The corridor was still dark.
Catia walked far, until she was sure she had left her brother's dwelling, and then slowly slid down against the cold wall.
She buried her face in her palm, her shoulders trembling, but she made no sound.
The Princess of the Underworld does not weep.
She simply sat there in silence.
Time passed—how long, she did not know—until she heard the sound of calm footsteps.
She did not look up, not until a pair of strong arms gently lifted her.
"Father," she whispered.
Hades said nothing, simply held her.
His hands were cold, yet they carried a strange sense of stability.
Catia leaned against her father's chest, finally allowing a tear to seep into the folds of his dark robes.
"Does he know what he's doing?" she asked.
"He knows." Hades's voice was as calm as a deep pool.
"Then why...?"
"Because there are roads that must be walked alone." Hades released her and raised a hand to wipe the damp traces from her cheeks.
"Catia, your brother has chosen the most difficult path. And he... has chosen to accompany him through the first and most brutal part of it."
"Accompany him with his life?"
"With his life."
Catia closed her eyes.
"They are twins," Hades said.
"One is foresight, the other is hindsight. The first sees through the mist, the second bears the cost. This is the law they inscribed at birth."
"So Epimetheus is doomed to pay the price for Prometheus's choices?"
"No. He chose it himself. Of all the possibilities, he chose this path."
Catia straightened up and smoothed her skirt. When she looked up again, her face had returned to its usual calm.
"I'll go on patrol."
Hades nodded and watched his daughter walk away.
On the other side, Týr stood on the bank of the River Styx, listening to the ferryman Charon argue with a stubborn revenant about the fare, but his thoughts were far away.
The news of Epimetheus's fall was like a cold river, seeping into his already heavy heart.
Another story of fratricide—one that inevitably reminded him of his own tragic past with Baldr.
That feeling of helplessness before fate could still sting his nerves even after all these years.
"Týr."
A familiar voice sounded behind him, carrying a hint of rare hesitation.
Týr turned and saw Baldr standing not far away.
After this god of light had been reborn in the Underworld, the radiance upon him had softened considerably, but a somber gloom always remained.
At this moment, his expression was particularly complex, and his hand unconsciously rested on his lower abdomen.
"I need to talk to you," Baldr took a few steps closer, his voice low.
"About something very personal."
Týr nodded, gesturing for them to leave the riverbank and head towards a relatively secluded spot among the asphodel flowers.
In the Underworld's sky, there was never any sun, only a deep violet gleam that reflected on Baldr's pale face.
"Tell me," Týr leaned against an obsidian pillar. "Much has happened lately. If you want to talk—"
"I'm pregnant."
Týr blinked, suspecting he had misheard.
"Excuse me, what did you say?"
Baldr's face grew even whiter, his lips trembling slightly:
"I said, I'm pregnant. Yes, me, Baldr, a male god, is pregnant."
A long silence.
Týr's mind struggled to process the information contained in that sentence.
A male god pregnant? This was unheard of in any known divine law.
He instinctively glanced at Baldr's still-flat abdomen, then quickly looked away, feeling an absurd sense of embarrassment.
"How... how is that possible?" Týr finally found his voice.
"You're male. Physiologically—"
"I don't know!" Baldr's voice was a little unsteady, and he grasped Týr's arm, his fingers cold.
"I swear, I don't understand what's happening either! I just... I just went there..."
"Where?"
"To where Hades returned the plants. Near the newly sprouted World Tree."
Týr frowned.
He knew that after the remnants of the Norse world had been absorbed by Hades, Hades had combined the last traces of life from the World Tree with part of the origin of Narcissus and returned it to Gaia, settling the karmic debt.
There, a strange sapling grew, emanating an atmosphere both familiar and unfamiliar. The gods of the Underworld called it the 'New World Tree'.
"Why did you go there?" Týr asked.
Baldr released his grip, his gaze drifting into the distance, his voice turning bitter: "You must know my... emotional state. Höðr and Nanna, they... they're suffocating me."
He paused, as if unable to continue.
"Höðr's obsession with me never faded with death. It's become even more twisted since our rebirth in the Underworld. Nanna... my wife, who died for me, was reborn carrying too much weight of sacrifice mixed into her love for me. Their 'love' is almost choking me."
Týr remembered how Höðr looked at Baldr. That gaze was deeply unsettling.
And Nanna, once a gentle goddess, now always surrounded Baldr with an aura of sorrow and self-sacrifice, as if ready to give everything for him again.
"That day, they had another argument," Baldr continued, unconsciously intertwining his fingers.
"About who was more 'qualified' to stay by my side. I couldn't take it anymore. I quietly left the palace alone, walked without purpose, and somehow, without realizing it, I ended up near the New World Tree."
His eyes grew distant, as if returning to that moment: "Looking at the tree, though it was small, the light among its branches and leaves... it looked like the stars on our World Tree. I thought of Asgard, of the Golden Hall, of the time I spent with you. Though the ending was tragic, there were always beautiful moments."
Týr listened quietly, a mixture of resonances stirring in his heart.
He too often missed the years he spent fighting across the Nine Realms, standing shoulder to shoulder with his brothers, though it was also full of discord and pain.
"I sat under the tree for a long time, thinking about whether everything could be done over... Thinking that if Höðr weren't so paranoid, if Nanna weren't so self-sacrificing, if I weren't so arrogant..." Baldr's voice dropped.
"Then, on the tree, three points of light suddenly appeared. Tiny, soft, like fireflies, but different from others. They hovered in the air for a while, seemingly drawn to my emotions, and then... they suddenly flew towards me and dissolved into my body."
He touched his abdomen, his expression a mix of confusion and fear: "At the time, I only felt a warm current and didn't think much of it. But a few days later, I started feeling unwell—nausea, and abnormal fluctuations in my divine power. I went to see the Underworld's physician—a god recommended by Hermes, named Asclepius—and he examined me, then said with a strange expression: 'You're pregnant. Triplets.'"