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The corridors of Ares' fortress were silent. The air still reeked faintly of burnt ozone and musk, a trace that unsettled even the most battle-hardened demons.
Hades walked through the long obsidian hall with his cloak trailing behind him like the tail of night itself. His eyes were half-shadowed, but the anger that lingered in them was unmistakable — the storm hadn't been natural, and he knew exactly whose hand was behind it.
When he reached Ares' chamber, the vampire king was already waiting — a crimson cloak thrown loosely over his shoulders, silver goblet in hand, and that usual grin that carried more charm than sincerity.
"Come in, brother of shadows," Ares said, his voice carrying through the candlelight. "I heard thunder growling like a jealous god. I thought perhaps it was you losing your temper again."
Hades shot him a sideways glance and sank into the chair opposite him. "It wasn't me this time."
Ares' grin widened. "That's a first."
The Demon King ignored the jest. He leaned forward, fingers steepled, his voice low and deliberate. "It's her, Ares. Velia."
The air thickened instantly, the name itself dragging an echo of memory between them.
"She was always trouble," Ares muttered, setting his goblet aside. "But to conjure a storm powerful enough to bend the skies… that's not ordinary witchcraft."
Hades' eyes flickered with old bitterness. "She was never ordinary. You remember why she was banished."
Ares leaned back. "I remember you two being inseparable once."
"She envied power, not love," Hades said coldly. "She thought herself my equal — but jealousy twisted her. When Hazel came into my life, Velia's hatred deepened. She wanted to destroy what she couldn't have."
A moment passed. The fire snapped in the hearth, briefly painting their faces in crimson and gold — two ancient kings, both sinners in their own ways, yet bound by the strange loyalty of immortality.
"So this storm," Ares said slowly, "you think it's her calling card?"
"It reeked of serpentine magic," Hades replied, his tone sharp. "Only Velia would dare merge witchcraft with ancient serpent sigils. She's planning something far darker than revenge."
Ares poured another glass of wine and offered it wordlessly. Hades waved it off.
"She's aligning herself with someone," the vampire king said, studying the dark liquid in his goblet. "No one conjures that kind of chaos alone."
"I know," Hades murmured. "Which is why we can't wait for her next move."
Ares' gaze sharpened. "Then we ride at dawn."
Hades lifted an eyebrow. "To where?"
"The Moon Vale," Ares answered. "Lycan's empire. That storm crossed through his borders before it reached ours. If Velia's involved, she'll leave traces there. From there, we move to the Rune Coven — Alyssa's people may have sensed it."
At that, Hades groaned softly, rubbing his temples. "Great. A journey to the empire of a beast king who's also in love with my wife."
Ares barked out a laugh. "Ah, yes. The infamous Lycan — half wolf, half fool."
"I'm serious," Hades muttered darkly.
"Oh, I know you are," Ares said with amusement. "But you can't blame him, Hades. Your wife is something else. The kind of woman who makes even time itself hold its breath."
Hades' eyes narrowed, warning glint in their depths. "Ares."
But Ares continued, smirking slightly. "I mean it. There's something divine about her beauty — not just her face, but the aura around her. She carries a light that shouldn't belong in the underworld. It's rare. It's almost—"
"That's enough," Hades interrupted, his voice quiet but cutting. "You don't speak of another man's wife in that manner."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them — heavy and electric. Then Ares laughed softly and leaned back, unbothered.
"Jealousy doesn't suit you, brother."
Hades' lips curved faintly. "Then stop trying it on for size."
Ares raised his goblet in mock salute. "Fair enough. Tell me then, when did the great Hades, Lord of Shadows, fall for his human queen?"
The question caught him off guard. Hades' gaze drifted to the flames, the sharp lines of his face softening.
"Since the first time I saw her," he said quietly. "There was something… familiar. Like looking into a mirror that showed the better part of me. She was broken, cast aside by her own kind — yet she still glowed. I wanted to protect that light. At first, that was all. But then…"
He paused, his eyes unfocusing slightly, as though seeing Hazel in his mind — her soft defiance, her warmth, the way her laughter chipped away at his solitude.
