CHAPTER 164: CHAPTER 9

In the overworld, before the grand marble steps of Hera’s temple, a broken figure knelt.

Orpheus—once a man of beauty and song, a poet who could make trees sway and rivers halt—was now but a shadow of his former self.

His skin clung to his bones like parchment stretched too thin, his lips cracked, his hair matted and unwashed.

For three hundred and thirty-three days, he had remained unmoving, head bowed, hands pressed against the ground in prayer.

Neither food nor water had touched him.

One can see his body was failing, but his will had not. His eyes, although unseen, remained firm and determined.

He knew. He knew that if he persevere, Lady Hera would surely witness his effort.

It doesn’t matter if it’s just a glimpse. Yes, just a glimpse will do. He wanted to see his wife for one last moment.

For that, he was willing to endure even this.

Then, as if the heavens themselves recognized his efforts, bright golden light filled him.

His hollow chest expanded, his heart pounding as though life had been breathed back into him.

The ache in his stomach dulled, his cracked lips softened, and his trembling hands steadied.

A warmth spread through his veins, stronger than ambrosia, purer than nectar.

Then, much to his shock, the ground beneath him vanished.

Orpheus gasped as the world spun, the temple, the city, the skies of Greece dissolving into nothingness.

He blinked, and when his eyes opened, he stood upon sand.

Before him stretched an endless desert, a flat plane of pale, shifting grains stretching infinitely in every direction.

No sun burned above, no stars glimmered, only a vast blank sky and the silent sweep of the desert winds.

He staggered forward, confusion clouding his face, until a voice thundered within his mind.

"Orpheus."

"Who!?" He looked around.

"Be not afraid. I am the one whom you have been praying to."

Orpheus eyes widened in shock, before a joyful smiled broke out in his face.

There is only one god he has been praying to, and that is Hera.

Does this mean his efforts were recognised?! Was he allowed to see his beloved once again?!

"Your devotion has reached the Underworld. For nearly a year, you bowed before my temple, asking nothing for yourself, only for the return of your beloved. The gods are moved. And so, you are granted a chance."

"...chance." Tears welled in his hollow eyes.

His cracked voice trembled with awe. He knelt, once more, bowing to the sky in reverance.

"My lady... Hera... thank you. Thank you."

Soon, he recovered, wiping his tears.

He was merely given a chance. To see his wife still isn’t a certainty, but a chance. But that is more than enough.

A chance is all he need.

"Lady Hera, please tell me what I have to do to see my beloved once again."

Almost immediately, Hera’s voice echoed, vast as the sky itself, making Orpheus even more awed.

"Seven trials await you. If you endure them all, you shall see your wife, Eurydice again...no, not only see her, but bring her back into the world of the living. The Lord of The Dead grants you his promise."

At the sound of her name—Eurydice—his throat tightened.

His wife’s smile, her laughter, the way her hand once held his, all of it flared within his memory like a fire against the cold.

However, his eyes looked stunned.

He merely wished to see his wife once again. He knew how strict the lord of the dead was in maintaining the balance, so he wasn’t expecting much.

But...

He was actually given a chance to leave Underworld with his wife!?

’Lord Hades...’ he whispered the name. ’He recognized my efforts.’

The winds rose, carrying Hera’s words further.

"The first trial lies before you. Cross this endless plane. Walk until you reach the River Styx. There, Charon waits to bear you to the second trial. Should you falter here, your love will remain lost forever."

The desert stretched endlessly, no oasis, no landmark, no shadow in sight. It was an endless desert that stretches to infinity.

This is truly a place where mortals could wander until madness consumed them.

’But...Giving up is not not option!’

Orpheus pressed his hands together, bowed his head to the blank sky, and whispered hoarsely.

"By the grace of the gods... I will walk. For Eurydice, I will endure."

He set his foot upon the shifting sands, each step heavy yet filled with unyielding determination.

Thus, the journey of Orpheus began.

*

*

*

On Olympus, beneath the shining pillars of her temple, Athena sat at her desk of marble and gold.

The goddess of wisdom was uncharacteristically cheerful, her lips curled into a bright smile, her soft humming echoing through the quiet hall.

Before her lay parchment stretched wide, upon which her quill danced.

She was writing an epic of another hero that caught her eye, verses flowing like rivers of thought, immortal lines that would inspire mortals for centuries to come.

Her gray eyes glimmered with delight as each stanza took form.

She will make sure no heroic tales remained buried. All these deeds must be passed down for generations and admired by the world!

But suddenly...

A single strand of her silken hair rose upright, quivering like the needle of a compass.

Athena froze, her quill halting mid-sentence.

The strand shifted left, then right, twitching with unmistakable energy like it was telling her something.

Her divine senses sharpened, the very air vibrating against her skin.

She knew this signal well: the resonance of a hero’s quest beginning.

Her heart skipped.

Slowly, Athena’s lips parted into a radiant smile.

A hero... She could feel it, the determination, the devotion, the struggle.

A mortal daring to rise beyond his nature.

Such moments thrilled her; they were rare, precious jewels in the tapestry of fate.

"Yes... yes, I feel it! A hero embarks upon a grand trial!" She exclaimed, her voice alive with excitement as her gray eyes gleamed like polished steel.

As patron of heroes, how could she resist? This was her calling, her joy, her very essence. She must see it. She must!

"Let me witness this grand moment!"

But as she traced the divine thread, following the pulse of the quest, her smile faltered.

And even for a brief moment, her gaze darkened, the air in the temple shifting heavy around her.

She found out that the source... came from below.

Her senses anchored deep, far beneath the mortal world, where sunlight could not touch.

The Underworld.

Athena’s smile froze. Her humming ceased. She stood motionless, quill trembling between her fingers.

"...The Underworld?" she whispered, almost in disbelief. "Why the underworld?"

She paced the temple floor, her sandals clicking sharply against the marble. Why must it happen in underworld? Entering that place is far too troublesome!

Conflict waged across her face: eagerness against hesitation, devotion against pride.

The domain of Hades was not one she tread lightly. His realm was close, completely forbidden to enter, and notoriously unwelcoming to the meddling of Olympians.

Her hand pressed over her heart. She could almost hear the mortal’s resolve, feel the burning thread of love that guided his steps.

The strength of his devotion lit the skein of fate like fire in the night.

To ignore it was unthinkable. It was a sin!

Her jaw set, her gray eyes narrowing with steely resolve.

"No." Her voice rang in the silent temple. "I will not turn away. A true hero’s struggle is a sacred thing, and it belongs to me as much as to fate itself."

She inhaled sharply, clutching her spear as her determination solidified.

"Even if I must beg Hades himself, I will witness this quest. Such a tale must be recorded for generations to admire! It is a sin for it to remain buried!"

The goddess of wisdom, patron of heroes, stood tall in her temple, her divine aura flaring in luminous silver.

Already, her mind began to turn—calculating, planning, preparing for what must be done.

Athena would go to the Underworld.

And nothing would stop her.