The nearest village was Helorus, so it was easy for Hades to guess where the women were wandering off to. That first night he saw them run off he wanted to follow, see how it dealt with actual souls.
Alas, he could not. He had to figure out a way pass those wards. Another time.
Hidden away from gods and mortals alike, at the mouth of a river, was a hidden entrance to the underworld. It acted as a private entrance for Hades since he did not like visitors. The entrance other gods used was a cave somewhere in Taenarum. That was why Hermes' deliveries took so long.
He walked along the river the town had been named for. Mist whipped up at his feet as the empty moon rose above. Hades pulled his cloak a little tighter around him and double checked his helm was still atop his head. No light guided his path, but the whispers were enough to follow.
The mortal side of the river reflected what little starlight was bright enough to make it to the earth. Whispers of spirits sucked the life from the world. They spoke nothing but sorrow and sadness. It was enough to drown some minor gods if they stayed long enough, let alone the mortals. More than once some poor traveler wandered a bit too close to the entrance and decided not to leave.
Any sounds the river had made, no matter how slight, stopped at the mouth of a cave. That was where Hades stopped his stroll. It was also where the spirits became visible, giving Hecate a run for her money. Perhaps I should have Hecate build a ward to keep them in.
Hades produced a single coin from thin air. Where most coins from the mortal world were oddly shaped and lumpy, his was perfect in every way. One side held Zeus' likeness, the other a two-pronged scepter. He flicked the coin into the lake; a few souls making a desperate grab at the coin only to fall in with it. They screamed and flailed in the water as if it was acid.
A single boat came up the river to meet him. Its dark wood was slimy and coated in ghostly algae wherever the river touched it. Planks looked rotted in places, but Charon always insisted it was safe. Hades removed his helm as he saw it approach.
Charon himself looked as rotted as the boat. The moth-eaten hood hid a battered and charred face. What skin still hung clung to the skull like freshly pulled leather.
Centuries of ferrying souls gave him strong arms and a perfect posture. Red, white, black, and green cloths wrapped around his torso. Pristine at the shoulders yet tattered beyond repair as it neared the hem. Each color represented a different river of the underworld.
"Hello, Charon."
He nodded in reply. "My Lord." Hades stepped on to the boat, using the ferryman's offered hand to steady himself. "How has the surface treated you?"
"Zeus." It was a simple answer. One that answered any future questions as well.
"What has the lord asked of you this time?" Charon pushed the boat back into the river, guiding it downstream and into the cave. A few spirits in the water attempted to grab onto the boat only to go sliding off.
"Hera."
The river, once inside the cave, gave off a ghostly green glow to light their way. It turned and twisted until even Hades was confused. The only sounds were the two's small talk and the trickle of water as Charon drove the boat further down.
The river Acheron narrowed until the edges of the boat skidded across the cave walls. Charon had to duck his head as the tunnel itself seemed to shrink. Both opened up abruptly into a much larger space. Slimy green waters turned inky and black. The smell of salt became heavy and metallic.
The fiery river Phlegethon casted blazing light throughout all the underworld. Its scorching waters only burned those who tried to escape Tartarus. Hades had the perfect view of it as they traveled the Styx. Soot and ash clung to him as they passed by.
The Styx's inky blackness was only, truly, apparent as it curved passed the Lethe and its bone white waters. It was merely a trickle of a stream compared to the canals of the Styx.
The water's calm suddenly turned to rapids. If it were not for Charon they would have crashed long before reaching the center. The man had traveled the same path countless times before and each time seemed easier than the last. Pushing off sharp rocks and away from falls. Under floating torrents and over raging whirlpools. Charon knew exactly what to do, when, and how.
The gentle turns turned sharp and sickening. Hades' only thought was how Hermes would have loved the thrill of riding it. Which is why he's not allowed to use this entrance, he thought.
The canals melded into one the closer to the center they were. Hades closed his eyes to stop the nauseating feeling caused by his spinning world. He couldn't comprehend the changing reality fast enough.
