"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.
The comforting hiss of the espresso machine greeted me as I stepped into Starbucks, along with the smell of roasted beans and cinnamon. Warmth wrapped around me like a blanket—coffee shops were my sanctuaries, second only to libraries.
The line wasn't too long. Three people ahead of me. I opened my book, flipping back to the passage I'd marked earlier:
"Because Hades rarely left his realm, stories of his wrath spread through ancient Greece. He became a feared figure, so much so that humans didn't dare speak his name. Greeks used a myriad of epithets to describe the deity."
"Excuse me," a voice broke through my focus, light and curious. "What are you reading?"
I looked up. The girl in front of me had turned around. Late teens or early twenties, wearing a beanie and a burgundy flannel tied around her waist, dark curls falling to her shoulders. There was a silver pendant around her neck—it looked like a crescent moon.
"The History, Origins and Evolution of the Greek Gods. It is an Academic book, but it is actually pretty interesting. Currently reading about Hades."
She raised her eyebrows, genuinely intrigued. "You're reading that for fun?"
I chuckled. "Well, technically for my thesis, but I'd probably be reading it anyway. I'm a mythology major. I want to learn all about the culture and religion of past humans, maybe one day I will discover something that will change the world."
"Seriously?" She tilted her head. "That's actually kind of badass."
"Most people say it's weird." I smiled. "My father wished that I did a more practical field like engineering or technology."
"I mean, it is," she said with a smirk. "But, it's a good kind of weird."
I smiled, grateful for the change in pace. "You into mythology?"
"More than I care to admit," she said with a shrug. "Mostly Greek mythology, though I had a phase in middle school where I was obsessed with the Trinities."
"The Trinities?" I asked, closing my book and tucking it under my arm. "Like Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva from Hindu mythology?"
She chuckled as we shuffled forward in line. "Okay, you actually know your stuff. I'm impressed. So what do you think so far? Do you like Hades?"
I thought it over for a minute before responding. "To be honest, I do not know. I mean, he's… boring in a way? He's this depressed god who stays in the Underworld not even tempting to make his life better. Hell he was even kicked out of Olympus for being gloomy and scaring everyone."
She laughed, and it was a warm, easy sound that put me at ease. "That is quite interesting. Most people either love him or hate him for the whole Persephone story. It's refreshing to hear someone call him boring."
We both laughed. The barista called her name—"Lia."
She glanced at the counter. "Shoot, I'm up. Here, give me your phone."
"What?" I asked, blinking in confusion.
"Your phone," she repeated, holding out her hand.
I handed it over, watching as she quickly tapped in her number. She handed it back, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Call me if you ever want to continue our conversation. Would love to get to know you."
"Nate, my name is Nate," I said. "And I think I definitely will."
"Good." She said as she grabbed her order, a vanilla iced latte and a chocolate chip muffin, then 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.
As I approached the crosswalk on Ashton and 32nd, I spotted Lia walking up ahead, she was halfway across the street with her earbuds in, lost in the music as she danced across the street.
As I headed to the walkway, the sharp, blaring honk of a horn caught my attention as I froze. My eyes snapping up the road to see a large white semi barreling down the road way too fast, the driver was spamming the horn and was looking panicked.
The problem was that Lia hadn't even noticed the semi and seemed way too distracted, her music must have been way too loud. She wouldn't make it across the road and was going to get hit.
My body moved before I even processed the thought. My drink and sandwich fell, crashing onto the sidewalk. The book thudded after them.
Then the world seemed to slow around me.
My heartbeat thundered like a war drum, and I could hear everything. The crunch of rubber on asphalt. Lia's humming breath. The static in the air. The world dimmed, as if the color was bleeding from its edges. Lights turned to muted halos, and the shadows beneath cars seemed to have darkened as it stretched outward.
What was happening to me and why was I feeling like this? I could feel this panic erupt through my body and I could literally feel that she was about to die and I just couldn't accept it.
And then I saw him.
There… Was there no way that he was actually real?
Why did he look so... calm?
Across the street, untouched by headlights, stood a man draped in flowing black robes. His wings—massive feathered wings like a raven—arched behind him like the walls of a cathedral. His face was shadowed beneath a hood, but his eyes- god his eyes burned—one a flickering blue, and the other a burning golden color.
I don't know why but at that moment I knew one thing. That man was death incarnate, he was the grim reaper and it meant he was here for Lia.
