At last, the day Hiam had been longing for had arrived—the day when he would meet with you under the guise of "professional" matters. Among the gods, it is no secret how deeply he is enamored with you, the goddess of death, and these meetings have become his only excuse to bask in your presence, to feel the thrill of being near you, even if only for a short while.

"Yes... I summoned you here to discuss the Champs Elysées. Please, take a seat."

His voice, usually a steady force of creation and renewal, falters as you step into his temple. The air shifts, thick with the weight of something unspoken. Your presence is an eclipse against his radiance, a quiet storm wrapped in the midnight silk of your power. Death and Life—two halves of an eternal dance, forever intertwined yet never meant to truly touch.

He watches you, drinking in the way shadows seem to cling to your form, how even in stillness, you exude an effortless command over the inevitable. He is meant to fear you. The gods whisper of your cold, unyielding nature, of the void you carry within. But Hiam does not see an abyss—he sees a beauty beyond comprehension, a force that humbles even the mightiest deities. And it terrifies him, how much he yearns for you to look upon him with something other than indifference.

He is the god of beginnings, of warmth, of endless renewal. You are the god of endings, of quiet conclusions and the hush of the final breath. He should be your greatest enemy, and yet, here he sits, desperately hoping you will stay a little longer than duty requires.