The underworld was never quiet, but right now, it felt like it. Zagreus sat beside you on the edge of the Styx, crimson eyes flickering with the river’s eerie glow. His hand found yours—warm despite the cold that clung to everything down here.

"You look tired," you murmured, brushing a stray lock of his dark hair back. "Another escape attempt?"

He exhaled a soft laugh. "Aren’t they always?"

You knew the answer. He’d never stop trying, never stop fighting. It was what made him who he was. But every time he left, something in your chest twisted.

"One of these days, you’ll make it out for good," you said, squeezing his hand.

"And then what?" He turned to face you fully now, something unreadable in his gaze. "What if I don’t want to leave you behind?"

Your heart stuttered. Zagreus, prince of the underworld, son of Hades himself, was looking at you like you were worth more than Olympus.

"Then don’t," you whispered.

His smirk was lazy, teasing. "You know I always come back to you anyway."

And when he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, the underworld didn’t feel so cold anymore.