After I received my weapons, my training became a daily ritual: mastering blades and staves, perfecting martial styles, weaving elemental magic and spirit invocation, even delving into necromancy. Each waken moment brought new challenges drills so relentless I sometimes wondered if they were grooming me as a living weapon or preparing me to conquer the world. Yet I relished every moment. At last, in sparring matches I held my own against Melinoe and Megaera. I still don’t know the full measure of my power, but Mother insists that in the mortal realm no one but rare demigod who has already ascended could match me. It finally sank in: the old myths were true, and I was part of them.
Although only one year has passed in the mortal plane since I awaken, training stretch behind me like a lifetime. Here, it feels as if centuries have slipped away, the endless drills and near-sleepless nights warping time itself. Of course, I rest and I feast on rich food and wine when I can but my divinity remained locked until recently. Once I learned to control it, I crossed the River Styx and watched Mother guide countless souls. Pale tomes floated beside her, silver quills scribbling names as spirits drifted past. To my astonishment, there are not one but five rivers: Styx, Acheron, Lethe, Phlegethon, and Cocytus. I had thought the dead simply moved on to fields of blessed repose, reincarnation, or purgatory but the underworld’s waterways tell another story.
Acheron gleamed black and sluggish the River of Woe, its currents heavy with grief, marking the boundary between life and death. Some souls, improperly buried, wander along its misty shores for a hundred years before they may cross. Beyond it lay Lethe’s silver waves of forgetfulness, whose waters wash away earthly memories to prepare the soul for rebirth. But I was most drawn to Cocytus, the Wailing River of Tears and Sorrow. Its currents carried a mournful harmony of countless laments, and I felt compelled to linger there. One day, while Mother gazed over the bank, I reached out and let my fingers brush its cold waters. Instead of pain, I felt only compassion warmth blooming in my chest rather than the usual ache.
Mother smiled at me then, her obsidian eyes soft. “You know, little one, when you stand among them, your heart shines brighter than ever.” “I just want to save them all,” I whispered. “And that is exactly what you will do. Come with me.” She offered her delicate hand, and I clasped it without hesitation.
“I want you to know how proud I am,” she said, pulling me close. “Not merely because you are mine, but for who you are. Hades once called you a tool, but you are so much more. If you choose to remain, stay. If your path lies elsewhere, go. Whatever you decide, I will stand by you always. If you seek vengeance, I will love you. If you offer forgiveness, I will love you. You are my daughter, Veil, and nothing can change that.”
Tears begin to fall, golden droplets full of life, not grief. This time, my embrace was not that of a frightened child but of someone brimming with devotion. “I love you too, Mother.”
She brushed away my tears, voice gentle. “Through it all, you remain pure. Now tell me what do you choose?”
I lifted my head, resolve steadying my voice. “I must leave, Mother. I need answers. I cannot accept what happened, and though I hear their voices, I cannot see their faces except one. She tried to save me, but her name eludes me.”
Mother’s arms tightened around me. “That fog is your soul’s defense. There is more to uncover, and I wish I had the key.” She sighed, as if she had known this day would come.
We walked in silence to her sanctuary, where others had gathered. Each wore a knowing smile.
“So,” I asked, “you all expected this farewell?” “Of course,” they chorused. Melinoe draped an arm around my shoulders, her grin warm.
Mother snapped her fingers. A dark leather tome, bound in ancient void-tanned hide, appeared in her palm. “This is the Tomb of Souls. You will need it on your journey. Its secrets will reveal themselves in time.” She hugged me fiercely before handing it over.
A hush fell, then a voice like midnight wind spoke my name: “Veil… Daughter of Hecate.” Night itself parted to reveal Mother Nyx, her hair a cascade of living starlight. I bowed deeply.
“Mother Nyx,” I murmured.
She lifted my chin with a slender finger. “I ask nothing of you, dear child, but I bear a gift.” From her cloak she drew a single black feather. “Give it a name.”
I held it between trembling fingers. “Poet,” I breathed. The feather lifted, floated skyward, then multiplied into a flock of spectral quills that shaped themselves into a raven. Its ghostly blue eye blinked as it landed on my shoulder.
“How may I serve, my lady?” it asked in a courteous croak.
Nyx smiled, ruffling its feathers. “Be her guardian, dear. Watch over her.” The raven inclined its head. “Of course, Goddess of Night.” Nyx pressed her palm to my cheek. “I will look upon you often.” She drifted away like a shadow at dawn, and I raced to catch her for one last hug only to see her melting into darkness.
“She’s a cute child, isn’t she?” Nyx’s voice echoed as she vanished. “Hecate, perhaps the next lost soul you find in the void you can bring to me.” A soft giggle came from beyond the shifting shadows.
“Let’s hope it never happens,” Mother Hecate replied, smiling wryly.
Another voice deep, regal spoke from the gloom: “I see you are finally leaving the nest.”
I looked up into the stern but proud eyes of Hades himself. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
He offered a massive hand and placed in mine an elegant necklace, a ruby-bright stone set in braided gold. “For safe return. Mortals call it a hearthstone, you are always welcome to come back home.”
Mother fastened it around. The gem pulsed warmly against my skin. I stared at it in wonder. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Hades nodded and departed on echoing footfalls.
Mother moved to a carved ebony wardrobe and withdrew a tremendous witch’s hat, its brim threaded with living starlight. “For you,” she said, setting it atop my head. The moment it touched, my robes shifted into fine silk sheer in places, yet regal clinging like a second skin. A high slit revealed my leg; a deep V highlighted my collarbone. “You are beautiful, my daughter. Wear it proudly.”
She opened another box to reveal a staff entwined with silver and gold filigree, vines that seemed to pulse with life, a gift from Demeter.
“Just one more,” a maternal voice chimed and there stood Persephone, radiant as spring itself. I bowed, but she gently halted me. “No bows, child of Hecate. You belong to me as well.”
She placed her hand over my heart. Warm light spread beneath her palm, blooming like sunlight through leaves. “I watched you grow and saw both sadness and joy in your eyes. Your compassion for these lost souls… it makes you the most selfless being I know. Never doubt that you deserve happiness. I grant you the Boon of Spring: may life blossom wherever you tread, guiding your path in darkness.”
Tears of gratitude swelled in me as her warmth chased away the icy chill I’d grown used to.
They led me to a raised platform etched with glowing runes. I looked around. “You all prepared this?”
“We always know,” Melinoe laughed.
“Go, before you change your mind,” Mother urged.
I stepped onto the circle and glanced back at my family guardians, gods, and mothers who had shaped me. “Thank you, all of you…”
“Come, Poet,” I said. The raven stretched its spectral wings and settled on my shoulder.
“Wait where does it take m...
...
“We forgot to mention the portal leads to the Forest of Dryads.”
“They’ll think shes a deity,” Hecate teased.
“Is she not?” Persphone countered.
Hecate sighed, “I rub off on you, didn’t I?”
“Hush you” she snapped playfully.
— End of Act I: Death and Rebirth —