Percy Jackson: An Endless of All

[Orpheus After the Underworld]

When Orpheus emerged from the underworld, he came alone. He had followed the path, step by step, trusting that Eurydice would follow behind as the shadows said. But in the final moment—when the light of the surface broke ahead of him—he could not help himself. He turned.

And she was lost.

He sat by the coast for days, unmoving, his lyre silent. Waves lapped gently at the rocks, but they could not soothe his grief. Then, in the pale light of dawn, Apollo appeared.

"You should not have gone alone," Apollo said, voice heavy with regret. "Your father... he should have gone in your stead, but I'm not any better," said Apollo.

Orpheus didn't meet his eyes. "I've left him," he replied quietly.

Apollo shook his head. "No, Orpheus."

"This has been a long time coming," the god murmured, his eyes scanning the cliffs and the shifting sea. "But even though I see the threads of fate, I cannot change them. Not the way he could either." Apollo and I couldn't interfere because it was the choice he made on his own. As his parents, we looked on sadly and helplessly, even with all our powers and might. We couldn't change what the fates had woven for him.

"I thank you for your visit, Father," said Orpheus, hollow but not unkind.

But Apollo had not come for comfort alone. "Orpheus, I came to warn you. The Sisters of the Frenzy—the Maenads, Dionysus' wild women—they are coming. You must leave this place."

"I do not fear them," Orpheus said, calm and resolute.

"You should," Apollo replied, sharp with urgency. "They run through the forests and fields at night, rending flesh from bone—animal, mortal, demigod alike. Blood and madness are their offerings."

"I've heard the same tales you have," said Orpheus.

"They are not tales," Apollo said firmly. "That's why I came. You must hide. You must live."

But Orpheus shook his head. "That's why I want them to find me. I must be with Eurydice."

"Orpheus, please listen—" Apollo reached for him, but the boy, his son, stepped back. Apollo was trying his best to protect our son, but if the damn laws weren't in place, he could have done more. 

"Death no longer takes me, Father," Orpheus said. "Not truly. I was denied even that."

"We'll go back to your father," Apollo offered. "He will help you—he will see you—"

"No," Orpheus said, eyes distant. "He won't speak to us. Don't you see? The Sisters... they're my only hope. The only ones who can deliver me to her." That's where he is wrong. I would want to see. He is my son, and I love him. But, he did tell me I am not his father, which hurt.

Apollo's heart twisted. "No. No, I will not let you do this."

"Then you only increase my suffering."

"I love you, Orpheus," Apollo said, voice raw.

"I love you too," the boy replied, soft as a fading chord. "But this is goodbye."

Apollo watched, helpless, as Orpheus turned and walked toward the forest—the shadows—the fate he had chosen. The Maenads would find him. That was certain.

And Apollo, god of light and music, could only disappear into the morning sun.

After Orpheus said goodbye to Apollo, he did not walk—he ran. Into the forest. Into fate.

His bare feet pounded the soft, leaf-littered earth, breath ragged, heart hammering louder than his lyre ever had. Behind him, whispers. Murmurs. The faint rhythm of wild footsteps is gaining speed.

A branch snapped.

The whispering grew more distinct—female voices, laughing and weeping in the same breath. Soft, hungry, mad.

Then came the shrieks.

Wild.

Piercing.

The Maenads had found him.

He didn't scream at first—not until the first blow struck, a jagged thwack across his back. Then another. Then many. A frenzy of limbs and teeth and nails. Their eyes rolled white in ecstasy, and their mouths howled ancient songs of chaos and rapture.

He cried out—my son cried out—but there was no one to save him.

Thunder cracked across the sky as if the heavens themselves recoiled in horror.

The Maenads descended upon him like wolves in a blood-fueled trance. They tore at his skin, ripped at his hair, struck bone, and shattered it. His lyre, once cradled to his chest, was dashed to splinters beside him.

And then—at last—he stopped struggling.

Still, they did not stop.

They tore until there was nothing left of the boy but his head and his song.

His head, wide-eyed and silent, was cast into the nearby river with a shriek of joy, and the water swallowed him whole.

The forest was silent then.

Only the wind wept.

And far away, in the Dreaming, I—Dream, his father—awoke with a jolt.

I knew.

I felt it.

My son was brutalized, it did not come with a scream, but with silence so loud it deafened the stars.

A single tear came down my face as I felt my son's punishment.