Akhon walked alone along the winding marble path that curved through Demeter's lush garden—an edenic place far more orderly and cultivated than the one he remembered. No weeds, no wild overgrowth. Just rows upon rows of blooming flowers, golden grain swaying gently even without wind, and trees laden with ripe fruit that seemed almost too perfect.
But none of it brought comfort. He wasn't here for beauty.
He was here for Erytheia.
She had to be here. If what Athena said was true—that Erytheia served Persephone during Demeter's absences—then the garden was the place to search.
"Let this be the time," Akhon muttered, brushing a hand along a tall stalk of wheat as he passed. "Let her remember something."
He stepped around a flowering arch and stopped.
In a small open clearing at the center of the garden, a young woman sat on a stone bench. She had skin like fresh snow, hair the shade of onyx flowing down her shoulders, and a crown of flowers nestled in her locks. Persephone.
