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Chapter Text

Hydra had been warned not to visit the mortal realm, as had his brothers and sister. Their mother had not said why, only that there was a matter to be settled before it was safe for them to resume their duties there. They had guessed at why together. The mortals themselves were surely no threat, and they praised the Mother of Starlight. Surely they would not harm one of her children, who kept the stars lit? Their nights would be dark without them.

Before they were confined to the upper realm, Rusty had given them tools, though, and taught them how to work metal. His ascension to his rightful place was recent, his skill given to craft at a forge. After the games that he had proven himself in, He had made gifts for his siblings, Hydra the first among them.  Rusty would not have won without him, after all. He was pleased with the bronze dagger that hung from his belt, the hilt set with an emerald.  The mortals could make what they pleased. Even if their weapons could harm them, surely with a weapon a god had made, Hydra would easily be able to cut them down.

Hydra had been the first to suggest it had something to do with their sister. No one wished to dwell on Slick's role in the games, wanting to put it past them. It was her nature to sow chaos, to play tricks, and Rusty had perhaps been a fool to trust her when she volunteered to be his second. Hydra had taken her place once Rusty had realized her treachery. Electra had surely been just as foolish to pick Slick as a second afterwards. They had ended up hurt, along with Slick and the Queen of the Underworld - and it was an impressive feat for any god to harm another, intentionally or not. The storm god had seemingly been humbled by the experience, though, even offering up Wrench, one of their consorts, to see all three of them mended. The Queen had not seemed quite so forgiving, at least to Hydra’s eyes. But she had not lingered longing, taking her consort and her brother back with her to her own realm.

If the issue did lie with Electra, then surely it would be plain he was unwelcome. Electra and their consorts worked solely in the mortal realm. Hydra had been in one of Lumber's forests since dawn, and no storm had brewed, no snow nor ice had fallen, nor had the earth cracked apart beneath his feet.

Hydra was glad of it. It meant he had time to do his duty. They made up a cycle, he and Porter and Lumber. Lumber guided the forests, and all the wild plants beyond it, and aided the mortals’ crops when he deemed it worthwhile. Porter’s domain was flame, and he burned away old growth, leaving room for new. Hydra’s tasks were renewal and rebirth. He guided the nutrients out of ashes into the soil below, and back into the plants when the spring came again.

Spring was here, and Hydra itched to work, to help ready the world for new growth. He had done his best at resisting. His siblings were stronger. Even Slick seemed inclined to wait after she’d been caught one too many times. The pull to the mortal world, the need to fulfill his purpose, had proven too strong for him. He had gone, slipped away from home despite the mysterious risk. As he worked, it was easy to forget that there had been any threat at all.

Perhaps that was why Hydra had not noticed the dark shades moving towards him, swift and smooth, their faces featureless save for the large, unblinking eye that shined with a blinding light. Suddenly, they were on him, surrounding him, strong hands grasping him, holding him, dragging him. He tried to break free, to reach for his dagger, to punch or kick, to scream. But they were stronger, they were many while Hydra was alone.

He should have tried to sneak away with his siblings.

He should not have snuck away at all.

The shades pulled him through the trees, their movements faster and faster, until they reached a cave, its mouth a great gaping maw in the earth. Down and down and down, for what seemed impossible lengths. Darkness swallowed up the light and soon after, Hydra’s mind.

When at last Hydra came to - how long it had been, he couldn’t say - he was in a cell, the walls around him a dark stone, thick bars of iron forming the door. A torch just outside it burned with a strange, black flame, a strange rainbow flickering within the fire each time it moved. The air was stale and still, and everything was silent. He was alone. No guard stood beyond the cell, and there seemed to be no lock on the bars. He could see enough of the cells opposite him to know that they were empty too. Checking himself over, he was unharmed, his clothing intact. His dagger, though, was gone.

Worst of all, he couldn’t see the sky.

Hydra was used to seeing the stars - if not the ones that dotted the night sky, that he and his siblings kept lit, then the sun, close and bright and warm and there, even when the clouds covered it. He was used to being aware of the stars, no matter the distance. They were there, always, at the back of his mind, even in the middle of the day in the mortal realm. Here, though, there was no sense of them, no connection to them as there ought to be. The cell suddenly felt all the darker and more confining without a window. If he could just look out, look up, if he could know that they were still there - maybe he’d feel a little bit more at ease.

So concerned with the stars as he was, he did not notice he was no longer alone, until she took a slow step towards his cell, and then another. She cut an imposing figure, sturdy and strong, draped in black and bedecked in gold.

The Queen smiled, her teeth gleaming in the odd firelight, her expression cold, cruel, and mocking. “Welcome to the Underworld.”

Far away, in the upper realm, the first star went cold.

Chapter Text

“Rusty, dear, have you seen Hydra today?”

Rusty looked up into the gentle face of his mother, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. There was concern in her expression, no matter how she tried to hide it. 

“I…I have not, Momma,” he said, hesitant. When was the last time he saw his brother? He had spent most of his time at his forge yesterday, and while Hydra would sometimes watch him work, he had not that day. Thinking back, he had not seen him in the evening either. He'd seemed off that morning, too, jumpy and anxious.“I have not seen him since yesterday morning.” 

“Nor have I,” she said, brow furrowing, the worry in her eyes growing.

“Perhaps he’s just restless?” Rusty suggested. “Wandering the gardens, maybe?” They had all been restless, after all, but he held his tongue in that.

Rusty missed the mortal realm, as all his siblings did. They would often go down together, disguised, to explore the mortal towns, usually with Pearl and Belle in tow, and Dinah, if she were away from the Underworld she now called home. He missed seeing Porter and Lumber flirt (and often fail) with the mortals. He missed seeing Slick spread her mischief, even if he and his brothers often had temper her actions, so she didn't do too much harm. He missed seeing Hydra revel in the way things changed. As beautiful as their palace of glittering white stone was, as immaculate the sprawling grounds and gardens, thing changed slowly in the Upper Realm, if at all.

Rusty missed the older, more primal gods that dwelt in the Mortal Realm as well. CB was the only one who came and went from the Mortal Realm to theirs regularly now, bringing messages to Momma on whatever secretive matter she was dealing with. But there were others who Rusty favored. The Rockies and Hoppers and Dustin had helped him gather materials to work with in his forge. He and Flat-Top would go and see what new things the mortals had invented for themselves. Rusty usually kept clear of Electra and their lot when he could, but even they would be a welcome sight after being cooped up in the Upper Realms for so long.

He missed Pearl most of all.

Even if she hadn't exactly been kind to him during the games. 

She had long promised to be his second for the cart races, to act as his driver while he pulled, transformed into a stallion. But Electra had wanted her instead, and she had gone with them. In retrospect, he could understand it. Electra was powerful, long past their ascension, a king among them, ruler of the mortal realm. Rusty was sure he paled in comparison, and he knew how much Pearl enjoyed victory.

But then, he had been petulant. Stubborn. He had not run in the first heat. Momma had run in his place in the second with Hydra. He had finally run the third with Slick, but his sister had toyed with him, fought him the whole way. It ended with all three racing pairs driven off the track. No one had been harmed, but it was bad enough that Momma had called for a rerun.

Electra and Greaseball - the Queen of the Underworld - had shuffled their partners around by then. Much to everyone’s shock, Greaseball had rejected her own consort, Dinah, stealing away Pearl from Electra, who had turned to Dinah for his second in turn. By the rerun, Dinah had shunned Electra, and they had taken on Slick instead. A costly mistake or the storm god, as it would turn out. 

The race had started smoothly, though Rusty and Hydra had lagged at first. But thank goodness they had. In the midst of the race, Pearl was suddenly tumbling from her cart, her footing lost. Rusty had stopped outright, shifting back to his human form quickly and easily to grab Pearl and see her safely off the track. And then he was back at the cart, transformed and slipped back into his harness, pushing himself to the limit as he galloped. 

If it had not been for the crash, they probably would’ve lost. Even if they had, Rusty would not have changed the choice he made in making sure Pearl was safe. He had seen the crash only in passing as he and Hydra had streaked past to the finish. Apparently it had been a gruesome sight - bodies and cart pieces and tack all wrapped around each other and streaked with fresh ichor, Greaseball and Electra unable to keep a human form or an equine one, slipping back and forth between the two and a hundred others. Momma and Wrench had been quick to spirit them away and set them back to rights. 

Rusty’s victory in the race had felt somewhat hollow, given the circumstance. But the others had cheered Hydra and him both - and after he had gone to find Pearl and reconciled with her - he’d been drawn into celebration. And in the end, the Starlight had made him more than he had been. That, in and of itself, should be proof enough of his worth. 

Momma’s voice drew him from his wandering thoughts. “If you see him, let me know. Or better yet, send him to me,” She said, the corners of her mouth sliding down. She had been frowning too much as of late. “One of his stars went cold last night.”

Rusty started, looking to his mother wide-eyed. Hydra was not one to neglect the flames he tended. “That isn’t-”

His words died on his tongue as Slick came hurrying into the room, worry in her own eyes, so unlike her. 

“CB is here. He says it's urgent.” 

Chapter Text

There were days when Dinah regretted her choice to join Greaseball in the underworld, and today was one of them,

Her consort could be brash, and impulsive, but this was downright foolishness.

“What were you thinking?”

Greaseball looked down from where she lounged on her throne of black stone. "I did warn Momma that this would happen.” Her words were cold, but Dinah could hear the defensiveness hiding just beneath that ice.

“Did you ever stop to think what might happen?” Dinah snapped. “Things have already been off up above since you made the first threat-”

“And our kingdom is all the greater for it.” 

Deaths were coming quicker to the mortal realm. Things must be off balance, and liable to get worse now. Greaseball was right - their realm would grow and grow. 

Until there would be no left to continue on. Until there were mortals to worship and give their offerings. Until all the souls faded, as they all did with time, and their kingdom was empty.

“Will you really not see reason?” Dinah said, her voice softening. “Surely taking him down here alone would-”

“They humiliated Us, Dinah!” Greaseball sneered. “We did not get so much as an apology for what Slick wrought.”

Dinah tried not to scoff. Greaseball had been in no state to remember, but Momma had been distraught over the whole matter - for Greaseball and Electra as much as her own daughter. Slick, too, had seemed sorrowful, regretful, when Wrench had put her back as she ought to be. 

Perhaps she would have apologized, had Greaseball not stormed away the moment she was able to do so, and dragged Dinah and Tassita with her. Had the Queen of the Underworld not spent her time since railing against her mistreatment and making threats.

How easily Greaseball ignored the fact that she'd humiliated Dinah that day too, tossing her aside as soon as she found someone she thought held more promise for glory. Her consort had at least apologized for that act, as had Pearl, but the memory still stung.

Dinah sighed. “How long do you intend on keeping him here?”

“Until I've decided what should be done with him,” Greaseball said simply. 
That could be a long time, knowing the stubborn goddess. 

“You can keep him here as long as you'd like,” Dinah announced. “But I will not have him treated as prisoner.”

“You can't-”

“You chose me, Greaseball. Made me yours,” Dinah snapped. “And I claimed you and your kingdom and this realm to be my home. You cannot stop me offering hospitality to another god in my own home.”

