Underworld
The throne room had become a cage.
Not the kind with bars. The kind where the walls pressed closer every day, where the shadows whispered in voices that weren't quite voices, where the air itself felt heavy with things unsaid. Hades had been sitting in the same spot for hours. Maybe days. He couldn't tell anymore.
The souls had been quieter after the attack on the western sector.
Not calmer. Quieter. There was a difference. Calm meant peace. Quiet meant waiting. They were waiting for something. He didn't know what. He was afraid to find out.
Persephone's voice had been clearer since the ceremony. Since Athena read the names. Since the lost soul returned to the stream. Something had shifted. The barriers between them were thinner now. He could almost feel her. Almost touch her. Almost—
The pressure built without warning.
