Underworld's Princess 7 - Where Gods Watch in Silence
Description: Selene keeps running, determined to stay ahead of the forces that seek to shape her fate. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam Winchester investigate the Parthenon, searching for hidden truths buried beneath its polished exterior.
Dean notices a tapestry depicting Illiara, sensing something eerily familiar—but he doesn’t yet connect it to Selene. Sam uncovers a concealed inscription beneath Athena’s statue, leading them deeper into a mystery they don’t fully understand.
The gods are watching. The mortals are moving. And fate is quietly pulling them toward something far greater than they realize.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Selene Rivers / Illiara
Warnings: Language, Blood, Violence, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn
Word Count:3181
Beta: @watermelonlipstick (thank you so much for beating this hun! you have no idea how much I appreciate you!)
Also going to thank @writercole and @jensengirl83 you ladies are my ride or die and I love you both soooooo much!
Book Cover on Main Masterlist by: @talesmaniac89 and Dividers by @firefly-graphics Aesthetic Created by: Me
Underworld’s Princess Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Days passed in uneasy silence, but the spirits did not.
Selene had never seen so many wandering so freely, slipping between the trees, whispering against the wind—as if something had loosened the boundary between worlds, allowing them to drift untethered.
Something was wrong.
She stood at the edge of the clearing, gripping the polished wood of her staff, closing her eyes as she forced her energy outward, letting herself feel.
Weak.
The power beneath her skin flickered like embers starved of air, straining against her grasp.
"Fine."
Illiara’s voice curled into her mind, the presence coiled just beneath the cage she had forced around it.
‘If you weaken the cage, I can let you borrow some of my power. I can feel you getting dizzy.’
Selene clenched her teeth.
She hated this.
Hated that she was not enough on her own, that the only way to steady herself was by loosening the very chains she had locked in place.
But her knees wobbled, and the air grew colder, pressing against her lungs.
She didn’t argue.
The cage in her mind’s eye cracked, Illiara’s presence shifting, threading energy through her veins.
Not enough to consume her, but enough to make her stand without swaying.
A violet aura rippled outward, curling around her fingers, pooling into the staff.
The biident hummed softly, its two sharp prongs gleaming like tempered silver, the floating pomegranate seed in the center pulsing with a dim glow. When she raised her arms, spectral vines trailed along the shaft, shifting between the richness of blooming flowers and the brittle edges of decay.
The sound of lost souls groaning filled the clearing, their voices colliding against the wind, grasping for something unseen.
Her grip tightened.
Faster.
She swept the staff in practiced movements, violet fire blooming against the dark.
Then—she slammed it into the ground.
A rush of power roared outward, the spirits screaming, twisting, pulled by unseen forces, before the wind howled through the clearing, forcing them beneath the earth—returning them to the river where they belonged.
Silence followed.
Then—
"You seem to be struggling to keep yourself balanced."
Selene whirled, shifting into a defensive stance, fingers twitching toward her weapon.
The voice was familiar, sharp-edged but calm.
Artemis.
Selene exhaled sharply, her body relaxing just slightly, though irritation still flickered beneath her skin.
"How did you find me?"
Artemis raised a brow, arms crossing over her chest.
"You’re asking me that question?"
Selene rolled her eyes, shaking her head.
"If you found me, I have no doubt you’ll tell Zeus." She powered down, letting the energy fade from her fingertips, though the cold presence of Illiara remained, lingering beneath her ribs. "Not to mention, if you can find me, so can the others."
Artemis hesitated.
A rare crack in her confidence.
"Not exactly."
Selene narrowed her eyes.
"What does that mean?"
The goddess exhaled, lifting a hand to smooth down her hair, the movement calculated, careful.
"Your father has made it difficult for people to find you, Illiara."
Selene stilled, a slow, simmering anger crawling up her spine.
"That is not my name."
The words came out low, sharp, cutting through the stillness like a blade.
"Illiara is locked away. I am Selene. So get it right."
Artemis stared at her for a long moment.
Then—her expression shifted, something unreadable passing across her face.
"Don’t make me angry, young one."
Selene’s lips curled into a mocking smirk, though the weight of her exhaustion pressed against her limbs.
"Back at you, prude."
Artemis stiffened, eyes flashing, but instead of snapping like Selene expected, she sighed, closing her eyes.
"I did not come to fight."
Her voice was softer now, not pleading, but firm.
"I am on your side, Selene. All I want is for you to find balance, to heal, and to be one."
Selene’s jaw tensed, her pulse thrumming beneath her skin.
"It would’ve been better if you finished Zeus off."
The words came bitter, tangled in resentment she had carried for too long.
