And just like that it’s over. The Suits lie dead or dying. Daedalus is alive, but in no state to move. And it won’t be long before Ulysses joins the rest of them. Limping over to the door, our hero types in seven letters: ELYSIUM.

The door slides open and reveals the rich green leaves of a tree, standing sunlit in a golden field.

Daedalus doesn’t understand. Can’t understand. How a young Ulysses found the last relic of the natural world and hid it, leaving only a thin passage up to the surface to let in the dawns light. The naïve hope that it might become a symbol of finality and freedom from the Acheron’s grasp. The loss of Penelope, buried here as the first to once again die a true death. Hades could have told Daedalus, if he’d thought to ask, but it’s too late now.

Thoughts of revolution are long gone, and Ulysses now simply seeks to rest. The vault door closes, never to reopen.

And as the weary hound, once more at its master’s feet after so long, lays down with the sunlight warning its fur, breathing its last – even so did the eyes of Ulysses close forever.