While lying in bed, he thought about something.
If he left to find the Cyclops… the Underworld would be exposed.
He couldn't let that happen.
Once Hermes healed, the gods would be free to move again—to travel between realms, even the Underworld. And if they came here… his soldiers wouldn't stand a chance. Not against all of Olympus. They'd be crushed. Erased.
He needed something permanent. A seal. A wall. A curse.
Something that made this place untouchable.
He had to make it harder. For everyone. God or not.
So he lay still, shut his eyes, and let the silence take over.
There had to be something. A way to seal this place. Something even Olympus would think twice before crossing.
That was his last thought before the dark took him.
And when he opened his eyes, his bed was gone. And he was no longer in the Underworld.
It was stormy—but not like thunder or rain. No lightning cracked the sky, no water fell from above. It was… different.
