The Underworld.
On the boundary between Tartarus, far from the bustle of Underworld cities and the quiet hum of souls in passage, lay a realm untouched by time — the territory of Nyx, the Primordial of Night.
Here, the stars themselves seemed to float just above one's head, and darkness wasn't simply the absence of light — it was substance, a velvet fabric that weaved around the essence of the place.
There were no walls, no boundaries, just an endless cascade of twilight filled with dreams, memories, and things forgotten.
It was here that Hades, King of the Underworld, sat in absolute stillness, legs crossed upon a floating obsidian platform suspended in the abyss.
His body was motionless, but within him, a storm brewed.
He had been meditating for months — or perhaps years; time moved strangely in Nyx's realm.
