Page 20 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Hours crawled by as Kore paced the bedchamber.

On the divan by the hearth, a folded chiton waited, its fabric rich and smooth, dyed the color of a fathomless sea.

At last, she let his himation fall from her shoulders. The air brushed cool against her skin as she reached for the garment and drew it around her.

We wed in two days.

His words echoed through her like the toll of a distant bell.

She stood near the crackling hearth, trying to steady the frantic beat of her pulse. But a knot of dread rooted deep in her chest, coiled tight and unmoving. No breath could ease it. No thought could reach it.

She could not stay here—could not remain cloistered in this chamber while time unraveled around her, slipping through her fingers like threads of silk.

Steeling herself, she stepped to the door. She pressed her ear to the cool marble, listening.

Silence.

The corridor beyond was empty. Its long passage stretched, opening into a vast atrium of dark columns at the temple’s heart. Above, the ceiling soared into shadows, so high it seemed the heavens themselves had been carved away.

She tread slowly, bare feet whispering against the stone of the atrium. As she passed the throne room, she hesitated, then glanced inside.

Empty.

A hush clung to the air—heavy and watchful. At the far end, the great onyx throne loomed on its dais. Even unoccupied, it commanded the hall, echoing the dominion of its master .

Beyond the atrium’s columns, something green caught her eye. On the air, the scent of earth rose—of things alive, of life growing.

Her heart stuttered.

A garden.

Outside, cool air rushed to meet her. As she descended the temple steps, a garden unfolded around her. A sanctuary cradled deep within the Underworld, encircling the temple.

Lush grass blanketed the ground beneath her feet.

Flowering plants shimmered with delicate, silver light, as though grown from moonlight rather than sun.

In shadowed corners, deep-blue poppies swayed gently, their petals brushing the heavy roots of ancient trees that arched overhead, branches rustling in a soft wind that stirred the air.

At the garden’s heart, one tree stood apart. It was taller, older than the others, rising in sprawling majesty, its gnarled limbs sweeping high in solemn grandeur. Crimson fruit hung from its boughs—ripe and unfamiliar.

Kore slowed, her gaze tracing the great tree that loomed over her head. Quiet but persistent, a thread of disquiet tugged at her.

She lingered only a moment before continuing on.

Ahead, a stone landing was perched high above the Styx, overlooking the river’s furious descent. Dark waters crashed in wild rapids, white spray rising in curling plumes. The air was sharper, crisp and cool, laced with the scents of damp stone and the lush greenery at her back.

Kore crept forward, steadying herself with a hand against the stone ledge as she peered over the landing’s edge. Below, the river plummeted in a dizzying drop, the roar of the waterfall rising to meet her.

Her eyes rose.

Beyond the cliffs and the river, jagged mountains rose like ancient, solemn sentinels, peaks cloaked in mist, cutting her off from what lay beyond—

Rolling grasslands. Soft green hills. Just like the world to which she belonged.

Her chest tightened at the sight, caught between awe and unease, as she surveyed the vast, wild landscape.

The Underworld, it seemed, was endless.

***

She managed to descend the first peak.

The path was treacherously steep, more a downhill scramble over lichen and stone than a controlled descent. Rocks bit into her bare feet, and her chiton snagged on the sharp crags, tearing in places. When she reached the bottom, she was bruised, soaked in mist.

Kore shivered, eyeing the river.

What happened if one fell in —

Immediately, she pushed the thought away. Looking forward, she fixed her gaze on the next steep peak.

Then a voice, calm and steady, cut through the rush of the river.

“May I assist you, my lady?”

Her head snapped up, finding a gaunt figure at the water’s edge.

He stood aboard a low ferry, the bow rocking gently despite the river’s rough current. Gray hair hung in thin strands, framing a weathered face. But his eyes were older than stone, watching her patiently.

“You are Charon,” Kore said immediately. “The ferryman of the River Styx.”

“I am.” Charon bowed his head. “May I serve you?”

She hesitated. “I—I have no gold to pay you.”

He offered a thin smile. “I would not accept gold from my master’s beloved.”

The words struck like a blow, driving the breath from her. But if Charon noticed, he said nothing, extending his hand to her.

She hesitated, eyes straying once more toward the sheer peaks ahead. With no clear path forward, she took his hand and stepped onto the ferry.

He pushed off the bank, guiding the boat into the wild current with easy control. The river churned and snarled, yet the vessel barely jostled as it rode the rapids.

Charon chuckled, a rasping sound like dry leaves. “I have traveled this route for eons,” he said, as if hearing her thoughts. “I know its ways as a mother knows her child.”

The temple loomed behind, its shadow stretching long over them, but she kept her gaze fixed ahead. “Where does the river lead?”

“Everywhere, my lady.” The ferryman’s eyes held ancient wisdom. “The Styx is the mother of all waters, flowing from the Underworld to the edges of the mortal world. There, I gather the souls who wait on its banks.”

Her brows drew together. “Could one not simply cross back to the living world?”

Pity tinged Charon’s smile. “Many have tried,” he replied. “But that path is only open to one. ”

“Who?”

“Thanatos. God of—”

“Death,” she finished, a chill settling against her bones.

Charon inclined his head. “It is his duty to move between worlds, to guide souls here, as the Fates bid him.”

Silence descended as the ferry drifted onward.

The sharp ridges of the mountains slowly fell behind them, softened by distance. The Styx’s channel widened, flowing quieter now, as the harsh stone peaks melted into gentler terrain. Along the banks, fields of silver flowers rose to greet them.

“The Fields of Asphodel.” Charon gestured to the swaying blooms. “Where the undistinguished dead reside.”

“Undistinguished?”

“Those who lived without great wickedness or virtue,” he explained. “Neither condemned nor exalted, they wander here in eternal sameness. They are at peace.”

As the ferry slipped quietly by, figures emerged among the blooms. Men and women, young and old—all shimmering faintly, their faces serene yet distant. A young woman with dark hair raised her hand in a silent greeting, her eyes meeting Kore’s as the ferry passed. Then she faded into mist.

Kore tore her gaze away. “What other places are there in the Underworld?” she asked Charon. “I... I know of Tartarus.”

When Charon’s face tightened, she quickly added, “I have heard stories of Tartarus.”

His brow furrowed, face darkening. “I pray you never see Tartarus, my lady. It holds horrors beyond imagining.”

Fear feathered coldly through her. Despite what she had told the ferryman, she had nearly forgotten. This was the realm of monsters, where the horrors of old resided, chained and damned in eternal darkness.

The Titans.

On the banks, the asphodel faded behind, giving way to bright-green meadows. The scent of thick, sun-warmed grass filled the air, so much like Eleusis, though no sun shone here.

Heartened by the familiarity, a wild hope flared to life.

She turned abruptly to Charon. “I must leave you here.”

The ferryman guided the boat to a stop, the bow bumping softly against the bank. As he helped her disembark, Charon’s iron-colored eyes drifted toward the horizon. “Take care, my lady,” he cautioned. “I am bound to my task, but you should not walk these lands alone.”

But Kore was already stepping away. “I thank you for your help,” she called to him over her shoulder.

The thick grass underfoot was warm, reassuring. She knelt swiftly, pressing her palm to the soil. Power flickered warmly through her fingertips.

Slowly, an olive sapling sprouted from the earth. Breath escaped her in a relieved gasp, hope mounting as the stem grew taller and the tender leaves unfurled.

Rising, she walked into the sprawling fields.