Page 68 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

“Thetis held him by the heel,” Persephone said steadily. “That one place never touched the water. If you strike his heel—he will fall.”

The truth struck. His expression darkened. “How do you know this?”

“I saw it in the Pool of Mnemosyne,” she replied softly, Hades’s furious face rising in her memory.

For a single breath, grudging respect flickered in Apollo’s gaze. “You risked much for that knowledge.” Then his eyes sharpened like flint. “Why tell me? Hades takes no part in mortal wars. He certainly doesn’t favor my cause.”

Around her, the shadows began to recede. Like a tide drawing back from shore, the darkness withdrew slowly, almost tender. It slipped away, but did not vanish. She felt it settle within, warm and soft as breath.

Torches flared back to life, bathing the stables in amber firelight once more.

“I am not Hades,” she said truthfully. “And I will end the bloodshed if I can. I lived among mortals for eons. I’ve seen their suffering, their hope, and their goodness.”

A breath.

“I will not stand by while they are torn apart.”

Apollo’s lips flattened into a grim line. “Zeus will punish you for this.”

“He will punish you for killing Achilles.”

A flicker of amusement returned to Apollo’s face, the arrogant curl of his lips. “Without me, the sun does not rise. Mortals would perish in darkness and frost. My father knows better than to interfere with my purpose.”

She bit back the retort that rose on her tongue, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his staggering self-importance.

“You are vital to the living,” Persephone allowed. She paused, then added softly, “As I am elsewhere.”

Silence fell once more.

Apollo studied her. Then, with the barest tilt of his head, he acknowledged her words.

“So you are.”

Too quickly, his gaze hardened again. “You must go swiftly. Even Zeus cannot enter the Underworld without Hades’s leave, and I will not delay my strike against Achilles. ”

Persephone’s stomach clenched. “The journey is long. I will not make it there by dawn.”

Apollo’s gaze flicked to the stable door. “There’s one who may help you. A child of Poseidon, swifter than wind.” His chin jerked toward the door. “Look to the open plain.”

Cool night air brushed her skin as she stepped to the threshold. Her gaze swept the moonlit slope, and she saw him there.

A living star.

In the distance, a stallion stood beneath the moonlight.

His coat gleamed like frost-dusted silk, an unearthly white that caught the light like a blade’s edge.

Massive wings lay folded against his flanks, feathered and luminous, edges shimmering as if woven from starlight.

Crystalline blue eyes watched her, ancient and knowing.

Behind her, Apollo called, “You will need the bridle.”

She turned, her fingers closing around a golden bridle hanging on a nearby peg. The metal was warm to the touch, a pulse thrumming faintly through it.

Unlike the fierce beasts of the Underworld and sun, the stallion didn’t shy or rear. As she approached with slow steps, his ears pricked forward, intelligent and curious.

“Pegasus,” Persephone whispered.

She stroked the velvet of his muzzle. Then carefully, she lifted the golden bridle and slipped it over his head.

The moment it settled, he stamped once. His wings lifted, great, silken arches of rippling feathers, impatient for flight.

Swiftly, Persephone swung onto his back. His body was broad beneath her, quiet thunder coiled in the shifting muscles. She leaned just behind the rise of his wings, her fingers threading into his mane, reins untouched.

“Fly.”

And he did.

With a bound and a broad sweep of wings, Pegasus leapt skyward. Wind tore past, stealing her breath, streaming her hair in a wild banner of midnight. They climbed higher, faster, piercing the veil of night. Mountains shrank to shadows. Rivers turned to ribbons. Forests melted into ink.

The stars above burned brighter, as if recognizing one of their own.

***

They touched down on the Epirus shoreline beneath the moon’s watchful eye. Persephone staggered as her feet touched earth, the world swaying beneath her.

She braced herself against Pegasus’s broad side, palms pressed against his warm flank. He nudged her shoulder, the shake of his head a soft farewell.

Gently, she touched her brow to his soft muzzle. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice frayed with wind and weariness.

Pegasus’s wings unfurled behind him, catching the moonlight like a veil of stars. Then he was in the night sky, a streak of silver against black. A constellation reborn.

She was alone. The sea whispered behind her, and the wind breathed. Ahead, the jagged cliffs loomed darkly—ancient, but now familiar.

Nestled in the shadowed crags, the hidden cave glinted faintly in the dark. A gentle beacon, waiting for her. No longer a threshold of fear, but of welcome.

The path she’d once dreaded now rose to meet her. Her feet remembered its curves, its warm soil underfoot. The mortal world fell away behind her. Sea and brine slipped from the air, replaced by something deeper. Moss, mineral, riverstone, and ash.

It was not a descent, but a return. The darkness that gathered around her wasn’t an empty void. It wrapped around her like velvet, a soft mantle of shadow that whispered welcome.

To her. Its queen.

And ahead, in the dark—a presence. One she knew well. A quiet pull beneath her ribs. Calm and steady, like the first moment of stillness after a storm.

A low huff echoed in the dark.

This time, her heart lifted.

Cerberus lay ahead, his massive form sprawled across the passage’s mouth. All three heads were raised, watching her come. At his side, a familiar figure stood, waiting.

Her heart stuttered.

He moved before she could take another step. She didn’t try to meet him—couldn’t. Her body was worn with distance, limbs heavy with the long journey. But it scarcely mattered.

In a breath, Hades was there, reaching for her with hands that knew her shape. His arms closed around her, drawing her into him. He murmured her name low, rough with waiting, edged with relief.

The ache in her feet was forgotten, the weariness unravelling against him. She pressed her face into his chest, and the world tilted gently back into place.

He was cedar and shadow, the silent anchor deep beneath the shifting world. She breathed him in, and the steady thrum of his heart met hers, quieting it.

His lips touched her temple, lingering there. “You are home,” he said softly.

In that sanctuary—held by the one who had always waited—she knew: she had not returned only to him, but to herself.