The pair passed several long moments in silence as the goddess pondered the mortal. “How do you judge him, husband?” she asked.

“I do not,” Hades answered. “You were the one to seek him out. Are you not yet ready to exercise your authority?”

“Quite ready,” said Persephone as she stroked her delicate chin. “I would have him live and leave.”

“No!” Orpheus interjected, lifting his head all at once. “I beseech you! Please take pity on this pitiful soul and answer me my prayer.”

Hades scoffed. “A prayer to the rulers of the dead? That is rather a rare thing for a mortal.”

“He means to reclaim a lost soul,” Persephone explained.

“Does he? Then he is all the more foolish. I do not allow the dead to walk from my domain, nor do I tolerate those who attempt to steal them.”

Orpheus bowed his head again. “Please, my liege, reconsider. I cannot leave without my beloved. Not after all I have endured.”

“You shall not,” said the Iron Queen. “Your beloved shall leave with you.”

The bard lifted wide eyes to Persephone, and his lips curved into the beginnings of a smile. Taken aback, Hades turned on his Queen with a frustrated scowl.

“Did you not hear me, Persephone? I do not-”

“I heard you quite clearly. You said that his fate is mine to decide. This is my decision. The soul for whom this soul so longs shall be restored to him.”

Hades groaned. “His talent is undeniable, but it does not make him worthy to subvert the ordained order.”

“I agree,” Persephone stated, and Hades quirked a brow. She chuckled rather darkly. “We will have him prove himself.”

At this, Orpheus’ elation faltered. “Prove myself, my Queen?” he repeated. “What more must I do? How could I prove to you my devotion if it is not proved by now?”

“In coming here, you have proved your devotion to your love. In your interaction with Tantalus, you proved your faith in the Gods of Olympus. If you wish to see your beloved restored, you must prove your faith in we gods who keep the laws of life and death.”

“How must I do this, my Queen?” Orpheus asked.

Persephone smiled. “You must go. Turn from here, step away, and trust that the one you seek will follow.”

Hades recognized the goddess’ game, and a smirk snaked its way across his own stony countenance. It sent a chill down Orpheus’ spine, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. “How am I to know if she is with me?”

“You may speak to her, of course,” answered Persephone. “The life will steadily return to her form as she nears the light of the mortal realm. You will hear her before you can see her, but she will manifest with time.”

Orpheus grew pensive. The terms seemed straightforward enough, though he relished not the mounting anticipation Eurydice’s barely-there presence would evoke. He further sensed that there was more to the endeavor than Persephone suggested. Surely enough, Hades soon spoke up to reveal a catch.

“A half-alive thing is rather more daunting a sight than a thing that is living or dead,” he said. “Be warned, mortal: if you look upon your lover before she steps into the light, you will not reclaim her from my dour realm. You must set out from here and not turn back. Even a backward glance will put your success at risk.”

Orpheus hesitated. “I can do it,” he told himself first. He then raised his voice to the gods. “I will trust in you and in my beloved Eurydice. I will adhere to your instruction without fail.”

Hades let out a light chuckle. “We shall see.”

“This your only chance, blessed bard,” Persephone added. “You have moved us with the beauty of your song, but we will not be moved a second time. The Underworld will never again open a path unto you until the day you should die.”

Orpheus opened his mouth to question them further, but the goddess waved him off with a gesture. He was spun away from the deities’ presence against his will and soon found himself facing a firelit corridor. The thought to turn to address the gods once more possessed him, but he stopped himself just short of turning his head; the Queen of the Dead had forced him away. He was already on the path.

“Go now, great bard,” came her voice on the wind. “Go, and do not look back.”

“Thank you, great gods,” Orpheus muttered, and then, he began down the path prepared for him.

It seemed they’d set him on a simpler road, for he noticed greater light and quieter halls on the path he walked from the palace. The crackling of the otherworldly flames was the only sound aside from his footsteps. His eyes scanned the halls ahead for any pitfalls, traps, or trickery. He could recognize none in the moment. Slowly, he lowered his guard.

“Eurydice?” whispered the bard. “Are you there?” No answer. He swallowed hard, doing everything in his power to push down the urge to turn around. After a short few moments, a sudden wind ruffled his hair and his garments. He felt the onset of a soothing presence, and he beamed to hear the voice that came with it.

“I am here, my love,” said Eurydice. “I am with you.”