In the deepest reaches of the cosmos, beneath the world of mortals and the divine halls of Olympus, the Underworld thrived—a realm of solemn beauty and haunting quiet.
Here, shadows moved with purpose, and the souls of the departed wandered through fields of eternity, each destination a reflection of their life's worth.
At the heart of it all stood Hades, the King of the Underworld, perched on his obsidian throne high in his floating fortress.
But on this day, Hades was not the composed and regal god everyone revered.
He sat behind a desk buried under papyrus scrolls, divine petitions, complaints, and architectural drafts from gods requesting expansions to their personal sanctums.
"Lord Hades!" a divine spirit barged in, clutching a new scroll. "The gods of the northern plains are asking for more rain and storms! They claim the desert winds are drying their divine wine reserves!"
Hades pressed his fingers against his temples and exhaled. "Tell them to drink something else."
