The dead are restless

The morning air was crisp, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling The Daily Grind as Marcus finished securing the café's defenses. The sigils had settled, their golden glow fading into the wood, but he could still feel their power humming beneath his feet. It was a small comfort, knowing that at least one thing was holding steady.

Sarah entered, a to-go cup in hand. "I figured we might need coffee for the road," she said, offering Marcus a cup.

He accepted it with a smirk. "Ah, the sacred elixir of the gods." He took a sip, then glanced at her. "Did you sleep at all?"

Sarah scoffed. "Barely. Kind of hard to sleep when you know you're about to take a field trip to the Underworld."

Marcus chuckled. "Fair. Though technically, it's more of a diplomatic visit."

Sarah arched a brow. "Diplomatic? So we're not sneaking in?"

Marcus shrugged. "That depends on Persephone's mood."

Sarah groaned. "Fantastic."

They finished their coffee quickly, knowing time was slipping away. The longer Thanatos remained silent, the more Marcus feared what lay ahead. With the café secured, they stepped outside. Morning sunlight bathed the streets, casting long shadows that stretched unnaturally against the pavement. The world was already shifting, responding to the growing imbalance.

"We should get going," Marcus said.

Sarah nodded. "So… how exactly do we get to the Underworld? We're not just going to hop on a ferry, are we?"

Marcus smirked. "Actually… that's exactly what we're going to do."

With a flick of his wrist, a golden coin appeared in his palm—the same kind of drachma they had used for the sanctuary's sigils. But this one pulsed with something deeper, its glow faint and eerie.

Sarah's eyes widened. "Is that—?"

"A payment for Charon," Marcus confirmed. "And our ticket across the Styx."

Sarah exhaled. "Right. Because that's a totally normal thing to say."

Marcus gestured for her to follow. "Come on. I know a place where the veil is thin enough to get through."

They walked through the waking city, moving toward a forgotten part of town where old buildings sagged under the weight of time. They stopped in front of an alleyway that looked no different from any other, save for the faint shimmer in the air, like heat rising off pavement.

Marcus stepped forward and placed the drachma against the wall. The moment the coin touched the surface, the world seemed to tilt. The alleyway darkened, its edges warping, and a cold wind swept past them, carrying the scent of damp earth and something older than death itself.

Sarah shivered. "This is deeply unsettling."

Marcus smirked. "You get used to it."

Before she could respond, the shadows pulled away, revealing a vast black river stretching into the distance. A lone wooden dock jutted out over the dark waters, and waiting at its edge was a figure draped in tattered robes.

Charon.

His skeletal hands gripped the pole of his ferry, the hood of his robe concealing all but the faint glint of hollow eyes. He extended a hand, palm open.

Marcus flipped the drachma in the air, and Charon caught it with unnatural precision. The ferryman nodded once, then gestured for them to board.

Sarah hesitated. "Are we sure this is safe?"

Marcus shot her a look. "Define safe."

Sarah groaned but stepped onto the boat. The wood creaked under their weight as Charon pushed off from the dock, the river swallowing them in darkness.

The ride was silent, save for the rhythmic splash of water against the boat. Shadows curled along the edges of the Styx, whispering things Sarah couldn't quite make out. She hugged herself, trying to shake the sensation of unseen eyes watching her.

"How long until we reach the other side?" she whispered.

Marcus didn't answer immediately. He was watching the river with a deep frown. "Something's wrong," he murmured.

Sarah's stomach twisted. "Wrong how?"

Marcus clenched his fists. "The river feels... restless."

As if in response, the water churned violently. The ferry rocked, and for the first time, Charon turned to look at Marcus, his empty eyes filled with something resembling concern.

Then the river screamed.

Sarah clapped her hands over her ears as a wailing sound erupted from beneath the waves. The shadows thickened, twisting and lashing out at the boat. Hands—dozens of them—began clawing at the sides, skeletal fingers reaching, grasping.

Marcus swore, summoning a burst of golden energy to shove the spirits back. "Hold on!"

