Orpheus battled back the urge to turn and embrace his lover then and there. He remembered the words of the Underworld gods and held to his faith in them, stepping on through the cavernous halls even as he yearned to look upon his love again.

“You’ve no idea the trials I’ve endured to reclaim you from Death’s hand,” the bard spoke giddily. “My very heart sings to hear your voice in earnest again.”

Oddly, he found then that he could not hear her after all. He slowed his pace. “Eurydice?” he asked. “Are you still there?”

“I am, my love,” spoke Eurydice.

Orpheus hesitated as he briefly recalled the tricks and traps the dark realm had set upon him during his quest. He shook off his doubts and cleared his throat. “I am glad,” he said.

They walked until they left the light of the torches behind, then walked farther still. Orpheus was surprised to find himself standing at the shores of the Styx in rather a short time. Taking his lyre in hand, he waited there and idly strummed until Charon’s ferry came into view.

“You live,” observed the Ferryman as he descended from his vessel. He glanced behind Orpheus, then looked back to the bard. “She does not.”

“She will,” Orpheus countered. “The magnanimous rulers of this land have decreed it.”

“Magnanimous?” Charon scoffed. “Indeed. I will carry your song as agreed. For the other, I’ll have that coin.”

Orpheus readily handed over the payment, and Charon took them aboard. He played a lilting, flighty tune as the ferry of souls set off.

“See, my love?” said Orpheus, still doing his utmost to keep his back to Eurydice. “I have won over even the Ferryman of Hades with my song. I crossed the Styx to take you back.”

Eurydice was slow to respond. “How long have I been gone?” she asked.

“Mere days. I could scarcely stand to be apart from you for even that long. Apollo himself blessed my journey and guided me onto the path to the Underworld.”

“Mere days?” the maiden repeated pensively. “Time flows strangely here.”

“You’ll not have to endure it much longer, beloved. We will soon stand above.”

They reached the opposite shore, and Charon let them off. “You were wrong, Ferryman,” Orpheus said as they descended. “My journey ends in triumph.”

Charon sighed. “It is not over yet,” he said, and his ferry set off again.

Knowing full well what lay ahead next, Orpheus kept up his playing as he walked on. He paused only when the sound of shifting behind him reached his ears, and he smiled brightly when that sound turned out to be another set of footsteps.

“You’ve regained your form?” Orpheus checked.

“I have,” Eurydice answered. “Let us go from here.”

“Of course,” said Orpheus, and he stepped more swiftly then, though the pace of his playing slowed.

He switched to a melancholy melody with prolonged tones as they neared the hound of Hades. As before, Cerberus went docile and gave in to sleep before Orpheus even sighted him.

“I heard even Heracles struggled to conquer this beast,” Orpheus noted as they passed. “I conquered it easily with my song. All for the sake of finding you again.”

“What song did you sing?” Eurydice asked.

Orpheus hesitated. A light chuckle escaped him. “It matters not,” he answered. “It was a song that brought me to you.”

Again, the maiden went quiet. Orpheus’ mirth faltered in the face of her silence, but still, he stepped on toward their exit.

He inclined his head just slightly as temptation crept again to the forefront of his mind. He shoved it back and forced his gaze forward. The first of the light reached his eyes.

The bard ceased his playing to point ahead. “Look, Eurydice! We are so close.”

Eurydice tried to smile. “It is so bright,” she said.

“You have been too long in the darkness. Soon, you will be free again.”

Orpheus felt his promise complete when he stepped into the light at last. He sucked in a deep breath of fresh, living air and heaved a sigh of relief. “We have made it!” he exclaimed, and he eagerly turned to finally embrace his beloved.

He stopped short, and his elation vanished beneath an expression of horror; Eurydice had not yet reached the light, and in darkness, she walked as a corpse.

“Another trick?” Orpheus uttered as anger seized his heart. “Another trick!?” he shouted.

But Eurydice’s dead eyes yet managed a tear, and Orpheus’ anger broke.

“You looked back,” spoke Eurydice. She stepped back from him as the pebbles at her feet began to shift.

“I…I…” Orpheus’ tongue denied him words. He clenched his teeth and slapped his hand over his mouth to stop his lips quivering.

Eurydice took another step back. “Why did you not wait?” The shadows shifted and swelled around her. Recognition washed over Orpheus features, and he thrust out his hand.

“Wait!” he exclaimed. “I’m sorry! I did not intend-”

“You looked back,” she repeated as the darkness consumed her.

“I thought you were free! Please believe me, my love. Step into the light!”

“I cannot,” said Eurydice, averting her gaze. “The Queen’s will beckons me back.”

Orpheus stepped toward her, and the earth shifted and rose to block his path. He climbed over the barrier, but the walls and the ceiling shook apart and dropped ever more debris between them. The difficulty made him all the more desperate. He pushed aside stone after stone in a vain effort to reach Eurydice as the earth moved to swallow her along with the path they’d walked together.

“Eurydice, please!” He begged. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me again!”

“I am sorry, my love,” said Eurydice. She lifted her face to him one final time, and for just a moment, the light shined through to lend life to her smile. “You will have to come directly.”

“Eurydice!” Orpheus screamed with all his might. He shoved his fingers time and again through the earth that moved to block him, bloodied his precious hands in a desperate struggle to dig the path back up. He would keep at it for nearly an hour, shouting and screaming all the while until he was nearly spent.

Alas, the earth gave him nothing. Or perhaps the large jagged stone upon it was a gift it had left for him, for when his unbelieving eyes rose to spot it, he swiftly seized his lyre to expend the last of his arms’ strength.

He did not strum a somber tune. He did not sing his sorrows. Instead, he lifted the golden gift overhead and smashed it against the stone.

“Never again!” The lyre’s strings frayed as he smashed it a second time.

“Never again!” The luminous instrument finally lost its shine.

“I’ll never sing another song so long as I shall live!”

His art had been a gift from Apollo, a blessed tool for his salvation. But it had failed him on this, his most desperate quest. Thus damned, he cast it aside along with the remnants of his lyre.

The beaten, broken bard then collapsed onto the ground. An overflow of tears escaped him, and he wrapped his arms around himself as bitter sobs rocked his weary form.