Sun's Heir
Chapter 2 - Testing Patience
He stood in front of the door with narrowed eyes, one hand on his hip, the other scratching thoughtfully at his chin.
"This has to be it," he muttered. "It has to be the throne room."
The door loomed tall and black before him, carved with twisting lines and skull motifs that gleamed faintly in the blue torchlight. It was grand, ominous, and identical to every other door he'd seen for what felt like an eternity.
"Unless…" he said slowly, tilting his head. "Unless I've already been through this one."
He stepped back, squinting at it from another angle, as if the door might reveal something new if he just looked at it differently. It didn't. The carvings stayed the same. The shadows stayed the same. The silence stayed the same.
He exhaled loudly through his nose. "I'm losing it. I'm actually losing it."
He turned a half-circle, pointing to one of the nearby corridors. "That's the way I came from. Definitely. Probably." Then he pointed the other way. "Which means that's new. Or not. Who even knows anymore?!"
He dragged both hands down his face, groaning. "I swear, this palace is a crime against architecture. No signs. No colour. No bloody windows. Just hallways that all look the same and doors that exist purely to mock me."
The echo of his own voice bounced down the corridor, returning to him a moment later with ghostly precision. He threw a glare upward toward the ceiling. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up! I bet you think this is funny, don't you?"
He turned back to the door with renewed irritation, pacing in front of it. "All this power, all these dead souls, and not a single one could make a sign that says'This Way to the Throne Room'.I mean, would that kill him? Actually, no. Bad phrasing."
He gestured wildly with both hands, voice rising as he spoke. "It's ridiculous! A god who rules over death, commands legions of the dead, keeps an entire realm running, and not a shred of organisation! You'd think the Lord of the Underworld would know how to label a door!"
He stopped suddenly, throwing a hand over his heart in mock sorrow. "Truly, this is my punishment. Not eternal suffering. Not flames or chains. No, this.Endless, door-related humiliation."
He pressed his forehead against the cold wood, sighing dramatically. "Oh, Uncle Bones. You've outdone yourself this time. You win. I surrender. My spirit is broken."
He lingered there for a moment, breathing quietly against the surface, before straightening again with a look of exaggerated resolve. "No. I can't give in. I will not let this, this glorified broom closet, defeat me."
He squared his shoulders, pointing at the door. "When I find you, Uncle Bones, vengeance will be mine. I'll redecorate this whole place myself if I have to. Paint. Light fixtures. A few plants. You'll see. You'll all see."
He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "All this time, all this talent, wasted down here. My good looks could be inspiring ballads. Mortal women could be fainting in the streets, and instead, I'm yelling at doors in a cave."
He gestured helplessly at the empty corridor. "Do you hear that, world? Wasted potential! A crime against nature!"
He stopped, hands falling to his sides as he stared at the door one more time. "Still… it really feels like the throne room," he said, quieter now. "Maybe I should just—"
He reached toward the handle, hesitated, and pulled back sharply. "No. No, don't fall for it. That's how the doors get you."
He eyed it suspiciously, as if it were plotting against him. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? Make me open you, embarrass me in front of an audience of skeletons again. Not this time, pal."
For a long moment, he stood there in silence, staring down the door like a rival in a standoff.
The silence stretched.
Then he muttered, "You know what? Fuck it."
He shoved the door open with both hands, letting it slam against the walls with a thunderous echo that rolled through the massive chamber beyond.
The throne room was a monument to silence and shadow. Obsidian pillars towered toward a ceiling lost in darkness. Flames of blue burned along the walls, flickering low and steady. The air itself felt heavy, thick with the weight of eternity and the faint hum of souls moving somewhere unseen.
At the far end, seated upon a throne carved from black stone, was Hades.
He was still as death itself. Shadows clung to him as though drawn by instinct, the faint light catching only the sharp edges of his face and the slow movement of his eyes. He didn't rise. He didn't speak. He simplywaited.
The boy stepped forward, grinning. "Iknewit," he said triumphantly, his voice bouncing off the walls. "Left was right all along. You see, I told everyone, but no one ever believes me. Yet here I am, proving destiny favours the bold."
