Death, On his Knees, Part 2 || 18+
Synopsis: You were to be Persephone, he was to be Hades and neither of you wanted to love each other. The Fates however, did not like their plans to be thwarted.
Pairing: Hades!Jo x Persephone!fem!reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, oral (f rec), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (not for you), soft dom Jo, garden sex yay, this is not a real representation of greek mythology i am only using the tropes dont come for me, mention of blood, alcohol and food, poetry because its me, please do read part one or you wont understand shit in this fic
A/N: yay part two and we got the softest smut I've ever written. I hope yall didn't get bored from all the imagery in the second part couldn't help myself gang gomenesai
Word Count: 18k (37k total)
PART ONE
The grand ballroom of the Underworld looked nothing like hell. If anything, it resembled the inside of a celestial dream.
Gold and sapphire draped every towering wall in flowing silks while enormous chandeliers floated high above the marble floors. Thousands of tiny stars burned within the crystal structures, casting silver-blue light across the hall below like fragments of a midnight sky. Music echoed softly from unseen musicians somewhere beyond the balconies overhead.
Hell felt alive.
Long banquet tables curved around the edges of the ballroom beneath arrangements of flowers and fruit while gods, spirits and successors alike drifted through the room in clusters of conversation and laughter.
Everywhere one looked, divinity existed in different forms, some terrifying, some beautiful, some both. Unlike the cold solemnity of the palace halls, tonight the Underworld glittered openly, celebrating itself.
Near the western side of the ballroom, Jo moved easily through the crowd, the sapphire detailing embroidered subtly into his coat catching faintly beneath the chandeliers. He looked perfectly composed, though he was still recovering from your existence in that white dress—a deeply irritating condition to be in.
“Ah,” Yuma announced dramatically the moment Jo approached their corner of the ballroom. “The future king of the dead arrives looking emotionally constipated as usual.”
Nicholas snorted into his wine beside the towering marble pillar while Euijoo—Hestia’s successor—looked up from the small silver dessert he had been quietly eating. Euijoo possessed a softer sort of presence—warm eyes, calm smiles and the sort of gentleness that made people instinctively trust him, a fitting successor for the goddess of hearth and home.
“You’re late,” Euijoo said mildly.
“I was avoiding people.” Jo said simply.
“And yet here you are,” Nicholas pointed out.
“A tragic development.”
Yuma narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Jo immediately. “Something happened.”
“Are you always on the hunt for gossip?” Jo accepted a glass from a passing servant with graceful indifference.
Across the ballroom, laughter erupted loudly near one of the banquet tables. Taki, obviously. The successor of Dionysus stood balanced atop a chair while several younger spirits cheered around him. Dark curls fell wildly across his forehead as he dramatically attempted pouring wine into someone’s goblet from an unreasonable distance. The wine missed entirely.
“Disaster.” Euijoo sighed fondly.
“He’s been here ten minutes,” Nicholas muttered. “And I’m already exhausted.”
“He challenged three satyrs to drinking contests earlier,” Yuma added proudly. “Lost all three.”
Near the grand staircase, another figure drifted elegantly through conversation circles with almost unnatural ease. Fuma, Aphrodite’s successor, beautiful in the way storms over oceans were beautiful. Every person he spoke to somehow ended up leaning closer unconsciously, hanging onto his words as though enchanted. Even from across the ballroom, his smile alone looked capable of starting wars.
“That one frightens me.” Nicholas visibly shuddered.
“That’s because you think with your fists,” Jo replied.
Across the room near one of the balconies stood Harua, Artemis’ successor, dressed in dark silver robes with a bow slung lazily across his back despite repeated warnings not to bring weapons into the ballroom. He looked profoundly uninterested in civilization though several nymphs attempted speaking with him. Harua vanished into another part of the ballroom mid-conversation without explanation.
Yuma burst into laughter. “He’s getting worse.”
“He spent six months in forests before arriving here,” Euijoo reminded them gently. “Social interaction physically pains him.”
“And yet Artemis somehow remains graceful,” Nicholas mused.
“Gods have their advantages.” Euijoo shrugged, remembering his own advantages.
Near the musicians stood Yudai, Apollo’s successor. Radiant, there truly was no better word for him. Golden robes caught the ballroom light effortlessly while people seemed naturally drawn toward him without realizing why. Yudai already looked perfectly suited to godhood.
“Still irritatingly perfect, that one.” Yuma sighed, “I envy him.”
Further along the ballroom, Maki stood near one of the magical chandelier mechanisms speaking animatedly with several servants while holding what appeared to be pieces of dismantled gold machinery in his hands. Hephaestus’ successor, brilliant and entirely incapable of remaining still.
“He’s not supposed to take apart palace property during events,” Euijoo said weakly. Maki immediately unscrewed something from the chandelier overhead. The entire structure flickered ominously.
“…Too late,” Nicholas sighed. Yuma looked delighted by the possibility of catastrophe.
Euijoo glanced toward Jo over the rim of his glass, warm eyes thoughtful. “So,” he said gently, “how is your Persephone adjusting?”
His Persephone, Jo tried not to think about the wording too much as he nearly rolled his eyes. “She’s fine.”
Nicholas snorted, “Oh is she now?”
Yuma looked deeply unconvinced. “You’ve been spending a suspicious amount of time in gardens lately.”
“I enjoy my silence.” Jo defended.
“Oh yes and the scratching of her pen counts as silence does it?” Yuma cocked a brow. Euijoo laughed softly beneath his breath while Nicholas looked outright entertained.
“So the rumors are true then?” Nicholas asked. “The future Persephone and Hades are already circling each other like doomed poetry?”
“We are not circling.”
“Denial.” Yuma nodded solemnly. “A classic symptom.” Jo considered murder briefly before reminding himself it would be taboo to kill the messenger of the Gods.
Across the ballroom, laughter rang out again as Taki nearly fell off another chair attempting something involving flaming alcohol and absolutely no common sense. Nobody intervened, not even the servants, apparently this happened often. Jo exhaled slowly and glanced away from his friends toward the far end of the ballroom instead.
Toward the throne alcove shadowed beneath black marble arches, Hades sat there already. The God of the Dead looked almost carved from darkness itself beneath the dim blue firelight surrounding his throne. Beside him, Persephone’s seat remained empty still. Even from across the ballroom, Hades’ attention appeared fixed calmly upon the entrance doors. Waiting, always waiting for her.
Jo looked away first as something uneasy shifted inside his chest. Unfortunately, Euijoo noticed. The successor of Hestia followed Jo’s gaze toward the divine thrones before smiling knowingly.
“You know,” Euijoo said lightly, “the myths don’t have to repeat themselves exactly.”
Jo frowned. “What?”
Euijoo tilted his head toward another corner of the ballroom where Aphrodite stood speaking animatedly with Hestia herself. The contrast between the goddesses looked almost absurd. Aphrodite glittered like a jewel beneath candlelight, every movement graceful and dramatic while Hestia laughed warmly beside her holding what appeared to be a plate of pastries she had stolen from the banquet tables. Complete opposites and yet somehow entirely comfortable together.
“They weren’t destined companions in the old stories.” Euijoo pointed out softly. “But gods change. People change.” His smile widened faintly. “We don’t have to become exact reflections of the myths we inherit.” Euijoo laughed again at Nicholas’s confused expression at his philosophy, “Follow your own heart.”
Heart, an unfortunate word.
Jo fell silent after that, finding himself wondering what exactly his heart wanted. And gods help him, he already knew.
At that exact moment, the grand ballroom doors opened. The entire hall quieted, silver bells echoing softly overhead. Then you stepped inside beside Persephone. And every coherent thought left Jo’s mind completely.
There his heart probably was.
For one long moment, the ballroom forgot how to breathe. Persephone descended the staircase beside you like moonlight draped in silk and divinity, every eye drawn toward her radiant presence. Tonight, attention lingered on you too. Nicholas let out a low whistle beside Jo.
“Well,” he murmured. “Isn’t that quite the sight?”
“Beautiful.” Yuma looked openly delighted, “Oh, Jo is doomed.”
“Quiet.” Jo replied immediately but nobody listened.
Because you did look beautiful.
The white gown flowed behind you like liquid starlight as you descended the grand staircase beside Persephone, silver embroidery catching softly beneath the chandeliers overhead. The necklace resting against your throat glimmered against your skin while your hair framed your face in a way that made you appear unreal beneath the ballroom lights.
You looked divine enough to belong in that ballroom and human enough to ruin everybody standing there.
Jo felt an ugly emotion (jealousy, though he would not name it) spark alive in his chest when several nearby successors turned openly to watch you descend. One of Apollo’s attendants nearly walked directly into a pillar. Pathetic, and yet somehow Jo understood completely.
Nicholas crossed his arms thoughtfully. “I understand the concern now.”
“What concern?” Euijoo asked innocently.
“Jo’s of course.” Nicholas chuckled, “Everyone’s eyes are on his Persephone.”
Yuma looked toward Jo and burst into laughter immediately. Jo’s expression remained perfectly calm. Unfortunately, the faint redness climbing toward the tips of his ears betrayed him entirely.
“You’re blushing.” Nicholas teased.
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I will kill both of you.”
“See?” Yuma grinned. “True love.” Jo contemplated throwing him into the River Styx.
Across the ballroom, Persephone finally reached the marble floor below. Hades remained seated upon his throne-like chair beneath the dark arches at the far end of the hall, one arm resting lazily against the carved obsidian while his gaze remained fixed solely upon Persephone. The Queen of the Underworld smiled the moment she saw him waiting, ancient affection passing silently between them.
Then Persephone turned toward the ballroom at large, lifting a jeweled goblet gracefully into the air.
“My lovely guests,” she called warmly.
You stood beside her trying very hard not to look visibly terrified, which was becoming increasingly difficult considering nearly every eye in the ballroom remained fixed on you. You suddenly missed hiding behind temple hoods.
Persephone’s smile widened knowingly. “This evening,” she continued smoothly, “marks the arrival of new successors beneath our realm. Future gods, future guardians, future rulers.” Her gaze drifted briefly toward you then. “And among them, my own successor.” The attention intensified and you resisted the urge to flee into the nearest river. “She learns quickly, far quicker than I ever did.” Pride coated her voice.
“That cannot possibly be true,” Hades drawled lazily from his seat.
Persephone laughed softly beneath her breath. “Darling,” she replied sweetly, “must you undermine me publicly?”
“Always.”
Several gods chuckled quietly. You stood awkwardly beside Persephone, unsure where to place your hands or your eyes or your entire existence. Every noble spirit and divine successor seemed to be staring directly at you. Your heartbeat thundered painfully beneath your ribs as your eyes darted around to fixate on something.
They found Jo. Naturally, as though some invisible thread had pulled your gaze toward him through the crowded ballroom.
Everything else disappeared. The music faded, the conversations vanished, even the chandeliers seemed dimmer. All you could see was him, standing there beneath silver light, watching you with an expression so strangely soft it nearly unraveled you where you stood.
Sapphires and rubies.
Winter and spring.
For one suspended heartbeat, the entire world narrowed into that single look. You smiled, only faintly. But enough for Jo’s heart to melt like chocolate pudding.
Persephone’s voice broke the moment apart again. “To new beginnings.” She declared brightly, raising her goblet once more.
The ballroom echoed the toast immediately. “To new beginnings!”
Crystal clinked softly throughout the hall while music swelled once more from the musicians overhead. Persephone leaned toward you afterward with suspicious amusement dancing in her eyes. “You’ll survive,” she whispered.
Then, before you could protest, she drifted gracefully away through the ballroom toward Hades waiting beneath the dark arches. The God of the Dead rose the second she approached him.
And just like that you were alone. In the middle of the grand ballroom. With most of the Underworld still staring directly at you.
Perfect.
You stood frozen beneath the enormous chandeliers while music and conversation slowly returned around you, though now it all sounded strangely distant beneath the thunder of your heartbeat.
Why were they all still looking at you?
Across the ballroom, Jo noticed panic beginning to creep into your expression. Your fingers tightened slightly around the stem of your goblet, your shoulders stiffened.
