25. Some call it shadow work. I call it Abyss work.

Chapter 25

Some call it shadow work. I call it Abyss work.

HECATE

"Lovely" by Billie Eilish - Lauren Babic and Seraphim Cover

"Evil Angel" by Breaking Benjamin

Z enya is understandably fatigued from everything as well as shaken. She's woven herself some pajamas, pink but with a big black heart on the shirt with the words "Let Me Sleep" in bold white. My heart warms at the thought of sharing a rest with her…if she's open.

Phantasos comforts her—as does Ivy who recently returned. The God still wears his pinstripe suit, but it's yellow now.

It's not long before Zenya beams as she weaves floating clouds made of marshmallow fluff for the child. It does my heart good to see her smiling after everything she's endured. But I sense, I know she has had far worse experiences. I smile in kind as Phantasos does impressions of his brothers, shifting into a shadowy silhouette followed by a black peacock for Morpheus. Our God of Dreams rolls his eyes but does not correct his older brother.

Gleeful Ivy laughs, having jumped upon her cloud, clapping from Phantasos imitating a dancing skeleton doing the Cha Cha Slide. Zenya rises, and Ivy hops down to join him, their eyes lighting up from the God of Dreamy Objects who performs as beautifully as he/she always does.

I free my dogs to yip and join the fun. Phantasos returns to his God self to twirl both girls. Zenya needs these bright moments, the sunset before the darkest night.

Morpheus rises from the table, projecting his shadows in ever-shifting silhouettes—they whorl and spiral around the three dancers.

When Zenya pauses, I notice the change before the others. She puffs out her chest, practically marches toward Phantasos, and squeezes his bicep. "Hey there, handsome." The lowered voice is a clear indication that this is someone else.

Phantasos freezes. And pales whiter than a sheet. I can't help but derive some amusement from the matter.

"Monroe…" The alter holds out his hand. A hand that exists within Zenya as the host.

As Phantasos shakes the alter's hand, Monroe fingers a few strands of purple hair and wonders, "What in all tarnation…?" Abashed by the strands, which must be a novelty to him, he gazes down at his hands—Zenya's hands. "She warned me, but it feels different than I expected. Ugh, I'm so much shorter than normal…" He rubs his jaw.

"Who warned you of what?" wonders Phantasos with an arched brow.

"You call her Beastie. We all like that by the way. Nice touch." He nods to me before sighing. "It will be more difficult for the children when they front more, I suspect. I've been a little more aware, co-conscious according to Beastie."

After a moment, he shrugs, shaking it off and recovering quickly, albeit reluctantly. His eyes light up again at Phantasos. "This is the part where you tell me your name," says Monroe, sizing up Phantasos, licking his lips.

I like this Monroe. His energy is strong, yet playful and respectful.

Phantasos politely extends his hand to shake Monroe's, but he doesn't flirt back. He maintains an aura of respect but openness to introduction.

Ivy leaps down from a nearby cloud, clasps her hands, her eyes twinkling as her body sways. Naturally, we've only given her select information, just enough for her to know how Zenya will take a nap—in the most child-friendly terms—and a new friend will come out to talk.

"How old are you?" Ivy blurts out.

At first, I prickle with concern, but Monroe shakes his head with a smile, leans down, and whispers in her ear.

Her eyes go wide as saucers before she looks at him and tilts her head. "You're really old. What does that make you? Wait! Can I guess please?"

Monroe smirks wryly as Phantasos taps the child's shoulder. "Ivy, don't be rude."

"Hey, I said please," she reminds him, her blonde curls thwacking her cheeks.

The alter smiles, shoulders relaxed as he plays with a bit of floating cloud fluff. "It's fine. Go ahead, take a guess."

Ivy's eyes sparkle with curiosity. "Hmm…are you an alien?"

Monroe chuckles. "As far as I know, my parents did not send me to Earth in an escape pod while the planet was being destroyed."

Ivy taps her chin thoughtfully. "Orc?"

He rolls his eyes. "I don't have tusks."

She squints, thinking hard. "An elf?"

"Warmer."

"A Fae." Phantasos chimes in with a grin.

Monroe says nothing, but he meets Phantasos's gaze in a moment of clarity—a shared confirmation passing between them.

"Hey, no fair!" Ivy pouts, crossing her arms.

Monroe laughs softly, the sound warm and inviting. "Yes, a Fae. And a damn good-looking one, too." He winks at Phantasos. "But I wouldn't mind stealing a few fashion tips from you."

Ivy does a twirl, her playful spirit undeterred. "Okay, but can you transform into anything else?"

"Hmm…maybe."

"Oooh, like a dragon?"

"Only on Tuesdays," he jokes.

Ivy giggles, the tension easing into a comfortable camaraderie. "Okay, okay. You're full of surprises, Monroe."

Monroe shrugs modestly. "Just happy to keep things interesting."

More shadows grow and abound in the throne room. The gravity of the impending subject has more of Morpheus's life force curling and twisting restlessly.

When I turn to him, I find his eyes vacant, unseeing. Blind again. Too long without bonding himself to Zenya.

When a chill drifts through the air, I incline my chin to find Nyxion entering the court, his expression grave and somber. Zenya stiffens, the mere presence of the God of Nightmares triggering Beastie to return. Darker eyes narrow in a piercing warning.