I knew it in my bones. No one else noticed him. People walked past, right through him, unaware.
He stood still, watching.
Waiting.
I knew—if I saved her, I would die. The knowledge sat in my mind like an anchor. Cold, heavy, and certain.
But I didn't stop.
Because the gods envy us, don't they?
Because we're mortal.
Because we choose.
I ran.
Lia turned. But it was already too late.
I didn't think—I just moved.
Something inside me snapped to life. I threw my body forward, every muscle in me screaming in protest. My legs felt like they were filled with fire, like they might tear apart from how fast I pushed off the ground. The world around me slowed down. I could see everything in perfect detail—the way her eyes widened as she saw the headlights, the way her hair lifted slightly in the wind, the way the rain froze in midair like tiny glass beads.
And still, I ran.
The street was slick, the air heavy with rain, but none of it mattered. Not the cold. Not the pain. Not the cars. Only her. I had to reach her.
"LIA!" I screamed, my voice torn apart by the storm.
And then it happened.
Just as the truck's horn blared, I slammed into her with everything I had. My arms wrapped around her waist, and I threw her backward toward the sidewalk. She yelped as she tumbled out of the way, her arms flailing, body hitting the ground hard—but safe. Alive.
I didn't have time to breathe.
Didn't have time to be relieved.
Didn't even have time to look back at her.
Because the truck was already there.
The impact hit like a mountain. My body folded in half, then snapped back. It felt like all the bones in my side shattered in an instant. I couldn't even scream. The air vanished from my lungs like it had been punched out of existence. Pain—raw, sharp, bone-deep—shot through every inch of me.
But that wasn't the end of it.
In that same moment—maybe the very same second—a bolt of lightning ripped down from the sky.
It was blinding. Pure white. A flash so bright it turned night into day for one horrifying instant.
It struck me. It struck the truck.
Everything exploded.
The world lit up like a supernova. I didn't know what was happening. I didn't understand. The sky roared with thunder so loud it felt like the heavens were cracking apart. For a second, everything felt like it had stopped—the noise, the pain, the fear.
Then I was flying.
Thrown from the wreck like a rag doll, I tumbled across the asphalt, my body skipping like a stone across water until I finally hit the ground and stayed there. My limbs sprawled uselessly, and I could feel the warmth of blood pooling beneath me, mixing with the rain.
I stared up at the sky.
The soft drizzle from earlier had become a storm, the clouds above me swirling, heavy, almost angry. Raindrops pelted my face. Cold. Merciless. But I couldn't move.
Everything hurts.
I tried to lift my hand. It twitched, then fell back down. I couldn't feel my legs. I couldn't breathe right. Every time I sucked in air, it felt like knives in my ribs. Blood bubbled in my mouth. My vision was going dark around the edges, but I could still see blue lights flashing in the distance.
Someone was shouting.
A voice called my name. I think it was Lia. I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell her it was okay. That she was safe now. That I didn't regret it.
But my mouth wouldn't work. My throat was full of blood and pain.
There were more voices now. People yelling. Tires screeching. Someone sobbing.
Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer, but they may as well have been miles away. Everything around me blurred, like the world was moving underwater. I felt cold—so cold—and so tired. My eyes wanted to close.
I blinked slowly, trying to keep them open.
Trying to hold on.
I didn't want to die.
Not yet.
Not like this.
My whole life, I had been obsessed with myths. With gods. With monsters. I studied stories of heroes and legends, of fate and destiny, of things bigger than myself. I told myself it was all just a hobby, just fun. But I always believed—deep down—that maybe, just maybe, there was something more. That the world was bigger than it seemed. That there was something out there waiting for me.
And now here I was, dying on the street. Just a regular guy who jumped in front of a truck. No magic. No destiny. No divine power.
Just me.
And I couldn't help but wonder—was that it?
Had I wasted my time? All those hours reading and dreaming… could I have done something more? Should I have?
I wanted to believe that saving Lia meant something. That this moment wasn't meaningless.
But it still hurts. It hurt to think that maybe I never lived the life I could have. That I never took the risk. Never chased anything real.
Maybe I should've stopped hiding in books and actually written my own story.
Because this... this wasn't the ending I wanted.
Not even close.
As the cold took hold of me, as my vision started to fade completely, I thought I saw something flicker in the sky. A shape, just for a second. A man? A shadow? A flash of wings?
Maybe it was just my brain shutting down.
Or maybe—
Maybe it was something else.
Then everything went black.