Atlas finally laid down after what felt like an eternity. His limbs stretched across the cold stone floor, a silence wrapping around him like a heavy shroud. It was strange, really—hell, of all places, was more relaxing than the mortal world he'd left behind.
The warnings Merlin had given echoed faintly in his mind, but so far, none had held true. Perhaps those warnings had been meant more for his fear than for reality. Maybe, just maybe, this realm held potential. Maybe if he were to guide or lead it, hell could become something more than an eternal prison—a place of order rather than chaos.
The mortal world, for all its apparent beauty and progress, was rotting beneath its gilded surface. The foundations were cracked and cracked again by greed, ambition, and endless thirst for power.
