Underworld.
Inside Hades' secret realm.
Hades can be seen tinkering with various mythical glyphs and bloods of primordials.
He had long since forgotten how long he had stayed here.
However, at this moment.
Hades felt something.
The room stilled.
The swirling energies around the realm dimmed. The air tensed, as if frightened.
Something ancient moved through the layers of reality like a root breaking stone, and a whisper—deep, feminine, unfathomable—brushed against his mind.
"Hades."
It wasn't a voice, not in the traditional sense. It was a presence, like the press of mountains on one's chest, like the breath of soil around a buried corpse.
He knew it immediately.
Gaia.
He froze.
The sigils halted midair. Even the glowing blood in the tubes stopped bubbling.
For a moment, he did nothing. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward the stone altar at the center of the room.
He stared at it, silent.
The Primordial Mother had reached out again.
