Micah

Chapter 1

The Underworld - 290 BC

Pain and darkness. That was all that existed in the world. Pain in his neck, his head, his arms and legs. That meant he must have a body. That there was something else in existence. Slowly, agony in every jerking movement, hands touched a stubbled jaw, traced harsh cheekbones, felt eyes, lips, a nose. If he had eyes, then surely they could open and see.

Following the logic, he fluttered his lids open and was met with the sight of grey. Was it a sight, or was he simply blind, and this is what his imagination had conjured up to fill the void? No. It was a ceiling. But where was he? And, more to the point, who was he?

Looking around offered no answers. The room was a deep grey and devoid of anything aside from his body lying neatly on the floor. His body was nude, with toned muscles under pale, olive skin. Dark hair covered his legs, and presumably his head too, and his hands were long and thin, covered in an array of small scars.

He wasn't sure how long he lay on the cold stone floor, but eventually, he heard the sound of someone approaching and pushed himself painfully to his feet, trying to shake out some of his stiffness in the process. A man entered the room through a door that hadn't been there previously. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with inky black hair and jewel-green eyes. There was an immediate jolt of recognition, but before it could be commented on, the man spoke.

"Hello Micah, I am Hades... I am your father."

It was like the mention of his name unlocked his memories and, suddenly, Micah remembered everything. His hand flew to his throat and he was horrified to feel a thick scar beneath his fingertips. He hadn't had that before. It wasn't a sick dream, an awful hallucination, his mother had killed him. Serena had watched. And yet, once again, he was alive. And this man, the man from his dream many years ago, was Micah's father? It was all too much.

Micah staggered backwards, unbalanced by the weight of everything, but Hades was to his side in a flash, cupping his elbow in one hand, whilst the other supported his spine.

"Come, I will take you to sit. There are clothes available if you desire." He led Micah from the room and down a corridor of the same grey stone. At the end of the corridor, they entered into a grand hall. There was a long wooden table in the centre of the hall, with chairs positioned at regular intervals around it. On the walls, torches burned in polished gold sconces, and at the far end of the room, up a short flight of steps, sat an ornate throne crafted from a single block of golden obsidian. It was very... dramatic.

Upon sighting clothes laid on the table, Micah pulled free of Hades' grasp and walked over to them with only the slightest wobble. The clothes were ridiculous. Gladiator armour, a Queen's dress, and other things that Micah didn't recognise, trousers with no holes for the feet, colourful open dresses with strange birds decorating them, and soft heavy cloaks. Nothing like he'd ever seen before.

Eventually, he pulled out the most basic thing he could find, a dark green chiton, and dressed quickly, aware that Hades was watching and waiting.

"Please, have a seat." Hades offered, gesturing towards the table. Micah eyed him warily before doing it. He had a thousand questions, and staying quiet was a challenge, but he was scared. If this man was who he said he was, Lord Hades, king of the underworld, and Micah's father? That was crazy and terrifying and a million other things at once. So Micah did what was asked of him and sat down stiffly, ready to get up again at a moment's notice.

He spent some more time looking at Hades, taking in the jaw and lips similar to his own, the laurel that rested on his brow and, most obviously of all, the garish golden robe that he wore with ease. Much like the throne, Hades was dramatic, and Micah couldn't help but judge him for it.