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The darkness feasts on him, containing his glow to the presence of him.

I am not sure how long we walk in this darkness, but there is a foreboding that settles in the presence of great power, and this is the greatest power of them all.

I can sense the truth of that just as deeply as I sense that there is more to this place. This universe. This world and the realms that we consist of.There is more.

I have never felt such a sense of knowing as I do here in this black mountain, under the presence of this great power.

Inside my body, my very soul hums. As though it is aware that it is close to that which it comes from.

The heavy weight continues to press on me from every direction with every step that I take. I wonder if Hades has been here. I think that he has. I want to ask, but I cannot force the words to the surface. Silence for this walk is demanded. I sense that, too.

I cannot tell if we walk at an incline or a decline. I do not know if our path winds or is straight. I cannot tell up from down.

I have never felt so small as I feel now. So insignificant, like a speck of dust floating in the wind. I am simply a piece of the puzzle that is the universe in which I live.

We are all but pieces, small and insignificant when alone. But when one is missing, the whole picture is distorted.

We are meant, as souls, to exist together. This, I sense, is truth as well. It comes to me as plainly and honestly as any other thought. I am surprised that I have not had it until now.

I doubt that it is my own, but rathertheirs, a thought they feed me in preparation for what is to come.

And that's when it happens. In the distance, there is a flicker. A hue of light. I imagine it's what one might see on the bed of the sea as the moon spills its glow through clear waters. It is not overwhelming or overpowering, and yet it is abundant. It commands that same foreboding that caresses the presence of this great power.

The light grows as we grow nearer, but it does not intensify. It is soft, like the wings of a butterfly or fingertips drifting across naked skin. It is gentle, calling goose flesh to the surface, a whisper of a feather that promises touch and never truly delivers.

Hades’ hand tightens around mine. I move closer to him, seeking the comfort of his strength, sensing that we are more powerful together. That we have always been more powerful together, and that is why we are so targeted. Hunted, as power often is.

Our pathway comes to an end as the room before us expands. I gape.

For all that I have seen since travelling to the Underworld, this is beyond my most wild imaginings.

There is a dais in the center of the room, the cave,the hollow of this mountain. It is massive, and in the center of the dais is a cauldron. It is not like any cauldron.

It is not charbroiled or black, or anything that you might imagine.

It is not small or convenient. It is massive.

It looks like the moon plucked from the very sky.

It is white, crystalline, burning bright. Mottling the bright white are chunky shadows and shallow craters.

I do not have to be told to know that it is the place of souls. The beginning of souls. Where they are sourced and plucked andplanted. Where they begin. Where they are crafted—spun from the threads of the universe.

This place, this cauldron, is the tether in which our world is bound to universal consciousness.

This, too, comes to my mind unbidden. A thought, not my own. An answer to a question I did not realize I asked.

The cauldron swirls: I suspect it never stops.

The ceiling is a ceiling of crystal mirrors and stars. And from it, I can see inside the cauldron where souls glow, pure, and beautiful, and the softest shade of pink in a sun lit bed. As though they've been touched by just a hint of lifeblood.

Mixed in to these pink souls are those of a pure and beautiful, bright white. They look like feathers, the way they move. Illuminated by moonlight, soft and graceful.

Gods and mankind together, crafted within the same cauldron. We are closer than I ever thought we could be—humans and Gods.

From the sea of souls in the cauldron, one rises to the surface. No, not one. It’s two souls. Two bright white feathered souls connected together as though sewn by a thread of gold and ribboned together by the softest pink of humanity.

Our souls. Mine and Hades’, bound by Fate.