At least Nyxion does not approach her, which surprises me. No tilt of his skull head. No black eyes straying across her figure.

Suspicion creeps along my spine, but I observe how his wings are lower, heavier with severe eyes. Something happened to prompt this change.

For now, we must focus on giving Zenya whatever we can to complete the Trials.

Phantasos bids Ivy to follow him out of the Court. Zenya returns with a yawn but makes her way back to the table.

Soon, she will sleep, but it's time to tell her of the Trials.

The aquamarine color returns, and she leans back in her seat, darting her eyes between the three of us. Ethereal light filters through the high-arched windows, casting shifting patterns on the marble floor. Prisms dance along her face and body as if following the contours of her form.

Folding my hands on the table and locking eyes with the mortal, I address her, "Zenya, the Trials you are about to undertake are unlike anything you have faced." My voice resonates deeper, mirroring the swelling shadows. "You will travel through time, revisiting pivotal moments of your life. These are the echoes of your past, of your deepest fears and regrets. You must face your darkness and make peace with it.

"More than that, you must take a piece of your past with you every time. Once you collect the three necessary pieces, they will grant you the ability to safely remove the Eye of Morpheus and Nyxion's hyoid bone."

Some call it shadow work. I call it Abyss work.

"Why can't we just get them out now?" she wonders understandably.

You will die.

Zenya looks to Nyxion after he's uttered the ominous but true statement.

"Regardless of the method of implantation,"—I needle my eyes upon both Gods—"power such as dream weaving is not granted without a cost. Two options exist for such a cost according to the universe's laws of magic and balance. You may labor for the cost in the Trials, exchanging the emotions and passion of your journey and accepting the transformation that follows. Or you must pay to Death."

She nods, her lips pressed into an expression of determination and apprehension.

I incline my head to Morpheus, who braces a fist on the table, his wings stiffening. "We cannot tell you what will happen. It would alter the course of your journey and interfere with the process. But you must tread carefully," he warns, his tone lowering. "The deeper you go into your memories, the closer you get to the Abyss."

When Zenya shivers, the God of Dreams opens his mouth, prepared to explain until?—

— The Abyss is a place of endless void, a consuming darkness, Nyxion interrupts, leveling his black eyes upon Zenya.

Her posture changes. While she stiffens at first, her body softens, and her eyes glisten with tears she likely does not understand. I imagine she is feeling the war within her. The darker parts of her inner psyche are irrevocably drawn to Nyxion. Perhaps he is also her shadow work in a way—how she may flirt and play with the darkness and survive it, overcome it. And of course…taunt and claw and bite at it.

I gesture in a silent command for my hounds to approach her. Zenya welcomes two placing their snouts upon her lap while I elaborate. "If you stray too deep, its forces will become aware of you. Some, like the reavers, will attack. Others may simply be curious, but all are dangerous."

Zenya's eyes widen slightly, but she remains resolute, scratching both dogs' ears and ruffling their fur.

"You must dream weave protection for yourself," Morpheus goes on, twisting his shadows into the image of a female warrior raising her shield to block a hail of arrows. "Use your power to create barriers, shields, anything that will keep you safe. Remember, your strength lies in your ability to shape dreams. Use it wisely."

I rise from my seat and approach our little dreamer, offering a commanding but comforting presence. Combing my fingers through a few strands, I lower my palm to cup her shoulder and add, "Know this, Zenya. You will not be alone. We will be watching you, guiding you as we may. We will do what we can to fight alongside you. But the greatest battle is yours to fight….within yourself. Trust in your abilities and in the bond we share."

She clasps the hand on her shoulder, still petting my hounds. Her gaze strays to the God of Nightmares again before she bites her lower lip, conflicted.

Nyxion nods his agreement. He hasn't taken his eyes off her the whole time. But he doesn't lift one bony finger toward her, which breeds more curiosity within me.

When the fear manifests, Zenya, you must choose whether it's the moment to show it your teeth and claws…little killer , Nyxion added the last part more hesitantly as if testing. He rests his skeletal hands on the table—steadier than ever. Or if you must give it something else. You will face your past, confront your demons, and emerge stronger.

Was that a manifestation from the God of Nightmares?

Regardless, Zenya takes a deep breath and straightens in her chair, her blue-green eyes still, unwavering. She does not mind his pet name—even if Beastie does. Perhaps it helps her. Perhaps she's made peace with it. If not, she undoubtedly will during the Trials.

The dark path ahead will push her to her limits, but she is ready to face them. And we will be with her…always.

If she loses her soul to Thanatos, there is no doubt the three of us will go to Hades, especially me. After all, my interference led Persephone to eat the pomegranate seeds. Hades and I are on such good terms, and he owes me a favor or two.

"I think I get it," she says while slumping the top half of her body onto the table. "But seriously…before I descend into the lion's den, can I have a nice, long cat nap?" The torch upon her brow glows with a faint light. She flashes her eyes at Morpheus, then to Nyxion, and then to me.

"Do you want us to stay with you, little dreamer?" I proffer, leaning back in my chair. Morpheus lifts his wings, feathers ruffling with hope.

Zenya yawns and nods. "Kind of."

The three of us exchange glances, then smile—all curious as to what she means.