Chapter 1
The Underworld offers no mirrors.
Its waters reflect what you were, not what you are, and the shadows do not judge—they accompany. I learned early that everything below exists in balance.
I lived in a part of the palace that was never meant to be crossed. Tall columns, dark marble, corridors that led nowhere of consequence. It was not a forgotten place—only secluded. Quiet.
No one arrived there by chance.
Thanatos appeared from time to time.
He never announced himself. He was simply there, seated on the edge of a balustrade, wings folded, his gaze fixed on something I could not see.
“You’re late,” I said once, without reproach.
“I am always on time,” he replied, a faint smile touching his lips.
Thanatos did not speak much. He did not need to. Around him, the Underworld seemed to breathe more slowly. I liked walking beside him through the empty corridors, listening to the way his footsteps left no echo behind.
“Don’t you ever tire of it?” I asked him once. “Of guiding those who can no longer remain.”
He studied me, as if weighing each word before allowing it to exist.
“I do not take anyone,” he said at last. “I only accompany.”
That answer stayed with me.
With him, I pretended nothing. I could be myself. At times, I spoke more than usual, as though his silence granted me permission.
I had heard other voices as well—the voices of some souls from the Elysian Fields. Calm. Serene. From them I learned fragments of the world above: scattered words, colors difficult to imagine, stories that never felt entirely complete.
I did not ask many questions.
I listened.
Once, as we walked along the nameless river, I broke the silence.
“What is it like?” I asked Thanatos, without looking at him.
He did not answer at once.
“What is what?” he asked, though he knew exactly what I meant.
“Up there,” I clarified. “The world of the living.”
The silence tightened, almost imperceptibly.
“It is loud,” he said at last. “Too full of things that do not wait.”
“And the sun?” I pressed. “Is it truly so different from any other light?”
Then Thanatos looked at me with greater care.
“It resembles nothing that exists here,” he said. “That is why it exhausts.”
His answer did not reassure me.
It intrigued me instead.
“They say the sea never stands still.”
“That is true,” he confirmed. “Even when it appears calm.”
I fell silent for a moment, imagining it.
“It must be beautiful.”
Thanatos lowered his gaze.
“It is also dangerous.”
I turned to look at him.
“Where is the way out?” I asked.
Thanatos stopped.
“Out?” he repeated.
“To above,” I clarified. “To the world of the living.”
I did not look at him as I spoke. I fixed my eyes on the dark water, waiting for it to continue flowing unchanged.
“There is no single path,” he said after a pause. “There are steps. Thresholds. Places that are not always open.”
“And you know them?”
“Yes.”
“And my father?”
Thanatos took a moment longer to respond.
“He does as well.”
I nodded slowly.
“Then they exist,” I said. “They are not merely stories.”
“No,” he replied. “They exist.”
Silence followed. The river continued its steady course, as though nothing we had spoken could disturb it.
“The souls of Elysium say the sky changes color,” I added. “That it is never the same. Here, everything is.”
Thanatos did not contradict me.
“Above, nothing remains long in the same state,” he said. “Not the light, not the sea, not people.”
“And is that a bad thing?”
“That depends on who is watching.”
I considered that.
“I suppose that is why they speak so much,” I murmured. “Of who they were. Of what they left behind.”
Thanatos inclined his head slightly.
“Because above, everything happens only once.”
The thought stilled me.
“Here, it does not,” I said.
“Here, things endure.”
I traced my fingers along the cold stone at the river’s edge.
“I want to see it,” I said at last. “Not now. Not just any way. But… I want to know what it is like to be there without relying on the words of others.”
It was not a plea.
Nor was it a final decision.
It was a truth spoken softly.
Thanatos did not answer at once. He watched the water, the shadows, the path taken by the souls.
“There are desires not born of absence,” he said. “They are born of understanding.”
“Then you understand.”
“I do,” he admitted. “But understanding does not mean opening doors.”
I did not insist.
“Do you think my father knows?” I asked, barely looking at him.
Thanatos took longer to answer this time.
“Your father knows many things,” he said. “Some even before they are spoken aloud.”
That did not surprise me.
“And yet…?”
Thanatos looked at me with a different weight to his gaze.
“And yet, there are reasons for caution.”
I said nothing more.
The river continued on, unwavering, carrying reflections that did not belong to me. Thanatos resumed his steps, and I followed, leaving the conversation behind like a question left unanswered.
That night, when I returned to my chambers, I dreamed of the sun. Of the sea.
I dreamed of a place I did not know—
and of the certainty that I wanted to see it with my own eyes.
