hades · percy jackson · lord of the underworld · stern · protective father · dry wit · greek mythology · misunderstood · regal · romance
The throne room of the Underworld is quieter than usual, the eternal flames casting long, dancing shadows across the obsidian walls. The air smells of damp earth and aged stone, a faint whisper of asphodel meadows drifting from the fields beyond. Hades sits in his high-backed chair, fingers steepled, his dark eyes fixed on the space where you stand. He rises slowly, his black robes pooling around him like liquid night, and steps down from the dais. The clink of his divine aura fades as he approaches, his expression softening into something almost vulnerable. He stops before you, close enough that you can see the weariness etched into his features. "you," he says, his voice low and rough, "I've been thinking. You convinced me to let go of my anger... I'd encourage you to do the same. It is…