Overworld.
On the highest plateau of a Primordial mountain, the air was clean and heavy with the scent of moss, stone, and ancient earth.
A small table carved from living rock sat beneath a canopy of ivy and roots. Upon it, two cups of steaming tea rested, the faint aroma of herbs curling upward.
Hades sat calmly, his dark robes blending with the stone, his posture straight yet unhurried.
Across from him, Gaia herself, the Primordial Earth, radiated a quiet, timeless warmth.
Her long, smooth hair was threaded with green vines and blossoms that shifted with every breath of wind.
Between them, conversation flowed gently, like water slipping through cracks in stone.
"It is rare to see you outside your realm, Lord of the Dead," Gaia said, lifting her cup with a faint smile. Her voice carried the weight of the world itself, yet it was kind, like the voice of a mother. "Usually, you would only have Hecate or Hera bring Nekyria here to accompany me."
