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“We’re all connected,” I tell as I look to the three sisters of Fate who stand high on the cave walls, looming over it all. “They connected us all.”

“Yes,”Hydra agrees.“They did.”

Something stirs within me at the realization. A similar something I recall from the memory I was fed about the first taking, the claiming. The power that swirled within me, eager to flow and connect with somethingother. To create.

And I sense now that this bond I share with Hydra holds more meaning than either of us suspects.

I stand within the circle of her body, her warmth. She watches me, but not with wariness. Between us, there is only trust.

“Can I try something?”

“Anything.”

I smile. She doesn’t even ask what I want to try.

“Did I ever try to heal you—before?”

A shutter slams down in her eyes.“I cannot be healed.”

I press closer. “But did I try?”

Slowly, she shakes her heads.“You were confused and chaotic for a long time. Then you were consumed with sketching the prophecies. And when you became aware, yougrieved. You were powerless, Persephone, to gather the power that lived within you.”

My shoulders slump. “I never tried, did I?”

When she finally shakes her heads, it’s slow and small.“No.”

She took care of my soul for centuries and I never once tried to heal the wounds of her sacrifice.

I force myself to meet her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“I cannot be healed, my Persephone. Hades has tried. The Erinyes have tried.”

I stare at all her bleeding limbs, the wounds grossly open and dripping even now. “I would like to try now, if you’ll let me.”

There is a long pause. I can see how hope flashes in her eyes before it is chased away by fear. Fear that she will be teased with the possibility of healing this pain only to find again, that she can’t be healed. That the curse Zeus bestowed upon the blade Hercules wielded cannot be undone.

And then I see something else play in her eyes. Trust.

She is already laying on the floor, her body curled around my own, but she lowers her heads. All her heads. My intent swirls a power inside me that is familiar even as it is foreign. It’s always been here, I realize, a part of me. It’s always been hidden in the folds of my soul, unknown and unused.

But I know the power I long for now. The power of Chaos.

The power to create. To heal.

It begins in my chest, the swirling warmth of the Mother Goddess. It is ribboned with the light of all life that is the Primordial God of light. Sun.Life.

Together, they dance until that power bursts throughout the whole of me, flooding my limbs until this power is all that I am. All that I feel.

Like the Underworld came alive behind my eyes as Hades took possession of my body, I see Hydra as she was before the manipulation of malicious Gods, and the destruction ofHercules’ cursed blade. A beautiful beast of power and elegance with a heart so big in her chest. Her nine heads held high with pride and honor.

And I see her now behind those same lids. Ruined and broken. Hurting. The headless wounds that have wept for centuries, life a slow and agonizing drip from a body offered in sacrifice. I see the dark truth of a history cocooned in lies. The love that poured from the depths of her in every human who dared swim the Lernaean Lake, their ignorance forcing her to slay them swiftly so that they would find peace in life after death. So that they would not be trapped eternally in a Hell they could never escape.

I reach out, my palms connecting with her chest. I can feel the thunder of her heart. The power of an ancient pouring of rage and sorrow that strums a song with every beat. My own soul opens to hers, my heart a crater from which power pours. My hands are the conduit for the surge of chaos and life that moves from me into her. And I rebuild her in my mind as I once built the Underworld so long ago.

Time passes in a flow of color and song, of timeless love. When I open my eyes once again, it is to see a being of ancient times before me, once again proud and full and strong.

Hydra stands under the shimmering light of the firestorm ceiling, the metallic shimmer of her sangria scales dance as though ignited by the flames of justice that roll overhead, trapped eternally in the stone of this ancient cave. From her body is one thick neck from which eight others branch. Each of her eight necks is adorned with a smaller head than the ninth which is held high in the center and affixed with a crown of ruby daggered points which rise from her very skull.