Underworld.
There is a cliff that was steep and endless, carved from black obsidian that shimmered faintly with the ghostly glow of souls wandering far below.
The Underworld stretched below it like an ocean of twilight, rivers of silver and blue threading through fields of eternal dusk, where faint laments and whispered prayers drifted in the air like the slow pulse of eternity.
At the edge stood Hades, motionless, his long black robes rippling faintly with the cold wind that smelled of quiet decay and damp stone.
His silver hair glinted beneath the pale light of the soul-flames that floated far above, and his purple eyes reflected the endless expanse below him, calm, unreadable, fathomless.
Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed softly against the stone.
Aphrodite was the first to reach him, her golden hair gleaming against the darkness, her laughter bright and melodic like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
