Hades opened his eyes, and was lost.
He was on his back, naked and cold, his body sore where it was pressed against the curling shapes carved into the stone floor. Over his head was a stone vault, fifty feet across and decorated with a magnificent frieze depicting scenes and letters he could not understand, lit by the dim glow of the fluorescent synth-algae crafted by the cave-nation's organsmiths.
He sat up with a grunt. He had slept like a log and was well-rested, if a bit hungry, but he understood that the happy memory left by Persephone wouldn't be enough to save him from the upcoming trials. Survivors of tribute were fiercely loyal to the iron-clad secrecy demanded by the Ephaemeryl nation, revealing only that they were subjected to a crucible designed to test the very fabric of their identity. Hades' imagination ricocheted through his head as he looked around; the symbol he had been sleeping on was at the center of the chamber, and was surrounded at its periphery by seven distinct, unusual symbols, each one in the direction of a different door, each door leading down a hallway. He was in the center of an underground stone maze, and his heart wept with dread at the possibilities hiding in the hallways.
His eye caught on one symbol; an upside-down yellow triangle resting between two pink circles. He looked up to the corresponding gate, and, with a resolved sigh, walked through.
Hades had followed the dim hallway through a few turns when he heard it; singing. A soft, melodic humming of a tune he almost recognized, in a voice that was undeniably Ephaemeryl. He turned a corner and found himself in a room, large as a hall and lavishly furnished with sofas, mirrors, desks and amenities. In a large alcove carved into a rock, humming in her clear, shining voice, was an Ephaemeryl turned toward what looked like an oven at the bottom of a chimney.
Hades stood, transfixed at her back wrapped in white fabric flowing from a green girdle, the edges of her body curving in and out in ways that bent his mind. He felt the forced perspective of her bulging hips and buttocks, making them seem like they were pushing towards him. She was short, gold-haired, white-skinned and salaciously plump, and when she raised her arms he caught a glimpse of the side of the odd swelling of her chest. He recognized her as the one who had questioned Persephone.
With a tut-tut and a brushing of her hands, she turned around. As she raised her eyes to Hades, she flinched with a gasp. Hades, in a daze up to then, became aware of himself standing naked before a stranger.
"Oh!" he shrank down bashfully, "I've intruded! I am so sorry," he hurried for the door, shaking his head, "this is bad, I'm terribly-"
"Stop!" Her voice was light and beautiful, but he could still sense the command in her word. He turned around, confused. She could speak his language?
The person in white had already calmed down. Pressing a hand to her breast, she tilted her head and smiled at him. "You had chosen me first! I had not been chosen first before. I have been this happy for that!" Her accent and manner of speaking was distinct from Persephone, but she definitely had a command of the language. She walked over to a cushioned sofa, sitting in one and patting the seat beside her. "You should come! I had sat, you had best sit beside here!"
Unsure but obedient, Hades gulped and walked over to her, holding his arms in front of him as best he could. Nervously avoiding her eyes, he sat down- the cushion sank under him, amazingly soft and joyously warm against his chilly skin.
"You had been there early!" she continued, seeming to be utterly pleased with the scenario. She had bright green eyes, a button nose, and scarlet lips with a modest mole above the corner of her mouth. "It had been kind of you to fall asleep. We had no need to drug you! Waking early has no issue."
He looked at her, and she at him. Her eyes darted to the oven, then back to him, and her smile widened. "This has time. I can have something. Tell me, Hades... do you like corn?"
Holding her gaze, he furrowed his brow, confused by the question. "Uhm... yes?"
"And cheese? You had liked cheese?" Her gaze was intense, and she was drawing deeper breaths.
"Yes... yes, I like cheese a lot."
"And spices?" she scooted closer to him on the couch, "Spices that burn? And garlic? And salt?"
"I like all of those things, but why-"
Hades was cut off by a melodic chime from an odd clockwork contraption on a nearby counter. She hopped to her feet and scurried over to the oven, grabbing some towels and opening the door. Hades heard the sound of sizzling and wondered what kind of curious fare they ate in the caves. She walked back to him, placing a tray on the low table before the couch. It was unimpressive to look at, a pile of jagged scraps splattered with some bubbling beige slime, splotchy with a dusting of spices that was clearly not designed to look presentable.
Then the smell hit him.
Oh Moon and Sky, the smell! A sharp pain hit his jaw as his salivary glands exploded in excitement, and his empty stomach roared as he stared wide-eyed at the plain-looking dish before him, the fragrance of garlic and pepper and hot carbohydrates churning in his nostrils. She plopped down next to him. "Here, we had called this... a 'nacho.' It had long served us as a staple, and I have pride in my skill to cook. Now, Hades, I want to do something." As he looked at her, her face was dead serious. "I want to watch you eat it."
He paused only a moment to see if she was joking, but he didn't question her. Leaning over the table, he grabbed a corner and pulled off a piece of the mass, marveling at the beauty of the strings stretching apart. He placed the shard on his tongue and bit down. The memory of that moment would reverberate through the rest of his life. He burned his tongue and he didn't care, the ballet of cheese and seasoning sweeping across his senses and erasing his worries. He grabbed another piece, then another, then another, scarfing them down before he realized he was eating alone. Embarrassed, he swallowed and turned to his host, who was watching him intently with a blush in her cheeks and a focused intensity in her eyes.
"You, uh... had better have some?" he offered uncertainly. "If you don't, I might eat them all."
"Eat them all," she commanded. "I had ate always, they are not special to me, but your first taste is a treasure. I am enjoying this more than you."
Hades was confused, but also hungry and he didn't need another invitation. He descended on the nacho like a wolf on a lamb, his hands barely having time to touch them between the tray and his mouth. As he filled up, he slowed to savor the experience, admiring the shape and form of the crispy tiles and the way the pale gel wrapped around each one. In minutes, the tray was empty.
"Do you know why that had made me happy?" she asked, her face and voice revealing a strange excitement. Hades shook his head, sluggish from the meal. "Empathy. A skill that can be strengthened, the link between souls that shares pain, that can be very terrible. When your parents had died of sickness, or your friend had suffered some injury, you had cursed empathy for the pain. But sometimes," she leaned in close to him, her bosom brushing his bare arm, "you share the right moment. I have much empathy, and have it for you. To share in your first nacho, that is worth the pain of empathy."
