Page 59 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Persephone stole a mount from her mother’s stables, one of the gentle, broad-shouldered horses born to sacred fields and deep soil. Its hooves pounded the earth as they raced through the dark night toward Epirus. The wind lashed her cheeks, tore at her hair.

Ahead, the dark coastline from her dreams rose like a memory come to life. The same jagged shore where the goddess had emerged from the sea.

She scanned the cliffs, sharp-eyed and searching— there .

Tucked within the stony outcroppings, a narrow cleft in the rock glinted faintly. Small, unassuming, yet unmistakable. It called to her like a breath drawn from the Underworld itself.

She drew hard on the reins. The great horse slowed at once, obedient and unafraid.

Dismounting, she whispered her gratitude as she wove a crown of primroses into the reins. A quiet offering that her mother would understand. A gift of parting. A farewell.

With a soft word and a sharp slap to its flank, she sent the horse thundering back toward Eleusis.

Clutching the linen-wrapped cakes, Persephone picked her way over the rocky ground. The cavern’s mouth yawned before her, a cold breath of air seeping out. Her heart pounded, but she stepped forward, letting the darkness swallow her whole.

At the back of the cavern, the path began. A tunnel descending into the heart of the earth.

Time slipped away.

The way stretched endlessly before her. The rich loam was warm beneath her feet, but the air grew colder with each step. Her breath turned to vapor, clouding in the dark. The cakes in her arms grew heavier, her legs turning to lead as the hours passed.

Still, she walked on.

Finally, the dark began to soften, faint light appearing in the distance. Persephone’s steps faltered as Dionysus’s words echoed in her ears.

It is fiercely guarded by Cerberus.

As though summoned, a low growl tore through the tunnel. It was deep, a fierce, guttural sound that shook the earth beneath her feet.

Ice threaded her veins, feet rooting to the ground, and she stared into the darkness. She could see nothing, but it hardly mattered. There was no way but forward.

She forced herself to move, one step at a time. The tunnel widened slightly, dim light growing steadily. And there, at the threshold of the Underworld—he waited.

Cerberus.

The monstrous hound loomed like a shadow cast by a mountain, his bulk filling the passage. Black as soot, his three heads watched her, eyes glowing like bright embers.

The central head snarled, lips curling back to reveal teeth the size of daggers. The heads on either side matched the motion, ears pinned, growls vibrating from deep within each throat.

Persephone froze.

Forcing a deep gulp of air into her lungs, she stared up at the monstrous guardian. “Cerberus,” she whispered.

The snarls deepened, reverberating violently into her bones.

Gingerly, she unwrapped the cakes. Kneeling slowly, she placed the cakes on the ground between them, then took a cautious step back.

For a heart-stopping moment, Cerberus’s low growl continued to vibrate through the earth.

Then, silence. All three heads dipped, nostrils flaring as they sniffed the offering. Followed by—

A whine.

Cerberus sank onto his haunches, claws raking into the earth, splintering it apart. His red eyes flicked between the cakes and her.

Another whine.

Persephone exhaled shakily. “Cerberus,” she said again, forcing her voice into a soothing tone.

The leftmost head cocked an ear forward, eyes locking on hers .

She took a slow step forward. Lifting one of the cakes, she offered it to him. “Let me pass.”

A massive tongue, hot and rough, lolled, lapping at the cake. Jaws opened, far too wide, then tugged the cake from her hand with surprising gentleness. He chewed, the sound echoing like distant thunder through the cavern.

Swallowing hard, Persephone moved slowly around the great flank, her heart beating wildly as she stepped toward the end of the passage.

Behind her came a low huff.

She glanced back.

Cerberus sat watching her, one of his heads tilted. The others stared at the remaining cake.

“Eat, Cerberus,” she urged.

With a gusty breath, all three heads dipped. Jaws snapped. The cake vanished in a single, thunderous bite.

She didn’t wait, slipping past the cavern’s edge into the Underworld’s waiting embrace.

The air shifted around her. No longer frigid like the passage, but cool and laced with rich soil, damp stone, and river mist. The steady rush of the Styx rose with the hum of souls long at rest, whispering through the air like a hymn softly sung.

Relief struck, swift and sharp. She knew this place. More importantly, she knew where to go.

It was night here, as it was above—but deeper, more eternal. The hush of nightfall cloaked the Underworld, but the jeweled sky burned overhead with impossible brilliance, bright and glittering.

Mountains rose on every side, solemn and steep, their black slopes rising in obsidian silhouettes against blazing starlight.

From where she stood at the edge of the foothills, the laurel grove lay ahead—its silvered leaves trembling faintly, as if in welcome.

And beyond the grove, half-veiled by moss-covered stone, a soft and unearthly light glimmered faintly.

Mnemosyne.

She moved swiftly, refusing to lift her gaze to the dark temple crowning the summit high above her.

He was there.

If she looked, if she glimpsed the bronze braziers casting amber light across that welcoming threshold—her feet would betray her. They would carry her straight to him, straight into his arms .

Inside the grotto, the silver waterfall sang softly. The air was warmer, weighted with memory. It pressed gently, brushed her skin like fingers she couldn’t see.

She stood at the pool’s edge, a chill ghosting through her.