The dungeons were dark as she descended into them. Her wife was being even crueler than she'd thought. How used could Hydra be to the dark - to true darkness? The torches sprung to light as she passed, their pink flames warmer, more welcoming than what Greaseball usually summoned.

Hydra was at the back of the cell when she approached it, huddled into a back corner, knees drawn up to his chest. He looked up as she approached with wild desperate eyes.

“Dinah?” He said, his voice soft and fearful.

“Hello, Hydra,” she said gently. “I'm sorry about all this. I truly am. And I'll do what I can for you.”

“You'll let me out?” He asked, hope in his voice. “Let me go home?”

“Yes…and no,” she said softly, regret obvious in her words. “I won't let you stay in this cell, but it's not my decision if you can leave. That lies in Greaseball's hands.” She and Tassita and Greaseball all belonged to the Underworld. They could come and go as they pleased. Other gods did not have that same luxury. They would be too tempted to steal fallen souls away - lost lovers, fallen demi-god children, heroes they favored or their kin. The dead belonged among the dead; they could not be returned to life. And so Greaseball had the ultimate say on who among the other gods came and went to the Underworld and when. 

To an extent. There were ways around it, Dinah knew, but any such passages were well-guarded, and dangerous. She had no desire to see Hydra harm himself trying to escape. She'd just have to do what she could to make him comfortable here for the time being instead.

Dinah pulled a loaf of bread from a basket she carried on her arm, and beckoned to Hydra. He moved closer, slow and hesitant. “This bread is from the Mortal realm,” she explained. “That's something important you should know. Don't eat anything I dont tell you is safe to eat. Any of our offerings will bind you to the Underworld.” Gods, as a rule, did not need to eat, but they all still took pleasure in the act. There was a reason Dinah was the goddess of feasts as well as hospitality. 

She tore off a chunk of the bread, offering it out to Hydra, ripping one for herself when he'd taken. “Go on,” she nodded to him, biting into her own piece. As he sunk his teeth into his own, the bars separating them melting away, as if they'd never been there. 

Dinah suddenly felt his arms around her, and she could feel his tears wet the shoulder of her dress. “I know,” she said softly, stroking his back. “I'll do what I can to help get you back where you belong. But for now, let's get you settled in here.”

she reached for his wrist, gently tugging him along until she was sure he was following. “How much did Greaseball tell you?” She asked as she led him out of the dungeon. She could hear Hydra exhale a long breath as they reached the top step and entered the palace proper.

“Only that I’d be down there for a while,” He replied. “Thank you, for not leaving me in the dungeons. I just don't understand why she'd drag me down here.”

“It's Slick she really wanted,” Dinah said with a sigh, leading him down a long hall. “Not that she should be dragging any of you down here. But she was…is still upset about the crash and…”

“I was the only one who snuck down to the mortal realm.” 

“You were just the first the shades found for her,” Dinah said. She had no idea if any of his siblings had slipped down, hidden themselves better, or had simply gotten lucky. “She would have taken any of your siblings given the chance. I had hoped by now she would've let it go.” She thought Greaseball had been making some sort of progress in her communication with Momma - to what ends she did not know - but perhaps she had been wrong. 

“It's probably be for the best if you kept clear of her, when you can,” Dinah added. She stopped at the door to one of the palace's guest chambers, rarely used but ready for him. “But come and find me, if there's anything you need.”

Hydra nodded, thanking her again as he slipped into the room.

Dinah sighed softly. She wasn't certain how any of this could end well now, but at least she could try to keep her friend safe while she could.

Chapter Text

Slick hovered close to the door to Momma's chambers. Not that she could hear anything of what her mother or CB were discussing, but she wanted to be there when the messenger departed, hoping she could pry what she could out of him.

It was usually easier than this. She got on well with CB - better than most of the other gods really, mostly because he not only put up with her mischief, but would aid her in it as well. His domain was communication and journeys, but he was just as apt to see some mortal's message lost or lead them astray as he was to see another's words or self safely delivered to their rightful destination.

She could soon hear her brothers hurrying down the hall to join them. She scowled at she looked back at them. “He won't tell you anything, you know,” she said. “Only me.” Not that he had told her much at all since their confinement to the Upper realm. She had asked him, each time he’d come and gone, if he knew why Momma was holding them back. 

“Not my place to tell, kiddo,” CB would say every time, and the ‘kiddo’ would irk her as much as the non-answer. Like she wasn’t fully grown. Like she hadn’t already fully ascended. She’d ascended even before Rusty had, even though he was older than her. 

 Her eyes flicked from Porter to Lumber to Rusty, who she assumed had gone to grab the other two. “Where's Hydra?”

“What do you care if CB won't tell us anything anyway?” Porter challenged.

“We couldn't find him,” Rusty added. Slick could always count on him for an honest answer, at least. “Momma couldn't find him either, earlier.”

“You haven’t seen him today, then?” Lumber asked, tilting his head. 

“Haven’t,” Slick said. She scrunched up her nose in thought. “Not since yesterday morning, I think.”

“He let one of his stars go out,” Rusty added, his voice concerned. She felt a chill run down her spine, and she saw Porter and Lumber both stiffen. Something had felt off that morning, something she hadn’t been able to place right away. And now she knew. “Should one of us…?” She looked to Porter and Lumber, a questioning look in her gaze. Once Momma had lit every star in the sky on her own. And then when Porter, Lumber and Hydra came, and Slick herself, they had each taken up a portion of the night sky. Surely they could tend one of Hydra’s stars, just once.

“He might turn up,” Rusty said, and she watched his nails dig into his own palm. He wouldn’t feel the same about stars as they did. Of course he wouldn’t. He was different from the rest of their siblings, came into their world differently, wasn’t bound to the stars as they were. 

She envied it, sometimes, that he didn’t feel the same keening call to return to the Upper Realm, eager to linger in the Mortal Realm while the rest of them knew they needed to go back, to tend one star or another. They could burn for weeks sometimes, before they needed attention. But if a star was close to extinguishing, the call was strongest. 

And that unsettled her more than anything else. Hydra shouldn’t be away at all, not if his stars were at risk of going cold. 

“We’ll see to it if he’s not back by tonight,” Porter said, a finality to his words. He was the oldest, after all, and even if they didn’t always respect that, Slick knew no one would argue with him over it. Not right now. 

It was a while before the door to Momma’s chambers opened, and CB stepped out, seeming far more solemn than Slick was used to. He was such a cheerful god, normally. Slick had barely opened her mouth when he held up a hand, shaking his head. “Your mother wants to speak with you,” He leaned out slightly to take in her brothers. “All of you.” 

Slick hurried past him, finding herself anxious to hear what their mother had to say. She only felt all the more on edge seeing her mother tired, and weary. Slick would never count her as cheerful as CB, but she was always calm, and warm, even if one of them (usually Slick herself, if she were being honest) had done something to upset her. 

"Hydra went down to the Mortal Realm,” Momma began once they had all settled in before her. “None of you knew of this?” 

They shook their heads, though they knew Momma already knew the answer. Slick would have tried to go with him, had she known. Rusty would have tried to stop him. Lumber and Porter might have gone either way, depending on their moods. But in any case, Hydra himself would either not be gone on his own, or not be gone at all, if any of them had known. 

“CB spotted him yesterday afternoon,” She said. “Being attacked by shades.” 

“And he didn’t interfere?” Rusty leapt to his feet, his brows furrowed. “He didn’t help?”

“Hydra was dragged away before he had the chance,” Momma said, her voice calm and measured despite Rusty’s anger. 

“He’s been taken to the Underworld then?” Lumber asked, and Slick tensed at the thought. Greaseball had not been happy with her when they last saw each other, and for good reason. Surely though, she wouldn’t have taken it out on Hydra. 

“We do not know that for certain,” Momma continued. “He may well have gotten away.” 

“We have to look for him, then!” Rusty shouted. 

“Rusty-”

“We need to go down to the Mortal Realm-”

“Rusty!”

“Or to the Underworld if we have to-”

“Rusty, be silent!” Momma’s words carried the full weight of her rank and power. They all shrank back at it, Rusty taking his seat once more, and falling quiet, his eyes downcast. “It is time I told you the reason why I have kept you confined to the Upper Realm. Perhaps it would have been wiser if I had told you from the start.” Momma laid it out plainly, then, speaking of Greaseball's threats, that the Queen of the Underworld would have taken any of them if they were caught in the Mortal Realm. 

Slick balled her fists, fingers tightening in the folds of the yellow chiton she wore. Hydra had been right. This had been because of her, and Momma had tried to shield her from it. 

She had been reckless and greedy, she knew that. Greaseball and Electra had both made her promises when she agreed to hold Rusty back in the race, swore that they would influence the mortals so that they offered her their praise. Not that she went without worship, of course, but the mortals’ offerings were meant to ward against her rather than welcome her. And that simply wasn't the same. She'd been reckless in the rerun of that last race, too, but her crash with Greaseball and Electra had been for her own amusement, and nothing more. It was simply in her nature. She had not meant anyone to get hurt.

She had not meant to stoke the Queen of the Underworld’s ire.

And she certainly had not meant for Hydra to be taken because of what she'd done,

“I'll go,” she said softly.”I'll go and offer to take his place.”

“Slick,” Momma said, her voice softening. “This is not your fault. Only Greaseball's ego is to blame here. Your place is here, not below.”

“Neither is Hydra’s,” Porter observed. Momma paused, and for a moment, Slick saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes. The unsteady, uncertain feeling that had plagued her all day bubbled up inside her once more. 

“What would you have me do?” Momma asked. “I thought I was progressing to an…arrangement with Greasebal, that I hoped would smooth things over. But now…” She sighed, but quickly cut Slick off as she opened her mouth to speak. “I will not offer any of you in trade if she does have him.

“Let us go and search for him then,” Rusty said, determination in his voice. It seemed a foolish prospect to Slick, to go roaming through the Mortal Realm searching for him. There was only one place he could be, if the stars had not been enough to call him back. “I…I can go alone, if I must,” Rusty added.

“You're not going alone,” Slick blurted out. She couldn't let him, not when she'd been the cause of this whole mess.

“Course he's not,” Lumber added quickly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“The four of us will go, together,” Porter affirmed.

Momma sighed, rubbing her temples. “I don't think I'll be able to stop you at this point,” she said. “Tend your stars before you go. All of yours, and I will see to Hydra’s. Pay your respects to Electra before anything else. It would not due to have the ruler of the Mortal Realm at odds with us now as well.”

Chapter Text

The rest of the day passed and the night beyond it before Hydra left the chambers he’d been granted. Or at least, he thought it was that long. It was difficult to tell when there was nothing to tell the time by, no sun or stars stretching across the sky. Every moment seemed sluggish and dull to him, like it would never pass to the next one. 

There wasn't much to his chambers. It was better than the dungeon cell, certainly, but it had nothing beyond the bare minimum - a bed, a wardrobe the stood empty, and a rug spread across the dark stone floor. That and the blanket laid over the bed were the spots of color in the room. He'd ended up spending a long while sitting on the rug, trying to puzzle out how the patterns of earthy greens and soft blues and pale oranges had been woven into it, and wondering if it been made by a god's hand or a mortal's.

Beyond the main chamber, there was a simple bathing chamber, a pool of steaming water waiting for him there, though whether it was there naturally or by design he wasn't sure. Although the water smelled strangely sulfuric, he soaked in it a while to pass the time, and felt a little better for having done so. 

