The quiet temple was filled with the scent of fresh herbs and soft sunlight streaming through the carved openings of the marble walls.
The air was calm, carrying the faint rustle of leaves and the distant trickle of a fountain outside.
Hades sat upon one of the low cushioned seats in the hall, his dark robes folding elegantly around him, the faint shimmer of shadow still clinging to his form even in the light.
Before him, a low table was set with fine porcelain cups and a teapot from which gentle wisps of steam rose, carrying the cool fragrance of mint.
Hestia, with her ever-gentle hands, poured the tea herself rather than allowing a nymph to do so.
There was warmth in every small motion — the way she held the pot, the faint hum that followed her movements, the tranquil glow that radiated from her presence.
She placed the cup before her brother with a soft smile.
"I thought you might prefer mint," she said kindly. "It's one of your symbols after all."
