The God of Underworld-Chapter 22: Plants and Fire

Underworld.

Demeter let out a groan of frustration, watching as the small sprouts she had carefully planted withered and crumbled into dust.

She knelt, running her fingers through the lifeless soil, only to find it dry, almost brittle, as if it rejected life itself.

"This place is awful," she muttered, stomping her foot. "Not even a single blade of grass can survive here! How does my brother live in such a miserable place?"

She pouted, crossing her arms. The idea of spending an eternity in the Underworld, surrounded by cold stone and lifeless terrain, made her shudder.

"Um..."

A soft, hesitant voice broke through her thoughts. Demeter turned, her golden eyes locking onto a young woman standing a few steps away.

She had long, flowing green hair that shimmered like river reeds, and deep emerald eyes that glowed faintly in the dim underworld light.

She fidgeted slightly, shifting her weight as if unsure of herself.

"Who are you?" Demeter asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

The woman bowed her head slightly, her voice gentle. "I am Minthe, daughter of the river god Cocytus. I serve here in the Underworld."

Demeter blinked. "Cocytus...? The river of wailing?"

She looked Minthe up and down, noting how different she seemed from the bleak, sorrowful waters her father represented. "And what do you want with me?"

Minthe hesitated before clasping her hands together, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I have long been fascinated by the idea of plants and flowers. We have nothing like them here. I was wondering if I could observe you while you work... if that’s alright."

Demeter’s eyes widened. "You’re interested in plants?"

Minthe nodded eagerly, though her expression remained shy.

For a moment, Demeter simply stared at her. Then, in an instant, her frustration evaporated, replaced by unrestrained excitement.

"Finally! Someone who understands!" She grasped Minthe’s hands with a bright grin, squeezing them as she practically beamed. "We can water plants! Or harvest fruits! Or even talk about any hot guys! Like my dear brother Hades!"

Minthe immediately turned red in embarrassment. "N-No! I don’t dare think about lord Hades like that! Lord Hades is...lord Hades is..."

Demeter looked at her with a raised brow, before a wide grin broke out of her face. She doesn’t need to be a goddess of love to know what Minthe feels about her brother.

"You like Hades?"

Demeter almost laughed outloud seeing smoke literally come out of Minthe’s head as her face turned as red as a tomato.

"I...I..." Minthe tried to say anything, but words are getting stuck in her throat.

In the end, she can only lower her head.

"Fufufu~," Demeter laughed teasingly.

After she had her fun, she decided to finally stop teasing the poor nymph. "Alright, calm down. Let’s just talk about plants. Like, did you know some plants, like orchids, mimic female wasps to lure male wasps to pollinate them?"

"Really?" Minthe’s eyes lit up, her embarrassment moments ago completely forgotten.

"Yep!" Demeter nodded, "So let’s start planting! There are many more interesting things about plants that I will personally teach you!"

Minthe blinked in surprise, but before she could react, Demeter suddenly deflated, her excitement fading into a dramatic sigh.

"Except..." she groaned, motioning to the lifeless ground, "this place is completely hopeless! The soil rejects my power, the air is stagnant, and there’s no sunlight. How am I supposed to grow anything?"

Minthe looked down, biting her lip.

"I... I don’t know. But..." she hesitated, then looked up with hopeful determination, "maybe we can figure it out together?"

Demeter stared at her for a moment before breaking into a soft smile. "You really mean that?"

Minthe nodded.

Demeter exhaled, brushing a stray lock of orange hair from her face. "Alright, fine. I guess I could use the company. Let’s see if we can force some life into this wretched place."

Minthe’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile. "I would like that."

And with that, the two of them knelt together before the barren soil, two unlikely allies in a realm that had never known life.

****

The Grand Fortress of Pluto, is a titanic, floating bastion of gothic architecture, suspended in the void at the very heart of the Underworld.

Built by Hades himself, it is a grim and imposing structure, eternally wreathed in ghostly mist and dimly illuminated by the eerie glow of spectral lanterns.

Its foundation is forged from obsidian and soulstone, a material infused with the whispers of the dead, making the walls pulse faintly as if breathing.