It was the feeling of being crushed or spun or wrung out like a damp rag. It was all those feelings at once. Being pulled in every direction and yet none at all. Then, it stopped.
He opened his eyes to find the boat docked against the cool gray stones that made up Des, his kingdom. Charon helped Hades off the boat, his legs shaking too much to stand without support.
He took careful steps as he walked down the pathway. His palace surrounded by a city far larger than that of Olympus. When he had lost the dice but won the underworld it was the one structure in the cavern. His apparent inheritance from Iapetus, besides the workload of the dead.
Nymphs ran from street to street, carrying everything from fruit to messages to souls. Overhead, daemons flew about, racing each other. They had not a care in the world when they were not collecting souls. Occasionally a shade shuffled by, having wandered away from the hall of judgement. A dog would appear soon after. Its appearance shifting between breeds new, old, and some not yet created.
It was one of the many heads of Cerberus taking its own form.
Distracted by its master, the dog padded over. He nuzzled his legs and outstretched palm lovingly as the god knelt down to ruffle his fur. He pulled lightly on his ears, the way the beast enjoyed, and patted his head. In reply Cerberus left trails of slobber across his face, ones Hades cringed from. Whatever soot had collected from the short trip passed the Phlegethon was wiped away.
Satisfied, Cerberus returned to the shade and began to herd it back to its rightful place.
Hades continued down the streets of his city. The nymphs were the only sources of color, though even then they were bound the by colors of the rivers. Gray buildings on gray streets with only iron lampposts to contrast. The glowing waters of the Phlegethon filled them instead of candles.
Men and women alike waved with bright smiles and kind greetings to their lord. Hades only nodded in reply, too focused on the task at hand to care for his subjects.
The Moirai lived in of the finer homes in the city. At least, it used to be. The outside had fallen into disrepair with chipped stone and broken handrails. He had offered a place in his palace, though they refused it in a show of allegiance to Zeus. Not that they had allegiance. The three sisters stayed neutral whenever it came to the brothers. The only reason they now resided in the underworld at all was because Hades had thrown a fit. Anything to do with death and souls had to be kept in house, he complained. Zeus did not argue, though was understandably angry.
Inside was still as pristine as the day the three moved in. For a moment he wondered if he had entered the wrong home. Then he saw the apparent lack of soot and ash- even in the smallest of corners- as well as the tapestry.
Chandeliers of gold and crystal hung from the ceiling. It scattered the light in prismatic patterns across the walls and floor. White walls, white floors, white counters, white furniture. Every surface was bland and empty on its own. And every surface was covered in the same tapestry.
It hung from light to light, cabinet to cabinet. Draped over chairs and tables, tacked to the ceilings and over windows. It even ran under the doors! Every space of pristine, bland, white was covered by the deep reds, vibrant blues, and bright yellows. Spare needles and spools took over what little space was left.
Blacks so dark it seemed to be a void in existence. Pictures of rivers so real you could hear the running water. Scenes of wars and violence so graphic Hades could not help but relive the worst of the Titanomachy.
Hades took careful steps up the spiraling stairs so that he would not step on the tapestry of existence. Why they allowed such an artifact to just be scattered where anyone could ruin or tear it he had no idea. Then again, there was so much of it that they possibly couldn't have had any other way of storing it.
The second story was one massive space. No walls sectioned off the library. Dark wood shelves lined the walls while the floor space was dedicated to even more. More books and scrolls than the largest of mortal collections filled every inch of space.
Hades heard the sisters bickering long before the rhythmic sounds of the loom. Clotho's shrill voice echoed down the steps and through the halls.
"I'm telling you, red is the way to go!"
"We decided on green yesterday!"
"But green is so yesterday!"
"You can't just change colors at will, Clotho."
"Oh, shush. Of course, I can!"
"You're going start a war if you keep picking only the prettiest!" There was an audible smack. "Don't smack your elders, girl!"
"By what, five minutes?"
