“Hades, the guests are most likely all in the cathedral by now, and Hiræth has already gone with Demeter to get changed. We need to prepare as well.”

Hades sighs. To Charon, he says, “We’ll finish this later. Don’t think I’ll forget what you said. I’m still your king.”

“For now,” Charon shoots back, still smiling.

“I swear, you two,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Oh, but Charon, can you stay after the coronation? It’ll be awkward to find you otherwise.”

“Of course. I’m yours to command, my Queen.”

“So she’s still your Queen, but I’m—?”

“Hades, love, we have to go. You can berate him later.”

Charon manages to sneak away from the banquet hall, thanks to a well-timed interruption from Persephone. His shoulder still stings from Hades’ punch, and he rubs the sore spot absently as he makes his way to the coronation ceremony. His steps echo in the empty corridors now that all the crowds have left. Now there are only soldiers dressed in ceremonial armor standing at intervals of twenty feet. A group of four guards the cathedral doors in a similar coordination to the group that stood outside the banquet hall. However, these soldiers remain expressionless as Charon approaches and open the doors for him without a word.

Deep red leather pulls his eyes to the front of the chamber. The bright upholstery contrasts beautifully with the black gold frame of each throne - three in total on a raised platform. The two flanking thrones are slightly smaller, but no less ornate than the center seat. Every surface, from the paneled walls to the Corinthian pillars, the vaulted ceiling, and even the ground were all painted in a paint darker than the darkest night sky. In keeping with the natural opulence of the Underworld, the paint also carries powdered gems that reflect a sourceless light beaming from the ceiling and creates a shimmer effect around the room, like walking through a galaxy.

The other attendees have all found their seats and separated into groups by rank and office, with the lowest of each sitting closest to the doors. Several heads turn when Charon walks in, but their gazes don’t linger on him for long. Charon pulls the hood of his cape back up as they return to their hushed conversations. There’s no sign of Hermes in the crowd; he would stand out like the sun in this sea of salt and pepper hair and black clothing. Maybe he decided it wasn’t in his best interests to show his face here, maybe he had business elsewhere. Whatever the reason, his absence left Charon with fewer options than he expected. He scans the crowd for any sign of his surly partner and finds Phlegyas sitting alone at the front of the chamber. Charon settles nearby, sitting right off the aisle instead of the center seat beside his partner.

“I thought he was headed this way, but I guess Hermes decided to skip the coronation?”

Phlegyas answers the question with confusion and a vacant stare, and Charon finally notices the telltale redness in the other man’s eyes.

“On second thought, I’ll ask him later. Did something happen to you?”

“I ran into Dionysus…” Phlegyas answers, vaguely slurring his words. The rest of his response gets drowned out by the sound of the doors opening. Dionysus and his attendants appear, as if summoned from the ether, and start playing a striking melody. The harmony lingers in the air, held there by the immaculate breath control of the brass players, prompting the gathered crowd to stand as the royal procession begins.

Two columns of soldiers in ceremonial armor march down the aisle carrying banners depicting Hades’ helmet of invisibility nestled in a bloom of pomegranate flowers. The Elders follow closely behind them, each wearing a garment that wraps around their bodies and leaves their left arms uncovered. The bundled fabric almost completely hides their right arms, but the palms resting over their hearts are still visible.

Hades and Persephone are next through the doors. Persephone’s hand hovers inches above his; their only contact point is where the tips of her fingers rest in his palm. Her radiant smile beams out at every face in the crowd, raising the general mood in the room. Flowers bloom in her footsteps, leaving a trail of fragrant blossoms behind her. In contrast, Hades’ stoic and removed demeanor sends a chill down many spines. The few flowers that spread to his side of the aisle age rapidly, losing their blossoms as they wither to nothing. Like day and night, they divide the aisle between them. And finally, Hiræth enters.