Page 21 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Kore’s legs ached. Her feet throbbed with each step.

Hours had passed.

Still, the dark sky of the Underworld remained stubbornly overhead, eternally dark, jeweled with cold, unblinking stars. There was no sun to mark the hours or guide her path. No moon to rise or fall. Only the hush of wind stirring the grasslands, still but strangely alive.

She suspected time moved differently here—if it moved at all.

Apprehension curled in her chest. He would know she was gone by now. Did he search for her? Could she even be found in this endless expanse? She stumbled on, each step growing heavier, until exhaustion blurred the edges of her vision.

Then she heard the screams.

Bloodcurdling. Piercing shrieks that ripped through the air. Not one voice, but many. A chorus of agony rising over the meadows.

Exhaustion vanished in a jolt of cold terror. The screams swelled on the air, growing louder with each passing moment, though there was no one in sight.

She crept forward with careful steps. The crest of a low, grassy knoll rose ahead, and she dropped to her knees, then peered over the edge.

The meadows ahead unfolded like a nightmare come to life.

Across the scorched plain, mortals writhed in torment—limbs twisted, mouths contorted in agony.

One man fled desperately, pursued by a hellhound snapping at his heels, its eyes crimson and ravenous.

Another lay pinned beneath a boulder, serpents coiled around his shoulders, venom dripping acidly against flesh.

And thousands more... the Underworld’s horrors sprawled before her in a macabre tapestry of suffering .

Too late, she realized the truth of Charon’s warning—she had wandered too far.

A wicked hiss cut across the cries of the damned. “Faster!”

Above the fields, a withered figure hovered, leathery wings stretched wide. The creature’s face was a shriveled mask of malice, yellow eyes gleaming in pitiless delight as the hag-like being surveyed the suffering. A whip of flames unfurled from one gnarled claw.

Kore lay flat against the grass, willing herself to vanish as the wingbeats grew louder. But a crackling laugh came from above.

“Thinking to hide from my wrath?” The winged hag sneered at her from the air, baring jagged teeth. “We Furies cannot be escaped, foolish girl. My sisters and I will hunt you through the Fields of Punishment for all eternity.”

Kore’s legs trembled, but she rose and met the creature’s eyes. “I’ve come from the temple. I do not belong here—”

The Fury’s laugh was a shriek that could have curdled the air. “My master’s temple?” she taunted. “If that were true, you would never be permitted here.”

Heat flushed her cheeks. “I speak the truth!”

“Abandon hope, mortal.” The Fury’s lip curled, the fiery whip rising in its clawed grip. “I am Alecto, chief among Lord Hades’s punishers. And my wrath is eternal.”

Terror wrapped cold fingers around Kore’s throat. “I am not mortal!” she shouted, the words raw, desperate to her ears. “I am Kore, daughter of Demeter—”

Fire streaked the air, the lash hissing. Blazing agony slashed across her arm.

A scream wrenched from her throat as she crumpled, the world tilting violently. Her body curled inward against the pain, golden ichor seeping through her fingers like sticky, molten sunlight. Panting, vision blurred, she barely noticed the Fury above her, whip coiling to strike again.

Alecto snarled, the lash slicing downward—but the shadows moved first.

They stole silently across the ground like spilled ink, swallowing the light. Darkness wrapped Kore in its arms, a cocoon of living night rising around her.

The whip struck the shadows with a deafening crack —and rebounded, shattering into gold-bright sparks.

“Alecto. ”

Just one word, but it split the silence like thunder. The air became stone-still.

Instantly, the Fury dropped to the ground, leathery wings unfurling in a reverent bow. “My lord,” she hissed.

The shadows unspooled, slipping away. Strong hands caught Kore, drawing her from the ground with care. Through the haze of pain, she looked up.

Dark eyes met hers—cold now, hard as obsidian. But familiar.

Him.

He had come.

Without a word, he drew her against him. His body was solid and warm, a shield between her and the Fury’s wrath. For a moment, she could feel only fierce, disorienting relief.

“Alecto,” Hades said again, his voice ringing with iron. “Begone.”

The Fury’s wings twitched. “My lord, she enters the Fields of Punishment—”

Hades’s gaze shifted to the creature, and the air thinned around them. “A mistake.” Each syllable fell sharp as a blade. “One that will not be repeated.”

The fury in him was not flame, but ice. It radiated out, heavy as stone, cracking the air with its weight. Even the earth seemed to recoil.

