The time on the river seemed endless. We didn't know why, but it felt as if time was slowing down. It was probably just an illusion, or so I thought... however, the doubt remained with me until we finally spotted the shore we were looking for.
"Look," Hecate pointed. 'We have arrived at the fields of Elysium where the souls of the most virtuous go to rest. The palace of Hades is nearby,' she said as the boat silently approached the shore and finally ran aground.
Once we touched land, we quickly got out of the boat and, guided by Hecate, began the journey to the palace of the King of the Underworld.
The silence was as thick as the mist floating over the pale grass of the Fields of Elysium. It was nothing like the fields I knew on the surface: there was no sun, but a soft light with no visible source illuminated every leaf, every distant hill, as if the world here breathed in an eternal twilight. The silvery-green grass did not crunch under our feet, but seemed to give way, as if we were stepping on solid fog.
There was no wind. There was no birdsong, not even the buzzing of insects. There was only a sacred silence, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
In the distance, I could see souls walking calmly, enveloped in a faint glow that was not physical, but spiritual. Men and women from different eras—some in Greek tunics, others in even older garments, or armor without wounds—walked along invisible paths, sharing serene glances. Some stopped to touch the flowers that grew eternally open, others simply lay down under shadeless trees, as if resting were the only task left for them to fulfill.
"This is not what I imagined," I murmured.
Hecate heard me but did not stop. She walked with sure steps, without looking back.
"Because Elysium is not made for the living," she said. "You don't understand, and you don't need to. Remember why we came."
I just nodded in response.
Meanwhile, Demeter said nothing. Since we had disembarked, her expression had been a mixture of restraint and anxiety. Her eyes scanned every corner, every figure, as if she expected to see her daughter's face among the souls. With every step, her dress left a trail of dried flowers that crumbled as soon as they touched the ground.
The path we took was not marked by stones or signs, but Hecate seemed to know it well.
For what could have been hours—or days, if time was measured the same way in this place—we advanced through lands that did not seem to obey any natural logic. The landscape changed subtly, as if the Underworld itself were reconfiguring itself as we delved deeper into its bowels.
At first, the meadows of Elysium enveloped us with their unsettling calm, but after a while, that emotionless beauty became oppressive. Seeing such static perfection, such repose and no conflict, made the soul seek movement, a breeze, a noise, something, anything. But here there was not even the song of a river. Only the echo produced by the sound of our footsteps on the winding dirt road.
Then we crossed what looked like withered forests, trees that creaked without wind, hollow trunks that let out whispers that did not belong to any of us. On one occasion, one of the branches moved slowly, as if trying to reach us, and Hecate made us quicken our pace without saying a word.
The paths twisted and turned in impossible shapes, and although the ground was firm, it sometimes felt as if we were walking on mud or bone dust. At one point, the terrain forced us down into a narrow canyon, where the walls were covered with ancient inscriptions that seemed to fade away if we looked at them for too long.
We passed a lake as still as a broken mirror, where the souls of those who had drowned wandered formless, their silhouettes barely visible beneath the surface. We did not stop. Hecate warned us not to look back there or we would be trapped forever.
Demeter walked with a frown, not letting her fatigue show. But her anger seemed to be waning, not because it was fading, but because the journey was draining her; even the gods seemed to tire. Hecate, on the other hand, seemed almost indifferent to time. Her gait was steady, sure, as if she had walked that path a thousand times before. And perhaps she had.
Meanwhile, I felt the weight of every step. It wasn't so much physical as something deeper. As if the place was testing not only our strength, but also our thoughts. I remembered moments from my life that I hadn't brought with me. My mother's voice. Memories of my childhood and memories and sorrows from another life. Small regrets that now appeared with unbearable clarity before me. And for a moment, I thought I heard my old name whispered from some invisible corner.
Despite this, I remained silent and said nothing.
At one point along the way, we passed a field of statues. They were not broken or covered in moss: they were perfect, human, motionless. Men and women frozen in expressions of horror, supplication, and surrender. They were not made of marble. According to Hecate, these were not mere statues, but souls condemned to remain there. The reason for this was debated. Perhaps for daring to advance without permission. Or perhaps for hesitating at the wrong moment.
We passed through a valley where ash rained instead of water. Tiny gray particles that couldn't be felt as they fell, but which clung to the skin and the soul. After a few minutes, we were covered in a dusty patina that made even the glow of Elysium seem like a distant memory.
And then, after passing through a grove of dry trunks that formed a leafless tunnel, the ground began to rise.
We climbed a small hill and, when we reached the top, we saw the palace for the first time.
It was not a castle in the mortal sense of the word. It had no towers, battlements, or flags. It was more like a huge, black structure with sober lines, carved directly into the rock. The walls shone with a polished obsidian patina that reflected our footsteps with ghostly clarity. The architecture was not threatening, but imposing, like a tomb that needed no justification for its presence. Two columns flanked the entrance, each engraved with ancient symbols that shifted slightly in shape when you looked at them long enough.
"It's closer than I remembered," Hecate said, finally stopping.
"Is he waiting for us?" I asked, looking at the door.
"I don't know," she replied. "But rest assured, he knows we're here."
Demeter stepped forward. Her gaze seemed to burn with fire, almost as if Hestia herself were motivating her.
"Then let him come out. Let that damned brother of mine show his face and face the consequences of his actions. I didn't come here to wait for an audience, I came for my daughter."
"Demeter..." Hecate murmured wearily. "We are not in your domain. Not even in mine."
But Demeter had already moved on, walking down the hill with determined steps, ignoring everything around her.
As we advanced, the landscape began to change. We left the Fields of Elysium behind and entered a darker area, where the earth turned gray and the vegetation became sparse. Gnarled trees stood on either side, leafless, like silent sculptures guarding the path. The light also changed. It was no longer the faint brightness of the fields: here it was colder, bluish, almost liquid, as if the air itself were denser.
In the distance, I saw a figure crouching by a dark stream, which disappeared as soon as I looked at it. Souls did not enter this part of the Underworld, or at least not those seeking rest.
"What is this place?" I asked.
"The border between Elysium and the core," replied Hecate. "The antechamber of the throne."
"And why does it feel... so different?"
"Because now we are walking towards the root. Towards where all the power of the Underworld is concentrated."
The atmosphere grew heavier with every step. Not because of the heat or the cold, but because of the density of the place. It was as if gravity itself curved around the palace. A presence. A silent pressure.
I didn't need to see Hades to know he was near.
Finally, we crossed a stone bridge suspended over a bottomless abyss. Below there was no river, no rock, no shadow: only a deep void that seemed impossible to measure. I leaned over for just a second and felt vertigo wash over me.
The palace doors were open. And strangely there were no guards. Just a huge hallway with carved pillars on either side.
We walked without speaking, the only sound being, as usual, the echo of our footsteps, muffled and restrained.
The ceiling of the main hall was covered with reliefs: scenes of death, rebirth, ancient and fallen gods. And in the center, at the top of a stone staircase, were two thrones.
One was empty.
The other was not.