Real happiness. And you could have the same."

And there it was. A temptation he would not refuse, if he was someone else. But he promised himself—no more. No more being a pawn for the gods, no more letting them dictate him what he could and could not do.

But Seraphim couldn't say he didn't feel temptation at all.

"Wish for felicity, and the river will show you your happiest memory, so that you may feel joy again," the god said, gesturing towards Lethe.

Seraphim hesitated for a moment, before slowly approaching the shore, curiosity nudging him forward.

As he gazed into the depths, the waters shimmered and twisted, pulling forth a vision from his past—Gorgo. Beautiful priestess of Artemis he fell in love with. She was laughing, her eyes gleaming with a familiar light.

Seraphim's breath hitched as the memory played out before him, painfully vivid. The scene he hadn't allowed himself to remember in ages struck him like a physical blow, rekindling a bitter ache and heartbreak.

For a few moments, he couldn't pull his gaze away. He found himself caught between wanting to reach out, as if she were real, and retreating from the vulnerable state her memory left him in. It felt too raw, too exposed.

His legs gave out and he fell to the ground limply, barely catching himself before he could fall into the river. He didn't deserve to forget. He deserved the pain and heartbreak that came with the memory of his lost love.

"I know the pain that grips you," Hades said and Seraphim almost scoffed.

I doubt it, he wanted to say, but his body refused, keeping his mouth shut.

"The greater the love, the greater the sorrow," the god continued. "I've lived it too."

He made a small pause, before he spoke up once again.

"I never wanted this realm. The poets tell tales of my vast treasures and all the realms I hold sway over here."

As he spoke, the surface of Lethe conjured the image Hades described—a younger Hades wandering through the Underworld—both the ruler of the realm and its prisoner. Seraphim could feel a raw echo of the god's emotions as Hades explored this domain, endless and desolate.

"But they don't know the truth. Living in the Underworld poisons you. There's only so much you can endure. I didn't have the sky or the sea. My kingdom was a prison. One that not even I could bear."

The god would occasionally venture to the surface, basking in the sunlight he could never call his own. He would arrive at a field of flowers, his solitary sanctuary from the shadows, and simply stand there, feeling alive and free, if only for a fleeting moment.

"No one wants the constant shriek of the dead. My time away from the Underworld is limited, and an overwhelming pain sets in when I'm gone for too long."

With time, Hades realised he couldn't escape his duty—whenever he stayed too long on the surface, the Underworld's call would grow unbearable, an excruciating reminder of his true domain.

"I still remember the first time I saw her," Hades' voice suddenly became much softer, almost nostalgic. "No amount of pain could keep me away. She was the shelter I needed, the tenderness I missed."

The faintest hint of a smile touched Hades' lips, though his gaze was shadowed with an old sorrow.

"I knew her mother, Demeter, would never approve of me, that no goddess, especially a ray of light like Persephone, would want to live in the Underworld. But when you're cut off from the world, seeing someone like that is a gift. You not only need it, you feel compelled to return to it. But what could I offer her?"

He went on to tell about the first few meetings, Lethe showing the moments he was talking about—when Persephone would speak to Hades, while he remained hidden in the shadows, silent.

Sometimes Zorya was with her, helping the goddess to tend to her garden, or simply keeping her company. Most of the times she was alone.

Finally, after a few meetings, the goddess asked him to reveal himself.

"I wanted to, but I knew there would only be heartache if I did," Hades sighed, kneeling down beside Seraphim and tapping the surface of Lethe. "So I decided to stop visiting her."

The image of Gorgo still looked up at the demon with those beautiful, vivid green eyes of hers, leaving Seraphim both stirred and unsettled. He hadn't allowed himself to think of her in years—it was too dangerous, too painful.

But the image of Gorgo, lingering on the river's surface, stirred something raw within him, tempting him to believe she might have wanted the same happiness he once dreamed for them both.

But the river's vision shifted, displaying another memory—Seraphim's memories related to the priestess appeared on the river's surface.

"I, too, know what it's like to love someone you cannot have. I, too, know what it's like to live in isolation and pain. My prison was the Underworld. Yours was that forest, where you hid from Acrisius and his sons as they hunted you down."

The river showed the very first meeting between the two. Seraphim remembered it so clearly, yet not.

Him, barely conscious, sprawled on the forest floor, an arrow lodged deep in his side, blood pooling beneath him. A woman—her silhouette blurred by the haze of his pain—kneeling beside him. Her hands, warm and skilled, pressed against his wound as she tended to him.

"The priestess was the star in all your darkness, while Persephone was mine," Hades said. "And just like you, as hard as I tried, I couldn't stay away."

Seraphim returned to her. He found her gathering fruits with her sisters, and once she spotted him, he held up the piece of fabric she used to dress his wound. She smiled, the smile she had reserved just for him.

