The Halls of Hades proved to be every bit as dour and draconian as one might expect. Austere stone construction, lifeless in its simplicity, was the only thing of note. However, once through those halls the group soon reached a set of massive black steel doors. All manner of whirling patterns were embossed on the shining brass exterior trim that helped to liven up this place of the dead.

The dragon looked to the left and right and noted two titanic humanoid statues stood guard alongside that gate. Clearly, they were meant to be some sort of protection for the place.

Beyond the inner gates, the palace of Lord Hades proved to be far livelier. Flowers of every sort and hue grew in a massive garden. At the center of it all a tall statue bearing the likeness of Persephone reached elegantly toward the startlingly blue sky above. In many ways, it was as though he had stepped out of hell and into a heavenly realm. Hawk-winged women and flying horses, a type of creature that his mind referenced as a Pegasus, flew across that seemingly endless sky.

“It is good that you have come in the spring, brother,” said Hades in a strong rich baritone.

The dragon nodded his head politely. He did not know the significance of that statement, though parts of his mind whispered tidbits of possibility to him.

Persephone hopped into front of them then slipped her hands behind her back and leaned forward. With a wink, she said, “I’ll go make sure dinner will be ready soon. You boys play nice, now.”

That said, the goddess fluffed her wings then spun around in place and took off toward another part of the garden. Hades’ gaze lingered on her fleeing form, the barest hint of a smile on his dour lips. Soon, his semblance cooled once more. He turned his gaze onto the dragon. “So then, brother… I sense that you are not quite yourself.”

“Honestly? I barely know who myself is at the moment,” replied the dragon. “Many things have happened, some of which I only remember in the vaguest of terms.”

The shadow wisp, who had remained quiet until now, floated closer to then dragon and placed her hand to his shoulder. Hades noticed the sign of affection. One of his jet-black eyebrows rose elegantly upward. “For a child of the abyss to bear you such affection… It seems you have undergone more than one awakening.”

The dragon’s eyes blazed red, and his voice deepened in a way that seemed alien to his original pattern of speech. “I sleep still. That time will not soon come.”

Hades’ eyes narrowed briefly then widened slightly even as a palpable sense of relief seemed to wash over his body. His taut frame relaxed for the first time since the dragon had appeared before him.

“The gathering in the final aeon is not upon us then… I see,” said Hades. “This visit must pertain to a more worldly consideration, I take it?”

Gone was the deeper tone, and commanding nature. The dragon returned to himself once more. Rather, to his current semblance of self. “I am uncertain. Something has happened to me…”

Hades nodded to the dragon. “This much is certain. You have grown beyond the typical vessel that you allow for yourself. Something truly extraordinary must have occurred to have allowed yourself to reach this point.”

“I do not know. It is like there is part of me missing, or perhaps damaged,” said the dragon. He placed his hand to his head then frowned. “I remember a lot of things, but little of importance. Worse, it is as though I see them from a distance.”

“Spiritual Disassociation…” murmured Hades. “There is an easy fix, if that should be the case, though the after-effects for you will be permanent and you will spend time locked in memory.”

“You can help me?” asked the dragon.

“Personally? No. However, I will have the special wine be opened for dinner. The taste of it, will renew your senses and allow you to seek the heart of who you are,” said Hades. “It will remind you of your great myth, your true origin story. This will set you on the road back to your current self, brother.”

“Wine can do that?” he asked.

“This wine, assuredly. It cures all ills and restores all to right and proper nature. We must drink it regularly as part of our position here to avoid being lost in the chaos of the abyss,” said Hades.

The dragon nodded to him, then reached up and gently placed his hand atop the softly glowing hand of his wispy companion. Perhaps he would soon find the answers that he sought, and this long nightmare would come to an end.

Time passed, and the glorious banquet was soon upon them. Various important being from across the underworld had come to call upon hearing that an even more important guest had arrived. Most were confused in regard to the importance of the dark-haired man with the red eyes, and some assumed him to be the lord’s son instead of his brother. They bore a similar countenance.

These important dignitaries were mostly old souls of ancient myth who had died in one world or another and came to this place to rest before the next turn of the wheel. Meeting living embodiments of classical mythological characters would normally be quite exciting, but the dragon barely noticed. He was focused on one thing only. The wine. He did not have to wait much longer.