“... could fracture the mind, even a god’s.”

Hades’s warning echoed in her thoughts, but she ignored it. She had come here—come back—for this. The truth was buried in the pool’s depths, sealed in memory. The secret of Achilles.

Her breath trembled as she whispered, “Mnemosyne, hear me. Show me the secret of Achilles.”

Then cautiously, she stepped forward, lowering one foot into the water. It curled around her ankle, warm and soft as a whispering touch. Nothing happened.

With a soft exhale, she stepped deeper. Warm water climbed past her thighs, gliding over her skin. Her feet met the floor of smooth, pearly stone. Across the pool, the waterfall shimmered. Silver torrents spilled in rippling sheets, churning the water.

Before, Hades had used his bident to awaken the pool. She had nothing but her will.

Lifting one hand, Persephone reached toward the fall. The cascading water kissed her fingers as it spilled through her hand like a rush of moonlight.

The silver brightened. A voice stirred, whispering through the air.

“Thetis.”

Her heart pounded, and she looked down at the silver water. For one breath, she hesitated—

Then let herself fall back into the pool.

***

The world solidified from swirling mist, sharpening into form around Persephone. Sand crumbled beneath her feet, cool and coarse.

Slowly, the memory took shape.

The Epirus coastline stretched before her once more, bleak and familiar—the same rocky shore she had just tread.

Instinctively, Persephone turned, watching as Thetis emerged from the sea with her child. Saltwater streamed from her robes, the tide whispering around her ankles. Her bare feet left wet imprints on the sand as she moved toward the cliffs, toward the crystal cave hidden within their dark embrace .

“Thetis!”

Persephone spun at the anguished cry behind her.

In the distance, a tall man sprinted across the beach, his golden hair catching the sun like flame. A circlet gleamed on his brow, sweat glistening along his temples. But the look on his face—

Desperation, raw and pleading.

His hand reached for the retreating goddess as he ran. “Thetis!” he shouted again. “Please!”

“King Peleus!” A breathless sentry raced after him. “You cannot follow where she goes!”

At the cavern’s edge, Thetis faltered. Just for a moment.

Her gaze swept back toward the king, her sea-bright eyes raw with regret. Then, without a word, she disappeared into the waiting dark.

The vision wavered. Mist coiled upward, thick and white, swallowing the shoreline. Then the cliffs and sea were gone.

Persephone stood on the banks of the River Styx, the mountains far in the distance.

Unlike the crashing falls near the temple, the current moved slower here, calm as dark glass.

At the water’s edge, Thetis knelt.

The goddess cradled her child, her fingers brushing tenderly through his downy hair. He slept within the folds of his wrap, oblivious to the world.

When she spoke, her voice barely rose over the river’s hush. “There is no god to whom I can offer prayer for you, little one,” Thetis whispered. “This must be done in secret. Trust in your mother’s love.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she pressed a trembling kiss to his crown. Then, hands shaking, she unwrapped the swaddling clothes.

The infant stirred at once as the cool air nipped his skin. A thin, piercing cry rose and his arms flailed, small fists clenching as his little body trembled in protest.

Once he was naked, Thetis gripped one heel firmly in her hand. Pain twisted her features, but she did not hesitate.

Leaning forward, she plunged the babe beneath the dark waters of the Styx.

“No!” Persephone screamed, lunging forward.

But her feet found no hold. She stumbled, helpless and horrified, as the river closed over the child.

The moment stretched, unending .

Then, just as swiftly, Thetis withdrew him from the water.

The baby’s screams split the air. His small body convulsed in her arms, trembling violently, skin flushed red and feverish—as if fire had touched him, rather than water.

Thetis clutched him to her chest, rocking gently. She pressed her cheek to his damp hair, whispering as she wrapped him tightly in cloth once more.

Gradually, the shrieking faded into broken, hiccupping sobs.

“Hush now,” she murmured, kissing his temple. “No harm will come to you now, my little Achilles.”

The scene began to dissolve. Mist crept in again, curling the edges of the world. Deep dread clenched in Persephone’s stomach as she watched the memory collapse.

Achilles. The River Styx. His strength, immortality—not the gods’ favor. A mother’s desperate love.

Suddenly, a hand seized her arm—hard.

The world tilted. Water surged, roaring in her ears, dragging her violently toward the surface. She broke the surface of the pool with a choking gasp, the air sharp in her lungs.

The iron grip on her arm hauled her up from the water, dragging her against solid heat. Water blurred her vision as she sputtered, droplets clinging to her lashes. Blinking furiously, she looked up—

And met his gaze.

Dark russet. Burning.

Hades stood waist-deep in the pool, dripping wet, water running in rivulets down his face and arms. He hadn’t bothered to remove his tunic, and the drenched fabric clung to his chest.

He was soaked. And furious.

“What,” he growled, low and thunderous, “do you think you are doing?”

His anger bore down on her like a storm, charging the air. But she barely noticed.

He was here. Standing before her.

Relief shattered through her, wild and overwhelming. A gasp broke from her chest as her hands fisted in the front of his tunic.

His mouth opened. Whether to reprimand or demand, she never found out.

She surged upward, rising onto her toes, and crushed her lips to his.