Page 64 of Desired By Eros

Below him, the damned screamed and reached for him, skeletal fingers and rotting hands clawing at his legs. Some caught him, dragging him down. He kicked and struggled, beating his wings furiously, ripping free from their grasp. Painshot through his limbs, but he pushed forward, his eyes locked on the river ahead.

The Acheron was close. He just had to make it.

A burst of wind blew past, and he flapped his wings, catching the current and propelling himself forward. The Fields of Punishment faded behind him as he finally landed on the riverbank with a heavy thud. His knees hit the ground, his breath ragged, muscles aching from the strain.

The soil felt damp and he pressed his palms into it, trying to steady himself. His body trembled with exhaustion, and for a moment, he couldn’t believe he had made it this far—without his powers, without anything but sheer will.

The river rushed past him, dark and restless, whispering in a voice that almost sounded inviting. A cruel trick. The Acheron was no ordinary river; it was a place of sorrow, carrying the burden of countless lost souls. One misstep, and he’d be pulled under like so many before him.

He tried to remember anything he had heard about the Acheron. A poem surfaced in his mind:

“One breath to cross, no more, no less,

A whispered vow, a soul’s distress.

Step too soon, the waters take,

Linger long, the shadows wake.”

It was a gamble, but he had nothing else.

Eros took the deepest breath he could, filling his lungs until his chest ached, and then dove into the river.

The cold hit him like a wall, sinking into his bones. The current fought to drag him down, but he forced his limbs to move, pushing forward, eyes scanning the murky depths. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, counting down the seconds before he’d need air.

Then—there. A glow in the distance.

He kicked hard, propelling himself toward it. The closer he got, the clearer it became. An ancient pyxis, resting against the riverbed, untouched by time. It pulsed with power, its golden surface almost hypnotic. Eros reached for it, fingers closing around the cool surface. Relief flooded him. He had it.

Then he heard it.

A song.

The sound curled around him, a whisper of longing, of promises unfulfilled. His grip on the pyxis tightened as he turned and saw her.

She was beautiful. Ethereal. Her hair drifted around her like ink in water, her eyes shimmering like the night sky. She sang, her voice threading into his mind, weaving illusions, calling him closer.

The pyxis pulsed in his arms. The siren’s eyes flickered with something—fear? Recognition? Then, in an instant, she retreated, vanishing into the dark.

Eros didn’t hesitate. His lungs burned, and his body screamed for air. He kicked toward the surface, his grip on the pyxis unwavering.

His head finally broke free of the water, and he gasped, dragging in precious oxygen. The air felt sharp in his throat, but he didn’t care. He had it.

Now, he just had to get out of the Underworld alive.

Eros got to the water’s edge and dragged himself onto the grass, his body aching with exhaustion. He barely had time to catch his breath when he saw a figure standing nearby.

Persephone.

The queen of the Underworld watched him with knowing eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. Though she was young compared to the ancient gods, she carried an ageless presence, her power woven into the very fabric of the realm she resided over with her husband, Hades. She and Eros were consideredbabies by the Olympians since they were born after the Titan War, but Persephone still had a few years on him.

She stepped forward gracefully and sat beside him, her hands resting lightly on her lap.

“I’m glad you got the pyxis.”

Eros let out a tired breath. “I’ve hardly had the time to be glad.”

She laughed softly, a sound that carried through the still air. “I know that pyxis holds your father’s magic. Why did you choose to get it now?”

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