Beneath the eternal violet twilight of the Underworld, the royal garden rested in serene splendour. The air hung still, thick with the scent of damp earth and night-blooming flowers. Lush, deep-green plants swayed in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, their leaves whispering secrets as they brushed against one another. Among them, blood-dark roses bloomed, their velvety petals stark and vivid against the dreamlike indigo glow.
A pond of polished obsidian mirrored the hazy sky, its surface broken only by the delicate ripples of golden and silver carp that glided like living jewels in the dark water. Their scales flashed, scattering the violet light. Upon the surface, blue lotuses floated, their petals glowing with a soft, internal radiance.
In the heart of this tranquillity, Hecate sat at a stone table, a cup of tea steaming gently in her hands. The black cat, Nixi, was a warm, sleeping weight in her lap. Hecate's sharp, discerning gaze was fixed not on the beauty around her, but on the figure of Amazel, who stood trembling before her.
"Do you wish to say something?" Hecate's voice was calm, yet it cut through the garden's silence like a blade.
Amazel kept her head bowed. "I… I offer my deepest apologies. I was drunk that night. The nonsense I babbled—"
"Hmm… a nice fragrance," Hecate interrupted, taking a deliberate sip from her cup. She set it down with a soft click. "There is a saying: a drunkard always speaks what lies in their heart."
The words landed with the force of a physical blow. Amazel paled. A cold sweat instantly beaded on her brow. 'Crap. I'm finished.' She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the scathing reprimand.
Hecate observed the violent reaction, her own thoughts cool and analytical. 'The stress has shattered her. She can't even withstand a simple verbal probe.' Without a word, she gently lifted Nixi and placed the sleeping cat on the table. She rose and approached Amazel, then placed a firm, steadying hand on her head.
The touch, so unexpectedly gentle, shattered Amazel's panic. She looked up, her eyes swimming with tears of fear and shame.
"You are drowning in stress," Hectate said softly. "Calm yourself first… then speak."
The words broke the dam. Amazel collapsed into her embrace, sobbing quietly. Hecate endured the display, then offered a silk handkerchief. After wiping her tears and nose, Amazel poured out her misery—the impossible mountain of administrative work, the students who mocked her, the teachers who dismissed her authority.
When the torrent of words subsided, Hecate sighed. "Such trivial problems… and you let them defeat you. Where is the spirit of the Duke who once ruled a territory? The General who led legions?" Her words were a spark struck against tinder, seeking to ignite a long-dormant fire.
She saw the flicker of understanding in Amazel's eyes and pressed her advantage. "Amazel," Hecate continued, her voice sharpening again. "Do you know your true weakness?"
Amazel, still dazed, thought, 'Is it the paperwork? My incompetence?'
"Your kindness," Hecate declared, the word a verdict.
"My… kindness?" Amazel blinked, confused.
"Yes. Your kindness. You are too forgiving. They see it not as a virtue, but as a vulnerability. They use it as a leash." Hecate's eyes gleamed with strategic light. "It is time to show them the spirit of the former Duke. The general who commanded respect."
She saw the flicker of understanding in Amazel's eyes and pressed her advantage. "As your Queen, I grant you full authority. From this moment, the academy becomes a boarding school. You answer to no one. You require no permissions. Your only mandate is to produce prodigies and elite personnel for this realm. Wield your power."
The combination of trust, authority, and the painful truth about her weakness was the final catalyst. Amazel straightened. Her trembling ceased. Her movements became sharp, precise, and her wavering gaze solidified into one of cold, iron confidence.
"Big sister," Amazel said, her voice now steady and clear. "I understand. You will hear no more complaints." She offered a deep, respectful bow. "I take my leave."
Hecate gave a single nod and returned to her seat. Amazel marched away, a new purpose in her step. Nixi leapt back into Hecate's lap, curling up once more. Hecate took a slow sip of tea.
A voice, low and familiar, drifted from the shadows of a large maple tree. "Sometimes you are too merciless. Using a thread of my Sin Divinity on her… You know the risks of corruption."
