Chapter Text
It was the warmest day Zagreus had ever experienced in his life. Clouds that lingered over the world for as long as he'd remembered had parted, finally allowing Helios to do his work unobstructed. The result was a brilliant flush of life, as if the world had been merely waiting for its moment. Fields flourished, trees bore fruit that was tender and green, and birds were everywhere. They didn't even attack him much.
Zagreus worked diligently at the task he'd been assigned, turning earth to soften it for planting. The skin across his shoulders stretched tight with sunburn and itched faintly from sweat. His hands were covered in grime up to the elbows. Even his fingernails were filthy. Supposedly, when he finished, it would be a bed of... something. He wasn't really certain what, only that his mother had been thrilled when she'd been able to make some of it take root strongly enough to transplant. Whatever it was, it was important that the plants go next to the fence, which meant a new bed. The stone apparently would provide shade for most of the day, which was far more important to plants than to sons.
He'd never been happier in his life.
"I admit, this wasn't what I expected when I returned to Olympus." Persephone commented from nearby as she pulled up a handful of weeds that had been in the process of choking her herbs. She eyed the plants thoughtfully, making decisions that not even gods could guess at before tossing them into one of the four seemingly random piles behind her. "I can't believe they just let this place go. All it needed was a little care now and again. I doubt the vineyards were allowed to grow wild."
They'd already gone over the matter of the long winter and how nothing had grown. Apparently that didn't make a difference to his mother. Plants needed care, period, even when they were covered by snow. "Well, now you have me to take care of them while you're away." His spade hit some sort of root with a heavier-than-usual thunk. He frowned and cleared away the dirt.
It was a tree root. Or, rather, he thought it was a tree root. It twisted through the ground in a rope as thick as his wrist. Where he'd hit it exposed a spot of pale flesh that oozed sap. He took his spade to the dirt behind it, tracking the root's path towards the wall, where it appeared to have somehow burrowed right through a crack in the stone.
"Huh."
"What have you got there?" In the corner of his eye, he saw his mother's attention shift from her weeding to him.
He grabbed it with both hands and tugged. Something gave, and there was a promising sensation of something breaking that vibrated through the wood, little jolts of wood trying to snap. "Just a root. It's pretty big." Another tug. It gave some more, but not enough. Zagreus shifted upwards, planted his feet, and pulled. His shoulders strained. Still the root resisted.
"A hoe might be more useful. Is it in the wall?"
He saw his mother stand, at exactly the same time a heavy crack shook him to the bones. The root gave way, sending him sprawling backwards as the wall shuddered. The old, battered rocks wobbled, mortar that had been left untended over too many long, hard freezes finally crumbling. Stone toppled, shadowing his vision. And then—
Pain.
Muted behind a pounding pressure in his skull, he heard his mother's cries, the calls for help that wouldn't come. None of the Olympians had shown any interest in cleaning her old garden, and so they'd all taken care to stay well away from any opportunity to be conscripted. He couldn't seem to open his eyes. Attempts to reassure her just came out mumbled and choked.
Slowly, the gleam of sunlight behind his eyelids faded. Soft darkness curled around his vision, dragging him down into a world of warm nothingness. Familiar nothingness.
Zagreus twisted himself into a position that felt like upright. He glared around but, just like the last time he'd been dead, there wasn't anything to glare at. Endless, endless void, peppered with what could have been either stars or illusions his mind conjured to fill the darkness.
It had to be his mother's influence, but his first thought was for the wall he was going to have to rebuild.
An experimental kick moved him up, and lightened the shadows enough to allow a hint of crimson to shine through. The red color grew stronger and stronger until, all at once, he broke the surface and stone steps solidified underfoot. He took a deep breath, which was immediately used to yelp in surprise when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him the rest of the way out of the pool.
Thanatos ran his hands through Zagreus's hair, flicking the blood of the Styx from it. "I thought I felt you coming."
Zagreus grinned and allowed himself to be helped out of the Pool, leaning far more than he actually needed. "Hey, Than. I thought it might be my turn to stalk you."
The grip on around his waist tightened, and there might have been a hint of a smile somewhere in the shadows of Death's hood. "Alright, Zag. Stalk away."