“Go,” he commanded.

Alecto’s wings snapped wide. A rush of darkness, and she was gone.

Relief surged through Kore like a first breath after drowning.

Drained of strength, her legs buckled, a shuddering exhale leaving her.

She moved without thought, pressed her face into his chest, fingers fisting in the folds of his himation until they were bloodless.

A sob tore loose, soft and wordless, muffled by the fabric even as it shook her shoulders.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Not at all. Long enough for her to feel a sharp bloom of horror at her own boldness. Then, slowly, his arms came around her. No words. Just the solid strength of him sheltering her in silence. Shadows stirred once more, curling in around them like living silk.

The world shifted. A rush of air. A whispered chill. Then—heat, the glow of firelight.

They stood in her bedchamber.

Without speaking, Hades gathered her into his arms. He carried her to the divan near the hearth and sank to one knee, lowering her with a gentleness that belied the iron tension in his shoulders .

But the moment his gaze fell to her arm, his expression hardened to stone.

Kore followed his gaze—and gasped.

Gold blood streaked her skin, shimmering in the firelight. It flowed from a ragged gash just below her shoulder, trailing in thick, gleaming lines down her arm.

Her eyes closed against the sight. “My arm,” she murmured listlessly.

A hand came to her shoulder, guiding her back against the cushions. “Be still.”

Then, cool metal touched her lips.

“Drink.”

The sharp taste of nectar flowed over her tongue. Its warmth spread through her, numbing the pain as the wound began to knit itself together.

The silence grew heavy.

A moment later, there was only a thin golden line etched into the smooth skin of her arm. Kore’s eyes traced the scar, then she looked up.

Hades stood near the hearth. His face was angled away from her, light dancing against his regal profile. “My realm is not Olympus,” he said quietly. “Do you know what could have happened to you?”

Dread pooled in her stomach, thick and cold.

He didn’t wait for her reply. “Furies guard the wicked of the Underworld,” he continued, his gaze still fixed on the fire. “Had I not appeared, you could have been dragged away, taken to Tartarus.”

Tartarus.

The warmth leached from her, leaving her breathless. “I did not know,” she managed to whisper. The words sounded pitifully feeble.

Finally, he turned to face her, and his expression was hard as iron. “Furies cannot punish gods,” he said, each word controlled, but only just. “Why didn’t you reveal yourself to her?”

“I did.” Kore straightened slightly, her voice stronger. “I told her—that creature—that I am Kore, daughter of Demeter.”

A long pause followed. His face remained impassive, except for the sharp tic of his jaw.

“Alecto did not recognize you because that is not who you are.” His voice was hard, cold as river stone. “Kore is not your regal name. It bears no title, no divine right. It is a name your mother gave you to keep you hidden. From me.”

The accusation was startling. Cutting. It struck a chord deep within her that she didn’t fully understand. But anger surged regardless, hot and bright. She rose from her seat, a retort rising to her lips—

Pain lanced through her feet, sharp as a knife. With a gasp, she collapsed back onto the divan.

“Your feet are still healing,” he said coolly. Clearly unimpressed.

Humiliation dusted her face with heat, but she ignored it. “I have always been called Kore,” she bit out. “Whether your Furies acknowledge it or not. None other has ever taken such offense to my name.”

The scathing edge in her voice was unwise, but Hades didn’t flinch.

“You are Persephone.”

Her name rolled from his lips like something sacred, an ancient vow. For a moment, she faltered—stilled by the sound of it, by the way he said it.

“That title was bestowed upon you at birth.” He spoke slowly, as though addressing a petulant child. “I was there, young goddess, when the Fates wove your destiny through the stars over Olympus.” He held her gaze. “When they bound you to me.”

The words cracked through the chamber like lightning.

Kore’s eyes widened. Her chest hollowed, the air suddenly too tight to breathe.

Bound.

A cold tide surged inside her, rising fast and fierce. Shock, then disbelief. Denial.

It was not true. It couldn’t be. Her mother would have told her if something so profound had been spoken over her from her first breath.

But even as denial rushed in, memories rose in sharp, scattered fragments—Demeter refusing to live on Olympus. The vow of maidenhood. The cold anger in her mother’s eyes directed at Hades during the solstice.

She knew .

The realization struck, harsh and merciless. Too much. Too fast.

Kore shook her head, as if the motion might unmake the dawning truth. Hades watched her steadily, dark eyes fixed as she struggled beneath the weight of what he’d revealed.

