Page 75 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Hades found her sitting on the riverbank, a bright jewel against the gray stone. As he approached, his eyes fell to the bundle cradled against her chest.

Lowering himself to one knee beside her, he said quietly, “Persephone, you must let him go.”

In her arms, an infant cooed softly, two chubby fingers tucked into his mouth.

Persephone’s arms tightened around the child. “I can’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Tears dripped down her cheeks. “He needs me.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Hades said gently. “He will be cared for.”

Tear-filled eyes lifted to his, pleading. “He’s just a babe. Alone here, in the Underworld.” Her face shone with anguish. “Did you see what they did to him?”

“I did.”

“Torn from his mother’s arms,” she choked, “and cast from the city walls.”

Hades closed his eyes.

He had seen. The horror of it clawed at his memory—small arms wrenched from his mother’s grasp, a woman’s shriek of despair, the merciless arc of a soldier’s arms as the child was hurled from Troy’s walls. The terrible silence that followed.

“War is never fair.” Sorrow and truth mingled, a paltry offering in the face of such vicious evil. “Its cruelties often fall heaviest on the innocent.”

The child stirred in Persephone’s arms. Dark eyes blinked open, looking up at them, uncomprehending—too young to know what had been stolen from him, his life cut blindingly short.

Hades reached out, fingers brushing the child’s dark curls .

Fury simmered beneath his skin. But deeper still—grief. For the child robbed of life. For the mother left behind, bereaved until the day her soul arrived on the riverbank.

He stood abruptly. “Come,” he said firmly. “Bring the child.”

Tears clung to her cheeks as Persephone asked, “Where are we going?”

“To his father.”

His hand found her arm, steadying her. The child let out a wondering gurgle as shadows coiled around them, wrapping them in darkness.

When the veil lifted, they stood on the shores of Elysium.

Crystalline waves lapped against warm white sand, soft as a lullaby. The beach was edged with a lush forest that grew to the foot of white cliffs towering in the distance. The air was warm, heavy with the promise of peace.

Not far from the shore, a lone figure stood waist-deep in the surf. The tide rippled around him, lapping at the linen tunic that clung to a strong form. Damp, dark curls brushed his shoulders.

As he turned, the man’s eyes marked Hades first. Recognition flickered in his gaze, and he began to stride from the water. But then his gaze dropped to the child in Persephone’s arms.

His steps halted at the water’s edge. Only for a moment.

Then he ran, kicking up sand as he sprinted toward them.

“Hector of Troy,” Hades said softly to Persephone. “This is his son, Astyanax.”

When Hector reached them, he sank to his knees in the sand, the breath catching in his chest.

“My lord. My queen,” he said hoarsely, his eyes never leaving the babe.

Persephone leaned forward, gently placing the child into his father’s outstretched arms.

The child cooed with delight, small fingers grasping at the roughness of his father’s jaw. Hector’s hands trembled as they cradled his son, fingertips brushing his cheek.

“My son…” The words barely rose above a whisper, ragged and thick with emotion. “I did not think—not so soon.”

Hades was solemn as he said, “Your son will remain with you, here in Elysium. Your wife still walks the mortal world. But in time, she will find her way to you both.”

Raw grief flashed across Hector’s face at the mention of his wife. Then he bowed his head, folding child into the shelter of his arms. “I thank you, my lord.”

He rose, turning toward the open stretch of sand. The babe squealed in delight as Hector tossed him into the air, catching him with ease. A peal of laughter rang out—pure, bright, unburdened.

A bittersweet smile ghosted across Persephone’s lips.

Beside her, Hades studied the quiet shift in her expression. “It brings you joy to see them.”

She nodded, her gaze still fixed on the father and child. “It is as it should be. They are together.”

“They are.”

But the warmth in her eyes faded, darkening. “What will happen to those who killed him?”

Hades stilled.

There was an edge in her voice, sharp and brittle, one he had not heard in her before. But he recognized it instantly.

Not gentle sorrow or mourning. Retribution.

The demand for justice.

Hades turned to face her fully. “Tell me,” he said slowly. “What would you see done to them?”

Her eyes blazed like twin stars, fierce with fury, and her voice shook faintly. “They murdered a child. They should suffer.”

“How?”

The word fell between them, heavy as a block of granite.

Persephone hesitated, the fire faltering as uncertainty clouded her features. Then her breath caught, alarm widening her eyes as they found him—the weight of his question settling over her. Shaken, she took a step back.

But Hades caught her hands in his, stopping her retreat with a firm touch. “Do not fear this,” he commanded quietly. “Tell me, Persephone. What punishment would you decree?”

She wavered, poised at the edge of decision. Then slowly, as though drawing strength from him—she stepped forward into him. He welcomed her into his arms, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. A patient demand for truth as he waited, silent and immovable, for her to find her voice.

Finally, she spoke. “His cries,” she whispered. “I would have them hear his cries. Always.”

The words hung in the air. A curse. A sentence born not of rage, but of deepest sorrow. Justice, shaped by her hand.

Hades studied her, the faintest nod acknowledging her words .

His gaze drifted across the horizon, where Hector waded in the bright surf, his son held close, their reunion echoing into the boundless peace of Elysium.

“Come.”