Chapter 249: Chapter 7
The air in the grand marble hall of Olympus was heavy with curiosity and unease as the Twelve Olympians assembled, their divine auras mixing and swirling like a storm above the golden floors.
However , the Olympians all had their gazes drifted toward Athena, who stood silently among them, her divine radiance still sealed and her garments dirtied from her recent climb through rugged mountains.
Dust clung to her once-pristine robes, and a faint streak of mud ran along her arm, a rare sight among gods who took great pride in their immaculate appearances.
Yet, Athena, ever composed, merely sighed, realizing belatedly that she had forgotten to make herself presentable before ascending to Olympus.
Still, her calm, intelligent eyes betrayed no embarrassment as she straightened her posture and chose to ignore the curious stares, deciding that such trivialities mattered little in the face of what awaited them.
Poseidon, lazily leaning against his trident with the ease of one who feared nothing, was the first to break the silence, his deep voice echoing through the hall like the roll of distant thunder.
"Well then, brother," he said, his tone a mixture of curiosity and irritation, "you summoned all of us here in the middle of our affairs. What is this about?"
Zeus exhaled heavily, his expression unusually grim as he rested his hand upon his scepter.
"It’s not my summons," he admitted, his eyes flickering with unease. "It’s Hades. He has called for all twelve of us to gather in the Underworld."
The words fell like a hammer upon the marble floor.
The once-restless gods suddenly grew still, their divine might momentarily subdued by confusion and faint apprehension.
Ares crossed his arms, his battle-hardened features tightening into a frown.
"Lord Hades? What could a man so strong primordials feared his power, want us for?" he muttered, his voice carrying both irritation and respect.
Dionysus blinked, the haze of intoxication vanishing from his face as he leaned forward.
"If even he, who wanted nothing to do with us would summon us, then something must have happened that even he cannot handle alone," he murmured, the wine cup forgotten in his hand.
Hestia’s warm eyes softened with concern, while Hermes stopped fiddling with the golden coin in his fingers, his playful grin replaced with thoughtful silence.
Even Apollo’s usual radiance dimmed, his hand lowering from his lyre as he exchanged a glance with his twin sister, Artemis, who stood composed yet alert beside him.
Athena’s sharp gaze narrowed slightly, her mind already weaving possibilities like threads of fate itself.
For all her intellect, however, none of her conjectures seemed to fit.
What could possibly compel Hades—the most silent, restrained, and self-sufficient of all gods—to summon them all?
He was the last being in existence who sought company, much less the collective presence of Olympus.
Her fingers brushed her chin as her thoughts deepened.
Could it be a threat? A being from beyond the realms of life and death? Or perhaps something had disturbed the balance of the Underworld itself?
Yet even then, Hades possessed strength that far eclipsed their own—so what could be so grave that he would call upon all twelve Olympians?
A heavy silence lingered, broken only by the faint hum of divine energy vibrating in the hall. Zeus’s expression hardened.
"Whatever it is," he said finally, his tone carrying the authority of the skies, "we will find out soon enough. Prepare yourselves. In three days, we descend to the Underworld."
Athena’s eyes flickered once more, the faintest shadow of unease dancing across her features as she wondered—what could possibly trouble the god whom even the Primordials feared?
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In the heart of the Underworld, the vast obsidian hall of Hades’ fortress lay shrouded in solemn silence, its air heavy with the faint hum of primordial power.
Hades sat upon his throne — a monolithic seat carved from the very essence of darkness itself, his figure still and composed, yet his thoughts stirred like the endless tides of the Styx.
His expression was unreadable, eyes half-lidded, as though weighed by burdens too ancient for mortal comprehension.
Around him, shadows rippled faintly, responding to his unspoken emotions, whispering like echoes of forgotten souls.
Without warning, a familiar warmth, if one could call the chill of the night warm, enveloped him from behind.
Slender arms, cool as the void between stars, wrapped gently around his shoulders.
The faint scent of night-blooming flowers filled the air as Nyx, the Primordial Goddess of Night, materialized from the darkness itself, her presence both tender and cosmic, her beauty almost painful to behold.
Her soft voice, low and melodic, brushed against his ear like a secret carried on the wind.
"Odin grows anxious," she murmured, resting her chin upon his shoulder, her tone half-playful yet weary. "He keeps asking when I intend to send reinforcements. The Allfather, it seems, doesn’t like being kept waiting."
Hades exhaled slowly, a sound neither sigh nor breath, more akin to the rustle of eternity passing through stone.
"Odin," he echoed, his voice deep and calm, carrying both patience and quiet disdain. "Well, his entire cosmos is about to consumed, so it’s understandable that he was anxious."
His fingers drummed lightly upon the armrest of his throne as he added in a detached murmur, "Still, perhaps it is time we strengthen our ranks. Tell me, Nyx, should we involve the Titans as well?"
Nyx’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her starlit eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint as she moved to stand beside him, her midnight gown flowing like liquid night.
"We should," she replied smoothly, her tone thoughtful but resolute. "They may have been defeated once, but the Titans remain a formidable force, they are ancient, proud, and hungry for redemption. If we release them, their power will swell the ranks of our side. We need every ounce of strength we can muster."
Hades hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze distant as he leaned back upon his throne, fingers pressed to his temple in contemplation.
The idea carried merit — the Titans, for all their arrogance, were still kin, bound by old blood and cosmic purpose.
"Yes," he said finally, voice low, "perhaps it is time. The question is... when. The balance of the realms is fragile; one misstep, and the cosmos may crumble before we can act. The Olympians, after all, hated them."
Nyx tilted her head, her tone turning more calculating.
"Then perhaps," she said softly, "we should not stop with the Titans. What of the Giants? Their bodies are blessed — or cursed, depending on the view — with the essence of Anti-Divine. They are a bane to both gods and titans alike, capable of wounding beings no mortal weapon could ever touch. Honestly, I’m surprised you and Gaia were able to make such a perfect group of killing machines."
Her words stirred a flicker of emotion in Hades’s dark eyes — something that might have been sorrow, or perhaps the faint ache of old guilt.
"The Giants..." he murmured, the word heavy with memory.
They are his children, born of jis union with Gaia, in a time when be was... consumed by power.
They were meant to punished the gods, but have nearly torn the cosmos apart.
For a long moment, silence hung between them, a silence filled with the echoes of ages long past.
He closed his eyes briefly, his sigh carrying both weight and melancholy.
Although Hades had sentenced them to be imprisoned in Tartarus, but in truth, their punishment was never as cruel as it seemed.
He could not bring himself to destroy them, his own blood and flesh. So under the guise of imprisonment, he tasked them instead to maintain order within Tartarus.
Campe watches over them, she ensures they remain disciplined, focused... useful.
Nyx regarded him quietly, her expression softening. There was something deeply human in the god before her — a rare flicker of emotion hidden beneath an eternity of calm authority.
She stepped closer again, her hand brushing his shoulder.
"You still care for them," she said gently, her tone carrying no judgment.
Hades did not answer immediately. His gaze turned toward the abyssal depths that lay beyond the hall — the unseen chasms where souls whispered and eternity slumbered.
"Perhaps," he said at last, voice quiet but firm, "a father never truly ceases to care for his children... even the ones born of darkness."
Nyx smiled faintly, her eyes softening with something almost like affection.
"Then perhaps it’s time," she whispered, "to call upon them once more. The cosmos trembles, my love. And every power we have increases our chance for survival."
Hades’s lips curved into a faint, wistful smile as his eyes gleamed like distant stars reflected upon black waters.
"Then let us prepare," he murmured, his voice low and resolute. "We don’t want to make Odin wait too long."