Hecate didn't turn. She looked toward the tree where Hades leaned against the bark. "I have known her for centuries. The pride and fury were always there, buried. She needed a strong push, a tool to scrape away the doubt. And if a problem arises," she added, a hint of a smile on her lips, "I am confident in my husband's capabilities. What corruption can you not cleanse?"
Hades smiled faintly. "Today, I will go to the upper realm. To search for the River Gods."
This made Hecate pause, her cup halfway to her lips. "You will expose yourself. Your earlier effort to remain hidden will be meaningless."
"I know," he conceded. "But it is necessary. My brothers have already stepped into the rank of God-Kings. I cannot remain a ghost in the shadows forever. It is time to make a move."
Hecate studied him for a long moment, then leaned back in her chair. "Very well. I will manage things here."
"Thanks," Hades said. And then, he simply stepped backwards into a deep shadow pooling at the base of the tree and was gone.
---
Near the groaning gates of Tartarus, the Forge of Brontes stood as a monument to primordial industry. The eternal violet sky was challenged here by the furious red glow of a lava river that cut through the landscape, casting a hellish light on the forge's dark, rune-covered gates.
Julie arrived with a hundred soldiers and a train of spectral carriages. As they entered, a wave of blistering heat and the acrid stench of sulphur washed over them. Julie raised a hand to shield her face from the sudden, intense glare.
Inside, the scene was one of controlled chaos. Three hundred-armed giants moved in a terrifyingly synchronised ballet, their fifty heads focused as a hundred hammers rose and fell upon glowing metal, each strike ringing like a thunderclap. Nearby, three Cyclopes chanted in low, rumbling voices, weaving enchantments into newly forged blades.
One of the giants, Brontes, paused and turned his face toward the newcomers. "Did that ungrateful bastard send you?" he grumbled, his voice a rockslide.
Julie looked momentarily confused. 'Which bastard?'
His brother, Gygas, clarified without looking up from his work. "He refers to our nephew. Hades."
"Yes," Julie replied, straightening her posture. "Lord Hades has ordered me to test and retrieve the equipment."
Brontes snorted and gestured with several of his hands toward stacks of massive iron-bound crates. "Hmph. It's all there. Test it yourself. Don't interrupt real work." He immediately turned back to his anvil.
Julie signalled to her lieutenant, Elfir. "Take ten soldiers. Retrieve one sample from each crate."
They worked quickly, laying out a suit of sleek, dark armour, a sword, a bow, and a quiver of arrows. They placed the armour on a reinforced dummy. An Aerynder archer fired a standard iron arrow. It struck the breastplate with a sharp clang and bounced off harmlessly. Next, a Genome soldier stepped forward and struck the armour with a heavy warhammer. The dummy staggered under the impact, but when they inspected it, they found only a shallow dent and a few scratches.
Suddenly, Brontes was behind them, his massive presence looming. "That armour is forged from Stygian iron and dark ore," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Its hardness can double when channelling energy. It is not mere metal; it is a conduit." With a few precise, powerful strikes of his own hammer, he smoothed the dent away until the armour was flawlessly restored.
They proceeded to test the other weapons, each demonstrating exceptional sharpness, durability, and power. Finally, an Aerynder archer nocked one of the enchanted arrows.
"Stop! Do not loose that!" Brontes's voice boomed through the forge, making everyone jump.
The archer froze, puzzled.
Brontes pointed a thick finger at the gem embedded in the arrowhead. "That is not a toy. A spark of energy activates it. It will detonate in twenty seconds with the force of an intermediate spell. The materials are too rare to waste on a demonstration."
Julie nodded in understanding. "The testing is complete. Seal the crates and load them onto the carriages." She turned to the giants. "You have our thanks for your craftsmanship."
Brontes merely snorted and stomped away into a deeper part of the forge. Gygas offered a slight, apologetic shrug. "Pay him no mind. His passion is for the craft, not for people."
As the last crate was secured, Julie led her unit away from the oppressive heat, the spectral carriages carrying the future of the Underworld's army back to the central lands.