Chapter 9
Aletheia's POV
He walked into the temple alone. Clad in robes of deep purple and black, crowned with obsidian, surrounded by darkness that seemed to devour all light. His eyes were deep purple, like the abyss itself.
Where he walked, the marble floor frosted over. Sacred flames died. Flowers turned to ash.
The gods instinctively retreated. Lesser deities fell to their knees, trembling.
Erebus didn't look at Zeus. Didn't acknowledge any god. He simply stopped in the center of the temple, coldly surveying everyone present.
Then he spoke.
"I was just outside," his voice was low but carried clearly through the entire temple, "and I heard some very interesting things."
Silence. Absolute, suffocating silence.
"Someone called my bride a 'corpse.'" Erebus slowly turned his head, his gaze falling on the minor god who'd spoken earlier. "Someone called her 'trash.' And someone said she 'doesn't even have a name.'"
The minor god's face went deathly pale.
"Step forward." Erebus's voice didn't rise, but the pressure was mountainous. "Those who spoke, step forward. All of you."
No one moved.
"No?" Erebus smiled coldly. "Then let me help you."
He raised one hand. Darkness surged out like a living thing, precisely ensnaring the gods who'd been whispering. They were dragged by invisible force to the center of the temple, forced to their knees, unable to move.
Erebus's voice was cold as a blade. "You don't even understand basic courtesy? Insulting my bride at a wedding? Did you think that hiding in the crowd, whispering, meant no one could hear you?"
"My lord, we didn't—" one god tried to explain.
"Silence."
The god's voice cut off abruptly, as if an invisible hand had closed around his throat.
Erebus turned to Zeus. "Is this Olympus's hospitality?"
Zeus's face darkened. Just as he was about to explode, Erebus drew a black token from his robes.
The token bore a certain deity's seal.
With a casual flick, the token transformed into black light, landing precisely before Zeus.
"Lord Hades asked me to convey," Erebus's tone carried a dangerous politeness, "that he is very interested in this wedding. If Olympus cannot even manage basic respect, then the 'friendly relations' between our realms may need to be reconsidered."
A threat. A naked threat.
Zeus picked up the token, his knuckles white. He stared at the seal for a long time, then took a deep breath.
"You're right." His voice was cold but laced with suppressed fury. "This wedding is a symbol of friendship between our realms. Any disrespect toward the bride is an insult to the Underworld, and an insult to me."
He whirled toward the gods bound by darkness. "You lot—stripped of divine office, reduced to servants, sentenced to serve in Cocytus for one hundred years."
The gods' faces went white as paper. "Your Majesty, please—"
"Get out."
Guards immediately stepped forward, dragging away the wailing gods.
The temple fell silent. All whispers ceased.
Only then did Erebus turn and walk toward me.
His steps were slow, steady. Each one lowered the surrounding temperature another degree. When he reached me, I could see his eyes clearly—deep purple, like the abyss, like the void, but in this moment, holding something I couldn't understand. Tenderness.
His gaze fell on the golden gown I wore, and his brow furrowed.
"This dress," he said. "It's not suitable for you."
I froze.
He raised his hand. Black divine power flowed out like water, gently enveloping me. The holy energy that had been burning me receded like a tide. The golden gown dissolved into points of light.
In its place appeared a gown woven from night and stars. Deep black and purple intertwined, dotted with silver star patterns, the hem flowing like liquid night.
No burning. No pain. Only comfortable coolness.
"Better?" he asked.
I looked up at him. This strange, terrifying Underworld lord who had just given me more care in thirty seconds than my family had in ten years.
"Why?" My voice was hoarse.
"Because you are my bride." He said it simply.
Then he turned to face the entire temple. His voice rang out again, louder this time, more commanding.
"From this moment, she is Erebus's bride. Her name is—" He paused, his gaze returning to me. "What is your name?"
I froze. My name? I had no name. They'd stripped it from me at the star altar, shattered my constellation. I was the Nameless.
"I... I don't have a name." I said quietly.
"I'm asking," Erebus's voice was gentle but firm, "what your original name was."
My throat tightened.
"Aletheia." I heard myself say. "I was called Aletheia."
"Aletheia." He repeated the name, as if tasting its weight. Then he turned to the gods, his voice like thunder.
"Her name is Aletheia."
The temple erupted in uproar.
"She's already been stripped—" a god began.
"I don't care." Erebus's voice was cold as ice. "In the Underworld, she is Aletheia. Anyone who dares call her 'nameless' is challenging me."
His gaze swept across every god present. "Does anyone have an objection?"
Silence.
Selene wanted to step forward to say something, but Helios pulled her back.
Aurora stood in the crowd, her triumphant smile now frozen.
Ares clenched his fists but said nothing.
Erebus turned back to me, extending his hand. "Aletheia, I'm taking you home. But first—"
His voice became softer, almost tender.
"I need to ask you. Are you willing? If you're not, say so now. I won't force you."
I stared at his outstretched hand.
This stranger, this terrifying Underworld lord, had just defended my dignity before all the gods. Given me a name. Asked if I was willing.
I looked at the gods in the temple—those who had mocked me, trampled me.
I looked at the Dawn family—those who'd used me as a tool, as a sacrifice.
I looked at Ares—the man who'd once said "I will only marry a woman worthy of the War God's name."
Then I looked at Erebus. The first person to defend my dignity. The first to ask my will. The first to give me a choice.
I placed my hand in his palm.
"I'm willing."
His fingers gently closed, holding my hand. "Then let's go."
Erebus led me by the hand toward the black obsidian chariot outside the temple. Before leaving, he stopped and turned to Zeus.
"Thank you for Your Majesty's generosity." His tone carried a certain implication.
Zeus's face darkened further, but he said nothing.
Erebus helped me onto the chariot. The obsidian surface was surprisingly warm. The hellhounds turned their massive heads to look at me, but they didn't growl, only watched quietly.
Erebus sat beside me, taking the reins.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded.
The hellhounds began to run. The chariot shot out of the temple, across the marble courtyard, racing toward the gates of Olympus.
I looked back one last time—saw the temple, saw the gods, saw the Dawn family, saw Ares.
I didn't cry. Didn't hate.
I simply turned my head calmly and never looked back again.
The chariot plunged into the dark gates of the Underworld. As we crossed that boundary, I felt an unprecedented sense of relief.
The darkness of the Underworld rose to meet us—cool, quiet, far from that blinding eternal daylight.
I didn't know what awaited me. Didn't know if Erebus was truly kind or merely skilled at manipulation. Didn't know if I was heading toward freedom or another prison.