“I—I do not believe you,” she finally choked, the words tremoring, uncertain. “You only say this so I will marry you.”

The air turned cold.

Not cool—but frigid. Sharp and sudden, like frost spreading along a blade’s edge.

Stillness radiated from Hades, thick and gathering, like the eye of a storm that had only just begun to turn. His eyes glittered, hard and unflinching.

Then, softly—dangerously: “You question my honor?”

Regret came instantly. Panic bloomed beneath her skin, swift and wild. It was a line crossed, one from which there was no retreat.

The tattered edges of her chiton whispered against her skin as Kore slowly rose, ignoring the pain still blooming in her feet. Unsteadily, she backed away a step.

“I didn’t mean—” Her voice caught, fragile as spun glass. “That’s not what I—”

The words died as Hades took a step toward her. Not fast but purposeful, a step to mirror her retreat. Then another.

“You accuse me of deceit?”

His voice was low and velvety. Controlled. But beneath that restraint, she could feel his anger thickening the air between them.

“That I would win you with lies?” He advanced another step. “You believe I would coax you into my bed with trickery, like some callow mortal?”

Kore’s face flushed, color rising hotly in her cheeks. Shame and fear knotted harshly in her chest, tight as a snare. She stepped back again.

Her spine touched cool marble.

Still, he came toward her.

His shadow fell over her as his steps devoured the distance between them. When he stopped, he stood so close that his chest brushed hers, the heat of him pressing through the fabric. Dark as ash, his eyes glared down at her.

Images rose behind her eyes. Torment, screaming darkness, the fiery lash of the Furies. He could not kill her. But he was a god, sovereign over this kingdom, and there were other ways to punish.

Kore bowed her head. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “Please… do not send me back there.”

His expression shifted, subtle yet unmistakable. A fracture beneath the stone.

“Where?” His voice cut sharp.

“The fields,” she choked out.

A breath of silence passed.

Then—

“You think I would send you to the Fields of Punishment?” The words scraped from his throat, roughened not with fury, but something heavier .

She couldn’t answer. Her strength had unraveled, thread by trembling thread. She clung to what little composure remained, but it wasn’t enough. Tears welled, swift and unwelcome, spilling down her cheeks before she could contain them.

His hand rose. Warm and calloused, it cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly beneath her eye, lifting her face to his.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

Her lashes fluttered, damp with tears. Slowly, she obeyed.

He was right there . So close she could feel the tension still coiled in him. The anger was still there, not gone but tempered, shadowed by something quieter. Deeper. A fragile ache curled inside her, but there was no chance to name it.

His hands settled on her shoulders. Then—carefully—he stepped in, pressing her back against the column, pinning her gently. His head dipped, and his mouth found hers.

It was almost frightening. A clash of breath and heat and restraint. His mouth was warm, lips moving against hers with purpose that made her pulse stutter—no force, only tension so finely drawn it ached.

One of his hands braced against the marble column behind her. The other slid to her waist, holding her firmly in place. He deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing lightly at the seam of her lips, and a soft sound escaped her. A sharp trill shot through her, warm and breathless.

Her hands rose without thought, palms settling against the hard plane of his abdomen. The fabric was warm beneath her touch, stretched over ridged muscles. Her fingers curled, lips parting beneath his.

A rough sound left him, rising from deep in his chest. His hand at her waist tightened, drawing her closer—

Crack.

The marble behind her shivered, the stone fracturing beneath his hand.

And then, abruptly, he drew away.

The absence was a blow, nearly as startling as his kiss. Kore stood motionless, breath shallow, hands still hovering in the empty space between them. Slowly, her fingers drifted to her lips, still warm and tingling.

A few steps away, Hades stood with his back to her, shoulders rigid, a hand dragging through his dark hair. When he turned, his eyes were storm-dark.

“There are many things to fear in the Underworld,” he said roughly. “But you need not fear me. ”

A promise. A warning.

Firelight spilled across his back, casting him in gold and shadow as he turned to go. He paused at the threshold. “There is water to bathe. Rest.”

Then he was gone.

Kore didn’t move. She remained pressed against the cracked column. The echo of his lips still burned on hers, her heart beating in her chest like a war drum.

Slowly, she slid to the floor. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if to keep the blooming ache from spilling out.

With a slow breath, she closed her eyes. And into the silence, she whispered a name that no longer felt entirely like a lie.

“Persephone.”