Chapter 831: Visit to Aphrodite.
Aphrodite’s flower shop seemed to exist in a small bubble of peace in the middle of a city unaware of the absurdity of the world around it. Outside, people strolled along the sidewalk, unaware that the woman behind the counter had once been worshipped as a goddess, cursed by poets, desired by kings, and hated by the wives of men who confused devotion with obsession. Inside, however, everything was simple. Lined-up vases, hanging bouquets, freshly watered flowers, the scent of damp earth, and colorful petals bathed in the soft light streaming through the window.
Aphrodite hummed softly as she watered a row of white lilies near the window. The light apron tied over her dress gave her an almost domestic appearance, something any ordinary customer would associate with a florist too beautiful to be real, yet still ordinary enough to exist there. She moved the watering can calmly, tilting it from vase to vase, observing the leaves with exaggerated attention, as if that small act were more important than any divine matter. At that moment, perhaps it was true. She had chosen that life precisely because she was tired of thrones, disputes, celestial jealousies, and gods who believed that every problem in the world needed to be solved with wounded pride.
The entrance bell rang.
Aphrodite smiled automatically, without turning immediately. "Welcome, customer!"
Her voice came out sweet, rehearsed by years of calm service. She finished watering the last pot before raising her face to the door, ready to ask if the person was looking for something for a gift, an apology, a romance, or a funeral. But the smile died the instant she saw who had entered.
The woman standing at the entrance did not belong there. It didn’t matter that she seemed human enough to cross the street without attracting the attention of mortals. Her presence carried a subterranean chill, a dark authority, and an ancient connection to regions where flowers grew not for life, but for memory. Persephone was there, her eyes fixed on Aphrodite, and there was nothing casual about her visit.
Aphrodite placed the watering can on the table with too much care. "Persephone," she said, with no interest in feigning politeness. "What do you want?"
Persephone took a few steps around the flower shop, her eyes quickly scanning the plants before returning to Aphrodite. Her gaze didn’t seem happy. There was no cordiality, no nostalgia, and certainly no patience. "I want to see Virgil."
Aphrodite stood motionless for a moment. Then her face hardened, and the florist’s gentleness vanished like a mask being ripped off. "I’m sorry, I have no interest in the things of Olympus. Go away."
Her expression became sharp as a blade. It wasn’t just irritation. It was absolute refusal. Aphrodite had abandoned that circle of intrigue long ago to accept someone entering her shop and bringing the scent of Olympus with them. The mere name of Hades, Zeus, Hera, or any of those old problems was enough to ruin an afternoon. Persephone, however, didn’t seem inclined to respect the refusal.
In a single step, she vanished from the entrance and appeared before Aphrodite.
Persephone’s hand gripped her neck before any vase had time to wobble.
Aphrodite was brutally lifted off the ground, her fingers instinctively trying to close around the other goddess’s wrist. Some flowers fell from the counter, petals scattering across the wooden floor. The air in the flower shop grew heavy, filled with a dark pressure that made even the most sensitive plants bend as if facing a storm.
"I’m not asking," Persephone said, her voice low and hard. "I’m ordering."
Before she could continue, another hand gripped her neck from behind.
The entire atmosphere shifted.
It wasn’t an explosion of energy. It was worse. The presence that emerged behind Persephone was cold, compact, and deadly controlled, like a blade already pressed against her throat before anyone realized it had been drawn. Persephone stopped instantly. Her fingers still held Aphrodite, but her whole body recognized the danger before her mind could even organize its reaction.
Vergil’s voice came from behind her, low and lifeless. "I’ll kill you with one blow, so let go of my fucking wife."
Persephone didn’t answer.
For a second, the tension hung suspended in the flower shop. Aphrodite struggled to breathe, her feet still off the ground, her eyes wide with more anger than fear. Persephone, on the other hand, stiffened as she felt Vergil’s hand on her neck. The threat wasn’t theatrical. There was no double warning. She realized that if she kept her fingers closed for another instant, he would truly kill her right there, among vases of lilies, roses, and daisies.
Persephone released Aphrodite.
Aphrodite fell to her knees, clutching her neck with a hand as she gasped for air. Her first breath was weak, followed by a short, irritated cough. Vergil released Persephone instantly, but not out of mercy. Simply because she had obeyed. He walked past her without paying her any further attention and knelt before Aphrodite, placing a hand gently on her back.
"Breathe," he said, his voice still cold, but different when directed at her.