The boat lurched, the waves rising higher. Through the chaos, Sarah caught a glimpse of something moving beneath the surface—a massive shape, its form shifting and wrong, like something unfinished, something that shouldn't exist.

"Marcus," she gasped. "What is that?"

Marcus's expression darkened. "A mistake."

The water erupted, and suddenly, they were falling.

The fall was brief, but the landing was hard. Sarah hit the ground with a gasp, dust and loose stones scattering beneath her. She coughed, rolling onto her side to find Marcus beside her, groaning.

They were no longer on the ferry.

The world around them was gray, stretching into a desolate expanse of jagged stone and drifting mist. The air was thick, heavy with something unnatural. The sky—or what passed for it—was an endless, swirling void.

Marcus pushed himself up, shaking off the dust. "Well. That could have gone better."

Sarah sat up, rubbing her sore shoulder. "Where are we?"

Marcus scanned their surroundings. "Not where we were supposed to be." He exhaled sharply. "Something threw us off course."

Sarah stiffened. "You mean that thing in the river?"

Marcus nodded grimly. "Whatever it was, it wasn't supposed to be there."

A chill ran down Sarah's spine. "And now what?"

Marcus turned, his gaze falling on a distant structure—dark stone, towering, its massive gates standing partially open. Even from here, Sarah could feel the raw power radiating from it.

"The only way forward," Marcus said, "is through."

Sarah swallowed hard. "Tell me that's not the entrance to the Palace of the Dead."

Marcus glanced at her, smirking. "Would it make you feel better if I lied?"

Sarah groaned. "Gods, I hate this already."

Marcus clapped her on the back. "Then you're going to love what happens next."

Together, they turned toward the gates, stepping into the heart of the Underworld—where answers, and even greater dangers, awaited.

The ground beneath them was unsettlingly firm, yet it pulsed with something ancient—an almost imperceptible rhythm, like the heartbeat of the Underworld itself. Sarah suppressed a shudder as she followed Marcus toward the massive obsidian gates ahead. They loomed like sentinels, their dark stone carved with intricate, shifting patterns that seemed to watch their every move.

"You sure about this?" Sarah muttered, glancing up at the towering entrance.

"No," Marcus admitted, "but I rarely am."

She sighed. "Great. Love the confidence."

As they approached, the gates groaned open of their own accord, revealing the vast courtyard of the Palace of the Dead. Sarah had expected a place like this to be empty, cold—lifeless. But instead, it breathed with presence. Souls drifted along the pathways, some whispering to each other, others moving with purpose. They weren't the mindless shades she had imagined; they carried weight, stories woven into the way they moved.

The palace itself was a marvel of dark stone and shimmering veins of underworld energy, pulsing like captured lightning within its walls. Marble statues lined the paths, their expressions frozen in mourning or judgment. The air smelled of damp earth and something faintly floral, like a lingering memory of spring.

Sarah stepped closer to Marcus, lowering her voice. "So, do we just… walk in?"

Marcus glanced at her, smirking. "What, did you expect us to have to fight our way through?"

"I don't know! Maybe! I did just get attacked by a river!"

Marcus chuckled, but his amusement didn't reach his eyes. "Let's just hope we're expected."

As they crossed the threshold, two figures appeared before them as if stepping out of the very shadows themselves.

Thanatos and Macaria.

The god of peaceful death was as Sarah had always imagined—tall, draped in a black robe that billowed like mist, his face pale and sharp, framed by strands of dark, wind-swept hair. His golden eyes were unreadable, the color of dying embers. Macaria, standing beside him, was a contrast—where Thanatos embodied death's inevitability, she carried its mercy. Her dark curls cascaded over her shoulders, and her deep brown eyes held warmth, even in a realm where warmth should not have existed.

Thanatos tilted his head. "You arrive… uninvited."

Sarah stiffened, but Marcus remained calm. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Macaria smiled faintly. "You always did have a habit of appearing where you aren't meant to, Marcus."

