In the silent heart of the Underworld, the Lord of the Dead sat behind a wide obsidian desk, his long fingers moving steadily as he signed document after document with a black quill tipped in stygian ink.
The steady rhythm of scratching paper was the only sound in the vast chamber, until suddenly, the torches that lined the walls flickered softly, the flames bending as though bowing to a presence far gentler than the darkness around them.
Then, a warm, calming voice broke through the stillness. "Brother."
Hades raised his eyes, and for the first time that day, his face softened into a faint, genuine smile.
"Hestia. How rare of you to contact me. How are you, sister?" He set down the quill and leaned back in his chair, watching as his elder sister stepped forward, her aura carrying the warmth of a hearth even in the bleakest depths of the Underworld.
The air felt less heavy in her presence, though the shadows still clung faithfully to their master.