The room also led out to a small courtyard. On the far side, an arch led to a shadowy corridor, but he didn't dare wander down it. There was no soft grass or even moss covering the ground here, only hard packed earth. Nor did any other plants grow there, the only thing close to decoration were five great chunks of stone. As he wandered about them, he could see there were bands of strange, spiraling crystals within. As light from the torches on the courtyard wall caught on them, Hydra could see a riot of colors, shifting as the flames flickered. He didn't know it's name, but Rusty-

He shut the thought from his mind before it could fully form. He was fighting to keep his siblings out of his thoughts, to keep Momma from his thoughts. The mere idea of them made him ache for their presence. He had never been apart from them so long. Would they search for him? How could they possibly know where he was, if they did?

Mostly he paced, wandering in circles around his room and around the courtyard, unsure of what else to do with himself. Twice, he thought he saw some movement in the shadows of the corridor on the far side of the courtyard. Something was watching him.

Someone.

It wasn't Dinah - he knew her presence well enough, and knew she wouldn't hide from him. Why would she? It wasn't Greaseball either. The Queen of the Underworld always carried a sense of dread about her.

When he noticed them a third time, Hydra tried to call out to them, but they only seemed to withdraw, slipping away. Hydra couldn't even hear their footsteps, and he was left wondering if he was starting to hallucinate.

Eventually, he slept. No god needed sleep, but like feasting, it was a pleasure they took part in when they wished it. He had hoped to dream, for Belle would sometimes pay visits to the other gods when they did. Perhaps, if he saw her, she could tell the others of his fate. But his sleep, for however long it was that he slept, brought nothing but darkness.

In the morning - morning? - Hydra felt brave enough, and bored enough, to venture out. His first thought was to go up, and he did. He let his form fall away in favor of bat's, strong leathery wings carrying him higher and higher from where he started in the courtyard, until he could go further. stalactites hung from the ceiling, and his back claws dug into the stone as he settled and tried to look around.

The Underworld seems to stretch for an eternity, with Greaseball's palace at the very center. From above, he could see more of those little courtyards, in pairs along that corridor he'd seen across the way. The palace as a whole seemed ostentatiously large for only three gods who seemingly got few visitors. 

The lands around the palace were barren, occasionally punctuated by large stones and boulders, but otherwise featureless. Dull. There was a large Pavillion where he could, very faintly, hear celebration and music, and see the bright glow of mortal souls as they fitted in and out. The souls were everywhere, he realized, though none seemed to venture close to the palace. Some seemed to simply wander, while others lingered together in little groups, and the ones not at the pavilion seemed duller and dimmer, like they were fading away.

There was, off to what Hydra thought was the east, a river, wide and smooth, ferries full of souls crossing from one shore and back again. More lingered on the beach, and he saw, once, one of the souls surge forth, trying to cross the river himself. The light of the soul went out immediately. The mortal - or what lingered of him after his death - was gone, completely erased from the world. 

Hydra shifted, moving until his back faced the river, and wrapped his wings tighter around himself.

To the west, there was an eerie, golden glow, and a general sense of unease and pain that seemed to emanate from it, even as far off as he was. He could see the Queen stalking towards it, some of the souls she passed shrinking away, while others bowed and scraped before her. She ignored them all, moving past without a second glance.

As he observed, Hydra kept feeling the draw of something above him. When he finally gave in and turned his full attention there, he understood. There was earth beyond the stone ceiling, and he could feel the potential for life humming in it. It sang to him just as the richness of the soil in the mortal, but felt more ancient, like it had been waiting an eternity. He reached for it without thinking, and it came to him, flowing into him, curling deep inside his chest. 

This was…different. He'd never had to store this energy before. There was always something - a tree, a flower, a mushroom - that was waiting for it, needing it. But there was nothing for it to flow to down here. It simply brimmed with potential within him, a coiled spring.

As he let go and flew back down towards the palace, feeling oddly clumsy and unsure. As he drew closer, he aimed for his courtyard ( how quickly he'd come to think of it as his) but found himself banking at the last moment, something in the courtyard opposite drawing his attention. He shifted back to his usual form just before he landed

This courtyard was even more barren than his own opposite it - empty, in fact.

Save for the single, small tree at its center. 

The tree was dead, the branches on the short, scrubby thing bare. He knew what he would do if it were in the mortal realm. He would aid in its rot and decay, let anything useful left within it flow out to what surrounded it. But there would be nothing for that to go to down here, and this tree felt intentional, like it was meant to be here.

Cautiously, he reached out a hand towards it, let his fingers brush the bark. There was a sadness to it, a longing, that he couldn't quite explain, and it was clear to him at once that he'd been wrong. The tree wasn't dead. It was dormant. 

Could he bring it back? If he gave it what it needed, would it grow, even here?

That stored energy was flowing from his fingertips and into the tree before he had even finished the thought.

Just as suddenly there was another god looking at him from the far side of the trees.

Hydra's first thought was that he was beautiful , the strange orange and blue of his hair a bright and welcome sight in the darkness

His second was that he had done something very, very wrong for them to scowl at him like that, his hand ripping away from the tree as the other god snarled at him.

“What are you doing?”

Chapter Text

Being in the mortal realm again felt like a breath of fresh air for them all. While Rusty was eager to go, the others were eager to linger into the forest where they'd set themselves down, and he didn't have the heart to fight them on it. Within moments they were roused to their usual tasks. Slick had been the first, darting about to stir up the wildlife, to send deer and rabbits running and set birds to the wing. And the Lumber was moving from tree to tree, waking them from their dormancy, urging sap to flow and leaves to bud. Porter was soon kindling little fires among the underbrush, controlled burns that turned old leaves and scrubby, struggling plants to ash. 

But those tasks quickly reminded them of Hydra's absence - there was only so much that could be done properly without him. Rusty could feel his absence keenly, if only because he was used to his siblings’ usual routine, but he was sure Porter and Lumber were more keyed in, their enthusiasm quickly waning. 

They'd hastened on after that. There was an odd feeling throughout the mortal realm, even just the small stretch they traveled through. They'd been gone too long. The sun was bright, and Rusty could smell the rain that had fallen recently,, but nothing around them seemed to be going quite right. He could sense, too, the growing desperation that seemed to practically ooze from the mortal towns they passed by, their pleas for the gods’ intervention. 

He wished he could give it.

“Crops aren’t growing right,” Lumber muttered, and Rusty could sense his tension. “Their stores will run out soon. If they haven’t already.” Spring, he’d long ago learned, was a more dangerous time for the mortals than winter. They were clever creatures, mortals, planning and storing and prepping. But those stores ran thin in the spring, before the new crops could grow. It was an already precarious time, made all the more precarious by forces beyond their control.

They carried on to Electra’s palace - a grand structure of gray stone, situated on a cliff-side overlooking the sea. Storm clouds swirled in thick banks above it, the occasional flash of lightning lighting them up, followed quickly by cracks of thunder. No rain fell from them, at least at the moment, but Rusty knew the Storm God could unleash torrents when the mood struck them. 

The four were met at the palace’s entrance by Purse - a rarity, as Electra usually sent some mortal or demigod servant to greet and guide them rather than one of his consorts. More surprising was Killerwatt, clinging to his father's robes as he stared up at them. Young gods like himself were a rarity as well, and they regarded him with just as much interest. “He was eager to see you,” Purse explained. “As is Electra.”

“They all have weapons,” Killerwatt observed, which was true. A sword hung at Rusty’s waist and Porter’s, Lumber had an axe with him and Slick a dagger. Rusty had more with him as well - gifts to Electra and his family. 

“And Krupp will deal with them if they seek to raise them here, which I’m sure they will not,” The god of wealth assured the child, though there was a clear edge of warning in his words. 

“Of course, we won't,” Rusty agreed, kneeling down to speak with Killerwatt. “Though if it will put you at ease, I have a gift for you, if you'd like it now?” He glanced up to Purse for permission, offering the boy a sheathed dagger at his nod. He took it gleefully, while Rusty straightened up to assure Purse that the blade was blunted. 

They went on to Electra’s throne room, where the storm god lounged with Volta and Joule on either side of him. Krupp stood to one side, on alert as he ever seemed to be, Killerwatt rushing to his side and mimicking his stance. Other lesser gods - ruling over rivers and mountains and the like throughout the Mortal Realm - lingered around the room, chatting with each other until their King addressed their visitors.

“You’ve been away from Our Realm too long,” They said, lips drawn into a slight scowl as their eyes traveled to them each in turn. “Though you seem to be missing someone. Did Hydra not wish to pay his respect to Us?”

Rusty bowed his head respectfully, his siblings slowly following suit. “He would if were traveling with us,” He said. “But we’ve come to search for him instead. With your leave, of course.”“We think he may be abroad in your realm. In danger, since he has not returned to ours,” Porter added. 

“Or in the Underworld,” Slick added, Rusty fighting not to glare at his younger sister. The rest of them still had their doubts - or their hopes - that Hydra was not in the underworld, and wanted to keep that part quiet. 

The gods surrounding them erupted in a frenzy of chatter, until Electra raised a hand, silencing them all. “How…disappointing,” They said, rising and stepping down towards the group. “I had hoped your arrival meant the end of your dereliction of duty. Your… delay did make the mortals more devout, but now they’re growing restless, and hungry. And what good is a rainstorm to them if nothing grows?”

“We all have our part to play,” Lumber responded. “But there is little Porter and I can do without our brother.”

“Well, if you’re going to be wandering Our Realm, make yourself useful, and do what little you can.”

Rusty could sense the tension that hung in the air between Electra and his brothers. “They will do so. I’ll see to it myself,” He said quickly, though he knew there was little he could do to force their hands. “If it is a…consolation to you, we’ve brought gifts to you and your consorts.”

The promise of tribute seemed to ease the king’s temper, for the moment at least. Soon they wore the crown Rusty had crafted for them, two lines of thunderbolts curving around their skull, and flanking the bright fan of hair they usually favored. Electra's consorts crowded around them - and even several of the other members of their court - to fawn over them, and that, thankfully, put them in a better mood.

“None of Our court has seen Hydra since We last visited the Upper realm,” Electra told them finally. “If he is here in the Mortal Realm, he has been quite well hidden.”

“And the Underworld?” Slick pressed.

“Is not my domain, nor my concern. The Queen sends her shade to collect souls, but she keeps their pathways well guarded.”

“And there’s none in your Realm that would know?” Porter asked.

Electra hummed. “You are friendly with Belle, are you not? She leans closer to that Realm than the rest of us. You might try seeking her out.”

Chapter Text

He'd had no right! No right to come into his courtyard, no right to do whatever he did to his tree.

He couldn't possibly know what the tree was, that a mortal, in her anguish, in her need for revenge, had burned it. It was the first sacrifice to him, mere moments after his ascension. When he'd seen it standing in his previously barren courtyard,  when he reached out to run a hand along one branch, he could feel the mortal's sorrow, feel how trapped she'd felt. 

The mortal had loved a man well below her station, though her hand had been promised to a cruel man. But she had been caught with her beloved, and so her father had put him to the blade, and imprisoned her, until preparations for her wedding were complete. And then she'd be another man's prisoner, even if he called her a wife.