Towering spires adorned with sharp, menacing gargoyles pierce the oppressive sky, each one carved in the likeness of legendary beasts that once roamed the realm of the dead.

The outer gates, massive and wrought from black iron, are engraved with the names of every soul that has ever passed into the Underworld, their voices murmuring in an eternal, mournful chorus.

Inside, the fortress is a labyrinthine palace of endless halls, shadowed corridors, and great chambers, each echoing with the memories of the past.

The Throne Hall, where Hades presides, is an awe-inspiring cathedral of death, its ceiling an endless night sky dotted with spectral constellations.

A river of stygian fire flows beneath the grand staircase, illuminating the throne—a towering seat carved from the bones of fallen titans, pulsing with dark power.

At its highest point, the Ebon Spire rises above all, a lone tower from which the Lord of the Underworld can gaze upon his entire dominion.

From here, he commands the passage of souls, ensuring that no spirit escapes and no god intrudes without his will.

And at the heart of this castle, lies a grand hall where Hestia built her hearth.

At this moment...

Hestia knelt before the grand hearth she had built at the heart of Hades’ castle, gently stoking the flames with practiced ease.

The warm glow flickered across the gothic stone walls, casting long shadows that danced like whispers of forgotten souls. Yet, for all the bleakness that surrounded them, this place—this fire—felt like home.

The Underworld had been cold and desolate when they first arrived, but since she had placed her sacred flame within these walls, something had changed.

The wandering souls, once aimless and tormented, now found a strange peace in its warmth. They lingered near the castle, as if drawn by an instinctual need for comfort.

Hestia didn’t mind. This was her purpose—to bring warmth where there was none.

Behind her, two figures sat comfortably on plush chairs near the hearth: her mother, Rhea, and the Titaness Themis. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

Themis, ever the picture of composed wisdom, sipped from a cup of herbal tea, while Rhea stretched out with a contented sigh, relishing the warmth of the flames.

"I must say," Rhea mused, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face, "your hearth is truly remarkable, Hestia. I never imagined the Underworld could feel... cozy."

Hestia smiled, her golden eyes twinkling in the firelight. "The hearth is the heart of every home. Even in the Underworld, it can make a difference."

Themis hummed in agreement, setting down her tea. "It is remarkable, indeed. The souls that wander these lands seem calmer, as if your fire soothes them."

Hestia tilted her head. "I suppose it does. Warmth isn’t just physical—it’s a feeling, a sense of belonging. Even the dead deserve that."

Rhea reached over and affectionately patted Hestia’s knee. "You always were the kindest of my children."

Hestia chuckled softly. "You say that as if it’s a bad thing."

"Not at all," Rhea said, shaking her head. "But speaking of children, dear... have you ever considered having your own?"

Hestia nearly dropped the poker she was using to tend the fire. "M-Mother!"

Themis chuckled behind her tea cup, amused by Hestia’s flustered expression. "Oh, Rhea, let the girl breathe."

"What?" Rhea shrugged, a playful twinkle in her eye. "I’m simply curious. You are a beautiful young goddess, Hestia. Any god would be lucky to have you."

Hestia sighed, rubbing her temples. "I’ve already made my vow, Mother. I have no interest in marriage."

Rhea waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, vows, shmows. You’re still young. You may change your mind one day."

Hestia huffed, crossing her arms. "I sincerely doubt that."

Themis smirked. "You know, Rhea, not every woman dreams of marriage. Hestia has found her purpose in tending the hearth and keeping the peace among the family. It is a noble calling."

Hestia shot her a grateful look. "Thank you, Themis."

Rhea sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. But I’d still like grandchildren someday. I have to live through someone now that my days of childbearing are over."

Hestia groaned. "Perhaps you should ask Demeter, then. She’s far more likely to settle down than I am."

"Oh, I intend to," Rhea said matter-of-factly. "But you were here first, so you get the lecture first."

Hestia rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. Despite her mother’s teasing, it was comforting to share such lighthearted moments.

They had been through so much—ongoing war, loss, exile—yet here they were, gathered around the fire, speaking of love and family as if they weren’t being hunted down by Cronus.

It felt... normal.

And in the Underworld, normal was a rare and precious thing.