Scared little lamb.
Without even realizing it, he had already started moving toward you through the crowd. Unfortunately he was not the only one.
“So you’re the darling oracle, hmm?”
A warm voice interrupted before Jo could reach you. You turned quickly and nearly forgot how to function again.
Yudai stood before you now, somehow even more radiant up close beneath the ballroom lights. Soft sunlight seemed to cling naturally to him despite standing in the Underworld. Beautiful in the way dawn was beautiful, gentle enough to look directly at.
Beside him stood Fuma. Where Yudai resembled sunlight, Fuma resembled temptation. Dark silk wrapped elegantly around his figure while silver jewelry glimmered softly against warm skin. His beauty carried sharpness to it like every smile had been crafted specifically to ruin someone.
“We finally meet,” Yudai said warmly, offering you an easy smile. “Apollo has spoken very highly of your training.”
You blinked faintly. You still weren’t emotionally prepared for that entire situation. “Oh,” you managed intelligently. “Hopefully nothing embarrassing.”
Yudai laughed softly. “Only that you learn too quickly.”
Fuma tilted his head slightly beside him, eyes sweeping curiously over you. “And Persephone has become insufferably proud of you.”
You felt your face warm slightly beneath the attention. “Has she?”
“Hopelessly,” Fuma replied. “You should hear the way she speaks about you.”
Across the ballroom, Jo watched the interaction with growing displeasure. Nicholas toyed with his bracelet.
“Oh no,” Nicholas breathed dramatically. “He’s jealous.”
“Could you please stop making your conclusions?” Jo huffed.
“You look moments away from committing murder.”
“That’s just his face,” Euijoo offered helpfully.
Meanwhile, entirely unaware of Jo mentally planning violence, you tried desperately to maintain composure while speaking with two impossibly beautiful successors at once.
Extremely difficult, considering that Fuma possessed the terrifying ability to maintain eye contact like he was personally trying to read your soul.
“You seem nervous.” Yudai observed kindly.
“I wonder why.” you muttered weakly. That earned another laugh from him. Fuma smiled slightly at your sarcasm.
“You’ll get used to it eventually,” Yudai reassured gently. “The first ball is always overwhelming.”
“She looks like she’d rather fight Cerberus,” Fuma noted.
“I would,” you admitted immediately. Jo’s jaw tightened faintly watching you laugh softly at something Fuma said next.
Nicholas followed Jo’s gaze and grinned, “Oh, he’s suffering.”
“He’ll survive.” Euijoo said sympathetically.
“Will he?” Yuma mused. “Because he currently looks one compliment away from challenging Aphrodite’s successor to a duel.”
Fuma seemed deeply entertained by your existence. Which, judging by the amused tilt of Yudai’s mouth beside him, was apparently unusual enough to be noticeable.
“You’re handling this better than most successors do.” Yudai said kindly.
“I’m one conversation away from fainting.”
“That’s still better than Taki,” Fuma remarked smoothly. “He actually did faint at his first ball.”
“Twice.” Yudai added helpfully.
From somewhere across the ballroom came the sound of shattering glass followed immediately by Taki yelling, “THAT WASN’T MY FAULT.”
You blinked. “.....Comforting.”
Fuma’s soft laugh curled warmly through the air. He really was Aphrodite’s successor, everything about him felt crafted to disarm people. Then his expression shifted, curious now.
“You are ready for the duel at least, yes?”
You stared blankly. “The what?”
Fuma paused. Then slowly glanced over your shoulder toward Jo standing across the ballroom.
“Oh,” Yudai murmured.
You frowned. “What does that mean?”
Fuma looked amused now. “You truly don’t know?”
Your confusion only deepened. “Know what?”
Yudai sighed softly beside him. “Persephone does adore keeping secrets.”
Now you were officially alarmed. “What secrets?”
Neither of them answered immediately. Fuma merely lifted his wine glass lazily. “I suppose she intends explaining it herself eventually.”
“That is an absolutely terrible answer.” You said with a faint laugh, to hide the tremor behind it.
Before you could interrogate them further, another voice burst loudly into the conversation. “Oh good, you’re real.”
You turned. Maki had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
The successor of Hephaestus stood, disheveled beneath the ballroom lights, loose blond hair falling across his forehead while bits of gold dust still clung faintly to the sleeves of his clothes. Somewhere behind him, one of the chandeliers flickered ominously again.
“You’re Persephone’s successor,” he announced excitedly before you could speak. “I lost a bet over that.”
“…Should I ask?”
“No.”
“Maki.” Yudai sighed tiredly.
Maki ignored him. Unlike the elegant restraint most successors carried, Maki radiated energy in every direction at once, like his thoughts physically moved faster than everyone else’s. He took your hand dramatically and kissed your knuckles. You nearly dropped your goblet.
“A pleasure,” he declared brightly. Fuma burst into laughter.
Yudai pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are making her panic.”
“I’m being polite.”
“You’re frightening her.”
“You are all frightening me,” you informed them honestly.
Maki grinned. “Oh, she’s fun.”
Jo had finally reached his limit. He watched Maki holding your hand, Fuma smiling at you, Yudai standing too close and suddenly understood why Hades spent centuries looking mildly murderous.
“Oh no.” Nicholas mused, “And there goes his dignity.” Euijoo looked amused into his wine. The crowd parted as Jo approached at last, a black rose against the silver lights.
And gods help you, relief hit you instantly the second you saw him. Something in your expression must have betrayed that realization because Jo’s gaze softened almost imperceptibly when it landed on you.
Then he looked toward the others. Specifically at Maki still holding your hand.
Silence.
A very dangerous silence.
Maki blinked once. “Why do you look like that?”
“Because,” Fuma said smoothly, “you’re touching his oracle.”
Jo’s ears went faintly red immediately. Your heart stopped functioning. Yudai laughed softly beside you, Apollo’s warmth seeming to fill the room.
“Would you like to dance?” Maki said now, completely ignoring the possibility of death at Hades’ hands. Before you could answer,
“No.”
The word left Jo far too quickly. Everyone turned toward him, including Jo himself, who looked mildly betrayed by his own mouth.
Fuma smiled slowly. “Oh,” he murmured. “This is getting interesting.” Jo recovered immediately afterward with suspicious calmness.
“What I meant,” he said smoothly, stepping forward at last, “is that Persephone’s successor should probably begin with someone familiar.” Jo extended one gloved hand toward you.
“Dance with me.”
The ballroom suddenly felt very warm. You hesitated only briefly before placing your hand carefully into his. It felt like nectar being poured onto your skin at the touch.
Across the room, Nicholas physically slapped a hand over Yuma’s mouth before he could start screaming. The music softened gradually as Jo guided you toward the center of the ballroom floor. There was nobody else dancing yet, which meant every single person in the Underworld was now watching the two of you.
Wonderful.
“I hate you.” You whispered under your breath as Jo placed one hand lightly against your waist.
“No you don’t.” He whispered back. The orchestra shifted smoothly into a slower melody as Jo guided you carefully into motion across the marble floor.
Despite your nerves, he danced effortlessly, like he had been born knowing exactly how to move through music. Which, considering who he would become, perhaps he had. You followed carefully beneath the chandeliers overhead, white silk and black fabric turning together beneath gold and sapphire light.
Around the ballroom, conversation softened, watching and waiting. Near one of the balconies, Harua observed quietly beside Artemis, silver eyes following the dance floor with faint amusement.
“I’ve never seen a Persephone and Hades so in love this early,” he remarked softly. Artemis laughed beneath her breath.
Across the ballroom floor, entirely aware of the commentary surrounding you both, you tried very hard not to focus on how close Jo stood.
One hand held yours, the other rested carefully against your waist. Too careful, as though he was deeply aware of his own strength. The music carried you both slowly through the ballroom while silver lights shimmered overhead like stars trapped beneath the earth.
“You realize,” you murmured quietly, “everyone is staring.”
“Let them.” Jo looked entirely unbothered.
Easy for him to say, he looked utterly composed beneath the attention. You looked one step away from collapsing into the nearest fountain.
“You dance well.” You admitted softly.
“I know.”
“There he is.” You narrowed your eyes. “The unbearable ego returns.”
Jo’s mouth curved faintly. “I was worried you missed it.”
The music slowed further and you were so dangerously close. Your heart warred against your ribs while Jo guided you effortlessly through another turn beneath the chandeliers.
“Why did you ask Persephone if there was a future Hades?” He asked, spinning you around.
“Why do you want to know?” You asked, looking away once from his heat filled gaze before murmuring, “I was merely curious.”
Jo watched you quietly for a moment. Then his gaze drifted briefly toward the necklace resting against your throat.
“You know what everyone expects, don’t you?” he asked softly. You swallowed.
The myths, the stories, Persephone and Hades, spring and death.
Love and ruin woven together endlessly through every version of the tale.
“Yes.” You said quietly.
“And?”
You lifted your chin then. “I think people rely too much on old stories.” The music swelled gently around you both.
“I agree,” he said at last.
You blinked faintly. “You do?”
Jo guided you smoothly into another turn. “I don’t intend to become some tragic god who falls helplessly in love because history expects it.”
Your pulse stumbled anyway. You tried very hard to sound unaffected when you replied, “Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes,” you said quickly. “Because I certainly won’t fall in love with you either.”
Jo laughed softly, a sound that did terrible things to your composure. “Of course not, little lamb.”
The music reached its climax just then and Jo dipped you gracefully backward with the movement of the dance. Your breath caught sharply. One of his hands steadied your back while the other still held yours, your face now only inches from his beneath the glow of the chandeliers overhead
You could feel the warmth of him and see every sharp line of his face. The ballroom disappeared again for one suspended moment.
“You’re staring.” Jo murmured softly.
“So are you.”
Even now, even with his face this close to yours beneath a hall full of watching gods, both of you still believed your own lie—that neither of you would ever fall.
For Gods do not fall.
And you were to be Gods.
But for one tiny mortal second, as Jo’s hand remained steady against your back and the music curled around you both like silk beneath the chandeliers, you wondered quietly.
Could you have been allowed to?
Could you have been permitted something so terribly human as falling in love?
The thought vanished as quickly as it came. You straightened as the dance continued, though your heartbeat never fully recovered afterward. Neither, unfortunately, did Jo.
The orchestra shifted into softer strings while you both continued moving across the ballroom floor with growing ease. Your earlier nervousness had faded into something quieter now, replaced by a strange warmth that settled in your chest whenever he looked at you too long.
Around you, the ballroom had relaxed. Gods mingled freely while successors laughed amongst themselves beneath gold-and-blue light. Nicholas was attempting to teach Taki how to balance wine glasses on one arm. Euijoo looked deeply concerned. Fuma had acquired an audience without even trying. Yudai stood near Apollo speaking softly beneath a halo of candlelight.
And through all of it, the center of the ballroom still remained the two of you.
Hades watched from his seat beside Persephone with unreadable calmness. The Queen of the Underworld, meanwhile, looked openly delighted.
“They’re beautiful together,” she sighed softly, resting her chin lazily against one hand.
Hades took a slow sip from his goblet. “You said that about us too.”
“Yes,” Persephone replied immediately. “And I was correct.” A faint smile touched his mouth.
Across the ballroom floor, Jo spun you beneath the music once more, the contrasting fabric of your clothes blurring together like winter swallowing spring.
Persephone’s gaze softened. “Their fates were always intertwined,” she murmured quietly.
“The Fates told you?” Hades looked toward her then.
For a brief moment, silence passed between the King and Queen of the Underworld. Then Hades’ gaze drifted back toward the dance floor where Jo looked at you like he had already forgotten how not to.
“You should tell them soon.” He said calmly.
Persephone laughed softly beneath her breath. “And ruin all this?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Absolutely not.”
“You enjoy meddling, darling.” Hades chuckled.
“I learned from the best.” Persephone smiled victoriously anyway before finally rising gracefully from her seat.
Almost instantly, the ballroom quieted once more, music softening and conversations fading.