Tassita had wept at how strong that prayer had been, how it lingered in him, and in the tree itself. Even the fruit that hung from the tree's branches had been bitter when he'd tasted it. 

He'd cursed her guards first, deafening them, blinding them, if only for a few fleeting moments, long enough for her to slip away. Others had pursued her - so he cursed their feet to find every rock and root in their path, cursed their dogs to lose her scent, cursed horses to buck and go lame, chariot and wagon wheels to break, torches to burn out. Anything for her to have her chance to slip away. And she had.

He had seen her lover's shade often, lingering, waiting. They often did that - those who weren't drawn to the revelry of Dinah's pavilion or dragged away to the far depths of the realm for punishment would often simply mill about, wander aimlessly, until whoever they were waiting for joined them. She must have lived a long life, for it was a long while before he finally spotted her shade, too, watched with delight (and just the barest hint of jealousy), as their spirits reunited at long last.

The tree had slowly died. Of course it had, this realm was meant for life. The bitter fruit fell and rotted, the leaves dried and drifted down, eventually scattering or being reduced to dust underfoot. Tassita had left it, undisturbed, untouched, not wanting to be drawn back down into the sorrow tied to it.

And this interloper had touched it - done something to it - without care.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think-” Hydra's voice drew Tassita from his memories.

“You didn't !” Tassita snapped, cutting him off before whatever pathetic excuse he could muster passed his lips. He shushed him as he attempted to speak again. “You shouldn't be here, unwelcome, uninvited!”

He stumbled backwards at the harsh words, eyes wide, almost panicked. Tassita wove around the tree, closing the gap between them. “Don't come here again,” He said, voice harsh, threatening. “I don't need my sister's prisoner skulking around.”

“I'm not- I'm Dinah's guest!” He protested, though Tassita could hear the shake in his voice as he spoke.

“If that's what makes the both of you feel better,” He spat, and he felt a twinge of regret as he saw the hurt on the other god's face. “Go back to your room, Hydra. Wander the palace if you wish, but don't cross that threshold again.” 

“You know my name?” He asked, surprised. Touched, even, the warning swiftly forgotten. “And you're…Tassita, aren't you? You must be.”

Tassita gave a short snort. “I must be.” Of course he knew who Hydra was, of course he knew his name. The gods of the Upper Realm were few and far between. He and his siblings filled the night sky with starlight, so tied up with it, he glowed softly. Certainly more importance than any Tassita held down in the darkness. That Hydra knew his name, that he'd deigned to remember it when they hadn't even been properly introduced, was more of a surprise.

“You know Pearl and Belle. You're their friend? They speak well of you, at least.”

Honeyed words, lies - he wanted something from him. Pearl and Belle, he was certain, did not think of him, or speak of him, did not miss him, even if he missed them. Why would they, when Pearl brought the mortals beauty and art, when Belle gave them rest and sweet dreams, and he did nothing more than trade one mortal's miseries for another's? Why would they speak well of him to any god? “If I am? What then?”

Tassita watched as he contemplated, considered, calculated. His eyes traced the path his tongue took as it slid over greenish lips, distracting him before he chided himself. Don't be a fool, he isn't here for you, he is a prisoner here, and he wouldn't want you anyway-

“Nothing,” Hydra finally murmured, letting going of whatever plot had been in his mind, it seemed. “I…I'll leave you be.”

“No. Tell me what you were going to say.” He didn't know why he made the demand, but he had. And he waited.

“I was going to ask if you would let them know I'm alright,” Hydra admitted, quicker than Tassita expected. “If you go up to the mortal realm. But it seemed an unfair thing to ask of someone I don't know.”

“It is,” Tassita agreed readily. It wasn't as if he was going to the mortal realm anytime soon. Being above was an assault on his senses, his hearing mostly. He could hear every prayer to him when he was above, every petty little grievance that the mortals thought deserved retribution. He had enjoyed the mortal realm quite a bit, before his ascension, had enjoyed visiting Belle and Pearl alongside Dinah. But now he couldn't stand it for long, avoided it when he could. The upper realms he didn't mind in the least, but there was rarely call for him to be invited there. Here, below, at least only the truly desperate voices reached him.

Tassita exhaled slowly through his nose. “You just want them to know you're alright? You wouldn't send a call for help?”

Bright green eyes met cold blue ones. “I don't want to risk making things worse.”

“And are you? Alright, I mean,” Tassita asked, unsure of what even prompted him to do so.

Hydra hesitated before he answered. “I'm…alright as I can be, I think.” 

Tassita wasn't sure that was entirely the truth, but let it go for now. “Out of my courtyard, then,” He said, his voice far less harsh now than it had been as he turned to go.

“Wait,” Hydra called, and he paused, turning back towards him with a questioning look. “I know that I can't come back here,” he said, gesturing to the courtyard around them. “But can I come and talk to you? Meet you in the hall?”

“Why would I want that?” He asked. For that matter, why would Hydra? Tassita was sure he was just desperate for the company.

He could see realization light for a moment in those green eyes. “Aren't you the one who's been lurking? Watching me?” Hydra asked, and Tassita could feel himself blush. “I think you're lonely here, too.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” He replied. He'd been a fool, really, to think he could sneak about unnoticed, tempted by his own curiosity and a handsome face. And how bold he was, thinking him lonely! Thinking he knew him! “But I'll consider talking with you.” He turned and left then, and a moment later, Hydra, too, turned to go.

Their backs to the tree, neither noticed the leaves beginning to bud along its branches.

Chapter Text

Belle wandered her realm, her feet swirling banks of clouds, a riot of colors. The mortals were always nondescript, muddy things, until she ran her fingers through, brightening their dreams. She watched them change - bright pink and blue for comfort, lavender for beauty, warm orange for a creative spark. Sometimes she couldn't help but let black or yellow slip through, bringing with them nightmares, but that was the way of it. The world required balance, even in dreams,

It had happened more often lately. Certainly more often than she would like. She liked to think of herself as a bringer of comfort. But lately, pleasant dreams were not enough to comfort the realities of empty bellies and fallow fields.

Too often now it was Greaseball's comfort they needed.

She rarely sought out the dreams of the Queen of the Underworld, but she had kept a keen eye out for roiling black clouds each time she slipped into the dream realm, hoping for some light to be shed on the subject. So far there had been none; she had not slept, as far as Belle was aware. Tassita and Dinah both had, but they had barred her from those dreams. She could, if she truly wanted to, force herself past those barriers, but to do so when she was so clearly not wanted seemed a violation. It was nothing new for Tassita, really, but Dinah had always welcomed her openly.

She’d been watching for Momma as well, her dreams golden and warm and welcoming always. Surely she must have an inkling of what the root of the problem was. But she had been just as scarce as Greaseball - had been, in fact, since she'd kept her children from visiting the Mortal Realm.

Belle sighed, her mind focusing on the physical world of the mortal realm, even as she still slept herself. The home she shared with Pearl and once, Dinah, was a little cottage near the sea, and she could smell, faintly, brine on the wind and hear the lap of the waves against the sandy shore. She could also hear the steady, rhythmic clack of Pearl working at her loom.

That was another friend that had barred her at present, though only from that particular room in their home. She knew why - Pearl was making something for her. Pearl hadn't said as much directly, but Belle had caught glimpses of the deep purple she was working with, heard her grumble just this morning that the silver didn't seem as bright and shiny as it ought to with the sun getting so dim.

It must have been clouds, though, for she could sense the shift in the light from her bedroom window, suddenly streaming in bright and warm. And that was followed by a peal of delighted laughter from Pearl, her voice carrying to her. “Belle! Belle! Wake up! They're back.”

That drew her from the Dream Realm completely and back to the mortal one. She rose from her bed, yawning and wiping her eyes as she walked to the cottage’s entryway. There Pearl darted between Rusty and Lumber and Porter and Slick excitedly, Belle hanging back to offer them each a sleepy smile and wave in greeting. Pearl had always been the more energetic of the two of them, and Belle was glad to see her so joyful again. She'd been down since they'd all been away - especially Rusty, and she seemed all the brighter when she stood beside him. So did Rusty, for that matter.

“Hydra didn't come with you?” Pearl asked, just as Belle took notice of his absence.

The surprised Belle. Unlike the others, she had been able to visit them all in their dreams while they had been barred from the Mortal realm. She knew Hydra was the most eager to be back, who asked the most questions of the goings-on, who longed to hear how the other gods and mortals fared. Why, then, was he not here?

She did not have to ponder the possibilities long, as Hydra's four siblings practically tripped over each other trying to explain.

“We came to ask Belle if she knew of anyway to get to the underworld,” Rusty said after they had given their rushed explanations. His expression was hopeful, but before Belle could speak, she heard Pearl give a soft squeak. She took a shaky step back from the group. “I…I'll leave you to speak with Belle, then.”

“Pearl, wait!” Rusty said, hurrying past to  into the cottage.

Lumber looked from where the two had stood and back to the rest of the group. “I think we ought to give them some time,” He said slowly after a moment. “Would you walk with me, Belle?”

She didn't have to be asked twice, her hand slipping easily into his.

“Do you think they noticed how they glowed together?” Belle asked when they'd gotten a good way from the cottage. “Rusty and Pearl?”

“What do you mean?”

“They're just...brighter around each other,” She said with a shrug. “Like they'd light up a room on their own but they do much more when they're together.”

“And what, you and I don't?”

“You sparkle, and shine,” She said, grinning at him. “So do Hydra and Porter and Slick. But I like the way you do the best. Especially when you're dreaming. Yours are a nice, deep blue, have I told you that before? It suits you and your sparkles. But I like having you here with me more.” She slid his arm through his as they walked further along down the beach.

Lumber beamed at that. “You missed me, then?”

“Harder to miss you when I can visit your dreams,” Belle smirked. “And besides, I have Blue and Flash when dreams aren't enough, “ She added with a wink.

“Missed them too,” Lumber noted. “I'll have to show all three of you just how much when this is over.”

“The three of us have been doing just fine on our own, thank you,“ She teased, though her expression grew more serious as she considered what she said. “You're really going to try and get down there?”

“Have to. Things will keep getting worse down here if we don't have Hydra back with us, and Greaseball doesn't seem to be willing to let him go.”

Worry curled in Belle’s stomach. If Hydra being in the Underworld was bad, wouldn't the four of them be worse? They might well all end up trapped themselves. But Lumber’s own worry - and the desperation she’d seen in Rusty's eyes, in Porter’s and even Slick’s - made her force her own concerns down. “I do know of a way,” She admitted quietly.

The dead were in an odd state between the time they died and the time they arrived in the underworld; not dreaming, but close enough to it that Belle could still visit with them. She did so rarely. For one, Greaseball’s shades were swift in their duties, and it made them hard to catch. For another, it seemed a deeply personal thing, scenes from their life streaming past, and it seemed better that she leave the mortals be on their journey.

And it was a journey - she could tell how they moved, or how the shades moved them. How they went from the mortal realm from the underworld.

“Will you tell me?” Lumber asked, hope lacing his voice.

Belle nodded, and as they turned back towards the cottage, she began to explain.

Chapter Text

Pearl had been a fool. So giddy to see Rusty, to see all of them again, that she assumed it was a simple social visit. That she didn’t stop to take in their serious demeanors, or the weapons hung at their waists. She should have been quicker to take notice of Hydra's absence, too. They might pay a visit alone or in pairs sometimes, but never had just four of them come, leaving a sibling behind.

