On the westernmost edge of the Oceanus, which spans the vast distance between the world of the living and the underworld, there is a splendid garden, constantly bathed in the glow of the sunset.

The garden belongs to Hera, a wedding gift from her grandmother, and wonderful apple trees with golden fruit grow there, under the jealous guard of the dragon Ladon, an offspring of the Typhon, and the rather distracted oversight of the Hesperides, the daughters of night and of the evening star.

The legendary orchard was far from the real world, in both location and appearance, and because of its priceless bounty, a perpetual temptation for those driven by greed.

When someone broke in to steal the apples, the circle of displeasure, complaint and requests for retribution invariably closed in the Underworld, a constant source of annoyance for Hades, who was expected to do something about it.

“Who was it this time?” Persephone asked.

“It was one of ours, actually. Eris decided to take it upon herself and plot against Hera. You remember Hera, don’t you?”

“Vividly,” Persephone replied.

Hera took exception to the smallest slight, never forgave an offense, and always made sure to drag the entire Olympus into her drama, satisfied only when she was the center of attention.

Persephone stood tall on the bow of the ship, against the breeze.

Behind her, the fortune’s chosen, the ones who managed to navigate its treacherous waters through three lifetimes in a row, without reproach, were gazing towards the islands in the distance with apprehension and awe, not yet able to believe their luck, eyes moist for what they left behind.

Lost for words, they feared the promise of this new and wonderful existence was just a mirage which would dissipate the second they stopped believing it.

Hades stood next to his wife, like a symbolic shelter against the winds.

He always attended these happy occasions when mortals earned themselves the right to perpetual bliss.

Also, he loved the Fortunate Isles, which he rarely found the time to visit, with his schedule as full as it always was, and besides, he had promised Persephone.

The islands were two, so close to each other one could think them a single land mass. They weren’t that far from the shore, but a whole world removed in terms of privilege and grace, even compared to the Elysian Fields.

There was much sound and fury in Hades’ chambers the next morning, the clamor of many people speaking in anger, and above them all Persephone recognized the voice of Zeus.

She got dressed in a hurry and sneaked into the anteroom of the large conference hall where Hades was involved in some very heated negotiations with an entire delegation of Olympians, which, as an extraordinary circumstance, included Zeus himself.

“We’re doing everything in our power to retrieve him safely. As I told you, no effort is being spared.”

“But how was it possible, brother? I thought you ruled this kingdom supreme! Just command your minions to deliver him at the gates.”

“If the Hecatonchires were commandable, you wouldn’t need to keep them in Tartarus. They’re trained to some degree,” Hades replied, “but definitely don’t exhibit the level of obedience you seem to expect.”

“So, you’re telling me there is no hope and you can’t do anything about this?”

“Quite the opposite, brother. I just told you every effort is being made.”

“Yeah. That means you can’t do anything about it. I’m so disappointed in you, Hades. I entrusted you with the fate of one of our finest, and now he’s lost in Tartarus with no expectations of rescue.”