"You two, hush. We have a guest!" Hades hadn't even come into view before Lachesis announced him.
"And a lovely girl with him!" Atropos sounded like a proud mother. Her child bringing home their significant other for the first time.
"Wrong time, Atropos. Stop spoiling things for me!" Another smack, presumably from Lachesis, rang out through the home.
Suddenly Clotho gasped, "Why didn't you tell me Zeus was the father!"
"That was last week, sister," the other two spoke in unison.
"Hello, ladies," Hades spoke, slightly out of breath from the stairs.
"Hello, Hades," the three rang out in unison. "What brings you hear?" Clotho asked.
"I told you yesterday," Atropos croaked.
"And you know she never listens," responded Lachesis.
The three sisters looked anything but. Their faces were perhaps the same, but the differing ages were enough to make anyone think twice.
Clotho, the youngest, had recently cut her dandelion hair short. Light pink robes did little to cover her lithe body, though she seemed not to notice nor care. She waved around her distaff like a young child would a stick. The tufts hung off of it, reaching for her sister.
Lachesis appeared more as a motherly figure. Inky hair reached her mid back but was beautifully cut and styled. White and red robes covered much more than her sister's. The slightest hint of crow's feet softened her harsh, brown, eyes. Tufts of the fiber were pulled and spun into multicolored threads before being passed on.
Threads were cut and woven into the ever-lengthening cloth with Atropos. She sat hunched on her chair tightly wrapped in brown robes. Wrinkles carved through her face and took any traces of youth she ever once had; if any. A hood tucked under her frail and gray hair to give her the appearance of a hump. Her shaking told Hades to make a fire for her. That is, until he noticed one was already roaring in the corner.
Sometimes it seemed the threads had minds of their own. The loom enchanted to weave on its own so long as the sisters fed it materials. The threads themselves, however, were not. Yet, they tangled and fought among each other for specific spots in the loom. In the process the patterns and images created were vivid. Beautiful.
"You still never told me what he was doing here," Clotho grumbled. The sisters were about to start another round of bickering when Hades motioned to stop.
"Hecate's wards that Demeter asked her to place." Clotho squinted as if trying to see some far away object. Her milky eyes became unfocused for a moment before she returned to reality and nodded. "I need to know how to get around them."
"Those wards are perfect!" she exclaimed with a scowl.
"Well, there is Persephone," Lachesis reminded her.
"Who?"
"The fray."
"What about the little fray?"
"Not- you know what, never mind." Lachesis shook her head in annoyance. She turned her attention back to Hades. "She has found her own way through the wards. You have seen it yourself. Use that."
"Take the chariot as well, Hades," Atropos rasped. "I believe the goddess has already warned you about those wards."
The god sighed, remembered how unstable the wards were. Coming from Atropos, that could never be good. "I am already regretting this deal."
"You made a deal? Why does no one tell me these things!"
"Because you never pay attention!"
Atropos added nothing to the argument, keeping her knowing gaze on Hades. Her lips stretched into a toothless smile. "For now."
Their conversation steered into anything that struck Lachesis' mind. Her elder sister was always silent, afraid of revealing the future on accident. Meanwhile the younger was simply out of the loop. Her mind and vision always wandering to the past- all things everyone knew about. It made for dreadful conversation.
Atropos stood from her chair to hobble behind the loom. While her sisters gossiped about the realm- of prophecies yet to or already passed- and the gods, she made her way up. The rickety old ladder was stable, built by Charon, but it looked horrible. Countless spools of golden thread sat on the shelf above. They slowly turned as the loom ate up the thread of the gods.
She had foreseen a god, yet to be born. Multiple, actually, and was now clearing more space for the threads yet to be spun. As she pushed back the older spools to make way for the younger she was careful never to touch Demeter's. Her thread was thin compared to that of her siblings. It was split in half.
Hades stood, turning to leave. Then he thought of something. "Before I go, one last question: Who is this Persephone I keep hearing about?"
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-Al