She'd been a fool to think Rusty had come to visit her . Why should he want to, after all that mess? She'd assumed he'd been avoiding her completely, until Belle had set her straight, told her that weren't allowed to visit the mortal realm at the moment, that Rusty had promised to visit the moment he could. She hadn't taken Rusty for one to break promises. But he wouldn't be the first to do so between the two of them.

And now it seemed he would leave just as quickly as he came, his task there complete once Belle revealed what she knew. And then what? He and the others would wander perilously into the Underworld, to confront whatever dangers lay between here and there. And within the underworld itself! 

How often, after all, had Dinah warned them against trying to find their way there to visit her? How often had she told them that it was no place for any but the gods tied to it? 

“Pearl? Are you alright?” Rusty called through the door to her room, knocking lightly. She’d hurried off so quickly, she hadn't realized he'd followed her. She stepped lightly to the door, hesitating before she opened It.

The light filtering in through the windows shifted, getting brighter as Rusty stepped inside with her, like he'd brought the sun with him. As he smiled at her in greeting, his brown skin caught the light, his cheeks glinting metallically, like they were dusted with bronze. That was new, since she'd last seen him. They all changed a bit, after their full ascension, so she shouldn't be surprised. Still, the change was striking. 

“...I’m fine, Rusty, “ She offered belatedly, finally remembering that a question had been asked. “I just… I’d hoped you would stay awhile, at least. Have a proper visit.” 

“I would have rather had one, too,” He sighed, stepping into the room with her. “And not end it by going to the underworld.” He tilted his head as he looked down at her, brows furrowing with worry. “You really are worried, aren't you?”

“You could sneak down there, but there’s no guarantee you’d come back up afterwards.” 

“We have to do something. We can’t just sit around. She could be doing anything to Hydra. She could be torturing him for all we know.” 

“I doubt that Dinah would put up with Greaseball torturing her friend,” Pearl said. At least, she hoped she was right about that. Where had she been, this whole time? She had paid a visit only once since the start of all this trouble, near the very start, before Pearl had known anything was amiss. “What are you going to do, if you do manage to get down there?” 

Rusty chewed his lip, Pearl’s eyes following him as he paced across her floor. He paused, examining a woven tapestry that she’d hung above her bed. Pinks and pale purples faded into white then golds and oranges, a stylized dawn. She watched, pleased, as the corners of his lips twitched upwards just for a moment, before he turned to speak. “I don’t know,” He finally admitted. “Try and talk some sense into Greaseball, I suppose, and if that fails…”

Pearl’s eyes went to the sword that hung at his hip. “You’ll fight her for him? Try to overpower her together?” 

Rusty nodded. “Hoping it won’t come to that. I don't think that'll make anything better, though. I’ve been thinking on what she might want, though. A trade, maybe. I’d stay myself, if she asked it of me.”

That thought filled her with dread, for reasons she couldn't quite pinpoint. Because she thought of him as hers, she supposed? But she had no real claim on him, they'd made no promises to each other. “Rusty, you can't…” 

“It would have to be me, wouldn't it?” He asked, his voice quiet. “I don't… I'm not like the others. I don't need to be above.”

That same feeling of dread crept over Pearl again. He was needed above, in the Upper Realm, wasn't he? Surely Electra would have demanded him for their kingdom if he was not, tied to the earth as his new domain was? Or perhaps that had been forgotten with Rusty and the others being kept away. 

“I could go. Offer myself up instead.” Perhaps It wouldn't be so bad. She would have Dinah to keep her company, at least, and Tassita as well. 

“Then we’d just have a new problem. Electra wouldn’t be pleased to give you up, I’m sure, and wouldn’t be pleased with us for letting you stay down there.” Rusty reached out, hand cupping her cheek, so pleasantly, perfectly warm . “Besides, the mortals need love more than the dead do, Pearl. They need beauty. Speaking of which…”

He drew his hand away to grab a small pouch at his belt, offering it out to her. “Oh!” She gasped softly as she emptied the contents into her palm. She found a delicate silver chain, tiny seed pearls threaded along its length like little stars. A pendant hung from it as well, a crescent moon, intricate filigree decorating it. How long had he worked at it, to craft something so fine? And even if it had taken him no time at all, it practically hummed under her touch, singing of the care he'd taken in crafting it, of shaping the metal into a form he thought would suit her, please her. He'd poured his heart into it for her.

“It's beautiful,” She whispered. 

“High praise, coming from you,” He said, flashing her a grin. She brushed silvery strands of hair out of the way as he stepped behind her, allowing him to slide the necklace around her neck and fasten it. She felt his fingers linger on her skin, his touch pleasantly warm and welcome.

She took the briefest moment to admire the look of it in the mirror, before she met his gaze in it. “Are you sure you won't stay? Even just for the night?”

“I'd like to, if only I could,” Rusty sighed, leaning closer to brush a kiss to her temple. “None of us really want to go down there but…we have to. And the sooner the better.” He stepped around her, one hand reaching out to cup her cheek gently. “But you could come with us.”

Before she had time to answer, before she had a second to even entertain the thought, she heard the others’ voices calling out to them. 

“We should and go speak with them,” Pearl said, regretful as she pulled away from him to head back outside. 

Chapter Text

There were flowers on Hydra’s bed.

He’d nearly sat on them. But he hastily lit the braziers in his room – he wasn’t quite in command of it, the green flames spluttery and weak – giving him just enough light to see. Four long stems, hastily tied with a bit rough twine, were topped with a spike of white blossom, each petal white, long and narrow, spread wide from each other, long stamens beckoning to bees that would not find them here. He did not know these blooms – Lumber would undoubtedly be able to name them, be able to tell him exactly what had sparked their creation. But Lumber was not here, Porter was not here to tell him how to best light his fires, none of his siblings were beside him, he ought to be with them-

Hydra wiped hastily at his eyes. Stupid of him to think of Lumber, to think of any of them. Think of something else, He urged himself. Look at what’s before you. Right. The flowers. Where had they come from?

Surely they hadn’t grown there? Nothing he’d seen in this place was anything that could grow. Only cracked soil and rocks and that awful river and the dead. And the others like himself.

No, not like himself, he didn’t like thinking of Greaseball as like himself. But the other gods. Greaseball surely hadn’t left these for him, but maybe Dinah had, a bit of cheering up for him (not that it was working at present). Or Tassita?

Probably not Tassita. Who, then?

He reached for them, fingers wrapped around the stems and – oh .

He felt that sorrow, that ache, that desperation. He was not used to it, in the mortals’ prayers to him. And there was a prayer wrapped up in this bouquet, a plea for he and his siblings to bless them with a proper spring. How strong that plea must have been to find him here in the dark. He wondered at the blooms – how long, how far did that mortal search to find them?

And there was not a thing he could about it, not a thing he could do to help them, not from down here.

Still, that power still lingered inside him, now demanding he act. Give what you’ve taken, take what you give, It seemed to hiss as it coiled within him. Grow, Decay, Grow again…

The flowers withered and wilted away in his fist, and he carefully caught the seeds in his other hand, small and dark against his pale palm. He took what the stems had left to give as he marched into his courtyard, tossing them away before he knelt at its center among those jagged rocks with their twisting crystals.

A layer of fine gravel covered the ground here, and he clawed at it with his now empty hand, digging furrows until he found the soil beneath it, soft and loamy and rich. He dropped the seeds down into them, and covered them over.

He was probably doing this wrong. Planting had never been his task. They were probably too close together, or not deep enough. Lum-

No. Focus.

Hydra lay his hands against the ground, willing the energy he held to flow into it. He could feel it spread, surrounding the seeds and seeping into them, until thin tendrils of seedlings pushed up through the soil. Everything flowed further too, spreading out and searching, until it found Tassita’s tree once more, the roots greedily drinking all he had to give. And he let it take what was needed, it needed so much more than the seedlings did.

The act did nothing for the mortal’s prayer, but he soothed him at least.

“What are you doing?”

Tassita’s voice as it greeted Hydra was gentle this time, curious. None of that fierce anger, that loathing was carried in it, as it had when they’d last met. He’d managed to sneak up on him again – Hydra wasn’t sure how he could move so quietly – and sat on the tiled floor at the arch that led into the courtyard

“I was…” He began to say, but found his voice tight. He lifted a hand to wipe at his cheek, wiping away tears he hadn’t realized were falling and hoping he wasn’t leaving a streak of dirt in their wake. “I got an offering.”

Tassita pulled a face Hydra couldn’t quite identify – Concerned? Surprised?  Perplexed? Perhaps all three at once. “I didn’t think that could happen.”

Neither had Hydra. And Greaseball probably hadn’t either, but then, how often did gods get held captive, away from their proper realms?

“And you buried it?” Tassita asked, tilting his head as his gaze landed on where the ground was torn up.

“They were flowers,” He said. “I planted the seeds.” The other god squinted and leaned forward. “You can come over here, you know,” Hydra offered, shifting from foot to foot. He watched as Tassita hesitated, before he walked over, eying the spot where he’d planted the seeds, kneeling down across from him to examine the seedlings. “They grew,” He whispered, his eyes wide with that mix of bewilderment and concern again. 

Hydra wanted to point out his tree was growing too. Even through the two arches and the hall that separated their two courtyards, he could see that scrubby tree all red with buds now. He held his tongue though, not wanting to risk drawing his ire again. 

“I doubt it will come to much,” He said instead, looking down at the seedlings a moment before back up at Tassita, his cheek resting on his hand as he seemed lost in thought. “Did you only come to lurk again?”

“...No,” Tassita said, and Hydra thought he could see a slight flush to his cheek as he finally looked up again. “You asked if I talked to you and I wanted to stretch my legs so…”

“You want to go on a walk with me?” Hydra asked, brightening. “What, around the palace?”

“No, out there,” Tassita said, waving one hand broadly. “It isn't much of a change of scenery, but it is a change.”

They walked in silence for a long while as they ventured out of the palace. He truly was not used to the quiet of the Underworld, he realized now. The mortal realm was always noisy - even if he was alone in a forest, there would be the sound or birds or bugs or larger beasts going about their business. And in the upper realm-

No . He would not think of it. Luckily, as they traversed the largely featureless terrain, Tassita finally spoke up. “Do you always get flowers from the mortals?”

“Usually. They make garlands and crowns and things to decorate my statues and shrines. Sometimes they leave fruit as well. Giving thanks that the spring returned, or begging for an early start.”

“And I take it that one wasn't?” 

“That was a plea for it to start at all.”

Tassita was quiet again, looking pensive for a long few moments. “I'm sorry you're stuck down here, Hydra,” He said finally. “Truly I am.”

“It isn't your doing, Tassita,” He replied. He pressed on quickly, not wanting to linger on the matter. “What do they usually give you? The mortals?” He found himself again tempted to ask about the tree - he assumed it was out of the norm - but again found himself holding his tongue on the subject.

“Not much,” Tassita said. “Sometimes they'll scratch it into bits of pewter or lead and toss them into a fountain, or burn something for me, whatever they can spare. But usually they just speak their curses. It's why I don’t like going up to the mortal realm. it gets overwhelming.” He stopped suddenly, cheeks tinged with a blush.

