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I stared at the rolling fields in stunned silence as the sounds of joy grew louder with each step toward the village. From the distance, I could see women laughing and dancing together, children chasing each other through the streets, and men playing lutes while singing.

These souls weren’t being tormented or enslaved. There weren’t monsters roaming around inflicting terror.

There was joy.

“This isn’t what I expected,” I admitted.

“You imagined doom and gloom?”

Heat rose to my cheeks, and his grin widened .

“All souls come here, good and bad,” Caldrius explained. “Those who deserve happiness in eternity find it. Hyrax is not a monster, Theadora. He frequently visits these people, ensuring their well-being. They love hosting him whenever they can.”

“And the-” I paused, unsure of how to best phrase my question. “What of the bad souls? What happens to them?”

Caldrius’ steps slowed, and I slowed with him, my hand still tucked in his arm.

He looked down at me, a shadow in his eyes as he sighed heavily.

He tensed briefly. “Hyrax does nothing. When souls arrive, they judge themselves. They face their misdeeds. If they fail to come to terms with their actions and forgive themselves, their guilt consumes them.”

“What happens to them, then?”

Caldrius nodded toward a stretch of wilderness to our left. Dead trees stretched miles high into the sky, their branches twisting unnaturally. Wind whispered through the grove, breathing in the life from the nearby village and exhaling frigid air. I shivered, and Caldrius stepped closer.

“They go there, where their guilt eats away at them. It’s... gruesome.”

I frowned, staring at the ominous patch of forest. Shadows lingered at the edges of the clear divide between the wooded area and the vibrancy of the space we stood in.

"How gruesome?” I asked.

“They waste away until they’re mindless creatures, harming anything in their path. The villagers call them the Undone. I’ve had to eliminate several who wandered too close to the Villages of Life. It’s not a part of my duty I enjoy discussing.”

Wordlessly, he untangled my hand from his arm and wrapped it between his fingers instead, tugging firmly and stepped away, effectively ending the conversation. I stumbled after him, not quite matching his hurried pace at first.

“Did you have to go to the forest when you first died?”

A line formed between his brows as he looked down at me. “Why would you ask me that?”

For a moment, a pang of regret coiled in my stomach. “I guess I assumed you would have had to face what you did in the Mortal Realm.”

Caldrius was quiet, so quiet that I thought he might not answer me at all until he shifted his arm gently, the motion pulling me closer to him as he looked down at me. “No Thea, I didn’t go there. I didn’t have to because I felt no guilt for what I did when I was alive.”

Ice prickled the back of my neck and raised the hairs on my arms. Caldrius was responsible for the deaths of hundredsof people. How could he feel no remorse for that?

"You may not understand my actions,” he whispered, moving us towards the village again.

"But the world was different when I was alive. The Gods walked freely in the Mortal Realm, and their presence, their power, changed everything. When I stole Hyrax’s Bident, I was serving my God. There was no greater honor.”

“And afterwards?”

The end of my question hung in the air between us.

How did he justify becoming such a tyrant that his own brother had to flee across an ocean?

A shadow passed over his face. “Let’s just say when the the Gods raised the Veil, they didn’t just remove themselves from the Mortal Realm.

They took pieces of our world with them, pieces I wasn’t able to live without, but I was helpless to stop them.

Tell me, who is more culpable - the madman or the God that drove him there? ”

I chewed on my lip, unsure what to make of his words, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to need a response.

He tapped my hand gently before pointing to the flower bushes lining the road to the village. “Hyrax’s castle doesn’t have gardens like you’re accustomed to, but flowers are plentiful. I can identify them for you as we walk if you want.”

He wanted to change the subject, to divert our conversation away from the horrors of the past to instead focus on the beauty that was laid out in front of us. Wanting to shy away from negative memories was something I was all to familiar with.

So, I let the conversation fade away.

“I think I would like that,” I told him.

For the next twenty minutes, he spoke no more of Gods or ancient histories.

Our conversation dwindled as we finally reached the pathway leading into the village.

I took the opportunity to watch him as he walked slightly ahead of me.

Caldrius moved with a balance and grace that belied his height, his sharp jawline faintly reminiscent of Clay’s.