He spread his arms like he was taking a bow. "To everyone who ever called me directionally challenged, suck it."
The silence that followed was absolute. The blue fire flickered, and from his throne, Hades finally spoke.
"You're late."
The boy clutched his chest dramatically. "Late? Late? Please, I prefer the term 'fashionably unpredictable.' It's part of my charm."
The god's gaze sharpened. "Charm implies you possess some."
"Oh, harsh," he said, walking casually toward the throne. "But I'll forgive it. You're under a lot of stress. Ruler of the dead, endless paperwork, constant brooding, it's bound to make anyone cranky."
"Watch your tongue."
"Impossible," he replied cheerfully. "It's my best feature."
Hades' knuckles tightened slightly on the armrest of his throne. "You are as insufferable as ever."
"Consistency," the boy said with a grin. "One of my many virtues."
The god's tone dropped to a growl. "Virtue is not a word that belongs anywhere near you."
"That's fair," he said easily. "But admit it, you missed me."
"I did not."
"Sure you did. Look at this place. It's miserable. You practically summoned me for the ambience alone."
"I summoned you," Hades said evenly, "because there are tasks that require… your particular skill set."
"Ah," he said, nodding. "You mean my winning personality, my creative genius, my heroic charisma—"
"Your recklessness," Hades interrupted coldly. "Your inability to follow orders. Your complete disregard for self-preservation. That skill set."
The boy smiled wider. "See? You do know me."
Hades' eyes burned faintly, a dull, dangerous light flickering behind them. "Do not mistake necessity for affection."
"Oh, I never do," he said lightly. "But it's sweet that you care enough to clarify."
Hades' expression remained unchanged, but the air grew colder. "You are here because I require something done swiftly. Not loudly. Not chaotically. Not dramatically."
The boy gasped in mock offence. "Not dramatically? You wound me, Uncle Bones. Drama is my love language."
Hades' tone flattened further. "You have no idea how close you come to death every time you call me that."
He placed a hand over his heart, feigning sincerity. "Oh, I have some idea. You've threatened me enough times to make it a bit of a hobby."
The god's patience strained audibly in the silence that followed. The flames wavered. The shadows thickened.
Finally, Hades said, "If I did not need you, I would have cast you into Tartarus long ago."
The boy scoffs, "pfft, puh-lease. Been there, done that, got the postcard. But there it is again," the boy said brightly. "That hidden tenderness. You're practically glowing with it."
"I am glowing," Hades said darkly. "It's rage."
He smiled. "I'll take what I can get."
Hades leaned forward slightly, voice dropping low. "You will listen, and you will obey. Forces are stirring beyond my realm, and I will not have your theatrics jeopardising what must be done."
The boy clapped his hands once. "You wound me again! Me? Jeopardise things? I'm a professional."
"You're a disaster."
"A stylish one," he countered immediately.
The god's glare could have levelled mountains. "You are one more word away from being a corpse."
He beamed. "And what a fine corpse I would make."
Hades' voice turned to ice. "Do not test me, Owen."
Owen's grin widened. "There it is. Music to my ears."
Hades' eyes closed briefly, like a man regretting every decision that led him here. "You will drive me to madness."
"Oh, Uncle Bones," Owen said warmly, "I was born for it."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The cold air in the throne room seemed to hum faintly, the only sound the low crackle of blue fire along the walls. Then the boy shifted his weight, looking around like a tourist who'd lost interest in the sights.
"So," he said casually, "where's Aunt Doom and Bloom?"
Hades' gaze lifted slowly. The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. "Do not call my wife that."
"What? It's catchy. You're doomed, she's blooming. It's romantic!"
"It is blasphemous."
"It's branding," he said, grinning. "You two could be the face of an Underworld couples retreat. Bit of doom, bit of bloom, all inclusive."
Hades didn't move. "She is still furious with you after your last visit."
"Furious?" He echoed, visibly thinking. "That's a strong word. I'd say… mildly irate at a push?"
"She described you as 'a disaster in human form.'"
He winced. "That's… specific."
"You destroyed half her gardens."
"That wasn't me."