“Must be a big change from the silence down here,” Hydra said softly, tentatively reaching a hand out to take his. “Maybe we can find some way to dull the noise for you?” He flinched slightly as Tassita pulled his hand away, marching on again, determined in his steps as he picked up his pace. 

“Wouldn’t matter if you did,” He scoffed. “Not much point in going up there when I’m not missed.” 

“That’s not true, I’m sure it’s not,” Hydra protested. “Anyway, I’ll miss you when I go.”

“You barely know me!” 

“Not yet. But by the time I’m free-” If he was ever free. “I will. I hope I will. I hope I know you well enough to miss you, to want to see you again.” 

Tassita made no response, only quickening his pace.  Hydra let him, trailing behind, giving him space. He’d only been trying to be kind, to speak honestly, but apparently he’d misspoken. He wished he knew how, but he didn’t dare ask. 

When the other god finally slowed again, as they walked in an arc to turn back towards the palace, Hydra fell into step alongside him. When he spoke again, he offered no apologies - he didn’t know what to apologize for and it felt like it would be hollow otherwise. He spoke of whatever came to his mind: of amusing things he’d seen in the mortal realm, of his duties each spring and fall, what it felt like to light the stars, even of Momma and his siblings. It did not hurt so much, he found, to speak of them to him, not drawing the same ache that thinking of them did when he was alone. He feared he was saying far too much, but Tassita seemed content to let him ramble about nothing and everything. And Hydra was nothing less than pleased whenever something he said drew a comment or a question from him. 

Hydra found himself disappointed when their ramble was coming to an end, the palace drawing ever closer. But a sound caught his attention, a gentle melody carrying through the air. “That’s…who’s singing?” Hydra asked, furrowing his brow. 

“One of the souls,” Tassita said. “She does this quite a bit, I’m surprised you haven’t heard her before now.” He gestured for him to follow, and he did. Past the far end of the palace - he tried not to venture down this end too often, there was a short cliff. There were more variations in the terrain than he’d realized, as he’d noticed on his walk with Tassita, but this was the most obvious so far, he was surprised he’d missed it. 

Below was a lit brazier, the gentle pink and blue of the flames suggesting it had been Dinah’s handiwork. The mortal soul that sat beside it was striking, tall and lovely, long dreads trailing down her back. Nearly every one he’d seen had been in some way formless and featureless, mere shadows of themselves in life. If not for the slightly translucent quality to her, Hydra might have guessed she was a living mortal somehow lost below. 

“One of us holds her dear, I think,” Tassita remarked. “The souls always fade after a time. The more they’re forgotten above, the less clear they are down here. But she’s never faded the tiniest bit, and I’ve never seen a soul linger so long. She’s waiting for someone, I suppose. But if it is one of us-”

“They’ll never come,” Hydra said. What a tragedy, to be waiting for an eternity. As they sat on the clifftop and listened, a chill ran down Hydra’s spine. Because the more the soul sang, the more he remembered.

He remember being young, truly young, and it had been so long since then. It was before Rusty and Slick, when Porter and Lumber had snuck him down to the mortal realm, to spy on Momma with them.

They’d found her with a mortal woman - that mortal woman - and heard the two of them singing this song together. And when it had ended, he remembered Momma leaning in close. And just before her lips had touched the mortal’s, before Porter and Lumber had hastened him away, he remember hearing, just barely, Momma whispering something. 

“I’d give you the sun from the sky if I could, my love.” 

Chapter Text

Rusty shifted from foot to foot, staring at the great gaping cave before him. Death and the underworld lay somewhere down its dark tunnels, he could feel it. It brought him a sense of unease, of fear, even, for reasons he could not name. 

He was a god. He could be wounded and injured but no part of him could die. No part of him should fear death. 

So why did this cave send a chill down his spine?

He looked to the others, his siblings along with Belle and Pearl lingering close by, talking quietly among themselves. 

He was tempted, for a moment, to try and send them off, to tell them to go home, that he would go it alone. 

“We're ready when you are, Rusty.” Porter had approached without him noticing. A small lick of flame fluttered near his shoulder, and he could see others floating about the rest of their little group. He gave a small snap, another dancing on his fingertips a moment to flutter up besides Rusty's shoulder. It seemed to grow brighter and hotter as it hung there.

“That's new,” Porter observed. He beckoned the flame back to him, watching as it grew smaller and dimmer the farther it went from Rusty. “Suppose it likes you,” He joked with a grin. 

At least one of them was able to keep their mood light. “Think these will be of much use down there?”

“Couldn't hurt. If they don't we'll have to go bumping around through the dark anyway. Better to have them at the ready. But I think we'll be fine.  Maybe Her Highness likes to sit about in darkness but I doubt Dinah would be willing to put up with it constantly. Not after being in the Mortal Realm so long.” 

Rusty nodded. Dinah was his one comfort in all of this, really. If they could not get Greaseball to see reason alone,  he hoped that Dinah might lend her voice to theirs. Alone perhaps she didn't hold enough sway, or else Hydra might well be free. Seven of them – eight if Tassita joined with them, as Pearl and Belle thought he might – might be enough to sway the queen. 

“Who knows what else might be down there anyway?” Slick said, sauntering over and tilting her head as she stared down into the darkness. “Doubt she's left the path unguarded. The flames might do us some good.”

Rusty was the first to venture in, the others following. The light was quickly gobbled up as they left the surface, moving deeper and deeper beneath the earth. The flames, they soon realized, were unnecessary, though they let them linger. Rusty could see his siblings shining and sparkling in the dark.

There was no hesitation from the rest, it would seem - not like him. Not at first. As they wandered deeper down, he noticed the change in his siblings, one by one. Nothing major- a pause, a shudder, a look of unease. He'd seen it before, when they would press him to return above with them, when they needed to light the fires for the stars once again. He feared, for a moment, that they might turn and go, abandoning their quest to set off for home instead. But one by one, they all steeled themselves, and kept going, and relief flooded into him for a fleeting moment.

For then Rusty felt something grip him, strong and insistent, clawing him from within, urging him back. Your forge, it seemed to whisper in his mind. Think of your forge. When did you last light it? When did you last tend its flame? What will they do without its warmth? 

Confusion clouded his mind. What did his forge matter right now? 

And yet it did. 

No one needed the heat of his forge but him and the metal he worked at it. 

And yet the mortals did. 

He felt a hand take his. “Rusty?” Pearl's voice drew him from his fretting, though that clawing need to return above still lingered. But her presence, her touch, calmed him, steadied him. “Is everything alright?”

“I think…” He began, though he found his throat dry. “It’s only the tunnel. Nothing to worry about.” He said it more to convince himself than Pearl. But that must be it. It had all started at the mouth of the cave, hadn't it? He was growing ever farther from the Upper Realm with every step, towards a realm of death, and perhaps that was why he felt as he did. He wondered if it would only get worse, more oppressive as they descended. If he went deep enough, would there come a point where he found himself unable to move forward? Or was it more like a tether, ready to snap if pulled to its limit?

Would it be worse in the underworld? Had poor Hydra been trapped all this time in a mire, desperate to be free again? 

“Turn your mind towards something else,” Pearl said softly, lacing her fingers with his as they walked along together. “Think of what you’ll do when all this is through.” 

He hadn't given much thought to after, that was true. He found it difficult sometimes, when doubts about success crept into his mind. But there would be an after, he supposed, whether they got Hydra back or not.

Best to focus on if they did free Hydra in the end.

He'd watch his siblings bring forth the spring at long last. He'd always liked to see it as they refreshed the world and woke it back up. Perhaps he'd hide himself among the mortals, see how they celebrated and welcomed it  And what a cause for celebration they would have after such an unnaturally long winter!

He'd be able to wander the mortal realm again. He could go and see Dustin and Flat-Top and the others. Search out new ores and gems and the like for his creations. Spend time with his siblings by choice, rather than because they were all stuck in the same place at the same time. Spend  proper time with Pearl, rather than whatever this was, when there wasn’t a sense of urgency constantly propelling him further. 

Or when there wasn’t one trying to drag him back. 

The tunnel was deep and formless, featureless, stretching on forever. Other than themselves and their flames, they only occasionally crossed paths with the shades, gliding above them, ignoring them as they went out, only their bright shining eyes visible in the darkness. Each time they returned, though, Rusty could see them each clutching several mortal souls, silvery, wispy things. They seemed to be coming and going far more often than he would expect, and ferrying far more souls. 

It felt like they were walking endlessly, would always be walking endlessly, until the tunnel suddenly opened up into a wider cavern, hard stone giving way to something soft and loamy underfoot. Moss clung to the walls, glowing a soft, odd green. Small, still pools of water - glowing just as the moss did and steaming, dotted the cavern floor here and there. It was an odd space, but a welcome one in Rusty's eyes. There was life here, even if it was smaller and simpler than what he and the other gods usually paid much mind to.

He might have even thought it a pleasant place to rest a while.

If he hadn't caught sight of something large slithering through the shadows.

Chapter Text

Tassita dropped the token as if it burned him.

It was a simple thing, a little disc of metal, a plea for a curse etched onto one side of it. The mortals would toss them into fountains or public baths and they would find their way to him. They were weak pleas, usually, nothing truly worth his time. He wondered, sometimes, if the simple act of creating them was enough for the mortals, if it was cathartic in and of itself. He'd never felt truly compelled to act on any of them.

This one he couldn't act on if he wanted to: a curse on the God of Renewal for not coming to them, for not bringing about the spring. 

The mortals couldn't know that Hydra was trapped away through no fault of his own, that he would go to them the moment he was able, return to what he needed to be doing, and to where he belonged.

And Tassita would remain below in the darkness where he belonged.

He'd been foolish, spending more time with Hydra, walking with him, talking to him, laughing with him. Let him say dangerous, honeyed words to him, let him do dangerous, kind acts.

As the days - perhaps longer than that, perhaps shorter, time was a fuzzy thing below - had passed, Tassita had watched Hydra turn his courtyard into a proper garden. The mortals offered what little they could: acorns and moss, mushrooms and fiddleheads and brackens. Amd Hydra had done what he could to soothe the need to serve them. An oak sapling sprouted now in the middle of the spires of bismuth crystal, the ground carpeted in soft moss and ferns. The asphodel had grown quickly, white blooms dotting the green along with mushrooms of various shades. Hydra had picked a few and woven them into a crown for him, set it on his head and called him the prince of the Underworld.

And he supposed in a way that was true, and that the gesture was sweet, but it soured in his mind, a reminder that he belonged to a realm that Hydra did not.

The growth had spread even to his courtyard. Little ferns had popped up at the edge by the entryway, fronds newly unfurled. And his tree was alive again, flowers giving way to fruit, red and ripe and shiny in the torchlight. He did not think Hydra had intended it; he had not so much as set a foot past the entryway since the first day they’d met. But they had grown nonetheless, alive and thriving despite being in a realm of death. 

He wondered if they would last once he was gone. Probably not. And what a pity that would be, to see leaves scattered across the ground until they were ground to dust beneath his feet, to see the moss dry up where it clung to stone.

Hydra would not stay, after all, could not stay. Not when the mortals pleaded for his return, not when they cursed him for not being there. 

Not even if Tassita wanted him to. 

