Page 3 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Sunlight waned, its golden rays threading through branches to cast long, dappled shadows across emerald grass. The sharp, resinous scent of cypress stirred on a breeze that tugged the hem of Hades’s dark himation as he walked.

At the foot of Mount Olympus, a cypress grove stood in solemn stillness. Ages ago, mortals had dedicated it to him, a quiet tribute to the Lord of the Underworld.

Tomorrow, the summer solstice would dawn, bringing with it endless debates and squabbles at Olympus’s summit. But now, with cool grass underfoot and wind softly rustling the branches, the peace was deep, clear.

Then—a melodic laugh broke the quiet. Bright and soft, sudden as birdsong.

Hades stilled, his sharp gaze sweeping the forest.

None came here. The sacred dedication of this place held mortals and gods alike at bay, none eager to cross paths with the Lord of the Underworld.

Then, another sound followed—a watery splash.

He tilted his head, listening.

He moved then, deeper into the forest’s shadowed embrace.

Each step was soundless against the moss-carpeted ground.

Around him, the trees thickened. The air grew cooler, sharper with the scent of cypress.

Branches arched and tangled overhead, entwining in a dark canopy like a temple grown from the earth.

There, in a small, sunlit clearing, he found the source.

Nestled at the heart of the grove, a pool glistened, its clear surface catching the sunlight with soft, silver ripples. Dogwood trees encircled the clearing, their flowering blossoms bright against shaded cypress.

Perched at the water’s edge, a goddess sat on a flat, gray boulder. Her back faced him, thick chestnut hair spilling past her shoulders in damp waves, and her feet dangled into the water.

As he watched, she laughed again, a soft and lyrical sound, peering down at the minnows darting around her ankles.

Leaning against a gnarled trunk, Hades watched her in silence, cloaked in the shadows. She’d been swimming, he noted. Her simple chiton was soaked through, clinging to graceful curves beneath the fabric.

Then, as if sensing his presence, the goddess stood abruptly. She turned, her hair tumbling against her shoulders as she faced the trees where he stood.

Emerald eyes rose to the fading sun. A slice of sunlight illuminated the gently freckled bridge of her nose and soft curve of full, bow-shaped lips. Her skin gleamed golden in the dying light, and her dark hair glowed like amber.

For a moment, she seemed sculpted from sunlight itself, vibrant with warmth and life against the forest’s solemn seclusion, and the sight prompted a pricking disquiet in him.

A distant voice broke the spell.

“Kore!”

The goddess flinched, the moment’s serenity splintering as she turned away from him. “I’m here, Erato,” she answered, her smooth voice tinged with irritation.

A nymph emerged from the trees, her bronze skin catching the fading light, faintly aglow beneath a tunic woven of oak leaves and ivy. Hades recognized her at once—Erato, chief of the forest nymphs sworn to Olympus.

Erato’s gaze swept the goddess’s soaked clothing, lips pursing in disapproval. “Your mother will exile you to Tartarus if you return home after dark,” she warned, crossing her arms. “And she will send me with you for not keeping a close enough watch.”

The young goddess tipped her head toward the crimson-streaked sky. “Apollo has yet to finish his ride,” she said airily, bending to wring water from her clinging chiton.

Erato ignored her, her gaze darting toward the trees uneasily. “Pray Lord Hades does not cast you there himself for your intrusion.”

Hades stifled a derisive snort. Tartarus for a swim? Absurd.

Then—

“This grove belongs to Hades?” the goddess asked, her lovely face lighting with curiosity. “But he dwells in the Underworld.”

“Of course he does,” Erato replied curtly, already turning to leave. “But this place was consecrated to him long ago. Come, we’ve lingered too long. ”

The goddess hesitated, her gaze sweeping the grove once more.

Her eyes brushed past him without stopping. For a heartbeat, she lingered there, her expression shifting, growing thoughtful—pensive in a way he couldn’t discern.

Then she was gone, following Erato from the wood.

Deep shades of violet and indigo feathered across the sky. Twilight deepened, fireflies emerging to weave lazy, golden arcs in the night. Stillness returned to the grove. But it was changed now, subtly disrupted, as if her presence had cast a ripple across its tranquility.

Hades stepped from the shadows, his frown etching deeper. He dragged a hand against the short beard clinging to his jaw as a flicker of unease shifted within him.

His memory stretched, vast and unbroken, across eons. The birth of mankind, the rise and ruin of kingdoms, the shifting of mountains and seas. All known to him.

And yet... she was a stranger.

Erato had called her Kore, but that was no name. It was only a description, a word.

Maiden .

Before the thought could settle, something caught his eye at the water’s edge.

Slowly, he approached the place where she had stood moments earlier.

There, beside the pool, a cluster of dainty cobalt flowers threaded through the grass, unfurling as he watched. The delicate petals shimmered faintly, as if reflecting the gathering dusk, their fragile beauty defying the shadows.