The god's tone turned sharp. "Was it not you who thought wrestling Cerberus in the Elysian Grove was a sound decision?"
The boy stomped his foot, jabbing a finger at him. "That three-headed fluffball started it!"
"Cerberus is not a fluffball."
"He is when he steals your weapon!" The boy protested. "And it was a game of tug-of-war at best. You make it sound dramatic."
"It was dramatic," Hades said. "You tore up Persephone's lilies."
"They'll grow back."
"You flattened an orchard."
"I slipped."
"You set fire to her sacred pomegranate trees."
"That was unrelated!"
Hades stared at him in silence for a long moment. "You should not have survived that encounter."
"Please," the boy said, waving him off. "The fluffball would never hurt me. We're best buds."
Hades' eyes narrowed. "Best buds."
"Who else plays fetch with him?"
Hades looked down at his hands like he was calculating the effort it would take to strangle him. "The fact that you survived that day was a miracle."
"Or destiny," he replied with a smirk.
"I wish it weren't either."
He shrugged. "You say wish, I hear compliment."
"You are impossible."
"And yet," he said, spreading his arms, "here I am. Your favourite demigod."
"Favourite implies choice."
"Exactly."
The god pinched the bridge of his nose. "You will stay away from my wife's gardens."
"Wouldn't dream of going near them."
"You will not speak to her."
"Wouldn't dare to."
"You will not go near Cerberus."
He hesitated. "... Define 'near.'"
"Within sight," Hades said through gritted teeth.
"So… if he sees me, that's a violation, but if I see him, we're fine?"
"Do not test me."
"I think you love being tested."
"I think you love dying."
He grinned. "Meh, tried it once, didn't take to it."
"Would you like to try again?"
"Not particularly."
The god leaned back, every movement deliberate. "You are exhausting."
"And you say that like it's a bad thing."
"Because it is."
He gasped, clutching his chest. "Wow. Brutal honesty. Is this growth? Are we bonding?"
Hades' stare flattened into disbelief. "If you call this bonding, I pity whatever friends you have."
"Oh, I have plenty! There's Cerberus, and… okay, just Cerberus, but quality over quantity, right?"
"You have befriended my hound."
"He started it."
"You said that already."
"I stand by it."
The god exhaled, long and slow. "If you enter her gardens again, I will let her turn you into a tree."
"Could be worse," he said lightly. "I'd make a handsome tree. Tall, sturdy, great hair."
Hades closed his eyes, visibly regretting every decision that had brought this conversation into being. "Why did I not choose someone else?" He murmured.
"Because no one does it like me," he said cheerfully.
"No one wants to."
He grinned wider. "See? That's what makes me special."
Hades opened one eye, gaze sharp enough to cut stone. "Special is not the word I would use."
"What word would you use?"
"Hazard."
"Sounds cooler when I say it."
"I doubt that."
He clapped once. "Come on, admit it, you missed me."
"I did not."
"You did. That's why you summoned me. Admit it and we can all move on."
The silence stretched.
Hades' fingers tightened against the armrest. "If I admit it," he said slowly, "will you stop talking?"
He pretended to think. "... Probably not."
Hades' head fell back against the throne. "Of course not."
The boy smiled. "You love me really."
The god didn't move, didn't blink. "I have met chaos gods less irritating than you."
"That's just what love sounds like when you're immortal."
Hades inhaled, steady and slow, as if counting. "One," he said softly, eyes closing.
"Counting your blessings?"
"Counting to three."
"Ah. Well, two comes next."
"Two," Hades said darkly.
"Right, right, carry on."
"Three."
The floor trembled faintly, a low rumble vibrating through the marble. The flames along the walls flared bright for a heartbeat, then dimmed again.
The boy blinked. "You really need to work on your breathing exercises."
Hades didn't open his eyes. "You really need to stop existing."
"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?"
There was a long pause. Then, finally, Hades muttered under his breath, "I should have chosen anyone else."
The boy grinned. "But then who would make you laugh?"
Hades' eyes opened, cold and flat. "I do not laugh."
"Not yet."
He beamed. Hades looked like he was considering spontaneous combustion.