So, this is what it feels like to have your soul ripped apart.
Not great.
My chest felt like it had been caved in with a warhammer. My stomach? Completely hollow. My ears rang, my vision blurred, and for a few awful seconds, I was convinced that the Underworld had just stopped existing altogether.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't think.
I just stood there, staring at the place where my father had been, trying to make sense of it.
It wasn't happening.
The pain wasn't normal. It wasn't like getting punched, or stabbed, or anything physical. It was worse. It was like something was clawing inside my chest, trying to rip its way out.
It wasn't fair.
I didn't even know him.
And yet—I'd lost him.
And somehow, it still hurt.
Somewhere in the distance, Cyrus let out a low, warning growl.
I barely heard him.
Then, something inside me snapped.
I screamed.
The kind of scream that rips through your entire body and takes something important with it.
The Underworld shook.
The rivers trembled. The stone split apart beneath me, veins of silver and black snaking outward from the force. The souls wavered like the entire realm had just gasped.
I clenched my fists, my breath ragged, my entire body still trembling from the weight in my chest.
And then—I turned.
I left Tartarus behind.
I didn't look back.
I didn't want to.
Cyrus lowered himself, letting me climb onto his back. A beat of his wings sent us soaring over the Underworld, past the shattered gate, past the rivers of silver and black.
And for the first time since this nightmare began—
I felt the weight of the Underworld pressing down on me.
The moment we landed, the souls bowed.
The shadows knelt.
Everything had changed.
But none of it mattered.
Because she was waiting.
Persephone stood at the entrance of the palace.
Still. Silent. Watching.
She had known.
She had always known.
I slid off Cyrus, my body dragging, my mind still drowning in the raw, unbearable weight pressing against my chest.
Step by step.
Until I reached her.
And then—
I collapsed.
Not gracefully. Not in a controlled way.
I crashed into her, gripping her robes so tightly that my fingers ached, my entire body trembling as I broke apart.
The sob ripped out of me before I could stop it.
It wasn't small.
It wasn't controlled.
It was raw. Ugly. Violent.
I buried my face into her shoulder, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. My whole body felt like it was splitting apart at the seams.
I had never met him.
I had never known him.
But I had lost him.
And it felt like my soul had been ripped apart.
"Why?" My voice was a broken whisper. "Why am I feeling this?"
Persephone didn't answer right away.
She just held me tighter.
I pressed my forehead against her shoulder, gripping her robes, my body shaking violently.
"Why does it hurt?" I gasped. "I never knew him. I never met him. Then why does it feel like—like something inside me just—"
I gritted my teeth, clenching my jaw so hard it hurt.
"He wasn't supposed to come back." My voice cracked. "I knew that. We all knew that."
I let out a breath that was barely holding back another sob.
"Then why—why does it feel like this?"
Persephone's fingers shook as she brushed my hair back.
"Because he was your father."
The words shattered something deep inside me.
She pulled back just enough to look at me.
Her eyes—they were wet.
She wasn't just mourning Hades.
She was mourning me.
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening even more.
"You knew." My voice was barely a whisper, raw and accusing. "You knew he would never come back."
Persephone flinched.
Her lips parted, but she didn't speak.
She couldn't.
And I knew.
I knew.
She had never expected him to return.
She had never allowed herself to hope.
She had known—this entire time.
A bitter laugh tore from my throat, something sharp and painful. "You knew, didn't you?"
Her hands trembled as they cupped my face.
Her silence was my answer.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
A fresh wave of grief slammed into me, drowning me, suffocating me.
She had known.
And she had watched me go after him anyway.
Because there was never a way to stop it.
Because this was always going to be how it ended.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to tear something apart.
But all I could do was grip her robes and press my forehead against her shoulder again, trying to breathe through the pain.
"He fought alone." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "He carried the weight of the Underworld on his shoulders, and he never asked for help. He never let anyone in.
And in the end… he was broken."
I had seen it.
I had felt it.
Hades had been waiting for me.
Not to save him.
Not to change anything.
Just so he could let go.
Slowly, I pulled away.
Persephone let me go.
But she watched me carefully, like she was afraid I was about to break apart completely.
I turned toward the courtyard, my steps unsteady, my chest tightening.
The souls of the Underworld surrounded me.
Shadows knelt at my feet.
Everything was still.
But inside me—
The storm was building.
I clenched my jaw, my hands shaking.
Cyrus let out a sharp snarl.
Then—he changed.
Dark tendrils wrapped around him, his body quivering with violent energy. His fur blackened, streaks of crimson glowing through his skin. His wings stretched wider, jagged and lethal, his claws lengthening into obsidian blades.
He wasn't just evolving.
He was responding.
To my grief.
To my rage.
To the storm that had become me.
And then—I screamed.
The Underworld shattered.
The ground split apart.
The air trembled.
The world bowed.
Because their new king had risen.