You and Jo slowed to a stop in the center of the dance floor, though his hand lingered at your waist one second longer than necessary before finally letting go. Not that either of you acknowledged it.
Persephone descended the small marble steps slowly, flowers woven into her gown catching softly beneath the chandeliers.
“My lovely guests,” she announced warmly. Something dangerous danced beneath her smile. “Since tonight celebrates new beginnings,” she continued smoothly, “I thought it appropriate that our successors begin learning one of the Underworld’s oldest traditions.”
Around the ballroom, several gods suddenly looked entertained. You had the distinct feeling your evening was about to become significantly worse.
“The ancient duel.” Persephone smiled brightly.
Immediately, murmurs swept through the ballroom. Nicholas groaned dramatically into his wine. “Oh, this is going to end horribly.” Yuma looked one second away from climbing onto a table out of excitement. You stared at your Goddess who laughed softly.
“Yes,” she said, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “I forgot our little oracle still knows absolutely nothing.” Persephone descended another step, “Long before the Underworld became what it is now,” she began, “there existed one truth the gods feared above all else.” The ballroom quieted fully.
“That love could weaken duty.”
Her gaze drifted briefly toward Hades. The God of the Dead watched her with the calm patience of someone who had heard this story a thousand times and still listened anyway.
“So,” Persephone continued, “to prove that even devotion could never outweigh responsibility, the rulers of the Underworld created a tradition.”
“A duel.” A faint smile curved her lips. “Hades and I dueled during our first season ruling together,” she explained. “Not out of hatred.” Her smile turned quieter then. “But to demonstrate our trust.”
Hades finally spoke from his seat. “She stabbed me.”
The ballroom erupted into laughter. Persephone looked delighted. “You survived.”
“Barely, my dearest.”
You stared at them in genuine disbelief. “Gods above,” you whispered weakly. Persephone turned back toward the ballroom, silk whispering softly around her feet.
“And now,” she announced warmly, “our successors shall continue the tradition.”
Your stomach dropped instantly.
No.
Absolutely not!
Her eyes landed directly on you and Jo. “In two weeks’ time,” Persephone declared smoothly, “Persephone and Hades’ successors will duel before the court of the Underworld.”
The ballroom burst immediately into excited conversation. You turned toward Jo in horror.
And discovered—to your immense surprise—that he looked horrified too. Beautifully horrified.
His composure had cracked just enough for you to notice the faint tension in his jaw, the slight widening of his eyes.
Jo looked down at you at the exact same moment. And before either of you seemed to consciously realize it—his hand found yours, like he’d done it a thousand times now. Like his hand was the outer red skin of a pomegranate that held the delicate seeds of your hand within.
Your breath caught softly and Jo seemed to realize what he’d done approximately two seconds later because his expression shifted faintly afterward. But he still didn’t let go.
“I knew about the tradition,” he admitted quietly over the noise of the ballroom.
You stared at him. “But?”
Jo exhaled softly through his nose. “I never knew I’d have to do it with you.”
Something about the way he said it made your heart twist painfully inside your chest. Around you, the ballroom continued buzzing excitedly. Nicholas was already taking bets with Yuma. Maki appeared to be sketching possible arena designs onto a napkin. Fuma looked deeply entertained by the entire situation.
But all of that noise felt very far away.
Jo was still holding your hand and looking at you like the thought of hurting you had never once crossed his mind until now.
“You’re going to win, aren’t you?” you asked, with a sorry smile on your face.
Jo’s thumb brushed absentmindedly once against your knuckles before he seemed to catch himself. The movement was so small you almost thought you imagined it.
“I won’t hurt you.”
The fates will not allow that, you wanted to say. Such deadly words he spoke—so contradictory that the speaker was someone who belonged to death itself. Before you could answer, Persephone’s voice drifted suddenly through the ballroom once more.
“My darling successor,” she called sweetly. Persephone stood several steps away now beside Hades, “We should leave before the court decides to interrogate you all evening.”
“That is exactly what they were about to do.” Hades remarked calmly.
“See?” Persephone smiled brightly. “I’m protecting you.”
You were fairly certain she herself had caused this catastrophe. Reluctantly, you began stepping away from Jo. His hand slipped slowly from yours and you felt the loss of warmth straightaway. Neither of you acknowledged that either.
Hades looked into his wine. “It starts.”
You blinked between them in confusion. “What starts?”
“Nothing.” Persephone replied far too quickly. As she guided you away through the glittering ballroom, you glanced back once over your shoulder.
Jo still stood exactly where you’d left him beneath the chandeliers, watching you go.
How softly death’s gaze went after spring.
_______________
Persephone’s chambers felt softer at night.
The fires burned low within their marble sconces while gauzy curtains drifted lazily around the open balconies overlooking endless dark terraces below. You sat curled at the end of Persephone’s velvet chaise, still overwhelmed from the ball hours later.
And still thinking about Jo’s hand holding yours.
Persephone reclined elegantly across the opposite side of the room while several handmaidens carefully removed gold flowers from her hair.
“You look distressed,” she observed lazily.
You groaned softly into your hands. “That duel is absurd.”
Persephone only laughed quietly before her gaze drifted toward your throat, toward the necklace resting against your skin. Her expression softened. “He gave you another one.”
Heat crawled embarrassingly up your neck. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Mhm.”
“It doesn’t.”
Thoughtfully, she lifted one elegant hand toward her own throat. Around her neck rested a necklace you had somehow never properly noticed before. Black diamonds intertwined with pale gold branches delicate as roots beneath winter soil.
“Hades made this for me,” Persephone said softly, “before our first duel.” She smiled, “It’s a mechanism for the transfer of pain. When you wear your necklace for training, you feel as if the voices have quietened right?” You nodded at her observation, “Well, truth be told nobody can handle those horrid screams all by themselves. This necklace—” Her eyes softened for a split second, "—facilitates the sharing of the pain.” “So you’re saying Jo could feel all those voices as well?” You said, a horrified timbre to your voice. Why on earth would he ever do that to himself? Something strange twisted gently in your chest. The Queen of the Underworld touched the necklace absentmindedly as though it carried centuries beneath her fingertips.
“Fate follows its course in peculiar ways,” she murmured.
You crossed your arms defensively. “I’m not falling in love with Jo.”
“Really?” Persephone tilted her head slightly. “And why not?” The answer came easier than expected.
“Because he hates life too much.” You looked down toward your hands. “He talks about mortality like it’s meaningless.” You murmured softly. “Like human life is just something temporary and fragile and exhausting.” Your fingers tightened slightly together. “And maybe it is temporary. But that does not make it worthless.”
Persephone listened quietly. You swallowed softly before continuing.
“I love life.” The confession came almost embarrassed. “I loved sunlight and stupid temple flowers and listening to people complain and children running through the markets and even those ridiculous old generals asking for prophecies every week.” A faint smile touched your lips. “I liked all of it.”
Persephone’s gaze gentled. “And Jo?”
“He looks at the world like winter has already swallowed it whole.”
Silence settled softly between you both afterward. Then Persephone smiled.
“To love someone,” she said quietly, “is to change beside them. He may change your opinions,” she continued softly. “Or perhaps you’ll change his.”
You shook your head immediately. “But I don’t want to fall in love with him just because we’re supposed to.” Your voice dropped lower. “I don’t want fate deciding something that important for me.”
For the first time that evening, Persephone became very still. Then slowly she smiled again. There was something heartbreakingly human in it.
“My darling,” she murmured softly, “fate may place two souls in each other’s path.” Her fingers brushed lightly against the ancient necklace resting at her throat. “But it cannot force them to stay.”
You thought of Hades rising from his throne the moment Persephone approached him. Of gardens planted in hell because someone missed spring. Of sapphire necklaces and warm hands and music echoing beneath silver trees. Persephone stood gracefully, silk whispering around her ankles.
“Now,” she announced far too brightly afterward, “enough romance. In two weeks,” the Queen of the Underworld declared, “you are expected to survive a battle before an audience of gods.” Your stomach dropped again. “So,” Persephone finished smoothly, “tomorrow your real training begins.”
Persephone only smiled sweetly at your horror before dismissing you for the evening, promising—with deeply concerning enthusiasm—that tomorrow’s training would “build character.” Which, in your experience, usually meant suffering.
The palace halls were quieter by the time you left her chambers. Silver flames flickered softly along the marble walls while distant music from the ballroom still echoed faintly through the Underworld—the memory of something warm. Your footsteps slowed unconsciously as you walked alone through the sleeping palace.
Battle, duel, duty before love—the words tangled strangely inside your chest. And gods help you, so did his name.
You thought of him beneath the chandeliers, while his hand rested carefully at your waist. You thought of his laugh, of his music, of the softness hidden beneath all that winter. You imagined what he would look like kneeling before you with a dagger pressed gently against his handsome throat during the duel.
Beautiful.
You were losing your mind. Somewhere deep in your memory, his voice returned softly,
Human life is ephemeral.
And then another memory followed.A crushed flower falling from his fingers beneath the garden lights. Only for him to place a new blossom carefully into your hair moments later.
As though even death itself could not stop him from offering life back to you.
Winter and spring.
Sapphires and rubies.
Death and the girl who still believed flowers bloomed after frost.
Perhaps that was the cruelest thing fate had ever done. Not binding Persephone and Hades together. But creating two souls so terribly opposite that they could not stop orbiting each other anyway.
And somewhere beneath the earth, in a kingdom built from endings, spring quietly reached for death, while death, against all reason, reached back.
__________________
The first week after the ball passed strangely, like the entire Underworld had inhaled and forgotten how to breathe properly afterward. You and Jo had started avoiding each other, not intentionally at first (the lie you both told yourselves).
Training schedules became inconveniently different and meals no longer aligned. The garden Hades had planted for Persephone somehow always seemed empty whenever you wandered into it now, silver flowers swaying softly beneath the eternal twilight with no music echoing through the trees.
And when Jo played the piano, you listened hidden from somewhere far enough away that he would not notice you. Though you suspected he always did. But it was easier this way, safer, because every interaction between you lately seemed to leave something raw behind afterward. The dance, your hand in his, the necklace, the duel—you hated how aware you had become of him. You hated even more that he seemed equally aware of you.
The only time you had truly been close to him all week happened by accident.
You had fallen asleep in the library sometime after midnight, surrounded by open texts Persephone had assigned you about Underworld law and divine combat rituals. One moment you had been reading by candlelight beneath the enormous painted ceiling and the next?
You woke slowly to warmth brushing against your face, gentle fingers moving strands of hair away from your eyes. For one hazy, sleepy second, you leaned unconsciously toward the familiar warmth of the touch. Then your eyes opened.
Jo—always unfairly beautiful—stood beside the velvet chair where you had fallen asleep, framed by dim candlelight and endless shelves of books. His expression had gone still when he realized you were awake. Neither of you spoke. Then Jo cleared his throat once, sharp and quiet, as though suddenly remembering himself.
“Your neck will hurt if you sleep like that,” he muttered.
And before you could answer, before you could even properly sit up, he turned and walked away through the library shadows, leaving you staring after him with your pulse stumbling painfully against your ribs.
Unfortunately, Persephone allowed you absolutely no time to dwell on any of it. Because your training had become hellish, quite literally.
“You’re hesitating again.” Persephone sighed dramatically from across the arena. “Your standards are far too low for royalty.”
The Queen of the Underworld had stopped treating your lessons gently after the ball. Apparently surviving divine politics and hearing the voices of the dead had only been preparation. Now came combat and the Queen of The Dead was relentless in that matter.
Morning until night, she drilled you through sword forms, dagger techniques, defensive magic and endurance training brutal enough to leave your entire body aching before sunrise even properly arrived beneath the earth.
The voices no longer overwhelmed you, which somewhat terrified you. What had once nearly shattered your mind now moved through you like distant rivers beneath ice. You could hear grief, death and truth and answer it as calmly as a child answers yes for a piece of candy.
You no longer wore the necklace. It felt like tearing away an integral part of you (warm hands at the back of your neck, sapphires and rubies, someone thinking of you gently enough to create beauty for you), but you told yourself you couldn’t.
