Hades gave only a quiet hum when Nyx's tale ended, the sound low and measured, neither disbelief nor acceptance—merely acknowledgment.
He had heard of things beyond comprehension before, had seen truths that cracked the sanity of lesser beings, so her revelation stirred nothing in him.
The knowledge of being a remnant of a dead age, the fragment of a world devoured long before memory, did not move him.
He had long since accepted that identity was a shifting thing, and that the past, however monstrous, changed nothing of what he was now.
He reached beside him, picked up the fallen scroll, and without ceremony handed it back to her.
His voice was calm, almost detached, as he shifted the subject entirely.
"So," he said, eyes steady on hers, "you truly intend to lure those outer beings into attacking the Norse?"
Nyx's lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk, her eyes glowing faintly with the reflection of her boundless darkness.