Aphrodite gripped his arm for a moment, breathing heavily. "I was tending to the flowers," she murmured, irritated, as if that were the most offensive part of the whole aggression.
Vergil glanced quickly at her neck. The skin was marked by Persephone’s fingers, but nothing seemed serious. Still, his energy touched the area for an instant, healing the discomfort and erasing the redness before it could turn into prolonged pain. Aphrodite breathed better after that, but the anger in her eyes did not diminish.
Vergil stood up slowly.
Only then did he truly look at Persephone.
The goddess of the Underworld did not recoil, but her posture had already changed. The initial aggression was still there, but now it was controlled by a caution she hadn’t brought with her when she entered. Vergil stood between her and Aphrodite, as if the entire flower shop had become his territory the instant Persephone touched his wife.
"What the hell does the goddess of the Underworld want with me?" he asked.
Persephone clenched her jaw. "Hades wants to see you."
Vergil stared at her for a few seconds, showing no surprise or curiosity. "I don’t care."
Aphrodite slowly stood up, still with one hand on her neck, and stood beside him. Her face remained closed, and the tranquility of before had completely vanished. Vergil didn’t even need to look at her to know that her answer would be exactly the same.
"It’s as my wife said," he continued. "I have no interest in the things of Olympus."
Persephone held his gaze. For a moment, she seemed about to insist by force, but the memory of his hand on her neck was still too fresh. She knew that Virgil didn’t speak like the Olympian gods, full of indirect threats, pride, games, and clichés. When he said he would kill someone, the statement wasn’t a display of power. It was practical information.
"Hades will give you his helmet if you help him," Persephone said.
The flower shop fell silent.
Aphrodite slowly turned her face to Virgil. She knew well enough the importance of that offer not to dismiss it as a mere divine ornament. Hades’ Helmet was not a minor relic, nor a symbolic gift. It was an ancient object, linked to the very dominion of the Greek Underworld, to invisibility, to the authority of shadows, and to the sovereignty of one of the three great Olympian gods. If Hades was willing to offer it, then the problem was no small one.
Virgil, however, didn’t seem impressed.
"He wants to buy me with a helmet?" he asked.
Persephone narrowed her eyes. "It’s not a helmet."
"That sounds like the kind of thing someone would say about a helmet."
Aphrodite brought a hand to her face, still irritated, but clearly fighting back laughter amidst the tension. Persephone, on the other hand, didn’t find it funny at all. "You don’t understand what’s being offered."
"I do understand." Vergil stepped forward, and Persephone had to restrain herself from recoiling. "But you entered my wife’s flower shop, ignored her when she told you to leave, and grabbed her by the neck. So, before any talk of Hades, helmets, or Olympian problems, you’re going to apologize."
Persephone stood motionless.
Aphrodite lowered her hand from her face and looked at Vergil with discreet surprise, though wounded pride still dominated her expression. She didn’t need him to demand that for her, but she couldn’t deny that she liked hearing it.
Persephone looked from Vergil to Aphrodite.
The silence stretched.
Vergil’s pressure didn’t increase, but it didn’t decrease either. He didn’t threaten again. He didn’t need to. The first threat was still fresh enough in the air.
Finally, Persephone took a deep breath.
"Sorry," she said, without enthusiasm, but clearly enough.
Aphrodite crossed her arms. "Terrible apology."
Vergil agreed. "It was."
Persephone seemed about to lose her patience, but she controlled herself. "I didn’t come here to discuss etiquette. Hades needs to speak with you, and he wouldn’t have sent me if it were something simple."
Aphrodite looked at her coldly. "Hades didn’t send you. You came because you wanted to resolve things quickly and thought I was still the same Aphrodite who tolerated Olympian rudeness in a marble hall."
Persephone didn’t answer.
Aphrodite took a step forward, standing partially beside Vergil. "I won’t tolerate it anymore."
Vergil looked at Persephone. "Tell Hades that if he wants to talk to me, he can come in person."
Persephone’s expression changed. "He can’t."
This answer, finally, made Vergil pay a little more attention.
Aphrodite noticed too.
The flower shop remained silent for a few seconds, surrounded by the scent of flowers and the tension of three beings who didn’t truly belong to the normality of that place. Persephone clenched her hands slowly, as if the next sentence would be difficult to admit.
"Hades is trapped in his own kingdom."
Vergil didn’t look away.
Persephone continued, lower in her voice. "And whoever has him imprisoned is using some of their authority against the Underworld."
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