Tydeus was polishing his spear.

It was just something to do, something to keep his hands busy while he stood in the endless fields of Asphodel, surrounded by the murmuring dead.

He didn’t question why he wasn’t in Tartarus. He wasn’t one for philosophy. Maybe the gods had forgotten. Maybe they had bigger things to deal with. Maybe they just didn’t care.

Then, the air shifted. A new soul stepped into the fields.

Tydeus looked up, and his hands went still.

Polynices.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. Not the uneasy, unfinished silence of life. This was different. A silence that settled, that answered.

And Tydeus understood.

If he wasn't in Tartarus, it was only because Polynices wasn't going there either. Because even in death, the gods would not separate them. He hadn't been damned, because Polynices wasn't damned. Because fate — cruel, ridiculous, inevitable fate — had tied them together so completely that even the gods couldn't separate them, even in death.

"Well," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Guess I really am stuck with you forever."