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Cyrus

"Who are you?" Will asked, hesitant.

"This is my domain," the figure continued, its voice laced with a chilling authority. "And you, trespasser, have much to answer for."

Will's mind raced, desperately searching for a connection, something to bridge the chasm of forgotten memories. His eyes darted to the skull ring, the symbol a stark reminder of the being Nico sometimes channeled – the ghost king, himself.

"The ring..." he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "It's yours, isn't it? You're a king here, a ruler of the shades."

The figure remained silent, but a flicker of something akin to amusement danced in the moonlight filtering through the hood.

"A ruler, perhaps," it finally conceded. "But not by the name you seek. I am Cyrus," the figure declared, its voice echoing through the grove, "King of the shadows."

Will's heart plummeted. Cyrus. It was a name he vaguely recognized, a name whispered in hushed tones – Nico's middle name, a secret he'd only learned after years of friendship. But the figure before him radiated an aura of cold power that felt nothing like Nico. This was a stranger, a king cloaked in darkness, and the terrifying possibility settled in Will's gut – Nico was lost, consumed by the power he'd wielded in the Underworld.

"Nico..." he whispered, the name a desperate plea hanging heavy in the air.

A tense silence followed, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the cool night breeze. The figure, Cyrus, remained impassive, his shadowed face an unreadable mask. Had Will gambled everything for a phantom, a mere echo of the boy he loved? The weight of his decision pressed down on him, a suffocating realization settling in – his journey to the Underworld might have been in vain.

Will's world tilted on its axis. Nico, the boy who haunted his every memory, the one person he'd hoped to find, was gone? Replaced by this cold, imposing figure named Cyrus? Denial clawed at him, a desperate hope struggling to stay afloat in the sea of his fractured mind.

"No," he croaked, his voice hoarse. "You're lying. It's Nico. I know it is."

Cyrus tilted his head, a sliver of amusement flickering in the shadows of his hood. "Know what, exactly? You reek of the living, a trespasser in my domain. How could you possibly know anything?"

"The way you stand, the glint in your eyes," Will stammered, grasping at straws. "The ring, the shadows... it's all Nico."

A hollow laugh escaped Cyrus' lips, devoid of humor. "A clever guess, perhaps. But wrong. I am Cyrus, King of the Underworld. Now, enough of this charade. You will come with me."

Before Will could protest, Cyrus reached out, his touch surprisingly gentle. A wave of cool darkness washed over him, momentarily dispelling the gnawing confusion in his mind. As abruptly as it came, the feeling vanished, replaced by a renewed sense of urgency.

He stumbled forward, his legs shaky and uncertain. The olive grove blurred around him, the familiar landmarks morphing into a labyrinth of twisted trees and inky shadows. Cyrus strode ahead, his presence a silent command that Will felt compelled to obey.

"Where are we going?" Will forced the question past his parched lips.

"To my palace," Cyrus replied curtly, his voice echoing in the oppressive silence. "There, you will answer for your presence in the Underworld."

A sliver of hope flickered within Will. The palace – wouldn't Hades be there? Perhaps the Lord of the Dead could shed light on Nico's fate, on the truth behind Cyrus' identity.

As they walked, the air grew colder, the scent of damp earth and decay thick in his nostrils. Groans and wails echoed in the distance, a chilling symphony of the damned. Will fought back a surge of nausea, the weight of his situation pressing down on him like a physical burden.