"It became more," he finished, almost whispering. "Something I can't destroy, no matter how much I try."
Ares watched him in silence. For all his charm, there was a shadow of respect in his eyes now.
"So," Ares said finally, "you've fallen completely."
Hades gave a low laugh, one that sounded more like surrender than amusement. "Seems so."
Ares swirled the wine in his goblet before saying, "You know I won't stop loving her."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Hades met his gaze — no anger, no threat, just quiet certainty. "I know."
"Then may the best man win," Ares said lightly.
Hades smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, I'll win. But I'll kill any of you if you so much as look at her too long."
Ares laughed again — low, rich, unbothered — and drank deeply. "There's the Hades I know."
Outside, thunder cracked again — distant, echoing. The storm hadn't entirely left; it lingered like a warning.
Far from the laughter and the quiet arrogance of kings, Hazel stirred in her sleep.
The room around her was peaceful, moonlight streaming through the high window, bathing her in silver. Yet her breathing was uneven. Her fingers twitched. Sweat glistened along her temples.
She was dreaming.
Or perhaps — remembering.
The world in her vision was nothing like reality.
She stood in a vast, suffocating darkness. The air burned cold and hot at once, thick with sulfur and whispering souls. The walls that enclosed her were made of flame-stone — solid bricks of molten fire, pulsing faintly as though alive, veins of magic running through them like glowing blood. The floor beneath her feet was littered with bones — small and large, brittle and scorched.
It wasn't a prison built by mortals. It was something ancient. Something that reeked of elemental punishment.
Her heart pounded painfully. "Where… am I?"
The silence was immense. Then — a voice.
"You found your way here…"
Hazel froze. The voice wasn't human. It came from everywhere at once — deep, melodic, dripping with venom and delight.
"You never cease to amaze me."
She turned sharply, eyes scanning the shadows between the flame-walls. There was no shape, no figure — only the faint ripple of heat distorting the air.
"Who's there?" she called. Her voice trembled.
The laughter that followed wasn't loud, but it echoed through her bones.
"Poor child of flame… you don't even know what you are."
Hazel took a step back. "Show yourself."
"Oh, but I will soon," the voice hissed. "When the walls that bind me finally fall. When the blood that sealed me runs free again."
The ground shuddered beneath her. The bones rattled. From the cracks in the fiery stone, black mist began to seep out — alive, hissing, twisting into serpentine shapes.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"I am what your kind tried to forget," it said, closer now. "The shadow that fire fears. The serpent beneath the sun."
The air grew heavy. Her lungs burned. She stumbled backward as a vast silhouette rose before her — the vague outline of a colossal serpent, scales glistening like molten obsidian, eyes like twin pits of molten gold.
It coiled higher, its body scraping against the fire-walls, cracking them. The heat was unbearable.
"When I am free," it whispered, voice low and resonant, "I will find you, little flame. And I will finish what was started."
Her heart hammered against her ribs. "What do you mean?"
But before the answer came, the serpent lunged — massive jaws parting, fangs glowing white-hot as they came down toward her.
Hazel screamed—
—and jolted awake.
Her breath came in gasps, her heart racing wildly. She sat up, clutching her sheets, her eyes darting around the dimly lit room. The moonlight had turned pale, distant.
There was no serpent. No flames. No prison.
Yet she could still feel the heat. The faint singe of fire beneath her palms.
Her hands were trembling. When she looked down, faint red-gold embers glowed briefly along her fingertips before fading.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "What was that…?"
The silence gave no answer.
But somewhere — far beyond the mortal plane, in the depths of the realm forgotten by time — something stirred.
The walls of the Serpent's Prison quivered. A single crack, thin as a hairline, spread across its flaming bricks.
And from within, a hiss echoed.