"He is not a father, Artemis. He is, at best, an egotistical sperm donor."
She exhaled, shoving her fingers through her hair, shaking her head.
Artemis studied her carefully, arms folded, gaze sharp.
"The skills I’ve taught you don’t seem to be going to waste."
Selene let out a quiet huff, adjusting her jacket, the energy from guiding the souls still tingling beneath her skin.
"Between Athena’s lessons and your training, you should know I don’t do anything halfway."
Artemis’ lips curled just slightly, a flicker of something like approval, but it didn’t last.
"Yet your stance is off." She gestured toward Selene’s grip, eyes narrowing. "You hesitate when you channel energy. It’s not refined—it flickers."
Selene rolled her shoulders, ignoring the tight coil of fatigue settling between them.
"And what do you suggest?"
Artemis took a slow step forward, gaze unwavering.
"You cannot fight fate like you fight an opponent, Selene. You can train endlessly, sharpen your skills—but prophecy does not care for precision."
Selene’s jaw tensed.
Because she wasn’t just fighting fate.
She was fighting herself.
Artemis saw it.
And she didn’t let it go.
Her voice softened—just slightly. “You fear yourself more than you fear him.”
Selene’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to scoff, shaking her head like the words held no weight.
“I don’t fear anything.”
Artemis didn’t argue. She only watched her, gaze unrelenting.
“You’re lying.”
The words were quiet. Knowing.
Lightning struck the earth ahead of her, splitting the night apart, illuminating the clearing with unnatural brilliance.
The force kicked up dirt, shattered rock, sending shockwaves rippling beneath her feet.
Zeus had found her.
A frustrated growl ripped from her throat as she felt her power surge unwillingly, instinct pulling at her bones.
Her mortal form wavered, flickering like a dying ember.
Then—she was in her goddess robes.
But they were wrong.
The midnight-black fabric that once shone like the cosmos was dull, its vibrance muted, resisting its place upon her body.
Her hair, usually fluid strands of celestial night, flickered like unstable fire, shifting between her mortal self and something greater.
Not mortal. Not goddess. Something in between.
Lightning cracked again—this time, striking the ground directly in front of her.
When the dust cleared—
The Manticore emerged, massive and coiled with wild storm energy, its fur woven with electricity, tail curling with deadly static, its eyes blazing with Zeus’ fury.
Selene tightened her grip, her staff pulsing in her grasp—the two-pronged trident humming with latent energy, its center holding a floating pomegranate seed, glowing faintly with an unearthly shimmer.
The weapon itself felt alive, shifting between lush silver vines curling along its shaft and the blackened cracks of decay, mirroring the battle between her mortal restraint and divine inevitability.
Then—Illiara’s voice sliced through her mind.
‘If you let me go, I can be more useful.’
Selene stiffened, jaw clenching.
Not now.
‘Come on. Admit it. You’re weak without me, Selene. If you keep me captive, it will only make me stronger in the end.’
Her pulse hammered, her vision wavered—Illiara’s influence coiling like a snake, waiting.
The Manticore lunged, its tail whipping forward with a crack like thunder, lightning sparking across its path.
Selene barely dodged, her movement faster than mortal—but clumsy, unrefined.
Illiara laughed.
A sharp, knowing sound inside her mind.
Artemis moved first.
A blur of celestial power.
Golden arrows whistled through the air, striking the beast’s flank, their glow illuminating the battlefield—but it did not fall.
It merely turned.
And roared.
Artemis landed beside Selene, bow already drawn, gaze locked onto her.
“You’re unstable.”
Selene grit her teeth, stepping forward, ignoring the way her fingers trembled with unchecked energy.
“I can handle this.”
Illiara’s voice slithered in again.
‘Then prove it.’
Selene lunged.
Her movement shifted—her mortal stance blending into something sharper, faster, her robes crackling with violet embers, her body pulsing in flickers between human and divine.
She was not Illiara.
But she was learning.
The floating pomegranate flared, absorbing the electricity coursing through the air, making the staff hum with unstable force.
The Manticore swung its tail toward her, aiming for a devastating strike—but Selene caught it mid-whip, twisting her body and slamming the prongs of her staff into the ground.
The weapon absorbed the lightning.
Redirected it.
With a deafening roar, the force exploded outward, turning the battlefield into a storm of raw, violet energy, sending shockwaves crashing through the trees.
The Manticore shrieked, its body splitting apart in a burst of electricity, its remains sinking into the earth, buried beneath the force of Selene’s raw defiance.
Silence followed.
Artemis stared at her, eyes sharp.
“You’re fighting more than just him, aren’t you?”
