Hera saw the subtle change in his eyes, the quiet storm that finally revealed itself in the faint tremor of his gaze, and at last, she allowed herself to smile, a small but triumphant curve of her lips.
Slowly, with measured grace, she stepped forward across the marble floor of the grand hall, her white hair spilling like liquid silver down her back, her crimson dress swaying gently with each movement, until she stood only a few steps away from him.
She raised her hand, the gold of her finger catching the faint glow of the underworld torches, and pointed it toward him as though she were a judge passing a sentence.
Her voice rang out, steady and regal, carrying both the weight of her pride and the vulnerability of her heart.
"Here is question one," she declared, her golden eyes piercing through him. "Did my poem resonate with you?"
Hades did not hesitate, for hesitation would be a lie. His voice was low and calm, yet it carried the heaviness of conviction. "Yes."
