Underworld.
Inside a shadowy pocket dimension, the air shimmered faintly with Underworld magic.
A large obsidian table stood in the center, surrounded by chairs carved from bone and stone.
Around it sat several members of Hades' closest circle, along with a few others who had been drawn into the gathering.
Eris leaned casually against the table, golden eyes gleaming with amusement as she tossed a coin in the air.
Lethe lounged lazily in her seat, her long silver hair spilling over the chair, half-asleep as always.
Styx sat upright, composed, with a faint air of severity.
Minthe had her arms crossed, looking bored just by being there.
Keres sharpened one of her cruel-looking blades, her smile feral.
Campe sat near the back, arms crossed, the annoyed look suggests how she would rather be anywhere than here.
Several Cerberus pups played near her, gnawing on a stray skull.
And then there was Medea, Hecate's disciple, sitting stiffly, clutching her staff like a lifeline.
