In the Underworld, the air was still and heavy as shadows curled against the black stone walls of Hades' office.
Scrolls and tablets littered his desk, each one glowing faintly with divine script, yet now his quill was stilled and left to the side, his paperwork unattended.
Before the god of the dead stretched a divine mirror, a pool of obsidian water that reflected not his own face, but the distant image of Orpheus.
The mortal trudged across an endless desert, each step slow and agonizing, his body little more than bone and willpower.
Hera sat gracefully to the side, arms crossed, her sharp eyes locked on the mortal.
Aphrodite, meanwhile, leaned against the edge of Hades' desk, chin in her palm, watching with dreamy intensity.
Hera was the first to break the silence.
"Do you think he can complete it?" Her tone was stern, but beneath it lingered curiosity. "This seven quests aren't easy. They are no less than the Twelve Labors of Alcides."
