Zeus & Byzantine - Chapter 13: Tartarus

Inside the Training Room

Eighteen beds. Symmetrically spaced. No clocks. No windows. Just silence—and a soft, dim light humming like a lullaby from another world.

Each chosen one walked to their assigned bed. We still didn't know what awaited us. But strangely, no one was afraid. The air was filled with the gentle scent of ambrosia, calming our breath, softening our thoughts.

As we lay down, a pale ring of light beneath each bed began to glow—like a river of quiet energy warming the body, flowing upward, into bone and memory. It was light... and it was ancient.

Then, everything shut off.

Moments later—though time meant nothing—silent mechanical arms lifted our sleeping bodies. We were carried into the next chamber: not a classroom exactly, but something like it. No desks. No teachers. No bell. Just rows of chairs under a strange silver glow.

Some sat wide-eyed.

Some held their faces.

Some murmured in languages I couldn’t name.

A woman in the corner, curled like a child, cried quietly to herself.

“I want to go home. I don’t want this anymore.”

Two young men, strangers until yesterday, were now holding each other tightly—like brothers in war.

“Shit. What just happened?”

“I’m still shaking, man.”

I found the tall Black woman I’d met at the banquet—and quietly sat next to her.

“Hey,” I said softly. “That was... intense.”

“Um… terrifying,” she exhaled, still shaken.

“I’ve still got goosebumps. Mind if I hug you?”

She nodded without a word, and we wrapped our arms around each other—two strangers with fast-beating hearts and trembling hands, anchoring ourselves in something human.

“What’s your name?” she asked, voice low.

“B...y...u. Byu,” I managed to say through a breath.

She gave me a tired smile. “Cassandra.”

Footsteps echoed—two pairs. The Chinese girl from yesterday appeared, followed by another woman who looked like a Korean idol. Petite, adorable, sparkling with something almost unreal.

“Unnie!” the Gen-Z girl cried out, her voice trembling with leftover fear and awe. “God’s Favorite Unnie, can I hug you too?”

“Huh?” I laughed, wrapping my arms around her as she clung tightly. “Did you just call me God’s Favorite Unnie? You’re the one who looks like a K-drama idol!”

She pulled back, cheeks streaked with tears but grinning brightly. “But look at your figure. It’s like a goddess carved you for the mannequin section.”

Suddenly, the room shifted.

A metallic door slid open.

Footsteps—calm, certain, deliberate.

A tall figure in a flowing black robe entered, silver-gray eyes glowing like fog over the Styx. His long, ink-dark hair was tied neatly, his presence quiet but magnetic.

No flashy adornments. But when he walked in, the air bowed around him.

Behind him, Mr. H followed, bright and chatty as ever. When they stood side by side, they looked like polar opposites—yet somehow, perfectly balanced.

“Everyone,” Mr. H beamed, “today’s instructor is Mr. H2.”

“Why am I H2?” the robed man said in a deep, gravelly tone. “I’m older. And more powerful.”

“Well, I’m H1. You got second letter privileges.”

“I should’ve been Z. Z is cooler.”

“You can start teaching, H2-sama,” Mr. H winked. “Save your existential crisis for later.”

Without another word, H2 raised one hand.

A pitch-black circle appeared in the center of the room—spinning slowly, like a tear in space itself. The light dimmed. Shadows breathed.

“Welcome to…” H2 paused dramatically, voice low and rich, “Hell.”