This was written as an anonymous gift fic exchange for SheWalksInBeauty26

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Άδης και Περσεφόνη

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Hades is known as the god of the dead and the king of the Underworld. But that lore is only half true, yet there are few who know it. For there is only one true deity. The Maker, Creator of all and the Destroyer of everything.

The gods that are worshipped and spoken of by mere humans, are Immortals, with lives that last millennia. They are blessed, (or cursed) with power beyond mortal ken, strength and beauty surpassing their distant human cousins, abilities that seem fantastical to anyone who doesn't have blue blood pulsing in their veins. But they also have duties, obligations demanded of them.

The truth of Hades, is that the name is a title, not the name of one being. The kingship is one of the most despised roles, the shortest straw.

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Άδης και Περσεφόνη

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The Underworld, sometimes also known by mortals as Hades, after its king, is a realm invisible to the living, made only for the souls of the dead.

It has no solace of sunlight or relief of colour, no freshening wind or soothing rain, Hades is not a place to be happy in. It is dreary, a grey, joyless realm, lustreless and melancholy, even for those souls that did not commit any significant crimes in their time above.

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Kylo Ren, acting as Hades for the last seven centuries, had grown accustomed to the atmosphere. Indeed, he had even grown to be comfortable - it is proving to be a welcomed break from the theatrics of his family and the other Immortals, for no one visits hell voluntarily.

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He is content with his solitary existence; the three headed hound, Cerberus, or Chewie as he nicknamed him, is the only company he seeks out when the loneliness starts to feel smothering rather than soothing.

Mortals find the huge hound terrifying, the beast stands guard at the entrance of the Underworld, always watching, his solemn duty to prevent the dead from ever leaving.

Despite his appearance, the hound has a soft centre, an affectionate nature reserved for a special few, his companionship is easy and always welcoming.

One day, as he is visiting Chewie, Poe Dameron arrives, it appears his current role is Hermes, it fits, Kylo thinks derisively.

Happily Poe doesn't stay long, just enough time to look about him with distaste and deliver a package wrapped in red silks...

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Kylo stares at the Kathréftis tou Alithís Epithymía, a gift from his mother, who, at the best of times is capricious and at the worst of times, devious.

The mirror he held was barely larger than his splayed hand, though considering his powerful build and intimidating stature, that may mean it isn't small. It is made of silver, bright and lustrous, with gold narcissus twinned around its rim and handle. The mirror itself is empty, curiously devoid of reflection, even as he gazes into it.

It's name translated into basic is The Mirror of True Desire, if he were to touch it with his power, to seek an answer, he has no doubt it will show him something, likely something his mother has decided he needs.

But desire is a tricky thing, some desires are fleeting, gone before they barely make an impression, easily forgotten. Others may be too deep, may be weaknesses, may be consuming.

Other than power, Kylo has no other wants, (other than to be left alone), so he casts the mirror aside, resolutely ignoring its existence.

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Yet desire can be persistent, and so is the mirror. Everytime he leaves his throne, he returns to find the treasure resting upon his seat, its light casting the ebony seat and basalt dais in dramatic, chiaroscuro relief.

It even begins to invade his sleep.

This perplexes him greatly, Morpheus's influence is not able to reach within the Underworld, none of the other gods are, not past the gate anyway.

The dreams only ever show him the mirror, never revealing what he would see if he bent it to his will.

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It proves impossible to break, it does not shatter when thrown onto unforgiving rock and it will not disappear beneath the Styx, just floats on the surface, serene and unblemished, and appears once more on his throne when he returns to it.

He should have known that anything his mother gave him, would be like her - in the end, she always gets what she wants, even here, in hell.

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When he finally looks, nothing can prepare him for what he sees. The once tranquil surface becomes a vast desert, empty save for a lone figure, feet strapped to a board and hands holding onto a kite as they ride the dunes as if they are ocean waves.

The person was slight, skin wrapped in material to protect them from the merciless sun, even their face is concealed, just a narrow slit for their eyes.

There is a certain grace and power to them, despite their small build, the way they effortlessly move, the strength that must be required to steer a kite that size.

Kylo has never particularly paid attention to Mortals, so this mode of transportation is new to him.

It intrigues him despite himself, but it is hardly a true desire.

After a while a settlement comes into view, squat buildings huddled around a small burst of greenery - an oasis.

The figure pulls something and the kite slowly furls, bringing the board to a gentle stop as it drops to the sand.

The mirror focuses further on the figure as they secure their transport and head to the well at the centre of the oasis. They are greeted by others, none who seem to be significant and Kylo quickly forgets.

Then they draw down their veil and headwrap and something blooms inside Kylo's chest, warm and golden and utterly alien.

It is a woman, or a girl on the cusp of womanhood, golden sun-kissed skin, a heart-shaped face set with bright eyes made up of green and gold and brown hues, luminous and wide, framed with dark lashes. As she drinks from the dipper at the well, he gazes at her wet pink lips, mesmerised as they purse and open, as she carefully swallows every drop, wasting nothing.

Water is precious in the desert, he remembers, essential to survival for the few who persist in dwelling there.

The brightness of the vision hurt his eyes, causing an ache there after endless years of darkness, and he reluctantly puts the mirror down so he can no longer see its face.

So, a woman, then? His greatest desire is a sand-rat? A mere mortal?

He snorts softly to himself, if he looks again it will likely show him something else, or someone else, it means nothing.

She means nothing.

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Without the sun and moon to mark it, time in Hades passes slowly. Usually it didn't bother Kylo, but now, the girl in the mirror seems to flash behind his eyes everytime he closes them. It stops him from sleeping and though he needs less than mortals, it frustrates him. There is knowledge in dreams, a deeper wisdom and power that is hard to find in the waking realms.