Then, her warden came up to check on the priestess' progress. The woman quickly bowed her head and showed the basket full of fruits. The warden nodded, satisfied, before walking away, and Gorgo looked towards the spot where Seraphim had just been, but he had already disappeared.

"I began to visit her and speak to her from the shadows. When all you know is darkness, you seek light. We both found a safe haven in them—a peace we never thought we'd know."

His visits became regular, the two of them falling in love even without exchanging any words. The small gestures and fleeting glances they sent each other were enough. Soon enough, he offered for her to run away, and without hesitation, she accepted.

Seraphim thought it would be the beginning of their story, but if he only knew how wrong he was.

It was similar with Hades.

The image in Lethe changed, showing Hades' memories. For the god and his wife, it was the other way around. Hades returned to Persephone, talking with her, but never showing himself.

"I was in love. But I vowed not to cross that line," Hades' voice grew heavy, as the images changed once more. "As you did too."

It showed Persephone, talking about her mother, her voice low and edged with frustration, as she talked about Demeter's plans for her, the relentless pressure to be wed, to fulfil her role. Hades seemed to understand that he had no place in this.

Then, another flash. It showed Seraphim's final goodbye to Gorgo. His main regret. But he would not change it. There was only one thing he wanted, and he got it. It was in the past, and there was no sense in pondering over it again.

"It got harder and harder each day. It was driving me insane. My desire to see her only grew and grew."

The river showed Persephone expecting Hades, her face lit with anticipation. But it was Ares who stood behind her, his expression hard and demanding.

Anger flashed between them, words exchanged, and then his hands grasped her, forcing her back. She fought him, strength flaring in her eyes as she pushed him away.

A brief surge of fear—and then Hades arrived, his fury unleashed in defence of her. Their clash, brutal and fierce, the air around them shuddering with the force of it. He lost, retreating with a bitter threat directed toward his uncle.

What surprised Seraphim, though he didn't let it show, was that for the first time he could see Zorya in Hades' memory. She was a silent, unmoving figure, watching over Persephone and Hades with a mixture of concern and resolve. It made Seraphim wonder just how deep the bond between Zorya and Hades went.

Another flash showed Hades giving Persephone a parting gift. The goddess' fingers lingered on it, reluctant to let go, her eyes lifting to meet his as she declared her wish to remain with him, her voice carrying a defiance that trembled with certainty.

A bedroom cloaked in shadows. Hades and Persephone, entwined, her laughter like a light within the stillness of his realm. She reached for a pomegranate, red and ripe, a temptation she couldn't resist. Hades' hand closed over hers, his warning a shadow in his eyes, yet when she raised the fruit to her lips, he did nothing to stop her.

Demeter, her fury boundless, tearing through the Underworld in search of her daughter, dragging Zorya, who tried to fight against the goddess, behind her.

Persephone standing tall, her choice resolute as she declared her intent to stay.

Demeter's shock, disbelief bleeding into anger, and then her desperate, frantic plea. Persephone, with quiet defiance, raised the pomegranate to her lips and consumed six seeds, sealing her fate and binding herself to Hades.

"Persephone ate six pomegranate seeds, binding herself to the Underworld. For me. Only Demeter wouldn't stand for it. She told everyone I kidnapped her and, in her fury, brought desolation to the fields of the Earth, demanding Persephone's return."

As Hades talked, the two started to move once again, walking away from Lethe, back towards Tartarus.

Seraphim expected to return sooner rather than later, but he didn't ignore the reluctance and discontent stirring within him as the trees of Tartarus loomed closer, so very similar to the one he'd been tied to for gods know how long.

"To appease her, Zeus decided that since Persephone ate six seeds, she would spend six moons here and the other six with Demeter. But during the time she spends here, Demeter ensures everyone suffers as she does. That's why the Earth sleeps under frost each winter."

Hades' jaw clenched as his grip on his bident tightened. The dim light of Tartarus cast shadows on his face, accentuating the depth of his conviction. He glanced back over his shoulder toward Seraphim, who once again wore his mask of indifference, but something stirred beneath.

"But I've had enough. I refuse to have my wife stripped away from me time and time again, to watch my children shed tears at the start of each spring," he took a deep breath to calm down. "The time has come to take action, and no one understands that better than you."

Seraphim didn't know what to make of this revelation. He had always assumed gods were creatures of indifference, bound by their power and incapable of feeling such things as genuine love.

But Hades' words unsettled that belief. Could a god truly understand sacrifice? Could he really know the price of love and loss?

Suddenly, they stopped.

"Look there," Hades gestured toward a small pier before them.

Seraphim obeyed reluctantly, walking towards the edge. But as he tried to lean over the side, to look into the water, he hit his head on an invisible barrier. He tapped against it a few times, before turning around to face the god.

Hades walked towards him and simply put his bident against it. The invisible wall glowed red, before disappearing.

Then, the god took a step forward, off the pier, but before he could fall into the river, a piece of wood rose from a water, creating a continuation of the wooden path.

