Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 381

Chapter 381: Sage

Hades

But...

There were no windows. Even cells had windows.

I detected the door and moved toward it. I surveyed it—no handle, no hinges, just an outline in the wall.

I pressed a palm to it, tentatively...

Click.

I jumped back, shifted instantly—hackles raised, claws ready for an assault.

My heart remained in my throat as another click shattered the serene but eerie air of the windowless room.

It was obvious: I was about to meet the people responsible for putting me here. I wasn’t taking any chances. I would go out swinging like a madman.

Some part of me knew that despite the adrenaline, grief over Kael was clouding reason. I didn’t even have what was left of him here. Only Fenrir knew what these people... had done to his body.

I had failed so many times, in so many ways—pathetically and inexcusable. I could already imagine Elliot’s face when I’d have to tell him his uncle Kael was dead and there was no body to lay to rest. Or the way the flecks of blue and green in Eve’s eyes would shatter... not with anger, but something worse.

Disappointment.

Not in the mission.

In me.

Another click. A hiss.

My ears twitched. Air vent? No... too direct. This was a seal. A pressure lock.

Another click. A hiss.

Then it hit me.

Scent.

Subtle at first, then gut-punch strong.

Not blood. Not sweat. Not sterile citrus and steel.

Food.

Real food. Warm, fresh—spiced meat, something roasted... bread?

My body moved before thought could catch up.

A low growl tore from my throat as I lunged toward the door. The scent didn’t match the chill of this place, didn’t make sense in this void of warmth and color. But my instincts didn’t care. They were starved. Grieving. Ready to rip apart anything that dared bait me with comfort.

The light beyond the threshold flared, a shape moved—

I pounced.

Fangs bared, claws out, a snarl ripping through the silence—

Then I stopped.

Mid-lunge.

Because it registered.

Pigtails.

Short height.

A dull, faded flowery dress with lace at the hem. A small metal tray wobbling in her hands, the scent of food now overwhelming.

And a little smile.

A child.

A little girl. Maybe six? Seven? No older than Elliot.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t cry. She simply looked up at me like I was some kind of oversized, confused puppy who’d knocked over a vase.

I froze, inches from her, arms braced against the doorway. My breath was ragged. My claws still extended.

She tilted her head.

"Are you going to eat me too?" she asked, voice like a soft bubble in the silence.

What the hell—

I backed away slowly, one trembling step at a time. My claws retracted with a reluctant twitch.

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