Three nights earlier, after a particularly vicious training session left your ribs bruised and your hands trembling violently from overexertion, you had wandered half-asleep into one of the palace corridors still wearing the necklace beneath your robes.
And there, at the far end of the hall, you had seen Jo. Collapsed against the wall, one hand pressed sharply against his side, trying to steady himself and your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach. The ache blooming across your own ribs at that exact moment matched the tension in his face perfectly.
You stopped wearing the necklace after that. No matter how much your fingers still reached instinctively for your throat every morning, no matter how empty your skin suddenly felt without it there.
The consequences arrived quickly. Training became harder without the jewels dulling the voices and pain for you. Your body began wearing exhaustion openly now—dark shadows beneath your eyes, a slight slowing in your movements, your laughter growing rarer. Even Yunah had begun watching you with worried eyes.
“You should rest more,” she urged softly one evening while helping rebind your bruised wrist.
“I’m fine.” The oracle’s lie as always slipped from your mouth.
But Persephone’s training never softened. If anything, it grew harsher the weaker you became. Because the Queen of the Underworld understood something you did not yet fully grasp: Godhood was survival. And survival rarely cared for gentleness.
Jo noticed everything—every tired smile, every wince you tried hiding, every time your hands trembled after training. He noticed how the brightness in you had dimmed slightly these past days, like spring sunlight trapped behind clouds. It terrified him.
Because you were still beautiful, achingly so. But now there was exhaustion threaded through your softness and Jo hated that he understood exactly why.
Nicholas found him in the training arena one night long after everyone else had gone. Jo stood alone beneath silver torchlight driving his sword through practice forms viciously enough to splinter marble beneath his feet.
“You’re brooding again,” Nicholas observed.
“I’m training.” Jo said, not taking his eyes off of his movements. Nicholas watched him carefully for a moment before speaking again.
“She stopped wearing it, didn’t she?” The silence answered for him and Nicholas sighed softly. “Well.” He leaned lazily against a pillar. “At least now we know she’s not selfish.”
Jo’s jaw tightened. “That was never a concern.” The concern was far worse actually—you had chosen pain the moment you realized it hurt him too.
And Jo did not know what to do with that. He had spent years convincing himself that attachment weakened people, that love ruined judgment, that mortality was too fragile to trust. And now every time he wore the blindfold meant to clear his mind after training, he saw only you.
Sleeping beneath library candlelight, laughing in the ballroom, standing beneath silver trees with flowers tucked into your hair.
Beautiful oracle.
Sweet little lamb.
Spring reaching carefully toward death without realizing death had already begun reaching back.
But he reached his limit today.
Training had ended early for him for once. Nicholas had been dragged away by Ares for some combat exercise, leaving Jo free hours before sunset beneath the earth. He should have returned to his chambers. Instead, without consciously deciding to, his feet carried him toward your side of the palace. The Underworld halls stretched long and dark around him as he walked, silver flames flickering softly against black marble.
“Again!”
He heard Persephone scream in a commander’s voice. The sound echoed sharply through the corridor ahead, followed immediately by your voice—strained and breathless.
“I’m trying—”
“Trying is not enough!”
Something cold twisted violently in his chest. Before he fully thought it through, Jo moved toward the training arena. And the second he stepped near the doorway, his stomach dropped.
The chamber pulsed with death. Voices—thousands of them. The entire arena swirled with silver-black mist while whispers clawed violently through the air, overlapping grief and sorrow and agony pouring from every direction at once.
You stood at the center of it all, barely standing. Your knees trembled visibly beneath you while blood trickled slowly from your nose down across your lips. One hand pressed hard against your temple as though trying to physically hold your mind together.
Persephone circled you calmly from across the arena floor. “Control them,” she commanded sharply.
You gasped softly as another wave of voices crashed through the chamber. The dead were screaming, crying, begging, for a chance at salvation, a second life (Human life is ephemeral) and you stood, powerless in the eye of the storm. Jo could physically feel the pressure of it from the doorway alone. You were drowning inside it.
“I can’t—”
“Yes you can.” Persephone’s voice cracked like a whip through the arena. “Take the pain.” Another pulse hit and you staggered violently. “Control it!” Jo moved before thinking.
“Stop.”
The word cut cleanly through the chamber. Persephone glanced toward the doorway briefly but did not halt.
“Again,” she ordered. The voices surged harder. You made a broken sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry, your body folding slightly forward beneath the sheer weight of it. Something inside Jo snapped.
“Stop.” Sharper this time, Persephone still ignored him.
“Do not run from it,” she told you coldly. “The Underworld will not soften itself for you merely because you’re frightened.”
Your breathing turned ragged. Jo could see your hands shaking violently now, your vision blurring, the exhaustion already breaking your body apart after weeks of relentless training.
Enough was enough. The shadows around the chamber darkened sharply.
“Persephone.”
Her name echoed differently coming from him this time, not a request but a warning this time. The Queen of the Underworld finally turned fully toward him then.
“You are interrupting training.” Persephone said evenly.
“And you are breaking her.”
Silence cracked through the arena. You looked up weakly at him from the center of the chamber, dazed and trembling. Jo’s chest tightened painfully at the sight.
Persephone’s gaze sharpened. “She is hesitating.”
“She’s exhausted.”
“And she’ll die if she cannot control this power!”
That silenced him for exactly one heartbeat. Because she was right, cruelly so. But still, Jo looked back toward you again. At the blood, at the trembling, at the sheer overwhelming pain hollowing your expression apart. If Persephone pushed you any further right now—you would break.
So quietly, without taking his eyes off you, Jo summoned him. Cold flooded the room and a moment later, another presence entered behind him. Death wearing a crown, Hades stepped silently into the training arena.
Persephone sighed. “You summoned him?”
Hades’ dark gaze swept slowly across the arena, across the death magic flooding the room and you barely standing in the center. Then finally toward Persephone.
“Enough.” He said calmly, “Enough, dearest.” The entire arena obeyed and the voices vanished like a storm cut cleanly from the sky. The crushing pressure disappeared from the chamber so suddenly it left a ringing silence behind.
And the second it did, your body gave out. You collapsed hard onto the marble floor, gasping violently for breath.
Your hands shook uncontrollably against the stone while air struggled back into your lungs in ragged, uneven pulls. Blood still streaked faintly beneath your nose and your vision swam so badly the world dissolved into silver blurs.
“Darling.”
His hands were always so warm. How funny, death could be as warm as a mother’s embrace.
Jo dropped to his knees beside you, one arm sliding carefully around your shoulders before lifting you against his chest.
“There you are.” He murmured quietly. Your entire body trembled violently against him and Jo’s heart twisted painfully at the feeling. You were freezing.
“It hurts.” You whispered weakly before you could stop yourself. Something inside him nearly shattered hearing it.
“I know.” He said softly.
Carefully, impossibly gently for someone born to become death, Jo gathered you fully into his arms and pulled you closer against his chest.
“It’s alright,” he murmured near your hair. “Just breathe for me.”
Your fingers weakly curled into the fabric of his training robes and the contact nearly undid him. Across the arena, Persephone watched silently now while Hades stood beside her like a shadow given form.
“You pushed her too far.” Jo said without looking up.
“I know.” Persephone’s expression barely flickered. “She has to survive this,”
Jo tightened his hold around you protectively. “She won’t survive if you destroy her first!”
You made another soft sound against his chest then, weaker this time. Jo immediately looked back down at you.
“Stay awake.” He said quickly. Your eyes struggled to focus on him—beautiful eyes, exhausted eyes, still searching for him even through the haze of pain.
“Hey, hey, hey.” He whispered softly, brushing hair back from your face with trembling hands. “Stay with me.”
Your lips parted faintly and then your body suddenly went limp in his arms. Jo froze and he felt pure terror rushing through his body for one horrible second. And then he felt your breathing.
You’d fainted, only fainted.
Relief hit him so hard it felt painful. Without another word, Jo slid one arm beneath your knees and lifted you into his arms, handling you like you were a soft petal.
Hades watched him quietly and his successor, before turning toward the arena doors, met his gaze only briefly, a silent gratitude passing between them. The King of the Dead gave the smallest nod.
Then Jo carried you out. Your head rested softly against his shoulder while silver torchlight flickered across the corridors beyond the arena. He could still feel the lingering tremors running weakly through your body even unconscious. It made something violent curl inside his chest.
Behind him, silence settled heavily across the training chamber after he disappeared from sight. Persephone looked toward the doorway long after Jo had gone.
“He loves her already,” she murmured quietly.
“Yes” Hades folded his arms calmly. “As I loved you.”
Persephone’s gaze lowered toward the lingering traces of death magic still curled across the marble. “He’ll hate me for this.”
“He already does, dearest.” That earned the faintest laugh from her.
Then slowly, her expression dimmed again. “If only he knew,” she whispered softly. Hades looked toward her. Persephone’s eyes remained fixed on the doorway where Jo had carried you away.
“If only he knew what she did.”
___________
Consciousness returned slowly.
Your body felt unbearably heavy, every limb weighed down by exhaustion so deep it settled somewhere inside your bones. For a long moment you remained still beneath unfamiliar blankets, listening to the faint crackling of firelight somewhere nearby.
Firelight? No, not fire.
Silver candles.
You forced your eyes open carefully. Black marble veined faintly with silver stretched overhead while dark curtains drifted lazily around enormous windows that overlooked the twilight of the Underworld. The room itself was dimly lit with low flames flickering softly in ornate candle stands.
This was not your chambers. Panic flickered weakly through you and you tried sitting up too quickly which was a grave mistake. Pain shot violently through your ribs and head at once, drawing a soft gasp from your throat before dizziness slammed back into you.
“Easy.”
You turned weakly toward the source of the voice, to see Jo sitting beside the bed. He leaned forward immediately the second he saw you trying to move, one hand carefully steadying your shoulder before gently helping prop you against the carved headboard instead.
“You’re alright,” he murmured.
He looked exhausted—dark hair slightly disheveled, sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms, glasses discarded somewhere nearby. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes too, as though he had not slept.
You looked down and realized your training robes were gone, replaced instead by a soft sleeping gown far more comfortable against your aching skin with bandages wrapped carefully around your wrists and ribs beneath the fabric.
Immediately horrified, you looked back up at him. “Did you change my clothes?”
Jo blinked once, then immediately looked offended. “Gods, no, Yunah did,” he clarified dryly. “I enjoy living.”
You relaxed slightly against the pillows, though your body still ached terribly. For a moment neither of you spoke. The room felt strangely comfortable around him.
Jo reached toward the small table beside the bed and lifted a steaming cup filled with amber liquid. “Drink this.”
You eyed it suspiciously. “Will it kill me?”
“Not immediately.” A faint smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth. “It’s a tonic.” He handed the cup to you, though his fingers lingered briefly against yours to steady the trembling in your hands when he noticed it. At least that was what he told himself.
You took a cautious sip and the taste surprised you—bittersweet roots softened with honey and something floral underneath. “This is good.” Jo looked amused by your surprise. “You made this?” You blinked at him over the rim of the cup as he nodded, “You know herbal medicine?”
“A little.” The mixture was far too balanced for amateur work. You took another slow sip before looking at him again.
“I like herbs too,” you said. “Back at the temple I used to help prepare remedies for the priestesses sometimes.”
Jo listened without interrupting. The soft silver candlelight caught against the sharp line of his jaw while he sat beside the bed, one arm resting loosely against the sheets near you. Despite the cold elegance of his chambers, the room felt warm.
You took another sip of the tonic. “It tastes familiar,” you murmured thoughtfully. “Did you use a flower?”
“Asphodel.”
Your eyes lifted. “The flower of the dead?”
Jo nodded. “It dulls pain when prepared correctly.”
You looked down at the cup again with softer understanding. For a moment silence settled comfortably between you both again before curiosity stirred quietly inside you. “Where did you learn all this?”
Jo stilled faintly, not enough for anyone else to notice. But you noticed him now. Always.
