The steam from Hades' tea rose lazily, curling like fine strands of silver smoke that shimmered faintly under the soft, golden light of the Underworld's artificial sun.
The garden was quiet except for the faint laughter of his children in the distance and the murmur of the ever-flowing River of Souls.
For once, his mind was at peace — no petitions from the dead, no paperwork from the Judges, no endless stream of souls demanding judgment.
For the first time in what felt like eternity, Hades was simply living.
He took another slow sip, the delicate fragrance of the tea, a blend of special herbs and mint grown from Minthe's garden, grounding him further in the moment.
This moment where he forgets about work is so rare that even he found it strange how relaxed he had become.
Hades never forgot his duties. Not once since the birth of the cosmos had he ever let his work rest.
