Silas Nash walked across the grass. There were still imprints in the ground from where the tables had been set up the previous day. The memories flooded back. The taste of good food, and the laughter of his friends. Zion was a quiet town at the best of times, but the silence in the streets was profound, right now. The words ‘sepulchral’ and ‘silent as the grave’ were marching to mind, and that was not a very happy thought.
Consciousness returned to Silas, alongside unbearable pain. He let out a low groan, his eyes opening slowly. His head was spinning, and he was being dragged along through the asphodel. “I am sorry about this, Mister Nash,” said Persephone, her voice soft, and a bit sorrowful. “I really am. You seem like a genuinely decent man. But the laws of Zeus are sacrosanct. The agents of the Horsemen are agents of the Titans themselves, seeking to overthrow the gods and to destroy mankind. The only appropriate way to deal with you is with Tartarus. I shall leave a plea with the judges that they show you mercy in whatever torment they decide you must undergo, Mister Nash. I only hope that you can find it in yourself to understand why this is necessary.”