“My mother,” he answered after a moment. The words came softer than usual. “When I was a child she used to grow herbs herself.” His gaze drifted absently toward the silver flames nearby. “She taught me how to identify poisonous roots before I learned how to properly read.”
Something tightened gently in your chest hearing that. “My mother taught me too.” Jo looked back toward you then. “She used to dry lavender above our chambers,” you murmured quietly, the memory washing over you softly. “The entire temple smelled like herbs half the time because of her.” A tiny laugh escaped you. “The priestesses hated it.”
Jo’s mouth curved. “I would’ve liked her.”
Before you could answer, pain tore through you, sudden, sharp and violent. Your breath caught immediately as agony crashed hard through your ribs and skull all at once, stealing the air from your lungs. The cup nearly slipped from your trembling hands.
Jo moved instantly. “Hey—”
A broken gasp escaped you as your vision blurred violently again. Your body folded forward instinctively beneath the sudden wave of pain. Your forehead fell against his shoulder, panting and shaking. Jo’s entire body went rigid for one startled heartbeat.
“I know,” he murmured quickly.
One arm wrapped carefully around your back to steady you while the other reached toward the bedside table drawer. You barely registered him pulling something out before you felt cool jewels brush against your skin.
Jo fastened the necklace around your throat quickly, fingers moving with practiced urgency at the clasp behind your neck. Almost instantly, the agony eased. You exhaled shakily against his shoulder. And then realization hit you; your hand weakly caught around his wrist.
“No,” you whispered breathlessly. “Jo—”
“It’s fine.”
“It hurts you.”
His expression barely shifted. “I can handle it.”
You tried pulling back enough to look at him properly. “That isn’t fair.” A strange look crossed his face then, something almost sad.
“Oracle,” he murmured quietly, brushing damp hair away from your forehead carefully, “do you really think I care about fairness right now?”
Your chest tightened painfully. Jo leaned back slightly against the headboard afterward, still keeping one arm securely around you when another weaker tremor passed through your body.
“It won’t affect me as much,” he said more gently this time. “Not like it affects you.”
You hated how calm he sounded about hurting himself for your sake. But god, you were so tired. Your head still rested weakly against his shoulder while his heartbeat moved slow and steady beneath your cheek.
“You shouldn’t do this,” you whispered faintly.
Jo looked down at you quietly for a long moment. Then softly, “And yet I will.”
The room fell quiet after that, akin to the somber of winter nights, soft and heavy and intimate. You remained curled weakly against Jo’s shoulder beneath the blankets, the necklace cool against your throat now that the pain had dulled enough for you to think clearly again. He never once moved away. One arm still rested securely around you, steady and grounding and far too easy to lean into.
You listened quietly to the slow rhythm of his breathing. To his heartbeat beneath your cheek. To the comfort of him.
“May I ask you something?”
Jo glanced down at you. “You already are.”
Despite yourself, your mouth twitched faintly. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He didn’t tell you no. You hesitated briefly before asking.
“What were you like…..before?” You felt him go still beneath your cheek, “When you were human,” you clarified. Silence and you immediately regretted asking. “You don’t have to answer if—”
“I was a prince.”
The words startled you enough that you looked up immediately. Jo’s gaze remained fixed somewhere distant across the room now.
“A prince?” you repeated softly.
A faint smile touched his mouth. “Shocking, I know.”
You tried imagining it. Jo dressed in royal silks beneath sunlight instead of shadows. Jo smiling easily. Jo human. Your chest hurt at the thought.
“My kingdom was…” He paused slightly, searching for the word. “Lively.” Something gentler entered his voice then. “We had musicians in the palace gardens every evening. Festivals constantly. My mother hated silence, so the palace was always full of noise.” A quieter breath escaped him. “Flowers everywhere.”
Spring.
You listened carefully without interrupting. Jo rarely spoke about himself.
“When I was younger,” he continued, “I used to sneak out of lessons to sit with the servants in the kitchens.” An amused breath left him. “They made better company than nobles.”
You smiled faintly against his shoulder. “I can believe that.”
“So could my tutors unfortunately.” For one second, you glimpsed him. Not Hades’ successor, not death. Just a boy once loved by sunlight.
“One winter another kingdom invaded us.”
The softness vanished from his voice entirely. Jo continued staring ahead as your breathing stilled.
“They came at night.” Something terrible moved beneath the calmness in his tone now, the kind of calm only grief could create. “I watched my father die first.” His jaw tightened. “Then my brothers.” A pause. “My mother lasted longer than the rest.”
Jo spoke like someone reciting history, too practiced and detached as though feeling it properly would destroy him.
“The palace burned by morning,” he finished quietly.
You didn’t know what to say. There were no words large enough for grief like that. You suddenly understood why he looked at life like something fragile and temporary. Why he spoke about mortality like a curse. Why spring frightened death so much.
“Hades found me afterward.” Jo finally glanced down toward you then, dark eyes unreadable. “And apparently,” he said with quiet bitterness, “an oracle had told them to attack us.”
The world stopped and your blood ran cold instantly.
Oracle.
The word echoed through your chest like a scream. Your fingers tightened weakly against Jo’s robes before you could stop yourself, heartbeat suddenly loud and frantic beneath the terrible silence now stretching between you both.
You had advised generals in the past, kings and councils; warriors kneeling before Apollo’s altar with blood already staining their hands before battle had even begun. You had watched maps spread open across temple floors while men whispered of invasion routes and weak borders and kingdoms vulnerable after winter famine.
And you had answered them with your false visions, your patterns and your logic and your probability. You had studied politics your entire life. Observed noble houses, trade routes, rivalries, military weaknesses. Sometimes it had felt less like prophecy and more like strategy dressed in divine gold.
Most of the time you never learned what happened afterward.The wars became distant stories eventually. Cities fell, kings died and life continued. Your stomach twisted violently at the next thought.
Not many true oracles existed. not many temples possessed enough political influence for kingdoms to consult before war. A horrible thought crawled slowly through your mind.
“What kingdom?” you asked softly.
Jo frowned faintly at your expression. “What?”
“Your kingdom,” you repeated weakly. “What was its name?”
Something in your face must have frightened him then. You saw it immediately—the subtle shift in his eyes. Still he answered.
“Lunaris.”
The world shattered.
No.
No no no.
You knew that name.
Gods, you knew it.
A kingdom swallowed by invasion after a winter famine weakened their borders. You remembered the generals kneeling before Apollo’s altar years ago asking whether conquest would succeed before spring arrived.
You had told them yes. You had advised speed. Nightfall, winter, strike before reinforcements arrived from the southern provinces. You remembered it perfectly, because it had been one of your cleverest political readings. Your blood turned ice cold.
Jo’s entire body went still beside you.
“…No,” he said quietly at first.
You looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. And Jo suddenly understood.
“No,” he repeated again, sharper now. “No.”
Your lips parted soundlessly. You couldn’t breathe.
“It was you.” He said.
A realization. The fates had to intervene somewhere. You shook your head, tears already burning painfully behind your eyes.
“I didn’t know—”
“That was your temple.” The words landed like knives.
“I didn’t know,” you whispered again, voice breaking this time. “Jo, I swear to you I didn’t know—”
“You told them how to invade us.” Anger entered his voice now, blood cold anger. You flinched visibly.
“I thought—” Your breathing turned uneven. “I thought it was just another kingdom, I didn’t know there were people—”
“There are always people.”
The sharpness of his tone cut straight through you. Silence crashed heavily through the room afterward. Jo stared at you like he didn’t recognize you anymore. And that hurt you more than the voices ever had.
“I was a child,” he said quietly. The fury had become something worse now—grief. “My brothers were children.”
You covered your mouth shakily as tears finally spilled down your face. “I know.”
“No,” Jo snapped suddenly, pulling away from you enough that the loss of warmth felt immediate and awful. “You don’t.”
The movement made pain shoot through your body again but you barely noticed it. Jo looked devastated, as though something precious had cracked apart inside him.
“And to think I could have loved you.” He said before he could stop himself, “Someone like you.”
The room went dead silent.
Jo looked almost horrified by his own confession, breathing uneven now as though the admission itself had physically wounded him. His dark eyes searched your face only briefly before something cold slammed shut behind them again.
Walls, death rebuilding himself. You reached toward him despite the tears burning down your face.
“Jo—”
“Don’t.”
His voice broke which hurt more than if he had shouted. You had never seen him look truly shaken before. He looked ruined.
Beautifully ruined.
Like death had finally discovered the grief it imparted.
Jo dragged a hand harshly through his dark hair before stepping further away from the bed entirely now, as though distance itself might save him from this. From you. The silver candlelight flickered violently across his expression. Anger, grief, love twisted into something ugly and bleeding.
You had done that.
“I didn’t know,” you whispered again helplessly. “If I had known—”
“But you didn’t care enough to know.” Jo laughed a broken laugh. “An oracle speaks,” he murmured bitterly, “and kingdoms burn.”
Each word landed as cruel as a bandit’s knife. You could barely breathe around the guilt crushing your ribs apart.
Jo stared at you for one final terrible moment then. At your tear stained cheeks, at the necklace round your throat. At the girl he had once started to love before learning she had unknowingly helped destroy his life. Something inside him seemed to fracture quietly. And when he finally spoke again, his voice sounded like winter.
“I will not hold back during the duel.”
Your head snapped upward instantly. Jo’s expression remained terrifyingly calm now.
“I mean it,” he said softly. “Do not expect mercy from me because I once cared about you.”
“Jo—”
“I am not above killing a goddess.”
Jo turned sharply toward the doors, the shadows in the chamber darkening around him as though even the Underworld itself felt his fury.
You watched helplessly as he walked away, not looking back even once. The doors slammed shut behind him with a sound like a coffin sealing. The room felt unbearably empty. The silver candles still flickered softly. The blankets still smelled faintly of herbs and winter and him. Your pulse still echoed painfully in your throat.
But Jo was gone.
You stared at the closed doors for a long time without moving. As though if you looked hard enough, he might come back. As though the last hour had not happened at all. As though kingdoms had not burned because of your words.
Your hands trembled weakly against the blankets as tears slid silently down your face again. Somewhere beneath the grief and horror and heartbreak, one terrible thought kept circling endlessly inside your mind.
I could have loved you.
Whatever fragile thing had bloomed beneath silver trees and star-covered ceilings had finally withered tonight. You lowered your gaze slowly toward the necklace still resting against your throat.
Hades’ colour.
Jo’s colour.
The necklace glimmered faintly beneath the candlelight like frozen tears. And suddenly you remembered him standing beneath spring flowers in the garden, soft music spilling from elegant fingers while he called you little lamb with amusement curling quietly beneath the words.
Beautiful oracle.
Sweet little lamb.
How gently death had once spoken your name.
How easily spring had wandered toward him anyway. And perhaps that had always been the tragedy of it all.
Because lambs were born only to be led toward slaughter. And beautiful things?
Beautiful things rarely survived the winter.
_______________
The day of the duel arrived cold.
The Underworld never truly changed temperature beneath its eternal twilight skies. But the palace itself felt colder and quieter as though the dead lingering beneath its foundations had paused to wait for what would happen tonight.
You sat alone at the edge of your bed staring at your sword. The polished silver blade rested across the dark blankets before you, gleaming faintly beneath the dim candlelight of your chambers. Persephone had commissioned it herself only days ago. Elegant and deadly, vines carved carefully into the hilt like spring wrapping itself around violence.
A goddess’ weapon.
Your weapon.
You hated it. Your fingers curled weakly against your lap as your eyes traced the blade again. You were healed now, physically at least. The bruises had faded, the tremors had stopped and the voices obeyed you now when summoned instead of ripping you apart from the inside. Persephone had looked almost proud during your final training session yesterday. But none of that mattered. Because every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face.
I could have loved you.
You swallowed hard and looked away from the sword entirely. The necklace still rested around your throat; you should have taken it off and yet you hadn’t been able to. Pathetic for a goddess. A sharp knock suddenly echoed through the room before the doors opened without waiting for permission.
