"The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal—because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed."
Funny thing, that quote. I used to think it was a poetic exaggeration. A little dramatic flair from a long-dead bard. But the older I got, the more it started to feel… right. Like something deeper was hiding behind those words. Something more than ink on paper.
I murmured the line to myself, letting the words hang in the silence of my apartment like incense smoke.
"The gods envy us..." I repeated, pen tapping rhythmically against the edge of my notebook. "Because we're doomed. Yeah… that's definitely going in the essay."
My name's Nathaniel—Nate for short—and I'm a myth junkie. Always have been. While other kids were watching Saturday morning cartoons, I was curled up with books about Norse gods, Egyptian Duat, and Greek tragedies. Most people grow out of their childhood obsessions. I just turned mine into a major.
At twenty-one, I'm knee-deep in my third year at Westwood University in Southern California, chasing a degree in Comparative Mythology. That's right—mythology. Not history, not anthropology. Mythology. My advisor still raises his eyebrows every time I say it like it's a real career path.
But I don't care. I love this stuff.
Tonight's subject was none other than Hades. The misunderstood king of the Underworld. The one everyone thinks is evil because Disney slapped him with blue flames and a snarky attitude. But the real Hades? Way more complicated than that. Hence the thick paperback sitting open on my lap:
The History, Origins and Evolution of the Greek God
by Dr. Margaret L. Vellum
It's not exactly light reading. It was a dense academic writing, footnotes the size of paragraphs, and the occasional Greek script that made my eyes water.
Still, I was hooked.
I scribbled a few more notes in my spiral-bound journal, underlining the word "chthonic" three times. That was my new favorite term—meaning "of the earth" or "underworld." I was planning on writing my thesis on chthonic deities and the cultural evolution of the afterlife. Hades was the natural place to start.
My stomach growled suddenly, loud enough to echo in the silence. I blinked and looked up at the clock. 7:47 PM.
Seriously?
I haven't eaten since… What, brunch? No wonder I felt like I was about to pass out.
I groaned, leaned back, and stretched until my spine cracked like a firecracker. My tiny studio apartment groaned with me. The bookshelf tilted a little too far forward when I let go of it. I made a mental note to stop overloading the top shelf with encyclopedias.
"All right, Nate," I muttered to myself, standing up and brushing my hair out of my eyes. "Food. Now."
I slipped on my beat-up sneakers, the soles half detached from years of faithful use. Jacket? Check. Phone? Always in my pocket. I reached for my wallet… then paused.
My eyes drifted back to the book. I hesitated.
With a sigh and a shrug, I tucked the book under my arm like it was a sacred text and headed for the door.
The hallway outside was quiet. I live on the fourth floor of Laurelwood Heights, a slightly overpriced apartment complex for students with academic delusions and caffeine addictions. It smelled like stale pizza, lavender detergent, and someone's expired cologne.
I walked past 4C—Mr. Davidson's unit. Retired history teacher. He once cornered me for twenty minutes about the Roman aqueducts. Past 4D, where a girl with pink hair and a snake tattoo plays violin at 2 AM. I don't mind. It's oddly comforting.
When I reached the elevator, I pressed the call button and leaned against the wall.
Ding.
The doors slid open, revealing a cramped metallic box with a floor that always felt slightly sticky, no matter how often they cleaned it. I stepped inside, hit the "1," and watched the numbers count down.
4… 3… 2…
I took a moment to glance at my reflection in the brushed steel. Messy dark hair. Gray hoodie. Tired eyes that looked permanently sleep-deprived.
Ding.
First floor.
The doors opened, and I stepped out into the lobby. The night air hit me as soon as I pushed open the glass doors—cool, dry, laced with the scent of eucalyptus and faint exhaust from the street nearby.
I paused on the steps outside the building, took a deep breath, and tilted my face toward the sky.
Even with the LA light pollution, you could make out a handful of stars. Faint, like echoes of forgotten gods.
Moments like this? They made me feel small. But in a good way.
I tucked the book tighter under my arm and looked around, thinking.
Taco place down the block? Closed early on Sundays.
Corner bodega? Too sketchy after dark.
Then my eyes landed on the glowing green mermaid across the street.
"Starbucks it is," I murmured with a half-smile.
I wasn't planning on talking to anyone that morning. I just wanted caffeine and a quiet corner to read. That's it. My social battery had died sometime around sophomore year, and now in the middle of fall semester, it barely flickered.
