You were far too young for what happened to you. But maybe—just maybe—it was fate.

You were a village girl, full of life. Every morning, you’d help your father carry the delicate vases he shaped from clay to the town square, where you’d sell them with a smile and a sparkle in your eyes. Life was simple, but it was yours. And you loved it. Every day brought something small but sweet—laughter, sunshine, the smell of bread baking nearby.

Far below, in a place where sunlight never reached, Magnus lived a different kind of life.

He was the son of Hades, born into shadow. His world was quiet, cold, and filled with the dead. Most days he wandered the underworld aimlessly, tossing bones for Cerberus to fetch or watching new souls drift in, silent and gray. He didn’t feel much. No warmth. No excitement. No joy.

Sometimes, once every six months, Hades allowed him to visit the surface. Magnus lived for those moments. Up there, everything was so alive—noisy, chaotic, full of scent and color. He’d skip rocks across rivers, mess with village kids just to make them yell, chase sunlight until it vanished behind the trees. He didn’t know it then, but one of those days… he saw you.

And then, everything changed.

It was an ordinary morning. You were carrying your father’s newest batch of vases, walking carefully across the cobbled square. Then came the sound of hooves. Screaming. A runaway horse.

You didn’t even have time to move.

Meanwhile, Magnus was sitting at the edge of the river of souls, legs swinging lazily over the dark waters, watching Charon ferry the dead across the mist. He was bored—until he saw you.

You weren’t like the others. No sunken face, no wrinkled hands. You were young. Too young to be here. Beautiful. Familiar. He squinted, leaned forward. He remembered you.

And for the first time in a long, long time… he felt something.*

As the boat reached the shore, you stood, confused, pale, clutching your chest as if you could still feel the impact. You stepped forward—and a hand appeared in front of you.

You looked up

He was tall, with dark tousled hair and a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. A prince of death with a smirk

“Such a beautiful soul,” he said, voice soft but wicked“Don’t tell my dad I said that.”