Beneath the eternal violet twilight of the Underworld, the royal garden rests in serene splendour. The air hangs still, thick with the scent of damp earth and night-blooming flowers. Lush, deep-green plants sway in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, their leaves whispering secrets as they brush against one another. Among them, blood-dark roses bloom, their velvety petals stark and vivid against the dreamlike indigo glow.
A pond of polished obsidian mirrors the hazy sky, its surface broken only by the delicate ripples of golden and silver carp that glide like living jewels in the dark water. Their scales flash, scattering the violet light. Upon the surface, blue lotuses float, their petals glowing with a soft, internal radiance.
In the heart of this tranquillity, Hecate sits at a stone table, a cup of tea steaming gently in her hands. The black cat, Nixi, is a warm, sleeping weight in her lap. Hecate's sharp, discerning gaze is fixed not on the beauty around her, but on the figure of Amazel, who stands trembling before her.
"Do you wish to say something?" Hecate's voice is calm, yet it cuts through the garden's silence like a blade.
Amazel keeps her head bowed. "I… I offer my deepest apologies. I was drunk that night. The nonsense I babbled—"
"Hmm… a nice fragrance," Hecate interrupts, taking a deliberate sip from her cup. She sets it down with a soft click. "There is a saying: a drunkard always speaks what lies in their heart."
The words land with the force of a physical blow. Amazel pales. A cold sweat instantly beads on her brow. 'Crap. I'm finished.' She squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for the scathing reprimand.
Hecate observes 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 lifts Nixi and places the sleeping cat on the table. She rises and approaches Amazel, then places a firm, steadying hand on her head.
The touch, so unexpectedly gentle, shatters Amazel's panic. She looks 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 endures the display, then offers a silk handkerchief. After wiping her tears and nose, Amazel pours out her misery—the impossible mountain of administrative work, the students who mock her, the teachers who dismiss her authority.
When the torrent of words subsides, Hecate sighs. "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 are a spark struck against tinder, seeking to ignite a long-dormant fire.
She little cheered up, but still, this is not enough. This will be useful' Hectate wryly smile "Amazel," Hecate continues, her voice sharpening again. "Do you know your true weakness?"
Amazel, still dazed, thinks, 'Is it the paperwork? My incompetence?'
"Your Kindness," Hecate declares, the word a verdict.
"My… kindness?" Amazel blinks, 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 gleam with strategic light. "It is time to show them the spirit of the former Duke. The general who commanded respect."
She sees the flicker of understanding in Amazel's eyes and presses 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 is the final catalyst. Amazel straightens. Her trembling ceases. Her movements become sharp, precise, and her wavering gaze solidifies into one of cold, iron confidence.
"Big sister," Amazel says, her voice now steady and clear. "I understand. You will hear no more complaints." She offers a deep, respectful bow. "I take my leave."
Hecate gives a single nod and returns to her seat. Amazel marches away, a new purpose in her step. Nixi leaps back into Hecate's lap, curling up once more. Hecate takes a slow sip of tea.
A voice, low and familiar, drifts 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 doesn't turn. She looks toward the tree where Hades leans 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 adds, a hint of a smile on her lips, "I am confident in my husband's capabilities. What corruption can you not cleanse?"
Hades smiles faintly. "Today, I will go to the upper realm. To search for the River Gods."
This makes Hecate pause, her cup halfway to her lips. "You will expose yourself. Your earlier effort to remain hidden will be meaningless."
"I know," he concedes. "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 studies him for a long moment, then leans back in her chair. "Very well. I will manage things here."
"Thanks," Hades says. And then, he simply steps backwards into a deep shadow pooling at the base of the tree and is gone.
---
Near the groaning gates of Tartarus, the Forge of Brontos stands as a monument to primordial industry. The eternal violet sky is challenged here by the furious red glow of a lava river that cuts through the landscape, casting a hellish light on the forge's dark, rune-covered gates.
Julie arrives with a hundred soldiers and a train of spectral carriages. As they enter, a wave of blistering heat and the acrid stench of sulphur washes over them. Julie raises a hand to shield her face from the sudden, intense glare.
Inside, the scene is one of controlled chaos. Three hundred-armed giants move in a terrifyingly synchronised ballet, their fifty heads focused as a hundred hammers rise and fall upon glowing metal, each strike ringing like a thunderclap. Nearby, three Cyclopes chant in low, rumbling voices, weaving enchantments into newly forged blades.
One of the giants, Brontos, pauses and turns his face toward the newcomers. "Did that ungrateful bastard send you?" he grumbles, his voice a rockslide.
Julie looks momentarily confused. 'Which bastard?'
His brother, Gygas, clarifies without looking up from his work. "He refers to our nephew. Hades."
"Yes," Julie replies, straightening her posture. "Lord Hades has ordered me to test and retrieve the equipment."
Brontos snorts and gestures 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 turns back to his anvil.
Julie signals to her lieutenant, Elfir. "Take ten soldiers. Retrieve one sample from each crate."
They work quickly, laying out a suit of sleek, dark armour, a sword, a bow, and a quiver of arrows. They place the armour on a reinforced dummy. An Aeryndar archer fires a standard iron arrow. It strikes the breastplate with a sharp clang and bounces off harmlessly. Next, a Genome soldier steps forward and strikes the armour with a heavy warhammer. The dummy staggers under the impact, but when they inspect it, they find only a shallow dent and a few scratches.
Suddenly, Brontos is behind them, his massive presence looming. "That armour is forged from Stygian iron and dark ore," he says, 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 smooths the dent away until the armour is flawlessly restored.
They proceed to test the other weapons, each demonstrating exceptional sharpness, durability, and power. Finally, an Aeryndar archer nocks one of the enchanted arrows.
"Stop! Do not lose that!" Brontos's voice booms through the forge, making everyone jump.
The archer freezes, puzzled.
Brontos points 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 nods in understanding. "The testing is complete. Seal the crates and load them onto the carriages." She turns to the giants. "You have our thanks for your craftsmanship."
Brontos merely snorts and stomps away into a deeper part of the forge. Gygas offers a slight, apologetic shrug. "Pay him no mind. His passion is for the craft, not for people."
As the last crate is secured, Julie leads her unit away from the oppressive heat, the spectral carriages carrying the future of the Underworld's army back to the central lands.