Ash still drifted through the air long after the last golden light faded.
Hades sat on a broken slab of stone that had once been part of the Citadel's foundation, one hand pressed against the wound in his side. The bleeding had slowed, but the blood that seeped between his fingers was no longer pure black. Thin threads of green ran through it now, bright as new leaves. He watched them without speaking.
Persephone knelt beside him, her hands glowing faintly as she tried to close the injury. Her touch was steady, but her face was tired in a way he had never seen before. The solid form she had fought so hard to hold was beginning to thin again at the edges. Every time she poured power into him, she lost a little more of herself.
"Stop," he said quietly. "You'll burn out."
"I'm fine."
"You're not." He caught her wrist gently. "I can feel it. You're thinner than you were an hour ago."