The coffee shop was packed, as usual. Students with laptops and half-finished papers. Professors pretending not to judge them. Locals escaping their homes or their lives. I slipped into line with my usual order in mind and my book tucked under one arm.
It was probably a little on-the-nose, considering I was using it for my mythology class. Still, I liked the old gods. Especially the ones that weren't always center stage. Hades was one of them. Misunderstood. Avoided. He didn't want to rule Olympus, just wanted peace and control. I got that.
"Are you actually reading that, or are you just trying to look mysterious?" a voice said behind me.
I turned. She had a beanie pulled low over dark curls, and a denim jacket that looked like it had seen real history. Her smile was easy but sharp, like she knew exactly what she was doing.
"Depends," I said. "Is it working?"
She laughed. "A little. But you lost points for going with the Underworld. Everyone tries to be edgy with Hades."
"I'm Nate," I said.
"Lia," she replied.
We moved up in line. I noticed she didn't have a phone in her hand, which immediately made her the rarest kind of person in here.
"You into mythology?" I asked.
"More than I care to admit," she said with a shrug. "Mostly Greek mythology. I'm actually majoring in Archaeology."
"Really? That's pretty cool."
"Yeah, it's been my thing for a while. Our department's doing a fieldwork trip to Greece next semester. A few weeks of digging, some island hopping. Are you interested?"
I gave her a half-shrug. "Sounds amazing. But I'm really busy right now. Not sure I'd have the time."
She nodded like she expected that. No pressure. Just conversation.
"So," she asked, eyes scanning my book cover again. "What do you think of Hades so far?"
I thought about it for a second. "Honestly? I don't know. He's kind of boring. Just hangs out in the Underworld, depressed, barely does anything to make his situation better. Doesn't fight for his place on Olympus. Just accept it."
She blinked, then laughed. Not in a mean way. More like she was actually surprised.
"That's refreshing," she said. "Most people are either obsessed with him or blame him for everything that went wrong with Persephone. Calling him boring is new."
"Well," I said, smiling slightly, "not everyone can be Poseidon."
We both laughed. The line moved. The barista called out her name—"Lia."
She glanced at the counter. "Shoot, I'm up. Here, give me your phone."
I blinked. "What?"
"Your phone," she repeated, holding out her hand.
I handed it over. She typed fast, then gave it back with a smile.
"Call me if you ever want to continue the conversation," she said. "I'd love to get to know you."
She grabbed her vanilla iced latte and chocolate chip muffin, turned back to me, and winked before walking off.
Still smiling like an idiot, I stepped up to the counter.
"Hey, welcome. What can I get for you today?" The barista asked.
"Uh, a medium caramel macchiato and a turkey bacon sandwich, please."
"I'm sorry, medium?" She asked, cocking her head to the side. "We don't have anything called a medium."
"... The grande, can I please get a grande caramel macchiato and a turkey bacon sandwich." I muttered slightly annoyed, still trying to be polite.
"Absolutely, let me get that ready for you."
I paid. A few minutes later, I had my order in hand. I stepped outside, balancing the drink and bag in one hand, my book tucked under the other arm. It had started raining, it wasn't bad, just a light drizzle. The stars were now dim points above the orange glow of streetlights.
I turned the corner and headed toward my apartment, my mind still replaying the conversation. Lia. She had this spark—like she saw the world sideways, like I did. For once, someone didn't find my passion weird or pretentious.
☼
I had no idea what possessed me to end signing up.
n Whatever it was, here I was, standing at Gate B27 with a half-dead coffee in my hand and my backpack slung over one shoulder, watching Lia bounce on her toes as she spoke a mile a minute.
"Oh my god, Nate, did you read the email this morning? They think the temple might actually predate Mycenaean civilization. Can you imagine that? It's insane. And Dr. Stavros is going to let us do some of the initial cleaning and documentation before they even announce it publicly—like, this is career-making stuff, I swear."
I grunted something that sounded vaguely like agreement, staring blankly out the window at the plane we'd be boarding soon. My social battery was already flashing red, and the day hadn't even really begun.
Lia elbowed me, making me flinch. "Hey, don't zone out on me. You're gonna love it. This is why you signed up, right? The adventure. The mystery."
"I signed up because you told me to," I mumbled, god I was tired.
She grinned, dimples flashing. "Ah, come on. It is not like I forced you to join the trip."
Before I could respond, two girls approached us, dragging rolling suitcases that clacked loudly against the tile.
"Lia!" one of them squealed, throwing her arms around her. "We didn't know you were coming on this trip!"
"Of course I am!" Lia hugged her back, beaming. "This is Nate, by the way. He's in Dr. Green's comparative mythology seminar."