“Tonight, in honor of my brother’s visit. I have allowed one cask to be opened,” said Hades. “For tonight alone, you may all drink of the nectar of life and the sweetest of wine. Ambrosia.

The wine, ambrosia, looked like a thick syrupy concoction with variously sized bits of an orange floating at the top of it. Did one eat it, or drink it? Truthfully, neither choice would be wrong.

Hades watched as the dragon downed his draught. The dragon’s eyes widened perceptibly, and then slowly closed. “It begins… I wonder what you will see, at the beginning of it all. Brother.”

The dragon soon lost all sense of himself. His awareness lost; he became entrapped within a dream of a time long ago. It was a time before this cosmos even existed, before he came to it. The origin, of the origin, of how he came to be.

… Some time ago, in a world not unlike the Earth that Scott knew in the current era…

The tic-tock of an unrelenting clock merged with the echoing sound of a bright red pen tapping the top of a cheaply made desk. It was a harmonious convergence of sounds that Scott Fuller had heard many times in recent days, made worse by what would inevitably come next.

Scornful green eyes gazed at him from behind trendy black glasses. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you are right for our company.”

“Oh?” asked Scott, without any elaboration. He did not need to ask. He knew that look.

“Well, for starters you showed up to your interview with blue hair,” said the woman snidely.

“This is my natural hair color,” replied Scott for what must have been the hundredth time that year. He had given up trying to shave his head or dye his hair. After the sudden shift in color during his last tour of duty in the army, his relatively unimpressive life turned to absolute shit. He had even been discharged early due to bad conduct. It was impossible to keep his head completely shaven and every time he had shown up for duty with blue stubble he had been forced to deal with the consequences.

Not one to back down from a fight, he tried to take the army to task for their attempt to disenfranchise him through no fault of his own. Even after it was proven forensically that his hair was in fact blue, he had still been discharged. Dear old Uncle Sam could not risk a blue haired soldier in his army.

Either way, his shockingly blue eyebrows remained even when the hair on his head and the rest of his face was removed. The worst part was that hair dye did not work. For some reason, the hair was always blue again by the end of the day.

It was an impossible situation, and yet it was his current life. Of course, even something as simple as blue hair was not enough to toss someone out of the army with anything worse than a general discharge if they had done no wrong. At least, not when it was determined to be his natural state. No, the bad conduct discharge had come for a related but different reason.

“Right, of course it is,” said Ms. Trendy Glasses. The smirk on her lips would have been noticeable even if he had not seen it. Her voice was laced with condescension.

“If your decision has been made then I will be on my way,” said Scott. He did not want to waste his time any further. People like this were useless creatures and a pain in the ass to deal with most of the time.

She granted him a professional smile then inclined her head. “Of course. Thank you for applying.”

Scott turned and left the room, but before the door finished closing, he heard her mutter, “Blue haired freak.”

He closed his eyes, took a breath, and let it go. He had heard that a lot. He lived in a rural town near a small city. People with unnatural hair colors were not common. Anyone who would dye their hair like that was a freak and might possibly worship the devil. On more than one occasion he had walked past people in the supermarket only to have mothers pull their small children aside, or to have a cashier burst into bewildered laughter when he went to make a purchase. Of course, they had done that for most of his life. The blue hair was just something of a recent issue.

From the first moment that he could remember, until now, the world had openly shunned him. It made no sense to him, but he had come to terms with the loneliness of his existence. People tolerated him at best, and then only in so far as they could make use of him. Even animals typically steered clear of him, as though he were a creature formed in a strange unnatural manner. Flocking birds had gone so far as to change directions if he waved to them. Surely, that last bit was only his imagination. So, he had decided. Yet, he had seen it happen more than once. It seemed, sometimes migrating birds would prefer to freeze in the north that exist in a southern climate that included him within its bounds.

Scott reached up and grabbed a lock of his hair. He smiled slightly. Even though it had caused him so much trouble over the course of the last year of his life, he was glad for it. Something about it allowed him to feel a sense of peace that he had not felt in as long as he could remember. It was the only thing about him that felt right, as strange as that might seem.