Chapter 401: Chapter 401: Drama, Everywhere I go
The music in the Underworld had long since lost its charm. The drums still pounded, the dancers still spun, and the torches still crackled with the same steady rhythm—but for Zyran, it all blended into one long, agonizing stretch of noise.
He now sat in the shadows, tucked away in one of the darker corners of the grand hall. From there, Zyran could see everything—the dancers twirling under golden firelight, the nobles laughing over goblets of wine, the jeweled glow of the Underworld’s feast in full swing.
They couldn’t see him, of course. Not unless he wanted them to. His chin rested lazily against his palm as he leaned against the cold stone wall, half-watching, half-counting the seconds until this ridiculous celebration finally ended.
He wasn’t supposed to be here for pleasure anyway. No, Zyran had a purpose tonight. He was waiting for his father—the almighty King of the Underworld—to finally stop entertaining the sycophants and give him an audience.
He had something to say. Something important. Something that had been festering in his chest for months now.
But, of course, his father was never in a rush. And so Zyran remained in the dark corner, watching in silence as the feast carried on without end.
Golden goblets clinked, silk-draped tables shimmered under torchlight, and the endless hum of power and vanity filled the hall — a symphony of immortals drunk on their own importance.
He reached for his cup again, swirling the dark liquid absently. The wine shimmered like molten onyx, thick and smooth, reflecting the firelight. He took a sip, grimaced, and muttered, "Still tastes like regret."
And then—because the universe clearly enjoyed tormenting him—he heard the sound.
Soft laughter.
Light, melodic, and absolutely dripping with purpose.
He didn’t even have to look up to know what was coming. He could feel it—the shift in the air, the perfume that followed, too sweet, too heavy.
When he finally lifted his gaze, his suspicions were confirmed.
From the shadows, Zyran watched as the girl approached. Her steps were light, deliberate, divine. The air shimmered faintly around her, bending to her presence like even the torches wanted to follow her.
She was the child of a goddess — born of flame and beauty — a creature the Underworld itself seemed to tolerate only because her radiance demanded it.
"Zyran," she said, voice soft but laced with confidence.
The girls at her side hesitated, but she lifted a single hand, graceful and commanding. They bowed slightly and slipped away, leaving her alone to face him.
She smiled, that practiced, flawless smile that most gods wore when they wanted something.
Zyran exhaled slowly, the sound bordering on a groan as he ran a hand through his dark hair. "What do you want, Aurelia?"
His tone wasn’t harsh — just heavy with the weight of someone who already knew the answer.
Aurelia’s heels clicked softly against the polished obsidian floor as she closed the distance between them. Her gown shimmered like liquid flame—red and gold catching the dim torchlight, the very embodiment of vanity and grace. "Where have you been hiding?" she asked, her voice lilting, playful, far too familiar for his liking. "I rarely see you when I visit the palace anymore."
Zyran didn’t look at her right away. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out lazily, the picture of indifference. "Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong places," he said dryly, his tone edged with amusement that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Aurelia laughed softly, taking another step closer until the glow of her aura nearly brushed his. "No, I don’t think that’s it." Her hand—slender, jeweled, and far too confident—drifted to his shoulder, trailing down his arm in a motion meant to feel natural. "You just like avoiding me. You’ve always been like that."
Zyran’s gaze flicked down to her hand. His expression didn’t change, but the shift in his energy was instant—sharp, cutting. "Don’t," he said flatly.
She froze for half a second, then smiled, trying to laugh it off as if she hadn’t just been rejected in front of the walls themselves. "Zyran," she purred, "you’re in such a foul mood. I’m only trying to talk to you. Don’t tell me you’re still upset about last time—"
Whatever last time was, Zyran clearly didn’t care. He grabbed her wrist—not hard, but with a firmness that made his message clear—and pulled her hand off his arm. "I said, I’m not in the mood," he said, his voice low and sharp.
Aurelia blinked, surprise flashing across her perfect features. She searched his face, but all she found was that familiar wall of calm disinterest. For a goddess who’d grown up worshiped by her court and courted by half the divine realm, it was almost an insult.
"Why do you act so cold toward me every time?" she demanded finally, her tone breaking that soft, practiced rhythm. "Do you even know how many men would give up their crowns to have me?"
Zyran raised a brow, utterly unbothered. "Then go let them have you," he said simply.
Her mouth fell open slightly, disbelief flickering in her eyes. "You can’t be serious."
He was.
Zyran tilted his head slightly, that faint smirk playing on his lips—the kind of smirk that was equal parts charming and infuriating. "You talk as if I should be impressed," he said, his tone smooth, lazy. "But, really, Aurelia, I’ve met better demons with more self-awareness."
Her jaw tightened. "You think you’re so special because you’re the son of Anubis," she snapped, her voice no longer soft. "You think you can treat me like—like I’m nothing?"
"I don’t think you’re nothing," he corrected calmly. "I just don’t think you’re worth my time right now."
Aurelia stood there, glaring at him, her golden aura flaring faintly with irritation. She was beautiful, furious, and divine—but he didn’t so much as blink. His half-lidded eyes looked past her as if she were part of the décor.
Finally, she let out a sharp breath, her pride cracking through her smile. "Fine," she said coldly. "I hope whatever you’re waiting for is worth more than me."
Zyran leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, that same bored smirk still tugging at his lips. "It already is," he said, voice low and careless.
Aurelia’s eyes narrowed. "You’ll regret this, Zyran."
He gave a lazy shrug. "Maybe. But not tonight."
That was the final straw. With a sharp turn, her golden skirt flared dramatically, and she stormed off, the air crackling faintly in her wake. Her attendants, who had been lingering near the pillars, immediately scrambled to follow, their whispers echoing through the hall.
Zyran watched her go, unimpressed. He reached for his cup again, swirling the wine slowly before taking another drink. The corner of his mouth lifted faintly, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"Drama," he muttered under his breath. "Everywhere I go."
He sighed and leaned back into the shadows again, his expression hardening slightly as his thoughts drifted—away from Aurelia, away from the celebration—back to the mortal realm. To her.
And suddenly, the noise of the Underworld felt even louder, and yet he had never felt more alone.