They sat quietly together, the simple meal finished, the tension gradually ebbing away. The comforting silence wrapped around them, broken only by the distant sounds of the mansion settling into the evening. Helios felt genuinely at peace, grateful for the simple yet profound connection shared with Skuld.
Eventually, he leaned back in his chair, stretching slowly, wincing slightly as the lingering aches protested.
"Maybe we should get you back to rest," Skuld suggested gently, noticing his discomfort.
"Probably a good idea," Helios conceded reluctantly. "But first, did you have another burning question to ask?"
Skuld hesitated briefly before nodding earnestly. "Just one more… promise?"
"Promise," Helios assured her warmly.
"Can you promise me… promise me that you'll never leave me behind again?"
Helios paused, his expression softening as he considered her question seriously. "I don't know, Skuld," he finally admitted quietly. "But I promise you, as long as we're together, I'll never abandon you again. I promise."
Relief flooded her features, and she smiled softly. "Okay. Then I promise you, too."
"Good," Helios replied firmly, a kind emotion flaring brightly within him. "Now, let's head back. I think you've interrogated me enough for one day."
Skuld laughed softly, standing and offering her arm once more for him to lean on. "Alright, deal. But tomorrow, I'll have more."
"I expect nothing less," Helios chuckled lightly, grateful to have her steady presence by his side as they left the kitchen behind, each step feeling slightly lighter than the last.
By the time they reached his room, the shadows of evening had deepened into night. Skuld helped Helios into bed with a gentle touch, fluffing his pillow with mock seriousness before giving him a quiet smile.
"Rest well, Helios," she whispered.
"You too, Skuld."
She turned and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.
Silence filled the space once more, heavy yet comforting. Helios allowed himself to melt into the bedding, every muscle still aching but significantly less than before. Sleep threatened to claim him instantly—until a quiet presence made itself known.
A figure stood by the doorway.
"Okay?" Sephiroth asked, his voice calm, unreadable.
Helios blinked and lifted his head slightly to look at the silver-haired swordsman. Despite the cold expression, there was no hostility—just a single word, loaded with more meaning than any sentence.
Helios smiled. "Getting there. Give me a few days, and I'll be ready to spar again."
Sephiroth didn't respond. He simply looked at Helios for a long moment, then turned to leave. Helios could have sworn he saw a flicker of a smile on the man's face—but when he blinked again, Sephiroth's expression was as impassive as ever.
"Looks like I'm seeing things. Must be the fatigue," Helios murmured to himself.
Darkness welcomed him swiftly as he drifted into sleep. A dreamless void at first—calm, still, peaceful. Until a subtle sensation crept across his forehead. Cold, yet strangely soothing.
His eyes fluttered open.
Kurai was sitting at his bedside, her hand resting lightly against his forehead.
"You're healing well," she said in a low voice, eyes calm and unreadable as always. "That little girl must have healed you again while you slept."
Helios gave a small, weary smile. "I guess she's more stubborn than she looks."
Kurai didn't respond immediately. She simply observed him a moment longer before withdrawing her hand.
"Rest while you can. The world won't stay quiet forever."
With that, she stood and moved to the window, the moonlight outlining her silhouette as Helios allowed sleep to pull him back under—this time, comforted by the quiet watch of those who remained by his side.
Far below the sunlit mansions and healing chambers, in the deepest bowels of the Underworld, the throne room lay in shambles—scarred stone, scorched walls, and ash still clinging to the blackened floor like the remnants of a forgotten war. And in the center, where once power radiated from a seat of flame and shadow, now sat only ruin.
Hades knelt.
No, was forced to kneel—his limbs spread and bound by chains of luminous indigo etched with cursed sigils. The magic pulsing through them belonged to no mortal hand, and not even divine might could unmake them from within. The blue flames of his hair flickered pathetically, dimmed from their usual roaring blaze, and his arms trembled as he fought against the bindings for what must have been the thousandth time. Every movement only drained him further.
Across the room, Hecate stood upon the cracked steps of what was once his throne, inspecting a shattered skull idly before tossing it aside. Her headdress caught the faint light of a dying torch, casting elongated shadows on the fractured columns. She smiled—sharp and amused.
"My, how the mighty have fallen," she purred, descending the steps with elegance only a demigoddess could maintain amid such ruin. Her voice echoed through the silence, dancing along the walls like whispered venom. "You always boasted about being untouchable, Hades. Indomitable. The Lord of the Dead. And yet... here you are, drooling ash and spitting threats like a beaten cur."
Hades looked up, slow and deliberate. His eyes, dulled though they were, still glowed with wrath.
"You can chain me, Hecate," he said, voice rough but iron-laced. "But you think these pretty lights will last forever? You think you've won?"
"Oh, I know I haven't," Hecate replied sweetly, kneeling down beside him, her fingers brushing his singed chin mockingly. "But I don't need forever. Just long enough for you to be irrelevant."
Hades chuckled. It was a dark, bitter sound—low and heavy like the first tremor before a volcano erupted.
"When I get out of this—and I will—I'm going to fry you so badly, it'll take a thousand years for your skin to grow back."
Hecate didn't flinch. She stood with grace and turned her back to him, arms outstretched in a casual gesture of mock celebration.
"A thousand years?" she said playfully. "Well, I better enjoy the silence while I can."
She walked away then, the echo of her heels tapping against scorched marble, leaving the Lord of the Dead in his shadowed prison—seething, bound, and smiling through clenched teeth.