The Underworld had rarely known peace, but today was one of the few exception.
The air in the throne room of Hades' floating fortress was quiet, yet warm — the hearth fire crackled gently in its bronze brazier.
Across from the obsidian throne, couches crafted from shadow and velvet gave comfort to two goddesses at rest.
Hera, regal and composed, sat with her legs crossed, holding a porcelain teacup with both hands, sipping slowly.
She said nothing, but her gaze occasionally flicked toward Hades and the small girl on his lap with a subtle fondness.
Aphrodite, draped in white silks and lazily reclining on another couch, plucked at a bowl of ripe pomegranates, her eyes glinting as she watched Hades and his daughter.
The girl — Nekyria — had her father's pallor and solemnity but carried something more powerful and innocence in her eyes.
She sat on Hades' lap, engrossed in the large tome open before them. It was a storybook called "The Epic of Herios".
