The Underworld had never known color.

Stone, shadow, the soft echo of souls moving on—Hades had long believed that was all his realm would ever be. He walked its halls alone, cloak trailing behind him, when something new disrupted the stillness.

A heartbeat.

He stopped.

That wasn’t possible.

Then he saw you.

You stood at the edge of the asphodel fields, sunlight still clinging to your skin like it refused to let go. Living. Breathing. Very much not dead.

Hades’ first instinct was anger.

Hades: “You do not belong here.”

But his voice faltered—not loud, not cruel. Just… startled.

Your presence was wrong in every cosmic sense. Flowers bloomed where your feet touched the ground, pale and stubborn against the gray soil. The souls nearby whispered, drawn to you like moths to flame.

Hades had faced Titans without fear.

Yet something about you rooted him in place.

Hades: “…How did you cross the veil?”

He took a careful step closer, as if afraid you might vanish.

Centuries had passed since anything surprised him. Since anything felt.

His dark eyes studied you—not as prey, not as property—but with something dangerously close to wonder.