Chapter Forty-Five: Memories of Spring

  When Jace returned to Persephone, his hand, though still seeping, no longer poured with blood, bound hastily in a strip torn from his robe. Her eyes, sharp with curiosity, followed his approach.

  Humidity clung to Jace’s skin as he stepped into the alcove. The damp soil beneath his feet gave off a rich, earthy scent, while the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers danced in his nostrils. But amidst these pleasant scents, he also detected the metallic tang of his blood.

  As he made his way further into the alcove, it felt as though he had entered an underground rainforest. Above him, a lush canopy dripped with vibrant greens and golden hues. Thick vines hung like beaded curtains, swaying gently in the cool breeze that carried the refreshing aroma of damp earth and blooming flowers. And there, upon a throne woven from leaves and branches, sat Persephone, queen of this verdant realm.

  But it wasn’t just the sights and smells that captivated Jace. The alcove was alive with the sounds of nature—the gentle pitter-patter of rain on leaves, the soft rustling of vines and plants, and the occasional chirping of birds or buzzing of insects. As he approached Persephone, the plants seemed to part and make way for him, their thorns moving aside as if bowing to his presence.

  “Get into a little trouble?” she asked.

  “You could say that,” he replied with a frown.

  She remained calm, but Jace could feel the intensity of her gaze, anxiousness lurking beneath the surface, a storm beneath her calm facade. “Did you get what I requested?” she asked.

  Jace reached into his pocket, pulling out the single seed. He briefly entertained the idea of holding it hostage until she gave him answers, but a nagging feeling warned him it was a bad idea—probably on par with the time he thought a neon headband was a good look during his brief stint in school. Some mistakes, he mused, you just don’t repeat.

  He handed her the seed, hoping this wasn’t another such misstep.

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  “Thank you,” she said, her voice as soft as rustling leaves. Before Jace could see where she put it, the seed vanished into one of her gown’s many folds. She turned her attention back to him.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  “I touched something.”

  She sighed, “Let me see it.” She took his hand in hers, her skin soft and cool, and carefully removed the bandage.

  “I’ve tried healing it, but it won’t heal all the way. Something is stopping my magic,” he said.

  Her eyes widened slightly as she examined the burn-like wound, noting the small cuts that resembled tiny puncture marks near Jace’s raven ring. The cuts had healed, leaving only faint traces, while the burns from the light persisted.

  “Of all the things to touch...” she began. “I had wondered where Hades had tucked it away.”

  “Tucked what away?” Jace asked.

  She placed a hand on his, and a green light glowed deeply, battling against the burn. The pain was sharp, but he didn’t pull back. She concentrated, her energy pushing through, finally overcoming the resistance.

  “There, all better,” she said, letting go. His hand was now unblemished, with fresh skin in place.

  “Thank you.” He paused. “What was that thing?”

  “The burn you experienced was not merely on your hand but etched into your very soul. That’s why you lacked the strength to heal it on your own. And there’s only one thing capable of inflicting such a wound—the Eternal Passage.”

  “Eternal Passage?”

  Persephone’s eyes, deep pools of ageless wisdom, met his. “It was created by Hephaestus to aid Hades in guiding souls. Think of it as a massive sorting system. There are more of them now than there used to be. Modifications were needed when travelers started arriving. I’m not personally involved, but you hear things, being the wife of the lord of the underworld and all.” Her voice carried the weight of centuries, her words both a comfort and a warning.

  “Why did it feel like it was pulling me in?” Jace’s voice wavered, unease coloring his words.

  “Now that is odd,” she murmured, her brow furrowing as if trying to solve an ancient riddle. The scent of pomegranates filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the underworld.

  “Something felt wrong with it. Does it ever break down?” He glanced at his hand, still marveling at the new, unblemished skin.

  “Unheard of,” she replied, a touch of incredulity in her tone. “Not to say it has always worked perfectly. There were some mishaps with the first few Travelers’ respawns, I believe. But it is perfectly safe. It might be your Mostly Dead status having some effect there. It likely had trouble determining if you belonged to it, or yourself.”

  Jace nodded, his thoughts swirling with the implications.

  “And now, for your end of the bargain?” His words came out sharper than he intended, but Persephone only smiled.

  Persephone’s sigh was a breath from another world, the breath of a forgotten tale. “Quite right, I owe you that. I will answer three questions that you ask, and one that you will not.”

  Jace considered this for a long moment before finally speaking. “What is causing our inability to log out, and is it permanent?”

  “That is technically two questions.” She smiled, the curve of her lips playful. “But I will allow it.”

  She paused, her gaze drifting as if peering through the very seams of reality. “I can only share what I know. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. The last occurrence is beyond the reach of our oldest records and the memories of the living, yet it wasn’t before the Age of the Gods. What causes it lies beyond our control, as inevitable as the tides or the sun’s journey across the sky as it circles the earth.”

  Jace remained silent. For all he knew, here the sun really did rotate around the Earth.

  “A connection will come again, but not in the way you might hope or guess. I allowed both questions because, for this, I can only answer each partially due to the rules imposed upon me. But I can say, the answers lie in the question. And the question is wrapped around a single word: Convergence.”

