The silence of the celestial council had grown heavy after Zeus's proclamation. The golden halls of Olympus shivered under the weight of his fury, the air thick with electricity and the scent of molten ether. His fist still hung in the void, lightning coiling around it like a living thing.
Yet from the shadows of the throne room, a voice rose—not loud, but sharp enough to cut through the cosmic tension.
— Brother, he said calmly, his tone like steel sliding over stone.
Zeus turned, eyes blazing, the entire palace trembling with the force of his gaze.
— Speak, Hades. Speak now, or I will throw Tartarus into flames myself.
Hades' black robes fluttered despite the absence of wind. His face, carved from shadows, betrayed nothing, yet every syllable carried the weight of ages.
— I cannot send my legions into the Tartarus.
The words struck Zeus like a blade. His fist trembled, and for a moment the palace itself seemed to hold its breath.
— You cannot? thundered Zeus. My storm will break the stone giant, and your shadows will enforce the law of death!
— No. Tartarus is not my domain, Hades said. It never has been. My legions obey the laws of the dead, the boundaries of the departed. They are the judges of souls, the keepers of oblivion. But this… this is different. Tartarus is older than my throne. It is a root of existence, a fracture in the universe itself. To send them there would be… catastrophic.
Zeus' anger flickered, replaced by an uneasy curiosity.
— Catastrophic? he asked. How?
— They would be undone, Hades replied. My shadows cannot survive the weight of the prime material, the raw time that Jormund has consumed. They are not flesh nor spirit that can bend reality here. They would disperse, their essence lost in the abyss.
For a moment, the golden halls were silent, save for the subtle hum of power that resonated from the far reaches of creation. Zeus' storm paused mid-coil, as if listening.
Hades stepped closer, the shadows around him pooling like ink at the feet of gods.
— And I have other plans, he continued. I am preparing a war, brother. A war to claim dominions that even Olympus cannot touch. Tartarus may be ancient, but the borders of my realm are vast. The mortals, the forgotten, the dead who wander the Styx—every corner of my influence shall expand. The time of passive stewardship is over.
Zeus' eyes narrowed. The storm in his fist crackled angrily, arcs of lightning dancing with impatience.
— You dare challenge me? he said, each word a thunderclap. You dare speak of conquest while I am about to punish a defiance that shakes the foundations of reality?
— I do not challenge you, Hades said calmly, his shadows deepening. I only recognize truth. The Tartare is not yours to command, and soon, you will see that Jormund is no longer a being to be struck down by storms. He has consumed the essence of Chronos. He carries the weight of time itself.
Zeus' lips tightened. He could feel the truth in the words, as much as he hated it. A tension, older than Olympus itself, settled between them—an unspoken recognition of limits, of power that even the King of Gods could not impose.
Hades continued, leaning closer so that the shadow of his presence grazed the storm coiling in Zeus' hand.
— Prepare your thunders for the inevitable confrontation, Zeus. I will expand, consolidate, and claim. Your storms will come, but they will meet a world already anchored in the laws of shadows. I do not move against Jormund. I wait, as the currents of destiny bend toward me.
Zeus' storm cracked. Lightning splintered the floor, shaking the pillars of Olympus. But the god of the sky did not strike. Instead, he looked down at Hades with a mixture of frustration and grudging admiration.
— Very well, brother, he said. We will see whose will bends the cosmos first.
Hades inclined his head slightly. His eyes, pools of endless night, reflected a faint smile.
— Soon, the war begins, he whispered. And when it does… even Olympus will bleed.
The golden halls seemed to dim, the storm above pausing, as if the universe itself had recognized that the balance was tipping. Jormund's name, the weight of Chronos, and the scheming of Hades converged like tectonic plates preparing for an upheaval that would shake heaven, earth, and the roots of Tartarus alike.
And in the shadows of that ancient council, a new era of chaos and defiance was silently declared.