The thoughts left him feeling unmoored, and he soon found himself wandering through the palace halls, until he crossed paths with Dinah. She looked weary, offering only a tired smile as he approached. “She still won't yield,” She said softly, by way of explanation.

Tassita linked his arm through Dinah's walking with her into her chambers. He sat with her, reaching for a comb, and running it through her hair, humming a soft song as he did so, watching as she closed her eyes and relaxed.

His mother had done this for him when he was young, and probably for Greaseball as well, though his memories of her were fuzzy. His memories of their father, too, were distant things now. 

Their father had made a challenge to the Starlight, back when it had a form like theirs, in the earliest days of their existence. In the end, he had lost, punished, stripped of his corporeal form, his essence bound to the underworld. A fate that awaited them all, or so the Starlight had said, to one day become more than what they were. His punishment had been only the quickening of that fate. Their mother had sobbed at the loss of him, had begged and pleaded to share in his fate. The Starlight had granted it, but she was bound to the earth, to the Mortal Realm instead. They were forever separated, from each other, from Greaseball, from Tassita. 

Tassita had hoped once, when he ascended, that his domain might tie him to the Mortal Realm, that one of them might be with their mother. But that had been a foolish hope. He belonged in the Mortal Realm, in the Upper Realm, as much as Hydra belonged in the Underworld. 

“Thank you,” Dinah said softly, breaking Tassita's train of thoughts. “And thank you for being kind to Hydra through all this.”

“I wasn't, at the start,” He sighed, laying the comb down. 

“But you have been lately, haven't you?” She said. “I've overlooked my own duties as his hostess. Haven't been to visit him as often as I should have been. But I've seen the two of you walking together.”

“We have been,” Tassita said, blushing. He hadn't think either she or Greaseball had paid them much mind.

Dinah smiled at him, warm and kind, as she turned to face him properly. “He cares for you, as plain as anything.” That only made his blush deepen, and he hated it, hated the way her words made his hopes soar. Foolish, dangerous thing. 

Her eyes feel on the flower crown on his head. “The mortals don't offer you flowers, normally,” She observed. 

“No,” He agreed. Reaching up, he plucked it from his head, turning it gingerly in his hands. “Hydra made it for me.”

“I've never known a god to give up their sacrifices to another.”

“It's not a sacrifice, exactly,” Tassita said slowly. This suddenly felt like a perilous topic to be discussing. “...He grew them.”

He could feel Dinah stiffen beside him, her eyes growing wide. “Down here?” She asked, his nod only seeming to increase that worry, that fear in her. “Has he eaten anything? Have you seen it? Has he mentioned it?”

Tassita slowly shook his head. “N-no,” His voice wavered as he spoke. “You warned me, I kept a close watch-”

“Tassita, he should not be able to grow these. She said, her hand on his wrist. “Only someone of our realm could have done this.”

“But if he…” Tassita swallowed hard, the information settling like a stone in his mind. “He'll be trapped here.”

“Bound here,” Dinah corrected, another realization seeming to click her in mind, the wheels turning. “Not trapped. Never trapped.”

Tassita stumbled back towards his room, his mind still reeling with the understanding. 

Hydra was one of them.

Hydra was no longer trapped.

Greaseball could not stop the underworld's own gods from coming and going. She'd never been able to. Perhaps that had been their father's doing, some last bit of defiance to keep them from being cutting off from the other realms permanently.

And now Hydra could go.

Would go, the moment Tassita told him.

And he had to tell him. He'd promised Dinah, begged her to let him be the one.

He would have to come back. They all had to come back eventually. And he would resent that, wouldn't he? Having to come back to this dreary, lifeless place, to the gods who had kept him locked away?

“Hydra?” Tassita called. He was not in his courtyard, more his garden now. He stepped carefully over the bare bits of gravel he'd left as a footpath. Each of his rooms were empty.

He paced for a moment, uncertain of what to do, to search or to wait. His feet took him back to his own courtyard, and he looked up at his tree, those rip red fruits mocking him. 

Why had Hydra ever touched it? Why had he ever taken an interest in something of his? Why had he made things different, nicer, warmer, brighter in a realm where he should not have belonged? Where he had been forced to inhabit against his will?

Why had he let himself be so foolish? 

Hydra would hate him when he knew. He would go above and be with the ones he truly loved, the ones he cared for, the ones he'd been pining for (even if it seemed like he was pining a little less each time Tassita saw him). And when he came below again, when he was compelled to and not a moment before, he would resent his presence there. 

He ripped one of the pomegranates down from a branch, tearing it open, wanting to revel in the bitter taste, the sorrow, the righteous fury.

And those were still there, at the start. But it had faded, softened, gave way to relief, elation, and gratitude. But even those were fleeting, a fresher wave of fear and awe and curiosity following. And then, stronger, newer, still were comfort and warmth.

And wanting .

And love .

Tassita could feel the tears sliding down his face, not sure if that was Hydra’s or his own, or both, not sure of what he was about to lose.

“Tassita?” Hydra’s voice called out gently. He stood at the threshold, looking at him in concern.

He must look like a beast, red juice like blood marking the skin around his mouth and his fingers, eyes just as red from the tears.

But Hydra’s face was all concern. “You called for me,” He asked.

“Where were you?”

He leaned out slightly, not taking a step closer as he nodded up toward the roof of the Underworld's cavernous space. “I…there's energy. Above us. That's how I've been growing things. I needed more.”

Tassita blinked slowly. Was that it? Was it really so different from why the mortals ate? 

Was it enough to bind him there?

It must be. 

“What's wrong?” He continued. “Tassita, please. Tell me what you need. What can I do to help?”

He knew what he should say. That he should tell him everything, tell him to go back where he belonged, to go to help the mortals.

He should tell him he was free now and trapped all the same.

He was cursing the mortals by what he did, he knew that, felt it. But they could hold out a little longer.

He had carried his own curses so much longer.

He beckoned to him, offered up the other half of the pomegranate. 

Hydra took careful steps closer, hesitating before he took the fruit from Tassita.

Tassita met his gaze, his own pleading, hopeful . “Just…stay with me, a little while longer?”

Chapter Text

Lumber had been examining the moss, curious about the way it glowed, his focus there when the first shout came. When he turned, it was hard to miss the thing. That they had missed it before was the more shocking thing to him. 

It was reptilian, scuttling about on low-slung legs. Large, too, perhaps twelve feet by his reckoning from A long tail, tapering sharply to a point, snapped behind it like a whip. Its body seemed oddly bulbous, looking almost too big for the rest of it. Rows of protuberances - buds registered in Lumber’s mind, though he couldn't quite say why - studded its back and sides. 

A neck – nearly as long as the tail – was topped by a head with bright yellow eyes and a wide mouth studded with needle-sharp teeth. And that mouth was open, drool stringing between the teeth, as it let out a sudden screech and lunged forward. 

Lumber scrambled away, narrowly missing the snap of the beast's jaws as he reached for the ax hanging at his waist. He hefted the weapon in his hand. Rusty had done a good job with it: the balance was perfect, and he knew the head was sharp. He rarely had call to fight; only occasional sparring with Porter kept him in any sort of skill. And Porter wasn't as fierce an opponent as the beast - why should he be, with nothing but a moment's pride to lose?

They circled the beast, each of them spread out around it, brandishing weapons, their eyes fixed on it. His siblings all stood ready, coiled, tense, eyes tracking it as it turned slowly, sizing them up. Belle looked surprisingly fierce, though she was brandishing only one of the small knives Rusty had to spare for both her and Pearl. Pearl, for her part, looked less certain, and perhaps that was why it settled on her to charge. She dodged it nimbly, ever light on her feet as she darted away, the beast’s claws screeching across the stone as it tried to turn quick enough to snap at her again. And that in turn gave Rusty and Slick a good chance to rush in, sword and dirk digging into either side of it. Blood bloomed against its gray scales - not red, as he might’ve expected, or the dark ichor that caught a hundred different colors in the life that their own wounds wept, but a strangely bright blue instead. 

Too much about this beast made Lumber uneasy. He was made more uneasy still when the wound neatly stitched itself back together. 

They fell into a pattern. Circle it, let it charge, and strike; circle, charge, strike, over and over, though the wounds seemed to bother it little, if at all. 

Until finally, finally, Lumber had a good angle on it, swung his axe down on his neck. The blade sunk easy through scale and sinew, muscle and bone, until it was clear on the far side. The head and neck lay on the cave floor, twitching oddly, the body squirming, not quite caught up to its loss. 

That ought to have been the end of it. 

But then Lumber saw two of those horrid little buds swell and burst open, two more heads on two more necks nearly exploding out of them. Two more jaws, two more sets of teeth. 

And dozens more just waiting to bloom. 

***

Of course.

Of course they’d wander down a cave to the underworld with that, of all creatures, waiting to attack. Perhaps Greaseball herself had sent it to mock them, or perhaps it was sheer dumb luck that had sent them down the path that had it. 

The thought of running registered briefly in his mind, but he was quick to dismiss it; he was almost certain that if they fled, the thing would only pursue and pester them. And while it wouldn't kill them, being bitten and slashed at until you had ichor seeping from every inch hardly seemed a pleasant prospect to him. Ending it now would be better, would be quicker. 

At least he hoped it would be. 

There was some small comfort in the fact that the head they'd chopped off had not grown back, the hydra flicking it away with disinterested flick of its talons as it resumed its slow turn, two heads on a swivel as it sized them up again, four yellow eyes watching, waiting, catching gleams of red and green from the moss and their flames. 

Their flames. 

Either it would work or it would be incredibly stupid. 

He called it to his finger, stoking it, urging it brighter, fuller, hotter. And then, when he was satisfied with it, he flicked it at the monster, just before he was forced to dash away as it came charging at him and Lumber. 

The flame spiraled towards it. He missed his aim - one of the buds along its back - but he heard the creature snarl as the flame struck against its scales, spreading out along them until it licked at the buds to either side of where it had struck.

And both burst, two more snarling, salivating heads on two more snaking necks bursting forth. 

Lovely. 

He watched as Slick seemed to have similar thoughts to his, narrowly dodging bites from two of the heads to slash at its foot, lopping off two of its toes - toes that grew back swiftly. Hobbling, it seemed, wouldn't be an option either.

It went for Pearl again, four heads now turning towards her, snarling and snapping. Porter heard a short yelp before he saw her drop, but it must not have actually gotten her. She saw only a few silver strands of hair glinting in one of its maw, before he saw Pearl writhe beneath it, heard its shriek as she drove her blade up into its belly, and narrowly rolled out from under it. The knife must have struck deep, as Porter could hear the four heads wheezing. There was the occasional scrape of the handle against the stone below it, and a trail of that blue blood weeping from below. 

So what were they to do? Plant their blades in the beast, hoping to hit its heart – Porter wasn’t even positive the monster had a heart – or hoping it would bleed out? He felt like that could take an eternity they didn’t have. They needed to fetch Hydra back, for the mortals and for themselves, he had stars to tend to, he had flames to kindle –

When he saw the light, drowning out the dim light of the pools and the mosses, Porter thought, for a moment, that he’d poured all his frustrations into each personal flame, made them burn too bright and strong. But the light wasn’t right for it, it was different, steadier, brighter, the heat much too intense. A mortal would be blinded, burned by it. 