  “What is a Convergence?” he asked.

  “Ah, indeed. That question is a dangerous one, one that may end you for asking it, or it may save your life and those of all you know and love. But the answer I cannot provide.”

  Silence stretched between them, thick and tangible.

  “Now, I know you have other questions. You have two remaining.”

  “You said you know something that could protect my secret, even if Hades does not. What is that?”

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  She smiled, her fingers brushing against the ring on Jace’s hand. “What do you know of your ring?” she asked.

  “Mostly that it pecks at me when it thinks I’m being stupid. And it helps me from time to time, but not when I ask it to, only when it feels like it.”

  Her smile widened. “Yes, that would be true. Have you seen the Thunderbird with Archmage Theon Laviette?”

  Jace recalled the battle, the Archmage’s staff with the bird head, and nodded.

  “Your ring is similar, though not truly a ring at all. Do you know what a familiar is?”

  Jace thought back to his primer knowledge. “A paired being, usually an animal or mythical entity, that allies to a Traveler or Citizen.”

  “Yes, good. You sound just like a skill book. That’s a fine definition, but it’s far from what a familiar truly is.” She paused, letting the silence stretch, heavy with unspoken truths. “A familiar can be many things, but above all, it is a partner along a similar soul path, a companion in the journey of personal evolution. It cannot exist in this plane on its own but does so through a bond. When you picked up this ring, it chose you. And your soul chose it back.”

  The ring thrummed with life, a pulse of awareness that had always been there but now felt even more potent. Silver feathers shimmered along its surface, preening under the dim light as if they knew they were being watched. Jace turned it slowly, captivated by the ethereal sheen dancing across his vision.

  “This ring,” she continued, “has a mind and a soul of its own.”

  Jace’s brow furrowed. “Then why didn’t it leap off my finger? Why didn’t it help me when the Dark One attacked?”

  Persephone’s eyes glittered with an enigmatic light. “Are you quite sure she didn’t?” she murmured, letting the words hang in the air. “Trust,” she continued softly, “is a delicate thing, Jason. It is not demanded; it is earned through patience and understanding. A familiar reveals itself in time, as the bond is built.”

  “You say this will help me keep my secret? How?”

  “Much like the boon Hades gave upon you, shielding your soul from prying eyes, this familiar possesses similar capabilities. She can cloak your mind and soul from even Hades himself, and perhaps from gods greater than he, though such powers are rare indeed.” Persephone’s words flowed like an ancient river, smooth and enveloping.

  “But for this to happen, you must forge a deeper connection. As you strengthen your bond, her strength will become yours, and yours will become hers, intertwining your very lives.”

  Jace felt the ring’s weight, its presence both comforting and daunting. “Right now, she is at her weakest, her connection with you uncertain and thin. Strengthen that bond, and she will prove a powerful ally.”

  Persephone’s voice softened, a hint of nostalgia creeping in. “This familiar, this ring, is one I have known before. She is strong-willed and has only ever had one partner. It is rare for familiars to separate, and rarer still for them to choose another. But it can happen when the paths of the souls diverge too greatly.”

  She looked at Jace, her gaze piercing. “She is known as White Raven and was bound to one other before you. The greatest and most powerful protégé Hades has ever had. His last Chosen, until you. I believe you know, deep in your heart, of whom I speak.”

  Jace’s voice sank to a low, resonant tone, barely audible yet heavy with resolve. He didn’t need to say the words—he knew them as surely as he knew his name. But he had to give them life, to hear them aloud, if only for himself. “The Dark One.”

  His mind reeled with questions, a cacophony clamoring for answers. Who was the Dark One truly? Why had Hades chosen him? Where would he find a way back to Earth? And then, the less selfish questions: How could he help his brother? What could he do for his friends? What had happened to the missing goddess, Clio, the Patron deity of the Archmage Theon?

  He thought carefully, knowing he had one question left. “Choose wisely, Jason,” she said.

  “What are the true consequences of death for Travelers in Terra Mythica?”

  She smiled, a glint of approval in her eyes. “For that, we must go back, long, long ago for you, but for me, it was merely the flutter of a butterfly’s wing. Close your eyes.”

  Jace hesitated, then complied. He felt her hand on his shoulder and then, like a meteor streaking across the sky, they plummeted toward the earth. Just before they hit the ground, they hovered, suspended in a moment of surreal calm. Persephone gently touched down with bare feet, as if the earth itself welcomed her. Jace, not quite as graceful, tumbled to the floor, his limbs flailing in all directions, ending in a tangled heap.

  When he finally stood and dusted himself off, he took in their surroundings.

  A young man sat reading a book under a tree, his dark eyes peering through thick glasses. Nearby, a woman with jet-black hair sparred with a man who bore a large scar running the length of his face. Her smile was genuine and full, a beacon of warmth that tugged at something deep within Jace’s memory. She reminded him of someone, someone he couldn’t quite name.

  “Where are we?” Jace asked, still disoriented.

  “A memory of Spring, nearly eight hundred years ago,” Persephone replied softly. “Don’t worry, they cannot see or hear us. We are but a forgotten breeze in a lost moment in time. Long before he was the Dark One, he was known as Errikos.”

