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"I, Zeus, almighty, god of heaven and Olympus, I am the one responsible for this judgment. By the power granted to me today by Odin and the Ejons, I condemn you, Hela, goddess of death, to marry Ina. You both shall be exiled for a thousand years to the Realm of Darkness and Oblivion, a land where no man dares tread. Do you have any words regarding the sentence handed down to you?"
Hela rose slowly from her seat, facing Zeus with a gaze that carried nothing—not anger, not fear, not even surprise.
She had already screamed, blushed, and raged; those storms had passed.
There was nothing left but to accept what was before her.
"..."
She turned with measured, deliberate steps, each movement slow, deliberate, almost ritualistic, and began her walk toward the exit of the grand court. She could feel eyes upon her—attentive, curious, and wary. All the gods present, whether Norse, Greek, or otherwise, observed her audacity in silence, unblinking, almost as if they were waiting for her to falter.
Zeus sat on his throne, omnipotent and untouchable, exuding a grandeur that demanded obedience. A king among gods, seated higher than all others, a man who believed himself above the world and all its powers.
He was a repulsive relic of arrogance, and yet here, in this hall, all bowed silently, as if compelled by some ancient instinct.
Inside, the court was a gathering of the divine: gods of all lands, all tongues, all realms—Norse, Greek, Chinese, African. Every presence underscored the spectacle, yet even amidst this vast assembly, Hela felt like nothing more than a pawn, a piece discarded when no longer useful.
After all, punishing a god demanded a display of dominance, a proof of power from the victor. Punishment was never about justice; it was about ego. About the strength of those who wielded authority, the triumph of one will over another.
She caught Hades' gaze from a distance. He observed her quietly, his expression unreadable, aligned somewhat with her thoughts, but too detached to interfere. Humans, he seemed to think, were inconsequential; their extinction a trivial matter.
Hela ignored him, deliberately. Why concern herself with traitors, with those who would never act? In the end, their fates were meaningless, as meaningless as the echoes of Zeus' court.
Zeus, meanwhile, watched her leave with a cold fury masked by amusement. The audacity of her calmness, her silent defiance, irritated him. She moved like a wild cat, elegant yet untamed, and he could do nothing but seethe from afar.
"Very well," he said finally, his voice echoing through the hall. "As you know, your sins are grave, unforgivable. The punishment fits only the highest measure among gods. May fortune accompany you, and may this marriage… prosper. Take her."
Hela heard his words and smiled faintly. The challenges she would face were greater than any argument with him, any petty rage.
The doors opened, revealing the tangle of clouds outside. Mount Olympus, despite everything, was breathtaking.
A soft touch on her shoulder drew her attention. She turned sharply, only to meet a knowing smile.
It was Hermes. "Are you comfortable?"
Hela did not respond with warmth; she rarely did. Her nature was cold, detached, unyielding. Life had not granted her joy; in fact, it had done quite the opposite.
Hermes, contrastingly, carried an easy, carefree smile. He was assigned to escort her to her final destination—a duty he carried lightly, with the grace and swiftness of a messenger god.
In the blink of an eye, they arrived at the Shadow Realm, the lands under Erebus' dominion. Darkness was not just present—it was absolute. No light, no shadow, no variation, only the unbroken void of existence.
Hermes led the way, his steps feather-light, careful. "I hope the handcuffs do not trouble you. It is not distrust, but orders from above..."
Hela watched him, exhaling slowly, unmoved. Hermes was ever enigmatic: a loyal servant to Zeus, yet he mingled freely with gods across realms, from Asgard to Niflheim.
"Hermes…"
"Yes?"
She lifted her hands, and with effortless motion, broke the shackles binding her wrists. The gilded restraints, wrapped in divine lightning, were meaningless against her. Zeus' laziness, or arrogance, had underestimated her once again.
"Silence," she muttered, dismissing his surprise.
They stood upon a hill in the Shadow Realm, the highest point against the endless black. The world was void, lifeless, devoid of grass or color, yet something about the structure, the arrangement, hinted at the theatricality of the gods—their need for drama, even here.
Hermes, ever the observant guide, grinned. "You have not changed… I never imagined I'd see you married under such circumstances."
Hela rolled her eyes. Marriage was an absurdity, especially one imposed. And Ina, wherever she was, would share in the absurdity, equally punished, equally coerced. There was no love here. No understanding. Only obligation.
"Does she know she is promised to me?" Hela asked.
Hermes hesitated. The name Ina was scarcely spoken; the gods preferred silence.
"No. She is worse off than you," Hermes admitted, snapping his fingers. Suddenly, they were beside her. "She is blind…"
Another snap, and he was behind her. "…and chained to the ground."
Hermes' amusement at the situation was quiet, almost childlike, but Hela ignored it. Noise, frivolity—useless. "How long is the punishment?"
"Until she breaks the chains. If she leaves before then, she becomes mortal. There is no time here. No interference. Nothing but the void."
Hela nodded, understanding. Time and space held no meaning here; all was infinite, raw, primitive, returning to the primordial existence of the gods themselves.
"And her eyes?" she asked.
Hermes paused. Ina had been blind for eternity, yet she possessed the all-seeing eye. She refused to use it, chained as she was.
"Eternal," Hermes said finally. "She could see, but she refuses."
Hela followed him up the staircase, the precipice of darkness beneath them, leaving nothing but the void behind.
"I heard she defied eternal life itself," Hermes whispered, shrugging. "But these are rumors. The gods do not speak of her… as if she never existed."