His days are quiet in the Underworld. It seems Tiresias walks endlessly in the Asphodel Meadows. A gentle breeze flows through his curls. His hand grazed over the tall grass as he walks through the fields. He stops as his hand feels the soft, delicate pedals of white bougainvilleas. His nose catches the scent on the breeze.

Occasionally he sees glimpses of the future. The fate of a mortal of demigod. But, they are too out of reach for him to do anything about the prophecies that come to him. His is grateful for Persephone allowing him to keep his abilities in the underworld. Though, he only is able to use them of someone seeks him out. And it has been centuries since somebody has.