  Jace studied the man with renewed scrutiny, his eyes narrowing as he took in every detail. How could this man be the source of so much pain and terror across Mythica?

  The woman bounded up toward the man lounging on a blanket beneath a gnarled, ancient oak tree. He snapped shut the book, its title lost to a smudge of ink. His brow furrowed as he looked up, a bemused expression playing across his face.

  “Are you going to sit there and read all day?” she chided, grabbing his hand and dragging him up with a playful groan. She thrust a dull practice sword into his hands.

  “There’s so much to learn about this place,” he protested, glancing longingly at his abandoned book. “Aren’t you fascinated by its history, its lore? I still don’t understand how they managed to weave such intricate backstory into everything.”

  “I’m fascinated by how you still haven’t managed to beat me in a single sword fight,” she smirked, twirling her own practice sword.

  “Oh, but I thought you loved me for my mind, not my might,” he countered, a twinkle in his eye.

  “And you love me for my essence of surprise,” she said, lunging forward with her sword. He blocked her attack, his face set in a mask of concentration, a smile playing at his lips.

  “As you wish, m’lady. Prepare to be awed, inspired, and amazed,” he intoned, looking upward as if searching for the perfect words. “Enchanted and enthralled,” he added, a touch of poetry in his voice.

  “Come on, fight or talk,” she challenged, and they clashed swords in a flurry of playful, yet earnest, combat. Their movements were fluid, almost dance-like, reminiscent of a scene from an old tale where words and blades were equally sharp.

  The fight continued, swords clanging, until he managed to fling her weapon from her hands. Triumph shone in his eyes, but she stepped closer, her gaze smoldering. He lowered his sword, entranced, giving her the opening she needed. With a swift move, she grasped his wrist, disarming him, and sent his sword flying.

  They stood for a moment, breathing heavily, eyes locked in a mix of challenge and something deeper. Then they grappled, hand to hand, tumbling to the soft grass, laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves.

  “Why are we here?” Jace asked, the scene fading like mist.

  “To truly know the present, to understand it, one must sometimes look to the past,” Persephone replied, her voice echoing with ancient wisdom.

  Persephone continued her tale, her voice weaving through the fabric of time. The world around them blurred, scenes flickering past like pages in an ancient, enchanted tome.

  Errikos sat cross-legged on the rough wooden floor, an array of flickering candles casting dancing shadows in the dimly lit room. In his hands, a large, weathered book bound in thick, worn leather. He muttered ancient incantations under his breath, tracing intricate symbols in the air with fluid, practiced fingers.

  Jace watched as years flickered by in moments, unnoticed by time as he immersed himself in the mysterious realm of spells and enchantments.

  In the next heartbeat, he stood beside Hades, the god’s presence looming like a midnight fog. Their conversation was a murmur, like whispers carried on the wind, their voices muffled as if submerged in water.

  The scene shifted again, revealing Errikos in combat practice. His face was a mask of fierce determination as he moved with the grace of a dancer, his spells weaving through the air like threads of light.

  “With Hades’ guidance, Errikos ascended to great power, brushing against the threshold of Etherium Rank, even then.”

  The memories unfurled like an ancient scroll, revealing Errikos in moments of triumph and introspection. His journey was a dance between light and shadow, his path interwoven with the very essence of Mythica. Jace watched, captivated, as the tapestry of Errikos’ life unfolded before him, each thread a fateful choice that wove the path to his downfall.

  In one scene, Errikos stood atop a mountain, the world sprawling beneath him, his eyes reflecting both the burden of his power and the depth of his solitude. The next moment, he was in the heart of battle, black flames swirling around him as he carved through his enemies with a grace that was almost otherworldly.

  “Errikos became the greatest of Hades’ Chosen, but even the purest hearts can become twisted.” The Obsidian Shard he bore glinted darkly, a symbol of his allegiance and might.

  Jace looked more closely at the Shard that Errikos wielded. “I thought there were only six types of shards. Is that one different?”

  “Six common ones, yes,” Persephone replied. “But there are others, rarer and bearing far greater costs.”

  Persephone snapped her fingers, and the world spun: day to night, night to day, faster and faster, as countless Springs flew by. Then, with a dizzying halt, the world was still again.

  “But even the Chosen of Hades eventually age, and their stories may wind to a close.”

  They stood outside a quaint cabin, its windows offering a glimpse into a world untouched by the cruelty of time. Inside, an elderly man with skin wrinkled from age and laughter sat beside his wife. Her long white hair draped across her back, fingers deftly weaving it into a bun. The couple, sipping tea and nestled by the fire, embodied serene contentment, the warmth of their companionship staving off the chill of the setting sun.

  “Have you ever wondered why Hades has no other Chosen?” Persephone asked.

  He looked closer through the window and saw white robes draped over a rocking chair, adorned with silver stitching of a raven - one of Hades’ many symbols.

  The scene’s peace was shattered as smoke curled up from the northern hill, followed by the ominous flicker of torches. An army marched behind them, dark and menacing, a storm poised to engulf the tranquility of the cabin.