Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 341

Chapter 341: Mummy And Daddy

Eve

Montegue exhaled slowly, as if weighing the consequences of what he was about to allow. "Very well," he said. "But only for a moment. Just long enough to confirm what you feel is true."

"I don’t need a moment," I murmured, brushing Elliot’s curls from his forehead. "I need him."

They didn’t argue again.

A wheelchair was brought in with quiet urgency, sleek and silver, far more elegant than the ones from mortal hospitals. Lucinda tried to guide me toward it, but I shook my head.

"Just give me a second," I said, legs trembling beneath me. "I want to try."

Elliot tightened his grip on me like he was afraid I would slip through his fingers again.

Lucinda held out her arms gently. "Let me carry him for now."

To my surprise, Elliot allowed it. His eyes never left mine.

I took a slow, bracing step. Then another. My legs still felt foreign, like something borrowed from someone else, but I reached the chair, and I sat—less out of weakness now, and more because I had somewhere to go.

Montegue walked beside me as the aides began to push the chair forward.

The hallways outside the infirmary were quiet but humming—cold, sterile lights blinking overhead. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

The hallway fell away into silence as the containment chamber loomed ahead. Everyone slowed.

I didn’t wait.

Before they could stop me—before protocol could speak—I gripped the wheels of the chair myself and pushed forward.

The air in the chamber was colder, heavier. Hades lay at the center, motionless, a tangle of shadow and flesh laid bare on a reinforced slab.

He looked broken. But not defeated.

I rolled the chair beside him, the metal groaning softly under my urgency.

Everyone stood back—Montegue, Lucinda, the aides—watching.

But I saw only him.

My hand rose instinctively, trembling, reaching for the face I had memorized in dreams and memory and madness.

"Hades," I breathed, brushing my fingers over his cheek. His skin was warm. Not burning, not cold.

Alive.

"He hasn’t moved," Kael behind me whispered, pulling himself away from the corner where he stood. "Not once in the two weeks since the purge. No eye flicker, no sound. Not even a breath too deep."

But just as he spoke—

A twitch.

So slight I thought I imagined it.

His fingers, resting limp beside him, shifted barely—like a muscle spasm or a phantom response. My breath hitched, but I said nothing. Not yet.

Kael must’ve seen it too, because his voice faltered. "That... wasn’t happening before."

I leaned closer, my hand still on Hades’ cheek. The stubble along his jaw felt real. Familiar. My thumb traced over it slowly.

"Come on," I whispered. "I know you’re in there."

No response.

Stillness again.

Then—another movement. His brow twitched. Like something far beneath the surface stirred. No grand awakening. No gasping inhale or sudden jolt.

Just... resistance. The kind that said a soul was crawling back uphill.

His eyelids fluttered—not opening, not fully—but reacting.

Like my voice reached a part of him buried deep, buried far.

"He hears you," Kael murmured, stepping closer, but I barely noticed him.

I pressed my forehead gently against Hades’. Closed my eyes. Let the silence stretch.

"I’m not leaving," I whispered. "Even if you don’t wake today. Even if you don’t wake tomorrow."

Another breath—ragged, shallow, uneven.

Not like the still, artificial rhythm of someone sedated.

This was voluntary.

His chest moved again. A muscle in his jaw flexed. His lips parted like they wanted to form a word but couldn’t.

I stayed still, letting him find the pace.

Letting him return the only way he knew how—one battered inch at a time.

The next breath he drew was deeper.

Unsteady. But real.

And then—faintly, barely—his fingers brushed mine.

Not a grasp. Not a clutch.

A graze. Like he was reminding me he was still tethered. Still trying.

My heart squeezed so tightly I could hardly breathe.

I drew back just enough to see him. His brows were faintly drawn, like some dim echo of pain or confusion lingered just beneath the surface. His lips parted again—and this time, a low rasp escaped. Not a word. Not yet. But sound.

Lucinda made a sharp sound behind me. Kael moved. Montegue stepped forward.

But I lifted a hand.

"Don’t," I said, not looking at them. "Give him this."

Give us this.

I placed both hands on either side of his face, gentle but firm, guiding him back to me.

"You’re safe," I said, the words shaky but certain. "You’re not alone. Not anymore."