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It is not long before he goes back to the mirror, hating this weakness in himself, this inability to dismiss it. The fact that it is clearly an artifact of great magic is of little consequence, no inanimate object should be able to influence him like this, he abilities rank high above the majority of his people, even if they curse him for it.

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The girl is climbing, precariously clinging to a sheer rock face by her fingers and toes, and he feels a strange sense of alarm at the sight. If she were to fall, there would be no chance of her surviving it. She is either foolish or mad, he thinks as he watches her inching her way along painstakingly slowly, clearly searching for something.

Although her face is covered, he can sense her excitement when her fingers finally grasp a loose rock, there, nestled in the baser mineral, something glitters.

Without inspecting it too closely, she stows it away in a small cloth bag that is strapped across her body and carries on.

He cannot look away - despite her clearly being well practiced in her task it is still hard to observe, but even harder to stop watching.

Unblinking, he stares into the mirror until she is safely back on the ground, all in one piece.

Sitting back and letting the mirror go dark, Kylo ponders why a woman would make a living doing something so dangerous. Has she no kin? Surely there are other things she could be doing, and if there aren't, why has she stayed there, in the harsh desert when a town or city could provide safer employment?

Still, there is an odd sense of relief and satisfaction he feels that she is alone, no lover or husband claiming her as their own… for a moment his thoughts wander - it has been a while since he has indulged carnally. Matters of the flesh are beneath him, most of the time, but even he needs release now and then.

He pushes the feelings down.

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There is no sound accompanying the mirror's visions and he wonders what her voice sounds like. He doesn't often see her face and comes to treasure the times she reveals herself. Despite how often she covers up, there are freckles dusting her small nose and cheeks, some small voice inside him wonders at their number but he is never able to count them.

That voice is silenced… or so he thinks, but not long later it is back again, quiet, but still there, like the mirror.

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One precious time he finds her asleep, barely able to pick out her features in the dark, her brow soft in slumber. Normally when he sees her face, she is frowning due to the harsh light of the sun. She is beautiful, he realises, even though mortal, but the elements and age will start to change her soon, hardening her skin, lining it, withering her youthful glow.

The idea seems criminal, suddenly the passage of time seems to speed up, he is more aware of it than ever. If he blinks, she may be gone from the world, arriving here in Hades to slowly fade away to nothingness or perhaps prepare for reincarnation - sometimes it's hard to tell what a soul will choose to do, often there seems no rhyme or reason to their choice, yet he thinks she would choose to live again.

Something tells him she is a survivor.

Still, nothing is certain.

Unless of course, he stacks the deck… or simply tosses the deck aside and plays himself.

The idea is as appealing as it is unsettling.

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The precious stones she collects in the high rocky places of the desert, she sells on to a trader. The man is large and greedy and looks at the girl in a way Kylo does not like. He doesn't like the dark skinned man who seems to be her only friend, either.

It is a tough life she leads, but when compared to the other women he sees around her, he thinks she has made the right choice. The other women are bruised and browbeaten by their men folk, low spirited, and compared to his girl, their eyes are already dead.

So far her friend is just a friend, in a curious brotherly sort of way, but that may change.

The idea of watching the light die inside her, causes him pain.

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The way to the heart of a hound, is via his stomach, and that is even true of Chewie. Honey and herb cakes are his favourite and Kylo always takes some with him when he goes to visit. Sometimes it is pleasant to have someone to talk to, even if the animal cannot speak.

Charon, the ferryman is quite mad and only ever talks in riddles when he talks at all, and Styx is a sycophant of Zeus and she and Kylo avoid each other as much as possible.

So Kylo sits with Chewie, feeding him small pieces of cake and ignoring the dead as they pass by.

An idea is forming in his mind, one he is fighting, but deep down he knows it is a losing battle.

One of Chewie's heads rests in his lap as the other two keep watch, always alert and on guard.

He tells the dog about his mortal girl, quietly he admits to the longing that has been building inside him, growing a little more each time he sees her. How he dreams of her skin, bare for him, all of her beneath him in his bed, spread out and helpless, only for him.

His cheeks flush a little, unusual for an Immortal, another indicator of how low he is sinking. He should seek out another of his kind to satisfy these urges, but the problem is that he doesn't want to.

He just wants his mortal girl.

"Surely one taste would be enough?" he asks, as he pulls Chewie's ears, ignoring the hiss of the snake's head tail, "One night of passion and this hunger will be sated."

He sounds confident, but he isn't sure he believes himself.

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It is the first time he has left Hades in a very long time. He leaves when it is night in the world above, even so the light of the moon and stars cause his dark eyes to ache even as his soul thrills at the sight.

The desert is cold and he wraps his black cloak around him more tightly, adjusts the Helm of Hades that hides his pale face as he walks quietly along the edge of his girl's home settlement.

He is just there to see her, observation not contact - in the flesh, she will probably remind him why he has never lain with a mortal, then he can go back to the Underworld and return to his peaceful existence.

Perhaps find time to divine a way to destroy the cursed mirror.

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His girl's small dwelling is on the periphery, it is made of dry stone, old but well maintained, an animal skin covers the door, weighted so it hangs still and heavy.

Energy hums over his skin at the thought that he is only a few paces away from where she sleeps.

The night is quiet enough that he can hear the soft sighs of her breathing as he slips his hands behind the door and quietly moves it aside.

And there she is, his mortal girl, her body curled around a small cook fire, its embers still glowing softly, casting a warm light on her sleeping face, and he realises there is no way he is leaving without her.

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