Underworld.
The asphodel fields stretched endlessly, their pale blossoms swaying gently under the faint light that filtered through the Underworld skies, carrying with them a sense of quiet sorrow and eternal stillness.
Hades walked slowly, his measured footsteps crunching against the soil that had never known sunlight, his gaze fixed upon the figure walking ahead of him.
Hecate's long hair shifted with each step, and her slender fingers brushed delicately across the flowers as if she were coaxing life into their weary petals.
There was something soothing, something profoundly grounding about her presence.
For Hades, who bore the weight of countless souls, of judgment and death, her existence was the one place where he could let go, where he could cast aside the heavy mantle of king and simply be himself.
She was the one who had remained by his side long before he sat upon the throne of the dead.