It struck me how self-assured he seemed—both as a former king and as someone intimately familiar with this path.

As we passed under the archway into the Village of Life, he tugged me forward just as a petite woman with caramel-colored curls and golden skin stepped into view, her wide smile radiating warmth.

“This is Alma,” Caldrius introduced. “Alma, this is Theadora, Hyrax’s—”

“Oh, I know who she is!” Alma interrupted, rushing forward to clasp my hands in hers. She bowed her head and pressed a kiss to my knuckles.

“Gods, you don’t have to do that!” I exclaimed, trying to free my hands.

Alma smiled up at me through dark lashes, her lips quirking playfully. Keeping one hand clasped around mine, she gently tugged me forward. “Nonsense! We’re honored to have you here, Theadora. Allow me to show you our home.”

As Alma led me through the village, she pointed out the tall, colorful buildings, their stone facades painted with stunning murals of flowers, animals, and idyllic landscapes.

She introduced me to every soul we passed, and each bowed to kiss my knuckles despite my protests.

Vendors insisted I sample their baked goods, while children darted between us, plucking flowers from nearby gardens to weave into my hair.

“This one too!” a little girl called, tugging at the fabric of my skirt. She held up a dandelion, reaching to add it to the growing crown atop my head.

Alma laughed, scooping the girl into her arms. “That’s a weed, Amalia! The princess doesn’t want weeds in her hair.”

Amalia’s pout deepened, her lower lip trembling in the unmistakable prelude to a tantrum. Alma sighed, bracing herself.

“Nonsense!” I said quickly, plucking the dandelion from Amalia’s small fingers and tucking it behind my ear. “It’s beautiful.”

Amalia’s eyes widened in surprise before she squealed with delight, clapping her hands. “Pretty!”

I laughed, turning to Alma. “Is she yours?”

Amalia’s pale skin and light eyes bore little resemblance to Alma’s golden complexion, though their hair colors weren’t entirely dissimilar. Still, their differences were striking enough to make me curious.

“Oh no,” Alma replied, setting Amalia down. The child immediately darted back to a patch of dandelions, giggling. “Amalia arrived a few months ago. She died of a fever. Her parents are still in the Mortal Realm.”

“So, who takes care of her?”

Alma tilted her head at me, a surprised smile on her face and her eyes dancing. “We all do, of course. This is the Underworld. Here, we’re all family.”

A fter what felt like hours playing with the children in the Village of Life, Caldrius and I found ourselves on a hill overlooking the bustling village below.

I sprawled back in the grass, letting the soft strands thread through my fingertips, while he sat nearby, one arm draped casually over his raised knee.

“This isn’t at all what I expected,” I said for the second time that night.

The wind tickled my cheeks, carrying the faint scent of flowers mixed with the earthy undertones of the grass beneath me.

From below, the sounds of the village floated up to us—snippets of laughter and the distant strumming of lutes.

Overhead, the stars stretched endlessly, their light glinting down on the two of us.

Caldrius glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m not surprised.”

“It’s nothing like anyone in the Mortal Realm would imagine,” I continued.

He let out a low chuckle. “I doubt the Mortal Realm’s views of the Underworld have changed much since I was alive.”

I rolled to my side and propped my head on my hand to see him better. He wasn’t looking at me, his gaze fixed on the horizon, lost somewhere I couldn’t follow.

“Can you blame them?” I asked, breaking the silence.

I had intended to stop asking him about the past, at least for a little while, but somehow we always found ourselves back here.

In the place where he always seemed to know more than he was willing to tell me.

“Hyrax tried to enslave the Mortal Realm.”

Caldrius turned then, his dark eyes meeting mine with unsettling intensity as he pivoted to face me fully. “You still don’t trust him.”

“I don’t see why I should.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he remained silent. Then he spoke, his voice laced with frustration. “Has it ever occurred to you that everything you know about the Underworld—about Hyrax—is nothing more than a story crafted by frightened Mortals to justify their own ignorance?”

The sharpness in his words caught me off guard. I sat up fully, blonde hair spilling haphazardly over my shoulders. Caldrius’s gaze flicked to the strands, softening as if he regretted his outburst.