Marcus grinned. "It's a skill."

Thanatos, however, remained unmoved. "You should not be here."

Marcus's smirk faded. "Then maybe you should explain why the dead are restless."

Something flickered in Thanatos's gaze, but he remained silent. Macaria, however, sighed. "So you've felt it too."

Sarah stepped forward. "Felt what? Because I don't know if you noticed, but something huge just tried to drag us into the depths of the Styx."

Thanatos and Macaria exchanged a glance.

Marcus crossed his arms. "We're not leaving until we get answers."

Thanatos regarded him for a long moment, then turned sharply. "Then follow."

Without another word, he strode into the palace.

Macaria offered Sarah a reassuring look before following, and Sarah exhaled, whispering, "I really hope this isn't a terrible idea."

Marcus chuckled, clapping her on the back as they walked. "Oh, it's definitely a terrible idea. But it's also our only idea."

The inside of the palace was colder, the walls lined with silver fire that cast dancing shadows over intricate murals depicting the many faces of death. They passed through grand halls where spirits knelt in silent reverence, their forms flickering like candlelight. The weight of history pressed in on them from all sides, as if the walls themselves remembered every passing soul.

Thanatos led them to a circular chamber, its domed ceiling painted with constellations that should not have been visible from the underworld. A massive stone table stood in the center, carved with ancient symbols that pulsed faintly.

Thanatos turned to face them. "You are correct that something is wrong." His voice was smooth, but there was tension beneath it. "The balance of life and death is fraying. It started subtly at first—souls lingering longer than they should, some resisting their passage altogether. But recently, there have been… ruptures."

Macaria stepped beside him. "Something is trying to pull souls back."

Marcus's expression darkened. "That's impossible."

Thanatos shook his head. "Not impossible. Merely unnatural."

Sarah swallowed hard. "Like something's trying to undo death?"

Thanatos met her gaze. "Yes."

A chill ran through her. "That's… horrifying."

Macaria nodded. "And it's not just souls. The deeper realms of the underworld have become unstable. We have sent our own to investigate, but they do not return."

Marcus rubbed his temples. "You think this is connected to whatever's waking up."

Thanatos's golden eyes flickered. "I know it is."

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Sarah spoke. "What do we do?"

Thanatos's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than she was comfortable with before he turned to Marcus. "There is one who may have answers. One who sees beyond the veil of past and future."

Marcus inhaled sharply. "No."

Sarah frowned. "No what?"

Macaria gave Marcus a knowing look. "You already know who he means."

Marcus groaned. "Of course I do. Because when something terrible is happening, who do we always end up needing?"

Sarah looked between them. "Are you two going to fill me in, or do I have to guess?"

Thanatos's voice was flat. "The Oracle."

Sarah blinked. "Oh."

Then she paused.

"…Wait. Which Oracle?"

Marcus sighed. "The first."

Sarah stared at him. "You mean the Oracle. As in, the one who predates Apollo's whole Oracle of Delphi system?"

"The very one," Thanatos confirmed.

Sarah let out a long breath. "Gods, I really hate this."

Marcus smirked, despite himself. "Good. That means you're catching on."

Thanatos stepped forward, placing a single, ghostly white coin on the stone table. "Then you must go to her."

Macaria folded her hands. "But be warned—she does not speak in kindness. She does not guide. She reveals. And once she does, there is no turning back."

Sarah eyed the coin warily. "Great. Can't wait."

Marcus picked it up, feeling the chill of the underworld seep into his skin. He turned to Thanatos. "Where is she?"

Thanatos's lips curled into something resembling a smirk. "Where she has always been. Waiting."

And with that, the flames in the chamber flickered, the underworld itself seeming to shift around them.

Marcus exhaled. "This is going to be a nightmare."

Sarah crossed her arms. "A nightmare that might save our lives."

Marcus nodded, slipping the coin into his pocket. "Then I guess we better start walking."

And with that, they stepped out of the Palace of the Dead, heading toward a fate written long before any of them were ready to face it.