And then he saw Rusty at the heart of it all, glowing, charging with a feral shout at the monster, sword gripped tight. He thought he might have seen teeth sink into his brother’s arm, but that hardly mattered, not when Rusty drove his blade into its back, not when that light seemingly flowed through the sword and into the creature. More buds burst, more heads grew, only to be consumed from within. 

When at last Rusty’s light faded, he staggered, sides heaving, Lumber and Pearl rushing to either side of him to give him support. 

There was a tang of iron in the air, and Porter wondered if Rusty felt the rivulets of deep red blood inch down his arm to splatter on the cave floor below.

Chapter Text

Hydra turned the pomegranate in his hand, the tiny red seeds beckoning, tempting him. 

It wasn't a sacrifice, but it had grown here. A risky thing. 

But not one wholly without reward.

“I'll stay as long as you need, Tassita,” He said softly, reaching out, carefully, tentatively, to stroke the other god's cheek. For a moment, he leaned into the touch, but Hydra quickly saw guilt flit across his face.

“Even if you could go? Even if you could leave the Underworld right now?”

“Even then.”

“Because you can, Hydra,” Tassita said, his voice quiet, the words half-choked, almost a sob. “Dinah thinks you've bound yourself to the realm, somehow. You could go. Sooner or later you'd have to come back, but you could leave.”

He blinked, glancing down at the fruit in his hand, beckoning to him again. “...I haven't eaten anything from down here,” He whispered. “That's what Dinah said, wasn't it? Maybe I should make sure.” He drew his other hand away from Tassita, fingers digging into the pomegranate to rip out a few of the seeds. But as he went to bring them to his lips, the other god's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.

“Hydra, don't,” He said, breathless. “If she's wrong…you don't want that, you shouldn't want to be bound here. There's nothing worthwhile here.”

“You're here.”

Hydra felt Tassita's grip go slack as he stared up at him. He slipped the nibs past his lips, emotions flooding his mind as they popped between his teeth: his own, Tassita’s, a mortal's. He could understand, now, Tass's fury at what he had done when he'd first arrived, if only in the vaguest sense. Perhaps, in time, he'd tell him the whole of it. 

He felt no change though, no monumental shift as he thought he might. All was as it had been moments before.

But then, he was tied elsewhere, too, wasn't he? To the mortal realm, to the upper realm and his stars. He noticed when his absence from both went on too long, or when mortal prayers compelled him, when he felt the call to act. His gardening – for lack of a better word – was part of that, a way to soothe that need. He didn't know what might be needed of him down here. 

Truly, the only thing that he thought might compel or call him back to the Underworld was standing right in front of him. 

Tassita seemed to be only waiting, quiet and questioning. 

“I’m not sure anything’s changed,” He admitted, picking at the pomegranate in his hands as his eyes shifted from it back up. “Suppose I could eat a mushroom or an acorn the next time the mortals sacrifice one, if we really want to be sure…but I don’t think it’ll make a difference.”

“So…you'll go, then?” Tassita asked, taking a shaky step back. Hydra could see the branches of the tree tremble lightly as he backed up against the trunk. “You're going to leave.”

“I'll have to, eventually,” Hydra said, regret seeping into his voice. He stepped closer to him. The boughs of the trees around them bent, heavy with fruit, the green leaves screening them both from everything around them. “But I said I'd stay as long as you need. I meant it.” 

“You'll go,” Tassita whispered, “And you won't come back until you have to.” 

He stepped closer, carefully reaching out, gently caressing his cheek. He could feel him trembling, and there was nothing Hydra wanted to do more in that moment than steady him. “I'll come back because I want to,” He told him. “Because I want to come home to you.”

“You don't mean…I'm not…”

“I do,” Hydra whispered. “You are.” He brushed his lips against Tassita's, drawing him close as he kissed him. He felt Tassita's hand find his when he finally broke away, fingers tangling as he tugged him gently through the courtyard and towards his chambers. 

***

When Hydra woke sometime later, he thought, for a brief moment, he was back in his bedroom in the Upper Realm. That sent a jolt through him, a strange mix of relief and regret. Only when he was aware of Tassita's body pressed against his, their legs entangled and Hydra's arm draped over his waist, did he recall that he was still in the Underworld. 

Still, the thought of Tassita in his bed, back in the Upper Realm, was a pleasant one. If he belonged down here – because of Tassita or his eating something or whatever other reason he had been tied here – perhaps Tassita would belong up there, with him, too. It should be quieter than the Mortal Realm, or he thought it might be. He and Lumber were usually quiet, at least. Porter and Slick could be more on the exuberant side, and Rusty’s work could get loud, but at least that sound was steady and patterned. Momma sang sometimes, and often they'd all sing together. Since that first walk together, though, he'd found him sitting and listening to that old spirit a few times - so perhaps that wouldn't be a bother to him. He hoped it wouldn't be, that he would want to go with him, to meet his family properly. He wanted Tassita to know them all. He wanted them to know Tassita.

It no longer made him ache so much to think of Momma or his siblings. Perhaps because he knew he was closer now to returning to them, to seeing them again. Or perhaps because he’d made peace with being in the Underworld. Belonging to it, even if that had never been anyone’s intent. Still, though Momma still felt strangely distant in his mind, his siblings seemed closer, drawing ever nearer. Like they’d all be together again soon. 

The Underworld no longer seemed so dark and fearful a place either. Part of that came from just being there, from exploring, from getting used to his surroundings. Part came, he knew, from claiming his space, from planting what the mortals offered up in desperation. He wondered if, as time passed, he could continue to plant things, to coax them to grow. To give the spirits a more pleasant landscape in their afterlife, just as Dinah had added her own touch to this realm. But so much of it came from Tassita, from his steady presence, from feeling him warm to him, from learning about him, bit by bit. There was still so much more he wanted to know. Even Greaseball - though he'd hardly laid eyes on her since he'd arrived - did not seem so frightening in his mind, or perhaps he just felt more willing to face her, if he had to, a worthwhile peril compared to all he had to gain. 

He pressed a kiss to Tassita's shoulder, fingers sliding through his hair, brushing the loose strands away from his face. “Sun's rising, Tass,” he murmured softly. It was an odd thing for him to say, to think. He thought there was sunlight starting to shine in through the windows. But that was impossible. There was no sun in the Underworld. 

Somehow, though, the whole world felt brighter.

Chapter Text

Greaseball was not happy.

The underworld was swelling, more and more souls pouring in each day. She should be reveling in the growth of her kingdom, her power, but she could not find it in her to do so.

She could hear whispers today, from the newest to join them. Mad, fearful ravings of the sun going dark and the rest of the mortal realm with it. Foolishness. Nonsense. 

Why did they even care for what they had left behind? They'd never see it again.

So many disappeared just as quickly. What was there to wait for with a family starving around you, with their souls joining yours so soon after?

Her kingdom shrunk as quickly as it grew. Quicker than it grew, and deep down, she knew that Dinah had been right. That taking Hydra had been a mistake.  Perhaps if it had been Slick, as she'd wanted, perhaps if she'd waited just a bit longer…

She'd gained nothing for taking him, and risked so much. 

What would happen to her, if the mortals were gone? If there were no more souls living, if there were no more new mortals being born, if there was no one left to die?

The thought chilled her. It seemed an impossible thing, and yet…

Greaseball had felt it when things had shifted. When Hydra had bound himself to the underworld, when some part of him had decided that this realm was worth his while. That Tassita was worth his while. She'd seen the way her brother looked at him when they walked together. There was no doubt in her mind that he was the start of it. She felt foolish now, for laughing in Momma's face when she'd suggested an arranged marriage between the pair as restitution for the embarrassment she'd suffered during Rusty's ascension. She had had her doubts that Tassita would have been pleased with that, though, at least back then. 

The Queen of the Underworld had felt that shift only once before. It had been a long while before she truly understood that Dinah had chosen her, and chosen her realm along with her. Dinah hadn't realized either. 

But there had been signs. The first had been fruit waiting by their bedroom door after Dinah had spent several long days with her in the underworld, a sacrifice. She'd warned her against eating it, despite instinct calling from deep within her. That would change things, she knew, somehow. Make things solid and lasting and true and Greaseball had still been waiting for Dinah to come to her senses, to realize that she didn’t belong in the darkness with her, that she didn’t want her,  no matter how often she protested that the opposite was true. 

The Underworld had begun to feel better when Dinah was there with her. Warmer and brighter. Like a proper home, rather than just some desolate place she and her brother had been exiled to, for their father’s betrayal. The thought that she might lose that had terrified her, still terrified her, though Dinah had chosen to bind herself fully long ago. That Dinah had stayed by her side through this – even if she had been cold and distant, only coming to her to plead Hydra’s case, over and over again – astounded her. Confused her. Greaseball had been cold and stubborn and needlessly cruel. And beyond allowing Hydra to roam the underworld, Dinah had not acted against her, had not fled to the mortal realm to reveal where the captured god was. 

She was utterly undeserving of her consort. 

And part of her knew she should give in to her request, to soften and tell Hydra he could go free. But the more stubborn part of her remembered the strange ways her corporeal form had twisted in the crash, the humiliation she had felt at being laughed at by her fellow gods, at not being able to right herself until Wrench had put her to rights. She had suffered, and if the whole world suffered as a result of her fury, so be it. 

Her kingdom had grown. 

Her kingdom had grown too large, too fast. 

Part of her hoped that Hydra would figure it out, that he would realize that he was one of them now, free to come and go as he pleased. Or perhaps Tassita would, and he would tell him. And she would not stop him if he went, now. Let him go, and put things to right with his siblings, bring back the spring so the mortals did not starve. She would not have to admit her error, would not have to stoop to freeing him if he escaped. 

“You looked troubled, your highness.”

Greaseball had not realized where she had wandered, her feet taking her where they pleased as she was wrapped up in her thoughts. She’d come to her gully, not far from the palace, a small pink flame flickering in a brazier between them. The soul was ancient, one of the first to come, the queen was certain, and by far the longest to linger. Her face was a young one, though, a slight swell of her belly on her otherwise willowy build. Childbirth had taken her, a common enough fate. Most motherly souls faded when their child joined them. 

“How is it that you’re still here?” She challenged. This soul had addressed her before, but she did not always make the time for her ghostly subjects. Ignored them, mostly, save for those cruel enough in their lives to deserve her punishment in death. 

“I wait for my son, highness,” The soul replied. 

“He’s dead,” Greaseball said. Her son must be, perhaps he’d gone before she did and she had not realized – 

“No, but he will join us soon. I feel it,” She said, with certainty that made the queen feel off-kilter. “Do you worry for the mortals, highness? For the other souls? They fret over the families and friends they left behind. Over whether the spring will come again and if the sun will shine on them again. They think he has abandoned them, that world is coming to an end.”

“I’ve heard them.” The words come out rougher than she had meant them to be.

“Then heed them,” She said, smiling gently at her, serenely. “Do what must be done. No life comes without death –”

“And no death without life.” The Mother of Starlight had told her that once, long ago. When her parents had been snatched from her, when a new mantle fell to her shoulders. How had she come to know those words? “I don’t have anything to do with the sun.” 

“No, but you will soon enough,” She said. The soul looked off to the east, a smile spreading across her face as light suddenly burst into the realm, too bright for one of their flames. 

“Guests, your highness,” She said, already moving towards the east. “We should go and greet them.”