The other girl—tall, with black hair tied in a perfect ponytail—gave me a once-over and smiled politely. "Hey."
I raised my coffee cup in greeting. "Hey."
"Nate's a little shy," Lia said cheerfully, ignoring the murderous glare I sent her way. "But he's brilliant. Seriously, he knows everything about Greek mythology and culture. Like, everything."
"Oh, really?" the ponytail girl asked, eyes flicking to me again. "That's cool. I'm Sara. And this is Jess."
Jess waved, already launching into a rant about their layover in New York and how disgusting the airport bathrooms had been.
I tuned them out, sinking into the comforting silence of my own head. I kept my eyes on the ground, tracing the cracks in the tile with my gaze. Each one felt like a tiny fracture in my resolve to just… stay home. Stay safe. Stay invisible.
"Flight 246 to Athens now boarding," came the announcement over the intercom.
We shuffled forward with the line. I felt her grip loosen as she scanned her ticket, chatting animatedly with Sara and Jess. When it was my turn, I handed over my boarding pass without a word and walked down the jet bridge, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The plane smelled like stale coffee and recycled air. I claimed the window seat, put on my noise-cancelling headphones, and pulled out my battered copy of Theogony. Hesiod's words blurred together, but I forced myself to read. To remember. To ground myself in something older and deeper than all this noise.
Beside me, Lia was already asleep, her head resting on her folded arms against the tray table. She snored softly, and for some reason, that made my chest ache.
I closed my eyes and let the plane carry me across the ocean.
The layover in Paris was a blur of fluorescent lights, overpriced pastries, and announcements in French that I didn't bother trying to understand. Another flight. Another cramped seat. More hours lost to the roar of jet engines and the dark thoughts swirling in my mind.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime trapped in stale air and artificial light, we descended into Athens. I pressed my forehead to the window, watching as the city spread out below us like a mosaic of stone and sun. My stomach twisted with something I couldn't name.
Excitement? Dread? Both, maybe.
Customs was a nightmare of lines and fluorescent lighting, but Lia didn't seem to notice. She practically danced through the terminal, chattering about how she couldn't wait to see the Acropolis and eat real Greek gyros.
By the time we stepped out into arrivals, the heat hit me like a physical blow. It wrapped around my shoulders, hot and dry and ancient, carrying the scent of dust and olive trees.
"Students!" called a deep voice.
I turned to see a tall man with olive skin and thick black hair streaked with silver. He wore a faded linen shirt, cargo pants, and a wide leather belt full of pouches and brushes. His eyes were dark and sharp as obsidian, scanning us with the detached curiosity of someone cataloguing artifacts rather than people.
"That's Dr. Stavros," Lia whispered. "He's basically a legend. He's been published in, like, every major journal. He excavated the Arkalochori cave in Crete when he was only twenty-eight."
"Impressive," I muttered.
"Students," he repeated once we gathered around him, "welcome to Greece. I hope your flights were restful, because your real journey begins now."
He paused, looking at each of us in turn until his gaze landed on me. His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was trying to place something.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Nate," I said. My voice sounded rough, like stone scraping against stone.
"Your full name."
I hesitated. "Nathaniel Rhodes."
He tilted his head. "Rhodes. Like the island. Fitting."
I shrugged.
He gestured for us to follow him. "The buses are waiting outside. We have a long drive ahead. The site is deep inland, near the village of Mytikas. You'll be staying in the dig house for the next four weeks."
"Four weeks?" I whispered to Lia. "I thought this was just a short field study."
She grinned at me. "Welcome to the big leagues, Nate."
The bus ride was a blur of winding roads and olive groves blurring past the windows. I drifted in and out of sleep, Lia's quiet humming lulling me into dreams of stone pillars and echoing caves.
When I woke up, we were there.
The site wasn't what I'd expected. I thought it would be roped-off trenches and tarps. Instead, it looked like a construction zone perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking a dry riverbed. Piles of rubble, plastic crates, work tents flapping in the hot breeze. And beyond it all, a yawning black doorway carved into the rock face.
I stepped off the bus, my boots crunching on the gravel. Heat rose off the ground in shimmering waves.
"That," Dr. Stavros said, following my gaze, "is what we believe to be an entrance to a temple complex. Potentially subterranean, potentially Mycenaean. Possibly older."
I swallowed hard. The air smelled like sun-baked earth, bitter herbs, and something else. Something old. Something dead.
He turned to us with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow, we enter the Underworld."