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Hades’ chamber stood as if carved from the essence of night itself. The ceiling soared into vanishing blackness. Walls rippled faintly with the shimmer of dying stars, the constellations caught in their final sighs, tiny glimmers of reverence for their ruler.
At the center of the chamber, Hades stood—a figure of daunting grace. His robes flowed in restless waves of liquid umbra, the fabric shifting like ink spilled into water. His presence pressed against the senses, his angular face a study in measured power. Eyes that seemed to hold the first secret of creation met Jace’s with an unrelenting pressure—a balance of humor, curiosity, and a threat so sharp it seemed to hum in the air.
Curled beside the throne, Cerberus slumbered. The three-headed beast was a mass of black fur and primal muscle, each head resting at a different angle and flopped over the other, their rhythmic breathing stirring faint wisps of ash and shadow from the ground. Even in sleep, the creature radiated menace, a reminder that the Underworld’s gates were never unguarded.
Leaning against the throne, Persephone was a study in contradictions. Her hair, a cascade of wild wheat and untamed sunlight, framed a face that radiated life so vibrant it felt almost blinding in this place of death. But beneath the golden beauty was a quiet, sharp edge—darkness woven into the lines of her expression, a reminder of her dominion in this shadowed world. One hand rested lightly on the throne’s back, her nails tracing idle patterns into the armrest, her posture the perfect blend of poise and danger.
“Jace,” Hades said, his voice rich and smooth, like molten honey poured over thunder. He leaned casually against his obsidian throne, one boot resting on the edge of a dais. “Kid, how in the Underworld are ya?” His tone carried the burden of ancient mountains but was delivered with the easy charm of someone who’d long since stopped taking themselves too seriously.
Jace took a hesitant step forward, his boots scuffing against the cool stone floor.
“Hanging in there,” Jace replied, shrugging. “Not dead yet.”
“Atta boy.” Hades grinned, his teeth flashing white against his shadowed face. “Not dead yet. Love that for you.” He gave a distracted wave of his hand, as if dismissing the thought before his eyes flicked back to Jace. “So, what’s the deal? You come down here to raid my fridge, or is there something I can do for you?”
Jace’s shadow rippled and stretched unnaturally with each step, spilling across the marble floor in distorted shapes that seemed to writhe with a life of their own. When he stopped, he inclined his head—a shallow, instinctive bow, more reflex than reverence.
“You summoned me,” he said, his voice measured and steady. Yet beneath the surface, it thrummed with tension, like a string pulled to the edge of breaking.
“Right, yes. That I did.” Hades’ reply was casual, almost too casual, as if he were testing the waters with every word.
Jace’s gaze flicked to Persephone. She met it and gave the slightest nod, but her eyes spoke louder than words. This is a risk.
The glance she exchanged with Hades hinted at something unspoken, an agreement fraught with uncertainty. Whatever game they were playing, Hades was keeping his cards far too close to his chest.
Hades nodded, a subtle dip of his chin. His hand, pale as the moonlight that never reached this realm, gestured for Jace to approach. “Tomorrow, the Winter Games await you,” he said, his tone unhurried but inescapable, as if each word was etched in the bedrock of reality itself.
Jace hesitated but took another step forward. The flickering light from the braziers danced across his face, painting him in fleeting half-light. The air thickened as Hades spoke again, the chamber seeming to lean in, devouring the sound of his words.
“The Games are more than sport,” Hades continued, his words slow and deliberate. “They are belief made flesh, power given form. Every swing of the sword, every drop of blood feeds the divine. It binds us, Jace—gods and mortals alike.”
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“Could you maybe dial down the poetry a notch?” Jace said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t get much sleep, and I’m not sure I’ve got the bandwidth for it right now.”
Jace thought he might have caught the faintest smile ghost across Persephone’s lips, but if it had been, it vanished just as quickly, leaving her expression unreadable.
“Plain terms—facing the Tower is a big deal. Amongst the gods, the higher our patrons go, the more prestige shines upon us,” he said, the words soft yet ironclad.
“So, in essence, this is a pep talk. ‘Don’t muff it up, kid. All eyes are on you.’ That sort of thing?” Jace’s tone carried dry humor, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt.
“In the most basic sense, sure,” Hades said, his voice a low rumble. “But do you truly understand what it means to be Chosen, young prince of Roandia?”
Jace straightened under the power of that question, his reply steady but uncertain. “It means we struck a deal, at the start of my term here. You would be my patron, and I’d serve under your banner.”
Persephone’s lips curved in a faint smile as she listened, this time not hiding it, her golden hair catching the dim, flickering light. Hades, however, frowned, his sharp features etched with something between disappointment and amusement.
“Yes, yes, that’s quite true,” Hades said, his tone almost dismissive. “But what does it mean to be Chosen? Are you familiar with how gods grow in power? From where our strength derives?”
Jace hesitated, turning the question over in his mind. “I… don’t know,” he admitted finally.
Hades leaned forward, his pale fingers steepling beneath his chin. “From you, Jason. And others like you. From our followers, our worshippers. Power flows to us through belief, action, and acknowledgment. When you strike down an enemy of the Underworld, when you free a soul, it is a form of tribute. You and all of my followers add up to my power.”
“I thought I was your only Chosen,” Jace said, confusion knitting his brow.
Hades laughed then, a low, rolling sound that carried more shadow than mirth. “Oh, boy, you are my only Chosen. That much is true. But I have followers—thousands upon thousands of them. Do not mistake being Chosen for being singular.”
The room seemed to darken as Hades’ voice gained substance. “A follower can be anyone who offers a prayer, makes a sacrifice, fights under a banner, or even acts in alignment with a domain. Work for freedom, and you empower the gods of freedom. Obsess over science, and you pour power into the gods and goddesses of discovery. Every act, every belief, every small devotion feeds the gods. Unaligned individuals—those without a patron—scatter their energy like seeds in the wind, shared among the deities of a domain. Fight for a soul’s right to move on, and you step into my domain—mine and my understudies, Pluto, Anubis, Hel, and the rest of my counterparts across Mythica.”
His pale hand gestured, a flicker of shadow trailing his movements. “But those under my banner, those who declare themselves as mine, grant their offerings directly to me. Think of it as… godly experience points. We grow stronger because of you.”
Jace nodded slowly, the pieces clicking into place. “I think I get it.”
Hades arched an eyebrow, his expression faintly amused. “Do you? A Chosen is not just a follower, Jason. A Chosen is a conduit. You are an extension of me, tied closer to my essence than most mortals ever dream of being. Through you, I can grant my gifts more freely and claim a greater share of the tokens you generate.”
Jace’s throat tightened. “So I’m like, what… a sales rep?”
Hades took a deep, measured breath and shook his head before he continued.
“At your level, you’re power is but an echo of my presence. But the higher ranks of a Chosen are called Avatar—the top is known as the Voice. A Voice speaks with my authority, wields my gifts in their purest form, and acts as a true vessel of my will.”
Persephone’s smile deepened, a flicker of warning dancing in her eyes as Hades leaned closer, his gaze piercing. “But let me be clear—this comes at a cost. If I were to elevate you to Voice now, your mind would shatter like glass, your soul bursting free of your body, leaving scraps of you for old Cerberus to clean up.”
The three-headed beast stirred at the mention of its name, one massive head rising to scan the room before settling back down with a low, rumbling sigh, its tails curling closer around its hulking body.
“Then let’s avoid that,” he said, his voice dry but resolute.
Hades chuckled, a sound that carried both approval and menace. “Smart boy.”