Chapter 7

The cold air whipped around us as we stood in the shadow of the House of Night, the looming black mansion that seemed to devour the surrounding light. The House of Night was a place of deep, ancient sorrow, a home to the primordial goddesses and their many offshoots. It stood in stark contrast to the frozen beauty of the North Pole, but I wasn't here to admire its design. I had a job to do.

Dionysus was busy glancing around, no doubt wondering if he could drink himself into a stupor here. His eyes darted to every shadow, no doubt searching for some source of amusement to fill the silence. Anne, on the other hand, seemed far more cautious, her footsteps lighter as though the very air here was heavy with something darker than just the absence of sunlight.

"Are you sure this is the right place, Hades?" Anne's voice broke through the stillness. She had a way of sensing my moods, even when I was trying to mask them.

I glanced at her, the corner of my mouth lifting in a half-smile. "Trust me. The House of Night is where we'll find them."

Dionysus, still muttering to himself, cast a glance at me. "And if they're not home? What then? We can't just barge in, can we? Or do you plan on throwing another temper tantrum?"

I ignored his jibe. Dionysus was always looking for a reason to needle me, and if he wasn't busy with that, he was looking for his next indulgence. Anne shot him a look, but I could tell she wasn't sure whether she was more afraid of him or the house we were about to enter.

The door loomed before us, large and carved from obsidian, reflecting the pale moonlight in jagged patterns. I raised my hand and knocked twice, the sound of my knuckles striking the door echoing across the vast expanse of the estate. Moments passed before the door creaked open slowly, and I stepped back, waiting for the one who would greet us.

When it opened, it wasn't a warm face that looked out at us. It was the goddess of depression herself, Melancholia, a shadowy figure draped in sorrow, her eyes like deep pools of stagnant water. The air seemed to thicken around her, the weight of her gaze heavy with the burden of centuries.

"Hades," she greeted me, her voice soft, but there was a bite in her tone. "I never thought I'd see you at my door." Her eyes flicked over to the others, and her gaze lingered a moment longer on Dionysus before shifting to Anne, who looked like she'd just stepped into a void. "And your companions, I see."

"Not here to socialize, Melancholia," I said, my voice as cold as the night around us. "I need to speak to Nyx."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't hesitate, stepping aside and allowing us to enter. We passed through the shadowy threshold and into the great hall of the House of Night. It was a place made for mourning, for memories long forgotten, for the quiet sorrow of time. The walls were lined with mirrors that reflected faces of the lost, those who had passed into oblivion.

In the center of the hall sat Nyx, the primordial goddess of the night, whose very presence seemed to draw all light into her being. She stood with grace, her raven-black hair flowing like a cascade of midnight silk, her gown blending into the endless darkness around her.

"Hades," she greeted me with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, but there was warmth in her voice—an acknowledgment of our long, shared history. "It's been some time. How are you?"

I stepped forward, my hands clasped behind my back, and let the silence stretch between us for a moment before responding. "As well as can be expected. A little more difficult than usual, though."

"Life—" Nyx paused, her smile fading slightly as she regarded me. "Or is it death, in your case?—has a way of complicating things. What brings you here?"

I gestured to the others. "I'm looking for Thanatos, Keres, and Moros. I need to find out which one is the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come."

Nyx's expression shifted. There was a flicker of concern in her eyes, but it passed quickly, replaced by something darker. "They have gone away for a while, you know. They've left for a few months to spend time with their father. You'll find them at the House of Erebus."

I felt the familiar tug of grief at the mention of her husband, Erebus. The House of Erebus was not just a home; it was a place of eternal silence, a kingdom of memories, where Nyx had once reigned with her consort before his untimely death.

"Erebus," I muttered, more to myself than to her. "It's been years now. I still can't believe he's gone."

Nyx's gaze softened for a moment. "Neither can I," she said quietly. "But he lives on in our son. You've met him, haven't you?"

I nodded. Erebos, their son, had taken his father's mantle as the Primordial of Darkness. He was a figure of immense power now, a being who embodied the very essence of shadow and oblivion. Despite my past with Erebus, I couldn't help but feel a quiet pride for the young god. Erebos was the future, and he was carving his own path.

"Yes, I've seen him. I'm proud of him, Nyx. He carries Erebus' legacy with grace."

She smiled, though it was tinged with sorrow. "I'm glad to hear that, Hades. Erebus would have wanted that."

There was a long pause before I cleared my throat. "About Thanatos, Keres, and Moros—"

Nyx snapped her fingers, and instantly, the air around us grew colder. The shadows deepened, and the room seemed to expand with the weight of ancient power. One by one, the three grim reapers materialized before us.

Thanatos, the god of death, stepped forward first, his presence as calm and serene as it was imposing. His pale skin glowed faintly in the dark room, his black robes flowing like a river of ink. His eyes, pale and distant, locked on mine with quiet understanding.

Keres, the goddess of violent death, appeared next, her presence sharp and unsettling. Her skin was ashen, her lips curled into a sneer as she surveyed us with obvious disdain. She was a force of chaos, and it was clear from the look in her eyes that she didn't suffer fools lightly.

And finally, Moros, the god of doom, stood at the back. His eyes were empty, void of any real emotion, and his presence seemed to draw the very light out of the room. He was an ominous figure, always poised on the edge of despair.

Nyx spoke, her voice as steady as ever. "They're here. Now, what is it you want, Hades?"

I studied each of them carefully, trying to read the subtle signs of who might be the one I needed. Finally, I spoke. "I'm looking for someone called the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. I was told that they were one of my Reapers. So who is going to step up?"

Thanatos stepped forward, his voice low but firm. "I've been to the mortal realm before. I've been their guide on the path of death, seen their fears."

Keres smirked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I know the suffering of mortals better than anyone. Death, in all its cruel forms, is something I embody."

Moros, as always, remained silent, his expression unreadable.

I turned to Thanatos. "I guess you have to be the one," I said, my voice calm, but resolute. "I do believe t

Thanatos met my gaze without hesitation. "Very well. I will accompany you."

Without another word, we began to leave the House of Night, the four of us stepping back into the shadows of the Underworld. The journey to the North Pole awaited us, and I could feel the weight of what was coming, the enormity of what we had to stop.

As we teleported away, I glanced over at Dionysus, who had been mostly quiet since the meeting. "Are you coming, or are you going to stay here and drink yourself into oblivion?"

He rolled his eyes but followed with a grunt. "You know I can't resist a good party. Especially one in the North Pole."

Anne caught my eye, her expression more determined now. "We're close, aren't we?"

I nodded. "Closer than ever."

The cold winds of the North Pole welcomed us as we reappeared, and in the distance, the twinkling lights of Santa's workshop beckoned. It was time to face what lay ahead, and I wasn't about to let anything—or anyone—get in our way.