The First Crack

The dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the cavernous mouth of Hades’s realm, each one a tiny, frantic soul eager for passage. Hermes, his winged sandals already scuffing the polished obsidian floor, felt the familiar pull, the low hum of a world teetering on the edge of its designated place. This was his usual beat, guiding the newly departed from the flickering torchlight of existence into the deep, cool shadows of the Underworld. Easy. Routine. The kind of task he could perform with one eye closed, his mind already drifting to the next horizon, the next whispered rumour, the next impossible gamble.

Today’s charge was a merchant, a stout man named Lykon, whose earthly life had been a testament to shrewd deals and even shrewder evasions of the tax collector. He clutched a spectral purse, his translucent fingers still fumbling with invisible coins. “Are you sure this is the way, boy?” Lykon’s voice was a reedy echo, laced with the lingering anxiety of a man who’d never quite trusted even his own shadow. “It seems… darker than I imagined. And colder.”

Hermes offered a flash of his quicksilver smile, a practised gesture that had smoothed ruffled godly feathers and charmed countless mortals. “It’s the Underworld, Lykon. If it were warm and fuzzy, Hades would have moved his office to the Elysian Fields.” He nudged the merchant forward with an airy prod of his caduceus. “Just keep moving. No lingering. No looking back. You know the drill.”