The eternal dusk of the Underworld shimmered with quiet stillness. No screams. No cries. Only silence, heavy and watchful, as though even the land itself held its breath.
From the edge of the void, Hades returned.
He walked alone, emerging from the unseen paths that wound between Nyx's domain and the heart of his kingdom.
His steps were slow, unhurried, yet each one rippled across the very fabric of the Underworld like a command.
Within a few steps, he arrived at the heart of underworld, where his massive gothic castle suspended above ground can be seen.
His home.
His throne.
The place where he will rule the realm of the dead.
The journey from Nyx's realm had been swift and uneventful, a stark contrast to the weight of what he carried back with him: not just the authority of the Underworld, but something more personal, more intimate.
A clarity of self.
A strange lightness, as if a piece of his missing soul has been completed.