Selene exhaled, gripping her staff.
The answer hung in the air, unspoken.
She wasn’t just fighting Zeus.
She was fighting herself.
Lightning crackled violently across the clearing, splitting apart the night. The storm’s glow flickered against Selene’s robes, still dull, fractured, resisting their place upon her body.
Her breath was uneven, heart pounding from more than just exertion.
The Manticore’s remains sizzled where they had sunk into the earth, Zeus’ unnatural lightning still sparking faintly through the cracks in the soil.
Selene exhaled sharply, forcing herself back to ‘normal.’
The air shimmered around her before settling, her stance steadying—not because she was fine, but because she refused to acknowledge the alternative.
Adjusting her jacket, she brushed her hair back, huffing.
Artemis didn’t move.
She stood still, watching Selene too carefully, as if waiting for the realization to finally settle over her.
Then—her voice was low, measured.
“This was a warning.”
Selene scoffed.
“Obviously.”
Artemis didn’t flinch.
“Zeus is testing you. He doesn’t throw beasts like that unless he wants something more than blood.”
Selene rolled her shoulders, forcing herself to keep her posture steady despite the tight coil of exhaustion settling in her muscles.
“Let him try.”
Artemis let out a slow breath, as if debating whether to press further—as if she had a thousand things she could say, could warn Selene against, but already knew she wouldn’t listen.
So instead, she said simply—“He won’t stop.”
Selene’s lips curled into something close to a smirk, but sharper, layered with frustration deeper than just this moment.
"Would it really kill him to stay out of other people’s business?"
Artemis said nothing.
So Selene kept going, her voice steady but laced with fire.
"My father is the oldest of the gods, and you don’t see him crying about it. He balanced the Underworld better than Zeus controls the skies."
She shook her head, running her fingers through her hair, exhaling sharply.
"He embraced what he was, and he built something better—something that worked. Meanwhile, Zeus is out here throwing lightning at things whenever he feels threatened, as if destroying the world around him makes him stronger."
Her hands tightened at her sides.
"I refuse to be part of that legacy. And I refuse to let him dictate what happens to me."
Silence followed, heavy with something unspoken but understood.
Artemis didn’t argue.
She only watched.
Selene looked away first.
Then—without another word—she turned toward her car, slipped into the driver’s seat, and let the engine roar to life beneath her hands.
She would find another monster.
Another hunt.
Another fight to drown out the battle that raged within herself
The road stretched endlessly before them, the hum of the Impala’s tires blending into the familiar silence of a drive that should’ve been routine—but wasn’t. Sam shifted his gaze toward Dean, his brother’s grip tight on the wheel, fingers flexing every few moments as if trying to shake off some unseen weight.
The nightmare was still clinging to him.
This wasn’t unusual—Dean had plenty of bad dreams. But this time?
Sam couldn’t ignore it.
Every few hours, Dean had muttered about her. Asked for a name he couldn’t quite place. The huntress they called Revenant. And Sam knew—if Bobby were still alive, he would’ve had an answer. Maybe even a lead. Hell, even their Bobby’s counterpart from the Apocalypse world might have had something, some scrap of history that connected to this mystery.
But no luck.
No Bobby. No answers.
Just Dean, still trapped in the haze of a nightmare Sam didn’t understand, and a mission that required breaking into a monument guarded by more cameras than most museums.
Sam exhaled, shifting in his seat.
“Once we get to the Parthenon, security might be tight. We should have a game plan.”
Dean huffed, barely sparing him a glance. “Get in. Find the statue. Get the spell. Leave.”
Sam frowned. “That’s not a plan, that’s a bad idea.”
Dean gave a slow shrug. “Works for me.”
The tension between them lingered, but neither pushed further—not yet.
Outside, the Parthenon loomed on the horizon, a replica of a temple built for gods neither of them could afford to trust. The Impala rolled to a smooth stop near the edge of the park, just shy of the entrance to the monument. Dean killed the engine, letting the silence settle between them.
The Parthenon replica stood ahead, a towering presence against the skyline—too pristine for a structure meant to honor gods with a penchant for chaos.
Sam scanned the area. "Security’s tight. Cameras on the east wing, main doors look monitored, and I’m guessing they have staff patrolling inside."
Dean exhaled, pushing open his door. "Then we don’t get caught."
Simple plan. Terrible odds. But that never stopped them.
Sam sighed, following as Dean crossed the lot, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, posture casual but alert. They approached the entrance like tourists—taking in the massive columns, the intricate reliefs along the outer walls, blending into the slow-moving crowds filtering inside.