“Good morning, future queen of the dead.”
You blinked in surprise. Yuma strolled into your chambers carrying an entire tray of food balanced effortlessly in one hand. He looked wildly out of place against the quiet heaviness filling the room.
“You look awful.” He announced immediately.
You stared at him flatly. “How comforting.”
“I try my best.” Yuma kicked the doors shut behind him before crossing the room and setting the tray down atop the nearby table. Fruits, warm bread and honey filled the platters, though your stomach twisted too hard to feel hungry.
“You haven’t eaten, have you?” he accused instantly.
“I’m dueling death in front of an audience of gods in an hour.”
“Yes, tragic.” Yuma sighed dramatically. “Still not an excuse to starve yourself.” You smiled at his words and Yuma chuckled. He glanced briefly toward the sword still laying across your bed and whatever amusement had lingered in his expression dimmed slightly.
“You’re scared,” he observed quietly.
You laughed weakly beneath your breath. “Brilliant observation.”
“No,” Yuma said more gently now. “Not of the duel.” Yuma leaned one shoulder casually against the table nearby, studying you carefully for a moment before speaking again. “He’s miserable too, you know.” Death is always miserable. Unlike spring, who chose her sadness very rarely.
“He should be.”
“That doesn’t mean he enjoys it.”
You looked away sharply. “Does he really hate me?”
“He’s trying to.”
You stared down at your hands quietly while distant music from the palace halls drifted faintly through the silence outside your chambers. Preparations for tonight had already begun. The Underworld waited for blood.
“He hasn’t slept properly in days,” Yuma admitted. “Nicholas nearly killed him during training yesterday because he kept spacing out.”
A weak laugh escaped you despite everything. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It was hilarious actually.” Another tiny smile tugged at your mouth. Yuma looked relieved after seeing it. “He didn’t mean whatever it is he said.”
You thought immediately of Jo’s voice.
I am not above killing a goddess.
Your chest tightened painfully.
I could have loved you.
“Yes he did.”
There are very few things in this world that are always true. Death was one of them—arriving for the young and old, the kings and the peasants, mortals and divine beings.
And for spring of course.
Death always ran after spring.
________________
The arena glittered like a wound beneath the earth.
Gold and silver fire blazed from towering braziers lining the enormous circular colosseum while thousands of dark marble seats curved upward into endless shadows above. Olympus had gathered tonight, gods and their successors.
Music drifted softly through the arena at first, low strings echoing across black marble floors while silver goblets gleamed in divine hands. Above the arena an artificial night sky stretched, stars burning cold and endless overhead exactly the way Persephone liked them.
You stood at the entrance tunnel trying not to shake. Black armor wrapped carefully around your body, fitted far lighter than mortal battle armor but no less deadly. Silver vines curled across the dark metal like winter flowers while your sword rested against your hip. Persephone had chosen black for you.
“Spring grows best in darkness,” she had said simply. You wondered if she regretted that choice now. A herald’s voice echoed across the arena.
“Persephone’s successor.”
Your pulse thundered; you stepped forward and the arena exploded into noise. Gods leaned forward from their seats while silver applause echoed softly through the massive colosseum. You caught glimpses immediately as you walked toward the center platform.
Nicholas sitting beside Ares, blonde hair bright beneath firelight. Yuma perched carelessly against Hermes’ throne, watching you with visible concern. Euijoo beside Hestia, hands clasped tightly. Fuma calm and unreadable. Yudai radiant as sunlight itself beneath Apollo’s side. And high above all of them Hades and Persephone seated together upon the black throne overlooking the arena.
Then another voice rang out.
“Hades’ successor.”
The atmosphere changed instantly. Cold swept through the arena. The shadows along the walls deepened as Jo emerged from the opposite entrance tunnel. And your breath caught in your throat.
He wore white armor.
Beautiful white armor edged with silver and black, gleaming beneath the flames like moonlight carved into human form. His dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead while the arena lights caught sharply against the elegant line of his jaw.
Death dressed like heaven.
The contrast between you both struck the arena immediately.
Black and white.
Spring and death.
Jo’s expression remained unreadable as he crossed the arena toward you, sword already resting loosely at his side. He looked beautiful. You stopped several feet across from each other at the center of the arena floor. Silence, heavy and expectant, spread slowly outward afterward.
You searched his face desperately for something, anything. Anger, hatred, mercy, love. Jo finally looked fully at you then. And for one suspended heartbeat, his eyes softened when his gaze went to your throat.
The necklace was gone. There was nothing standing between you and him now. Something unreadable flickered across his face before the softness disappeared entirely again. His expression sharpened, beautifully cruel.
Winter returned.
Across the arena Persephone rose gracefully from her throne while Hades stood beside her, shadows pooling heavily around the marble beneath his feet. Persephone’s voice echoed clear across the colosseum.
“Let the duel begin.”
Hades raised one hand calmly. The arena bells rang. And both of you moved into a fighting position at the exact same moment.
Spring and Death—who would fall to their knees first?The first clash of your swords rang through the arena like a bell, sharp, violent and melodic. A collective murmur swept through the watching crowd as steel met steel. The force of the impact jolted through your arms instantly but you held firm, staring directly into Jo’s eyes from barely inches away.
His white armor gleamed brilliantly against your black. Then he twisted suddenly and you barely managed to parry the next strike. The duel began moving almost immediately afterward—not like a battle at first but like something stranger.
A dance.
Jo circled you slowly across the marble arena floor, sword glinting lazily in one elegant hand while you matched every movement instinctively, boots scraping softly against stone. The watching gods had gone almost entirely silent now.
Steel flashed again. You ducked low this time, turning sharply before striking upward toward his side. Jo blocked effortlessly, the clash sending silver sparks scattering between you both. Gods, he was fast.
“Your footing improved,” he observed coolly while deflecting another strike.
You glared breathlessly. “Thank you.”
“You’re still hesitating.”
“So are you.”
For the briefest second, something flickered in his expression. Then Jo attacked again. The next sequence happened so quickly it barely felt real.
Steel rang violently through the arena as you both moved faster now, swords colliding again and again in a dizzying blur beneath the roaring silver flames overhead. Your bodies moved around each other instinctively, dangerously close before separating again.
Step. Turn. Strike. Parry.
The duel truly did resemble dancing now. And you couldn't help but think back to the ball. How gentle death’s hands were at your waist. How calming it felt to be almost loved by death.
Jo spun suddenly to your left and your sword caught his with a violent crack before both of you twisted apart again, breaths uneven now. Your pulse thundered painfully in your ears. The voices beneath the arena stirred. You shoved them down hard. Jo seemed to notice.
“You’re controlling them better.” He murmured.
You swallowed hard before lunging again. This time Jo grabbed your wrist mid-motion. He pulled you sharply toward him instead of away.
The arena blurred around you both. Your chest nearly collided against his armor while your swords locked between your bodies, faces barely inches apart now beneath thousands of watching eyes. You could hear his breathing; feel the warmth of him despite everything.
“Jo—”
“Watch out, little lamb.”
And suddenly he moved. You barely reacted in time before Jo twisted sharply, breaking your balance entirely. Your sword slipped for one horrifying second and he took advantage immediately, forcing you backward across the arena floor at frightening speed.
The crowd erupted. You blocked one strike, then another and then another. Jo advanced relentlessly now, armor flashing beneath silver light while his sword drove you steadily backward through the center of the arena. No softness remained in him anymore.
Death finally remembering itself.
Your back hit stone, a pillar at the edge of the arena. Jo’s sword slammed against the marble beside your head before sliding instantly to your throat. You froze completely beneath him. Jo stood terrifyingly close now, the blade rested lightly against the skin of your neck.
One movement—that was all it would take for his revenge.
The sword remained pressed lightly against your throat, cold enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Around you, the arena had gone completely silent beneath the weight of the moment. Even the gods were still. Jo’s chest rose unevenly beneath the armor as he stared down at you. You looked terrified.
Not of dying, but of him. Death’s heart stuttered.
The shadows around the arena curled restlessly at his feet, eager, whispering like hungry things beneath the floor. Death stood victorious now. One final strike and the duel would end. His grip tightened slightly around the sword hilt.
A memory surfaced violently through the rage.
Warm sunlight.
A garden from another lifetime.
His mother kneeling beside him when he had still been small enough to fit beneath her arm. Flowers scattered across her lap while she gently guided his tiny hands around a crushed blossom.
“Strength without mercy,” she had told him softly, “becomes cruelty.” He remembered laughing then, young and careless, while she tucked the flower behind his ear despite his complaints.
“You must never let grief turn you monstrous, Jo.”
The memory vanished, only for another to strike immediately afterward.
Silver lights drifting through the Underworld garden. You sitting beside him beneath flowering branches while weaving together a crown from pale blooms with furrowed concentration. Jo remembered scoffing quietly.
“Flowers suit spring, not death.”
You had looked up at him then, smiling softly.
“No,” you murmured while carefully placing the finished flower crown atop his dark hair, “I think death looks much prettier adorned in flowers.”
Your fingers brushing his temple gently, your laughter afterward.
Beautiful oracle.
Sweet little lamb.
My spring.
Jo hesitated, only half a second, but half a second was enough. Your eyes sharpened instantly and you kicked him hard backward.
Jo stumbled away as you twisted sharply out from beneath the sword. The arena erupted immediately into noise again while you lunged forward before he could properly recover. Steel clashed violently. Jo blocked your first strike but the second nearly caught his shoulder before he spun aside. The momentum shifted instantly now, both of you moving quickly across the arena floor again beneath roaring voices from the crowd.
Your breathing came hard and so did his. And you saw little drops of something in his angelic eyes.
Mercy? Forgiveness?
Love?
And Jo realized with a horrifying clarity, he still could not bring himself to kill you.
At some point the elegant rhythm of the duel disappeared beneath sheer exhaustion, both of you moving now on instinct alone beneath the blazing silver fires of the arena. Steel kept crashing violently through the colosseum while gods leaned forward from their thrones watching spring and death tear themselves apart.
Jo blocked another strike barely in time before stumbling backward again across the marble floor. White armor now bore deep scratches across the chest and shoulders while strands of dark hair clung damply against his forehead.
You probably looked no better—black armor cracked at one shoulder, breathing ragged, hands shaking around your sword. Still neither of you stopped.
The voices beneath the arena screamed around you now, swelling louder with every drop of blood and fury soaking into the marble. Death magic curled wildly through the air while flowers had begun blooming strangely from fractures in the arena floor beneath your feet.
Spring answering violence.
Steel rang again. Jo’s sword nearly slipped from his grasp this time. You froze for half a heartbeat noticing it. You realised how truly exhausted he was. Jo saw the realization cross your face and laughed softly beneath his breath.
Broken.
Beautiful.
Death lowered his sword.
The arena went still immediately. Your pulse thundered painfully as Jo took one unsteady step backward before finally dropping heavily to one knee before you. Gasps echoed throughout the crowd.
“Jo—”
He ignored you. His breathing came uneven now while silver firelight flickered sharply across his pale face. Jo tilted his head upward toward you. Exposing his throat to your blade.
Offering it.
Death kneeling before spring.
Jo’s dark eyes found yours again. No hatred remained there anymore. Only grief.
Love.
“You win.” He said softly. Your sword trembled violently in your hand, “You win, beloved spring.”
“No.”
Jo’s gaze sharpened faintly. “Do it.”
“Jo no I—”
“Darling, please.”
“I said no!”
The words cracked out of you harder this time. You stared at him kneeling there before you beneath thousands of watching eyes and suddenly all you could see was the boy beneath the crown of flowers. The man who brewed medicine for you when you were hurting. The angel in hell who played music beneath silver trees.
Death.
Your death.
Your sword clattered loudly against the marble floor. A collective gasp swept through the arena. Then you moved.
Before Jo could react properly, you dropped to your knees in front of him and grabbed him hard against you instead. Jo inhaled sharply in genuine shock as you collapsed forward, exhausted beyond reason now, your forehead pressing desperately against his shoulder.
“I can’t,” you whispered brokenly.
