The mortal sun beat down on Jason’s shoulders, its rays too bright, the streets too loud. Pulling his hood lower, he tried to block out the endless bustle—merchants haggling, children laughing, lovers embracing. The city’s heartbeat thrummed beneath his boots, a rhythm he could never understand.

He hated the mortal realm.

It reeked of dirt and salt, fish guts drying in the sun. The air buzzed with foolish hope, as if these mortals weren’t all destined to walk his halls eventually. Each step weighed heavier, a reminder that this world wasn’t his. Dionysus, Apollo, Ares—they all thrived here. Even Zeus found ease in the chaos. But for Jason, the surface was nothing but a noisy, unwelcome interlude between the peace of his kingdom below.

The dead didn’t chatter like this.

He stood at the edge of the agora, watching. A part of him wanted to stay, to see what drew these mortals in. But the longer he lingered, the more restless he grew, lost in a place that neither noticed nor feared him.

And there were no echoes of her yet.

The Fates had whispered—She’s coming. Soon. They’d spun her thread into the great tapestry, weaving it through his own in ways he didn’t dare to unravel. But “soon” meant nothing to a god. He was centuries past caring about the passage of time, but somehow this waiting gnawed at him in a way that made him come to the mortal realm more often than he liked to admit.

As if he might catch a glimpse of her here. As if he’d know her when he saw her.

Jason clenched his fists. He didn’t belong here. Not without her. The sooner he returned to the underworld, the better. There, the silence knew how to listen.