Sam muttered low enough for only Dean to hear. "Once we’re past the atrium, you’ll need to split off. Blend in, stall near the exhibits until I signal."
Dean smirked. "Stall? What do you think I’m gonna do, give an impromptu lecture on ancient Greece?"
Sam shot him a look. "Honestly? Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing you’ve done."
Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
Inside, the air carried the faint scent of polished marble, a quiet hum of hushed voices echoing beneath the high ceilings. Dean slipped past a few groups, instinct guiding his steps, until he settled near a tour gathering near the exhibits.
His attention drifted.
A tapestry hung along the far wall, rich in color despite its age, the woven threads capturing a goddess unlike any he’d seen before. Violet hair cascaded down her shoulders, flowing like midnight mist, her robes deep, endless, a swirling darkness threaded with silver—like the cosmos itself had bled into the fabric.
And then—her eyes.
Amethyst. Bright. Watching.
Dean stilled, something uneasy curling in his gut.
Why did she feel familiar?
The curator’s voice echoed across the exhibit, drawing his focus back to the group.
"This tapestry is on loan from the Greek National History Museum," they explained, pausing just long enough for the crowd to absorb the image.
Dean barely listened—until the curator continued.
"The Unknown Goddess," they said with a measured tone, as though the title itself carried weight. "A figure of mystery. Some scholars speculate she may be another daughter of Hades and Persephone. Much like Melinoe and Macaria, whose myths are well-documented, this one remains an enigma."
Dean scoffed under his breath.
“Great. So we’ve got a mythological Wednesday Addams just hanging out in ancient Greek art?”
He muttered it low enough not to draw attention, but Sam caught it, shooting him a side glance.
Dean ignored it.
The curator gestured toward the intricate details of the fabric.
"This tapestry was discovered near the rumored entrance to the Underworld in Greece—by the sacred area of the Acheron River in Ephyra."
Dean frowned.
A place tied to death. To passage. To things that were never meant to be unearthed.
And yet—here they were.
Sam followed the group, keeping his movements measured, blending into the slow shuffle of tourists as they admired the towering architecture. He wasn’t admiring anything.
He was scanning.
So far, security seemed light—a few staff positioned at entry points, camera placements more focused on artifact preservation than visitor monitoring. Until they entered the Hall of Statues.
The shift was immediate.
Here, security tightened—guards stationed near the pillars, their postures not just formal, but watchful. Sam’s gaze swept over the statues—massive, towering tributes to the Olympians, each figure frozen in divine arrogance, carved with centuries of reverence woven into stone.
Then—his eyes caught on one in particular.
A woman.
Her stance was commanding, the weight of her carved armor resting perfectly balanced against the folds of her robes, the iconic warrior’s helmet shadowing half her face. But it was the owl that stood out. Perched on her shoulder, its stone-cut wings half raised, as if it had been caught mid-movement.
Athena.
Sam narrowed his eyes, shifting slightly to take in the details of the carving. Something about her felt different. The quiet hum of conversation faded into the background. His breathing slowed. He barely noticed how his fingers twitched at his sides, how the world around him had faded into static silence.
Then—
"Hey, you okay there, Sammy?"
Dean’s voice snapped him out of it, the unusual trance shattering as quickly as it had settled over him. Sam blinked, shaking his head slightly, the weight in his chest easing just enough for him to breathe normally again.
Dean raised a brow, amusement creeping into his expression. "Don’t tell me you have the hots for a statue. That’s what happens when you go through a dry spell."
Sam let out a sharp breath, rolling his eyes.
"Says the man who was staring at a tapestry."
Dean scoffed but didn’t argue.
Still—Sam could feel it.
Something about Athena was watching him. The weight of Athena’s stare still lingered in Sam’s mind, but as he took a careful step closer, something else caught his attention. The base of her statue—weathered, ancient—had what appeared to be a faint engraving, barely visible beneath centuries of erosion.
He knelt slightly, brushing his fingers along the stone.
At first, it felt like just worn edges, another detail lost to time.
But then—
The markings shifted in the light, shadows carving themselves into something more defined.
Letters.
Greek.
Sam’s heart kicked up a beat as he leaned in closer, quickly scanning the inscription. The words were faded, some incomplete, but enough remained intact for him to piece together the meaning. A location. Not here. Somewhere deeper. Somewhere below.
The scroll wasn’t in the Hall of Statues—this was only the marker. The real spell was waiting somewhere beneath the monument itself. Athena had known exactly how to bury a secret. Sam exhaled sharply, straightening, just as Dean’s voice cut in behind him.
"You find something, Professor Indiana?"
Sam didn’t look up immediately.
But he did smirk.
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