His arms wrapped around you, the force of it nearly destroying him. And then the last of Jo’s strength gave out too. He collapsed backward heavily onto the arena floor with you still clinging to him, both of you breathing hard beneath the endless silver lights overhead. The crowd watched in complete silence.
Black armor tangled with white.
Spring curled against death.
Jo’s trembling hand slowly rose toward the back of your head, cradling you there against his chest as though shielding you from the entire world. And somewhere above the arena Persephone smiled, then gracefully she rose from her throne.
“The duel,” the Queen of the Underworld declared warmly into the stunned silence, “is a tie.”
The arena roared around you. Gods speaking over one another, silver goblets lifting, music beginning again somewhere far above the colosseum. But it all sounded distant and muted.
The entire world had drifted far away from where you lay tangled together upon the marble floor.
Jo’s hand remained at the back of your head, fingers threaded weakly through your hair while both of you struggled simply to breathe again. His chest rose unevenly beneath your cheek. You tilted your head upward slowly then. Jo looked down at you at the exact same moment. You smiled—small, exhausted and terribly soft.
“What do we do now?” you whispered.
For the first time in what felt like centuries, Jo laughed, an achingly human sound.
“I have no idea.”
He leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. The silver firelight danced softly across his lashes. Around you, the Underworld celebrated. Above you, stars burned quietly against the endless dark. And there in the center of the arena, Spring and Death rested together at last.
Perhaps Persephone had been right all along.
Fate could place two souls upon the same path.
But love?
Love was the choice to remain when the story became difficult.
To stay after grief.
To stay after the truth.
To stay even after the winter.
And as Jo closed his eyes beside yours beneath the roaring heavens of the Underworld, you realized something beautiful.
Spring had never feared death.
It had only wanted something gentle enough to bloom beside.
___________
A great many things had happened after the duel. For one, the entire Underworld apparently lost its mind.
Yuma had burst dramatically into your chambers the very next morning and declared, “I knew it. I knew you idiots were in love.” Nicholas had demanded to know who technically won the duel while Euijoo calmly informed him that love itself had probably won instead, which earned him a thrown goblet from Nicholas. Fuma merely looked unbearably smug every time either you or Jo entered a room together.
The Queen of the Underworld had smiled at you over breakfast three days ago and said, “You know, Hades also threatened to kill me once.” Apparently that was supposed to be comforting.
Jo had become quieter afterward, softer in ways that surprised both of you. You had talked eventually, really talked. About the kingdom, about the war and about grief.
One night beneath silver lanterns in the garden, you had confessed everything you could remember about the prophecy given to the invaders years ago. How young you had been. How manipulated information often reached oracles incomplete. How guilt had eaten through you your entire life even before knowing what it had cost him. Jo had listened silently through all of it. Then finally he had admitted something too.
“I hated you for exactly one night,” he confessed quietly beneath the willow branches. “And then I hated myself more because I still loved you anyway.”
That had nearly broken your heart. And somewhere between music drifting through silver trees and conversations stretching long past midnight, the anger had slowly stopped feeling larger than the love. Eventually, hesitantly, sitting shoulder to shoulder beneath the stars, you had looked at him and whispered.
“Maybe I want to try loving you properly.”
Jo had stared at you for a very long time after that. Then laughed softly beneath his breath like someone overwhelmed by relief.
“I think,” he murmured carefully, “I want to try too.”
And now—almost three weeks after the duel—you lay beside him beneath Hades’ willow tree.
The garden glowed softly around you beneath drifting silver lights while music from some distant palace hall floated faintly through the air. Spring flowers curled lazily through the grass near your hands and the long willow branches swayed overhead like silk brushing against the stars. Neither of you had spoken in several minutes.
Jo lay beside you with his eyes closed, one arm folded behind his head while the other rested close enough that your fingers brushed occasionally against his.
Comfortable silence—the kind that only existed between people who had finally stopped running from one another. You turned your head slightly toward him.
He looked beautiful like this—neither Hades’ successor nor Death. Just Jo.
Your Jo.
“I love you.”
The words slipped out so naturally it startled you. Silence followed for one second. Then Jo’s fingers found yours completely, threading carefully through them. When he answered, his voice sounded softer than spring rain.
“I love you too.”
A soft, helpless smile curved your lips. You kept your eyes closed, savoring the warmth of his hand in yours, the scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine.
Then, a playful impulse stirred. You focused on the quiet, living magic Persephone’s gift had woven into your soul—the connection to growing things.
On the grass between you, a single, tiny blossom pushed through the soil. It was no grand flower, just a simple, star-shaped bloom of pale blue, the color of a twilight sky remembered. You plucked it gently.
Turning your head, you saw Jo’s eyes were still closed, a look of profound peace on his sharp, beautiful features. With a touch as light as a thought, you tucked the tiny blossom behind his ear, its stem nestling against the dark silk of his hair. His lips twitched. He didn’t open his eyes, but his free hand—the one not holding yours—came up.
A matching blossom, this one a soft, luminous white, sprouted instantly from the grass by his fingertips. He plucked it and reached over to tuck it behind your own ear. His fingers lingered for a moment, tracing the line of your jaw. How sweet it was, for Death to have learnt the beauty of life.
“Show-off,” you murmured, your smile widening. His eyes gleamed behind his glasses with a warm, tender light that was yours alone.
“You started it,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
You laughed, the sound bright and clear in the quiet garden. Seized by a sudden, joyful mischief, you wriggled your fingers against the side of his ribcage where you knew he was ticklish. He jolted, a surprised gasp escaping him.
“Hey—!” he protested, but it was already too late. The dignified successor to Hades, the feared and elegant presence of the Underworld, dissolved into a squirming, laughing mess as you attacked his most vulnerable spots with gleeful determination.
“Truce! Truce!” he managed between breaths, trying to catch your wrists.
“Never!” you declared, rolling onto your knees to gain better leverage, “Is my Hades such a coward?”
What followed was a playful, graceless tangle of limbs and laughter. The willow branches swayed above you, bearing witness to the undignified scuffle. You pushed against his shoulder; he hooked a foot around your ankle. You both tumbled sideways into the soft, flower-strewn grass in a heap of dark fabric and whispered curses and giggles.
Through sheer persistence and a slightly underhanded tickle to your side, Jo managed to flip you onto your back.
He braced his hands on either side of your head, looming over you, his hair disheveled and the little blue blossom still clinging gamely behind his ear. He was breathing heavily, but his eyes were sparkling with pure, unguarded delight.
“Yield?” he asked, his voice husky with laughter.
You looked up at him—your beautiful, sharp, complicated Jo, here in this garden, with flowers in his hair and love in his eyes. You reached up and gently straightened his glasses, which had slipped down his nose.
“Never,” you whispered again. He lowered his head, his forehead resting against yours.
“Good,” he murmured, and his lips found yours, beneath the weeping willow where death and spring had learned to dance.
The kiss began as a soft, lingering promise, a gentle seal upon the word “never.”
His lips were warm, tasting of night air and the faint sweetness of the blossom behind his ear. You sighed into it, your hands coming up to cradle his face, your thumbs brushing the sharp line of his jaw.
Jo’s hands slid from the grass to frame your face, his fingers tangling in your hair. The laughter still echoed in the way he breathed, in the slight shake of his shoulders as he leaned into you, but it transformed into something else—a low, hungry sound that vibrated against your mouth.
You opened for him, and he took the invitation without hesitation. The kiss turned deep, searching, a conversation without words. The playful energy of the tickle-fight still coursed through you, translating now into the press of your body against his, the arch of your back as you sought more of him, the bite of your nails into the fabric of his shirt.
Jo groaned, a rough, beautiful sound that was all yours, and his glasses began to fog from the heat of your shared breath. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he kissed you harder, his tongue sweeping against yours, claiming the gasp you let out.
Finally, with a frustrated, tender grunt, he broke the kiss for just a second. He pulled the glasses off with one hand, tossing them carelessly aside into the soft grass where they glinted like fallen stars. His eyes, now unobstructed, were dark pools of pure want, the silver light of the garden catching in the depths.
“You’re beautiful.” He breathed, “My spring.”Jo kissed you like he was trying to drink the very soul from you, one hand moving to the back of your head to hold you steady, the other roaming down your side, over the curve of your hip.
You met him with equal fervor, pulling him down onto you fully, the weight of him a delicious anchor in this floating garden.
The world narrowed to the scent of him—clean linen and dark earth—and the feel of his lips, his teeth, his tongue. To the sound of your ragged breaths mingling and the distant, forgotten music that seemed to beat in time with your hearts.
Jo’s mouth never left yours as his fingers found the thin straps of your dress, sliding them down your shoulders with a reverence that made your skin prickle with goosebumps. The fabric pooled at your waist, and he broke the kiss only to look at you—to trace the path of moonlight over your collarbones, the swell of your breasts half-exposed in the garden's silver glow.
"You're trembling, darling," Jo murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to come from the earth itself.
His thumb traced your lower lip, then followed the line of your jaw, down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
You could only shake your head, reaching for the buttons of his shirt with fingers that weren't quite steady. The first button gave way, then the second, revealing his chest, the dip of his collarbones you wanted to taste. But when your hands moved to the third, he caught your wrists—gently, but with that implacable strength that reminded you exactly who he was.
"Not yet, my heart," Jo breathed, and the endearment wrapped around you like silk. "I want to feel you first."
He eased you back onto the grass, the blades soft and cool against your bare shoulders. The atmosphere’s perfume enveloped you both as he followed you down, his body a warm shield between you and the vast dark sky. His hand traveled down your side, over the curve of your waist, gripping your hip with a possessiveness that made you gasp.
Your beloved’s mouth found your neck, kissing, sucking, tasting the salt-sweet skin where your pulse hammered. You arched into him, your fingers burying themselves in his dark hair, holding him there as he worked his way lower.
Jo pushed the white fabric down further, exposing your breasts to the night air, and his mouth closed over one nipple with a groan that seemed to resonate through the very ground beneath you.
"Sweet girl.” He said against your skin, the words a hot whisper. "You taste like flowers, darling.”
Your hands clenched in his hair as he lavished attention on your breasts, alternating between gentle nips and soothing laps of his tongue, driving you to the edge of coherence. But his hand was already moving lower, pushing the bunched-up dress further down your thighs, past your hips, until you were left in nothing but your panties. He lifted his head, and the look in his dark eyes made you forget to breathe.
"Let me see you, darling."
His words left his mouth like a prayer. Who were you to deny him?
You lifted your hips, and Jo pulled the dress away completely, tossing it aside to join his glasses in the grass. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs with excruciating slowness, his eyes never leaving your body.
When you were bare beneath him, exposed to the night and to his gaze, he made a sound—low and reverent, as if he were witnessing something sacred.
“Beautiful," he breathed. "My spring, lying open for me like this."
His hand settled on your inner thigh, warm and heavy, and he spread you gently. The grass tickled your skin, the cool air kissed your heat, and Jo—incarnation of death, lord of endings—looked at you like you were the only beginning that mattered.
His fingers traced your folds with exquisite lightness, barely there, teasing, learning. You whimpered, your hips canting toward him instinctively, and his lips curved into a smile that held both tenderness and dark promise.
"So eager, my love. But I want to take my time with you."
Jo pressed a single finger into you, slow and deliberate, and your breath caught in your throat. He watched your face, his eyes never leaving yours, as he worked his finger deeper, curling it just so, finding the spot that made your vision blur. A second finger joined the first, stretching you gently, and the sound you made was half-moan, half-sob.
"That's it, sweet girl," he murmured, his thumb finding your clit in lazy circles. "Let me feel you. Let me hear you."
The garden seemed to hold its breath around you. The flowers leaned in, the stars watched, and the distant music faded to nothing as Jo's fingers moved inside you with a rhythm that spoke of centuries of existence had taught him.
Jo knew your body as if he had always known it—as if in every life, in every season, he had been waiting to touch you just like this. When he withdrew his fingers, you gasped at the emptiness. But he was already shifting, lowering himself, his breath warm against your inner thigh.
