Across the dry agrarian landscape, peasants were staging a rebellion against the Emperor. Famine had forced many of the able-bodied country-living men to the southern cities for work, where they were exploited by wealthy landowners and political factions. Meanwhile their families were left alone to fend for themselves against the impotent seeds of their exhausted crop and northern bandits who preyed off the weak for domestic resources. Far in the distance, yellow scarves were waved by the rebellion. Demands of lower taxes and freedom to practice their taoist ideals spread across the countryside. In some regions they began to gain support, particularly from Zhang Jiao. Still, those on the outskirts with the shriveled fields and hungry mouths weren't seeing any benefits. They only saw the empty bellies of their children and the starving sicknesses of their elders. The battlefields weren't the only fields that ran with blood on this day. Thanatos was a little nervous about taking Makaria out into the mortal realm to practice her duties as a death goddess. Not that she hadn't been exposed to it before (and even performed some of her duties already.) Not that she hadn't seen it in the past. As an Underworlder, she grew up among death. But Thanatos was worried about playing the role of a teacher. He'd known Makaria since she was crawling on Hades' throne room floor, but it was one thing to be the resident babysitter and another to be the instructor. On one side, Thanatos was very honored to be the one to show Makaria the proverbial ropes, as they were. The Greek pantheon had numerous gods and goddesses that covered the realm of the dead. But not everyone got to escort the Underworld princess. But, on the other side, he was a little worried that he wouldn't be able to answer all of her questions. She'd always been more than just a little precocious.
He just hoped she didn't act the way she did when he used to babysit her. Hide and seek had never been his forte.
Thanatos sat upon a large rock at the edge of a small rice field, crushing dried leaves and grass blades between his fingers. He'd chosen this location carefully for Makaria. Most of the unfortunate souls they'd be dealing with in this locale were women and children. Nothing violent. But with death there was always some form of suffering. That was the difficult side of the job. The atmosphere surrounding death could be cold, callous, and unrelenting. But Thanatos had learned to appreciate the end of life as something beautiful, something to respect. He wasn't perfect, not even in his own department. Not by any means. He knew it would still be a few centuries before he figured out his method and coping strategy. But he was on a good path to getting it all sorted out.
He glanced up at the sun, hanging high in the sky, and sighed. She was late.