The demon followed after him, walking towards what he now recognized as a large gathering of souls. They banged and pushed against the barrier, but none of them could get past.

Seraphim followed his gaze and tensed, instinctively reaching for the hilt of his weapon, which, of course, wasn't there. The bident he used to call his own was now in its first owner's grip, Hades'.

"They are the wraiths who cannot afford to cross," Hades said, looking at the tormented souls. "Drifting aimlessly in torment."

Just then, a figure emerged from the mist—a woman veiled in a cloak of stardust and midnight, walking among the Wraiths with purpose, her head held high. Some of the souls tried to grab onto her, but she either moved out of their reach, or quickly shook them off.

The two watched as Zorya knelt beside a small girl with wide, fearful eyes. With a gentle touch, she lifted the girl's chin and offered her a rare, comforting smile, one that softened the edge of the bleak landscape around them.

"Zorya has always tried to make it easier for the souls she meets here," Hades murmured, glancing at Seraphim, "Every so often, she'll pay for a soul's crossing when she finds one who needs it—but she rarely can. Even then, Charon sometimes refuses her, leaving the souls stranded."

Seraphim watched as Zorya straightened, speaking softly with the girl.

"It's alright," the nymph murmured to the child, her voice soft but certain.

She slipped two coins into the girl's hand and guided her toward a narrow, luminescent path that cut through the darkness.

"This will cover your crossing," she said quietly. "You're safe now."

The girl looked up at her with wide, trusting eyes, and with one last glance, she was led away by Zorya toward the river, the faint glow of the child's spirit growing fainter as they moved out of sight.

Seraphim's eyes followed her, feeling an odd pang of something close to admiration. But then, after the two passed by them, they revealed another figure—a figure that made Seraphim's breath catch.

Gorgo.

"You never knew what happened to her," Hades mused. "But death reveals all. She was going to abandon her vows and all the honour that come with being a priestess. For you."

Seraphim couldn't look away, his throat tightening with a mixture of horror and grief. It was her—this time, there was no mistaking it. The sight of her filled him with a piercing sorrow that twisted into anger, a whirlwind of emotions too chaotic to contain.

"You were going to run away together. But two days before you were set to leave, you found out where the man that gave you that scar was. The man that cut down the woman who raised you. She begged you to run away with her, to let go of the past. Do you remember what she said?"

Seraphim clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

"'Don't let hatred turn you into the very thing you set out to destroy'," the demon said lowly.

He remembered those words clearly, they were burned into his memory.

"Yes, but you didn't heed her words. You broke your promise, and you struck out seeking revenge. We both know what happened next."

Seraphim grit his teeth as he was reminded of the pain and fear his transformation and everything that led up to it brought. He remembered how rage and fear fuelled him to push himself harder, do things he never would've thought of before.

But they secured his survival. Not only that, but they granted him power few can dream of.

But the price he had to pay for it was something he wasn't sure he would ever stop regretting.

"You didn't meet her in the forest. Instead, you were reborn that night. And when you finally could go look for her, you couldn't find her. Because she was here."

Seraphim's head dropped limply. This was all his fault. If he hadn't went to seek his revenge and simply held up his end of the promise, she'd still be alive, they could be happy, together.

And yet, here they were. Dead and still separated. Both in pain and terrified.

"What happened to her?" he asked quietly.

But Hades didn't answer. He only kept looking at the demon, his face a perfect mask of indifference. This stirred something deep inside Seraphim.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"Why? You can't change what happened," the god stated. "But you can help her. She doesn't recognize you. She only sees the monster you've become."

Seraphim didn't know why, but hearing this only cut deeper, bringing him more pain and heartbreak. He pounded his fist on the invisible wall, letting out a frustrated yell, before slumping against the barrier, breathing deeply as he tried to get his emotions back in check.

"Let go of your rage and help her. Give her the peace she deserves. But this is your last chance. I won't offer it again," Hades grabbed his head and made him look at the shadow of Gorgo. "Look at her! Look at how she suffers! Help her. It's your fault she's here. Help me, and we can put an end to the suffering of our loved ones once and for all."

For a moment, Seraphim knelt there, silent, his gaze locked onto Gorgo. Memories surged—her laughter, her smile, the fleeting glances they had stolen, the way her hands had once tended to his wounds.

He had lost her once, and now, here she was again, a wraith lingering in a torment she didn't deserve.

Hades was right.

The woman before him was a shadow, an echo of the Gorgo he had once known, and yet it didn't make the ache within him any less fierce. She was here, trapped, suffering without end, and the realisation left him feeling raw, hollow.

"All right," Seraphim agreed, defeated. "But only if you promise to bring her here and have her drink the water. I want her to lose all memory of me and the pain that I caused her."

For the first time, Hades' gaze softened, truly softened. It wasn't the mask he put on when he wanted to sway Seraphim, but something genuine. He inclined his head, considering the demon's request.

"Very well."