"I need to taste you," he said, and it sounded like a confession. "I need to drink you down, darling. Let me."
Death’s mouth found you, and Spring shattered.
Blossomed.
Jo ate you like a starving man—like someone who had walked through eternity without sustenance and had finally found the only thing that could fill him.
His tongue was deft, knowing, sliding through your slick folds with purpose. He circled your clit, then flattened his tongue against it, then sucked gently, and your hips bucked against his mouth.
"Jo—" His name broke from your lips, a desperate, prayerful sound. He hummed against you in answer, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core.
His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, holding you steady as he devoured you. He alternated between long, languid strokes of his tongue and quick, focused flicks that made you see stars behind your closed eyelids.
The grass beneath you was soft and cool, the air thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and sex, overwhelmed by the pleasure of his mouth, the weight of his devotion.
"Please…” you gasped, not knowing what you were asking for more or for release or for him to never stop.
Jo responded by pressing two fingers back into you, curling them in a come-hither motion as his tongue lashed your clit, and the double assault pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry that echoed through the garden, your body arching off the ground, your fingers twisted in his hair so tightly it must have hurt.
But Jo didn’t pull away. He rode you through it, gentling his tongue to soft, soothing laps as you trembled and shuddered beneath him, drinking every last drop of your release like it was the nectar that kept the world turning.
When you finally collapsed, boneless and breathless, he lifted his head. His lips were slick, his chin glistening, and his dark eyes held a satisfaction that was ancient and primal and utterly, devastatingly tender.
"You taste like forever, darling," he said, crawling up your body to hover over you. "Like the first morning of spring."
He kissed you then, slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. And when he pulled back, there was a question in his eyes—patience, wanting, all the time in the world. Death stopped all time for his beloved anyway.
"Now, my love.” Jo whispered against your lips. "Now I'm ready for you."
Jo settled over you, the weight of him pressing you deeper into the grass, and you felt the hard length of him against your thigh—evidence of how much he had wanted this, wanted you. Death had all the time in the world, and he chose to spend every second of it on you.
Jo’s lips found yours again, soft and languid, tasting of you and of the night. One hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone with devastating tenderness.
When your beloved finally broke the kiss, he looked down at you and the emotion in his dark eyes made your chest ache.
"Are you ready for me, my heart?" he asked, his voice rough with want but gentle as a prayer.
You nodded, unable to speak, and your legs parted for him in silent invitation. He guided himself to your entrance, the tip pressing against you with a pressure that made you gasp.
Then he pushed inside—slow, so slow—filling you inch by inch until you were completely full of him, until there was no space between your bodies, no distance between your souls.
For a moment, he stilled, letting you adjust. His forehead dropped to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips.
Fuck you felt him home to Jo, the place he’d been searching for across every damn lifetime. The place where pomegranates grew wild and unchecked, every seed a potent poison of love that felt like nectar to you. For what is death by intoxication when it was your lover you’d meet at the end anyways?
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and your legs locked around his hips. It was as if your bodies were made to fit together like this, two halves of a whole finally reunited.
Jo began to move, each thrust a slow, rolling wave, a push and pull that seemed to echo the turning of the seasons. He slid out until only the tip remained, then pressed back in with exquisite care, filling you completely, touching places inside you that felt like they had been waiting for him since the beginning of time.
His hand found yours in the grass, his fingers intertwining with yours, squeezing gently. You turned your head to look at your joined hands—his fingers long and elegant, holding yours like you were something precious.
"I love you," he said, the words falling from his lips like petals. "I love you, my darling.”Jo loved you in ways he didn’t know he could love. He loved you like the dead loved the warmth of the sun.
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you squeezed his hand back, your voice breaking as you answered, "I love you too, Jo. I love you. I love you."
He kissed you then as he continued to move inside you. Slow, deep, each thrust a declaration, each withdrawal a promise to return. The rhythm built gradually, like a tide coming in, and you rose to meet him, your hips lifting, your body singing in harmony with his.
"God, you feel—" He couldn't finish the sentence, burying his face in your neck instead, his breath hot against your skin as he groaned your name.
Your free hand slid into his hair, cradling the back of his head, holding him close. The grass beneath you was soft, the sky above was infinite, and between them was this—was Jo, was you, was the impossible, beautiful truth of a god of endings and a goddess of beginnings, making something new together.
His pace quickened, just slightly, and you felt the tension coiling in your belly, the heat building with each slow stroke. He was watching you again—those dark eyes fixed on your face, drinking in every expression, every gasp, every flutter of your lashes.
"Cum for me, darling," Jo whispered, his voice a command wrapped in a caress. "Let me feel you come undone around me."
His hand tightened on yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand, and his hips pressed deeper, grinding against you in a way that sent sparks cascading through your veins. You shattered—slowly this time, like dawn breaking over a quiet horizon, your release washing through you in waves that made your entire body tremble.
Jo followed moments later, his own release pulsing inside you, his body shuddering above you as he buried his face in your hair and moaned your name like it was sacred. He collapsed against you, not crushing you, but covering you, protecting you, his heart hammering against your chest in a rhythm that matched your own.
For a long moment, there was only breathing. Only the scent of crushed grass and asphodel. Only the warmth of his body and the steady thrum of his pulse. He lifted his head, and his eyes—soft now, tired and sated and full of wonder—met yours. He brought your joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.
"My heart," he murmured against your skin. "My sweet, beautiful heart."
You smiled, tugging him down for another kiss—soft and lazy and full of promise.
"Yours," you whispered. "Always yours."
____________
The coronation of gods began beneath a sky that did not belong to earth.
The grand hall of the Underworld had been transformed entirely for the ceremony. Endless black marble pillars stretched toward a ceiling painted with constellations that shifted slowly like living stars while silver fire burned from enormous braziers lining the throne room. Flowers climbed through cracks in dark stone—white lilies, narcissus, asphodel, roses blooming beside obsidian.
The entire divine court had gathered. Old gods seated high upon ancient thrones. Successors standing below them dressed in ceremonial silks and armor, waiting for the moment mortal names would finally become divine ones.
You stood near the end of the line beside Jo. His hand brushed yours once, enough to steady your heartbeat. Across the throne room, Persephone smiled knowingly at the sight.
The ceremony began with Apollo.
Golden light flooded the hall as Yudai stepped forward gracefully beneath the gaze of the radiant god himself. Apollo removed the laurel crown from his own head before placing it carefully upon Yudai’s dark hair. The entire hall brightened instantly as sunlight bloomed through the ceiling stars.
And when Yudai opened his eyes again, they shimmered gold. Apollo smiled proudly.
“My light,” the god declared softly. The court erupted into applause.
Then came Aphrodite.
Fuma walked forward clothed in pale rose silks while beauty itself seemed to ripple through the air around him. Aphrodite kissed both his cheeks lovingly before draping jeweled chains across his shoulders like strands of starlight. The room sighed collectively.
Even Nicholas looked briefly enchanted. “Disgusting,” he muttered afterward. Ares laughed loudly from his throne.
“Come here, boy.”
Nicholas strode forward next dressed in crimson armor polished bright as blood. Ares placed a heavy war-forged crown atop his blonde head before gripping his shoulder proudly.
“Try not to start wars immediately,” Ares advised.
Nicholas grinned. “No promises.”
Hestia crowned Euijoo gently afterward beside a great sacred fire burning in the center of the hall. Warmth spread instantly throughout the throne room the moment the crown touched his head. Home, that was what Euijoo felt like.
Hermes nearly tackled Yuma into his embrace before crowning him.
“Finally,” Hermes sighed dramatically. “Someone interesting around here.”
Yuma looked delighted. “You’re lucky I’m your favorite.”
“You’re my only successor.”
“Still counts.” Laughter echoed warmly throughout the hall.
Artemis crowned Harua beneath silver moonlight spilling suddenly through the celestial ceiling. Quiet and elegant, he bowed deeply before her while moonflowers bloomed silently across the marble floor beneath his feet.
Dionysus practically danced while crowning Taki. Wine spilled. Someone screamed. Music grew louder somehow. Taki looked thrilled.
And Maki arrived at Hephaestus’ side already carrying tools.
“You brought those to your coronation?” Yuma whispered in disbelief.
“They help me think.” Hephaestus looked genuinely emotional, placing the forged iron crown upon Maki’s head.
“Don’t dismantle Olympus,” the god warned.
Maki considered it seriously. “No guarantees.”
Then the throne room darkened. Cold swept softly through the hall. And Hades finally rose. Every voice quieted instantly.
Jo stepped forward beside you. Dressed entirely in black and silver once more, though softer tonight somehow beneath the silver firelight. He looked toward Hades calmly while the King of the Dead descended the throne steps slowly to meet him.
The hall itself seemed to bow as Hades removed the obsidian crown from his own head, then placed it carefully atop Jo’s dark hair. The shadows beneath the throne room stirred instantly.
Death answered its king.
But when Jo lifted his eyes, they found yours. Only yours.
Your pulse stumbled violently as Persephone extended one graceful hand toward you from across the throne room.
“Come here, my darling.”
You walked forward slowly. The hall disappeared around you. Only Persephone remained, beautiful, ancient and kind. She reached up carefully and removed the flowered crown from her own head before placing it gently upon yours.
The second it touched you, the world bloomed.
Flowers exploded across the throne room floor in wild impossible color. Vines curled up marble pillars instantly while white roses burst from black stone and golden narcissus scattered across the air like rain. The scent of spring flooded the Underworld so suddenly that even the dead seemed to sigh. Gasps echoed throughout the hall.
And somewhere beside the throne, Jo smiled, looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing ever created beneath heaven or hell.
Persephone touched your cheek softly. “Spring has arrived.” She said warmly.
Crowned beneath flowers and stars and the endless watching heavens of the Underworld, you finally became a goddess.
There had once been a story told across Greece about a girl and a god.
About spring stolen beneath the earth, about death falling hopelessly in love with something living.
Mortals simplified the tale over centuries into something easier to understand. A kidnapping, a bargain, a kingdom divided between light and dark.
But they always lingered most upon the pomegranate.
Six jeweled seeds.
A choice mistaken for a curse, an act that bound spring forever to death. The old poets often forgot one important thing though.
Persephone had stayed.
And now—centuries later beneath silver fires and star-lit marble—history stood before the Underworld once again.
You and Jo remained side by side near the center of the throne hall while music drifted softly through the celebration around you. Gods laughed. Goblets clinked together. Flowers curled wildly across the dark marble floors beneath your feet.
But all you noticed was him.
Jo turned slightly toward you then, obsidian crown gleaming darkly against his hair while silver shadows curled lazily around his shoulders. His gaze softened immediately upon meeting yours.
Still an angel.
Still yours.
You glanced down absentmindedly toward the silver table nearest the throne and smiled faintly when you noticed it. Pomegranates, bright crimson against black marble.
You looked back at him then.
At the boy who once believed grief had hollowed him beyond love. At the future god who carried death in one hand and gentleness in the other. At Jo.
Your Jo.
And suddenly you understood the old story differently.
Perhaps spring had never softened death, perhaps death had simply learned how to hold something delicate without destroying it.
The music swelled softly around the throne hall while flowers climbed endlessly through stone and silver stars burned above the gathered gods.
Spring beside death.
Black tangled lovingly with white.
And somewhere beyond mortal kingdoms and wars and prophecies, beyond grief and crowns and fate itself, love endured quietly anyway.
Because in the end, kingdoms fell, mortals vanished and even gods changed names over centuries.
But still the flowers returned after winter.
Still the dead waited patiently beneath the earth.
And still, somewhere between spring and death,
Love remained.
fin.
A/N: Congratulations reader, you've finally reached the end of my chocolate milk fueled bullshitery. 37k words, are you dead yet? I hope you guys enjoyed my poetry i genuinely think i ate with this (wow mona appreciating herself for once we clapped). Please don't encourage me to make this into a series for the rest of the teamies i already have way too many serieses for them yay
divider by @strangergraphics
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@berrybittynetwork my beloveds