“I know what Hyrax is capable of,” I shot back.

"You know what he was capable of. Do you not think people can change? Surely, you must admit that the Hyrax you’ve met is not the monster your realm has painted him to be.”

I chewed on my lip. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what I believed about Hyrax. He had lied to me and he had been kind to me all at the same time.

“And if you’re not ready to admit it about Hyrax,” Caldrius continued, “are you at least ready to admit it about me?”

My stomach somersaulted and I met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I know what your realm thinks of me. I know what you thought about me when we met. But now? After all the time we’ve spent together, do you still agree with them? Or is part of you now questioning those stories? Do you wonder what could have driven me to the choices that led to my death?”

The wind tousled my hair, and this time he reached out, tucking the unruly strands behind my ear. The gesture sent a strange warmth rushing through me and he let his hands linger on the base of my throat before pulling away slowly.

“So what was it, then?" I asked, imploring him with my eyes to finally cease being vague and actually let me in. “You want me to trust that you’re not a monster? Prove it to me then. Tell me what happened to you.”

He looked away, his eyes unfocused for a moment and I was just about to stand, frustrated at his avoidance when he finally spoke.

And it all poured out.

“I was Zion’s favorite—his grandson, his chosen heir, his most trusted confidant.

He’d been in my life since I was a child.

When he came to me with his plan to steal the Bident, I didn’t question him.

He was a God, after all. Who was I to question his judgement?

I should have, though. In all those years that he had been with me, he watched me fall in love with Isidore.

When my father nearly disowned me for rejecting my marriage, Zion was the one who told him to show me mercy. ”

Caldrius’ lip pulled back from his teeth in disgust and he leaned back heavily onto his hand.

He seemed entirely lost in his memories until a shudder rushed through me from the chill in the air, suddenly pulling his focus back to me.

Without stopping his story, he shrugged off his jacket and passed it to me.

“Before my father died, Zion told him to not pass into the Underworld with anger in his heart. He said that Isidore was far too beautiful to stay away from. I had thought he was defending me. I thought he loved me. Turns out, he just wanted her. And when a God wants something, there is no asking. No denying. He saw her, he decided she was his, and by the time I realized what had happened, she was already gone. While I was stealing Hyrax’s Bident, Zion was stealingher.

The next day, the Veil rose, and I lost her forever. ”

A memory scratched at the back of my mind, but it slipped away before I could grasp it.

“I was out of my mind with grief,” Caldrius continued, his voice thick with emotion.

“And as the closest relation to Zion, my power was unmatched in the Mortal Realm, especially with the Bident in my possession. My brother thought that made me dangerous. Truthfully, I think deep down, he just wanted a crown of his own. So, after Zion became the first of my blood to betray me, Ennoss became the second. He stole the Bident, fled to Athenia, and left me to the assassins he hired. They killed me simply because my magic was stronger than theirs.”

A chill swept through me, my thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. I wanted to speak, to respond, but no words came.

“You don’t believe me,” he murmured, turning his gaze back to me. His voice was calmer now, but his dark eyes burned with conviction. “But deep down, you know I’m right. You’ve seen how quick they are to fear anyone more powerful than themselves. You know they look at you with that same fear.”

A shiver crept down my spine, unbidden. He wasn’t wrong. I had seen it. That day in the ballroom, when I’d brought an entire room of assassins to their deaths with a simple thought, those that were left standing had stared at me with terror etched on their faces.

“Even your prince,” Caldrius added, his tone softening to something almost coaxing. “Do you think he’d be willing to accept what he doesn’t understand? Imagine how he’d react if he knew you were here... if he knew you were with me.”

His hand found mine, his fingers curling around my own in a gentle squeeze.

Numbly, I stared at our intertwined hands, my mind drifting to Clay. What would he think if he knew where I was? Who I was with? Would he even listen long enough for me to explain? And even if he did, what could I say to justify any of this?

My fingers twitched in Caldrius’s grasp, but I didn’t pull away.

“You know I’m right,” he pressed, his voice a whisper now.

I lifted my gaze to meet his, the weight of his dark eyes pressing into me. For a long moment, I couldn’t find the words to respond.

And maybe that was answer enough.