The God of Underworld-Chapter 63 - 18:

In the ever-twilight realm of the Underworld, where shadows whispered and souls passed in silence, a rare warmth bloomed by the banks of the River Lethe.

The river, ever calm, shimmered faintly under the faint glow of blue lantern-flames that floated above the dining pavilion.

The tranquility of this day was not born from magic or divine command—but from the collective decision of gods and goddesses to simply rest.

Hades and his ’secretaries’ has been too tired lately, so they needed to relax.

A long obsidian table stretched across a flat terrace by the river, its surface polished until it reflected the faces of those seated around it.

The air was cool and still, filled only with the gentle sound of Lethe’s waters trickling by and the occasional laughter of godly voices.

Hades, Lord of the Underworld, sat at the head of the table.

Dressed in dark silks embroidered with silver thorns, his usually solemn face was softened by something uncharacteristic—contentment.

He held a delicate goblet carved from soul crystal, filled with a wine fermented in the depths of Tartarus.

Beside him, Aphrodite lounged with her elbow resting on the table, her long golden hair tied into a messy braid that trailed over her shoulder.

She was barefoot, her sandals tossed carelessly nearby, her demeanor relaxed and teasing.

"So," Aphrodite began, swirling her drink with mischief in her golden eyes, "does every meal in the Underworld come with background wailing, or is that just the ambiance?"

This is the first time since she came here that she participated on the rare picnic of "Hades and Friends".

"That’s the screams of the condemned," Styx replied dryly, tossing a few fruits to her mouth, "You get used to it. Like the sound of wind in the overworld."

Aphrodite chuckled. "Charming."

On Hades’ other side, Hecate was calmly dissecting a glowing mushroom with silver utensils, her expression one of intense interest.

"It’s said the River Lethe carries memories. People who drank from it would have their memories erased and stored in the river."

Lethe, the river’s personification, leaned back in her seat with a distant smile. "Yes, that’s a recent addition. Lord Hades wanted those memories to made into books so his library would keep expanding."

"Speaking of forget, I’d pay good drachma to forget certain things," said Demeter, eyes showing anger as she remembered things of the past.

She wanted to forget about how Zeus and Poseidon tried to lay their hands on her. Really, if not for her twin sickles which made her able to fend off his brothers.

Minthe, seated between Lethe and Demeter, noticed Demeter’s foul mood and changed the subject. "Hey Aphrodite!"

Aphrodite, who was about to put a pomegranate on her mouth, suddenly stopped and stared back.

"Don’t you dare eat anything from underworld or you’ll be stuck as an underworld goddess!"

Aphrodite simply smiled and laughed, "It doesn’t really matter, does it? I never leave to pay nemfire rakkmmmmm,,

Demeter huffed but couldn’t hide her amusement. "Or maybe it just responds to your stubbornness."

"Call it passion," Minthe said sweetly, sipping a glass of pomegranate nectar.

Hades leaned slightly toward Aphrodite, who had begun braiding a tiny wreath from Lethe lilies.

"You’re awfully sociable," he said. "That’s a rare phenomenon."

She smirked. "I’m watching. Taking in your little family. It’s... sweet. And weird. But mostly sweet."

Her eyes sparkled. "Who would have guessed that the Underworld has picnic days?"

"Don’t speak too loud," Styx muttered. "If the souls hear we’re enjoying ourselves, they’ll riot."

They all laughed at that, even Lethe, whose laughter was like the breeze passing over calm water—barely audible, but beautiful nonetheless.

Suddenly, a ghostly soul drifted too close to the perimeter. Hecate raised a finger and gently redirected it with a spark of purple magic, sending it floating away with a dazed expression.

"Occupational hazard," she said calmly.

Aphrodite stood, stretched luxuriously, and walked barefoot over to the riverbank.

Her hair caught the light like fireflies as she stared at the water.

"Do they still drink from you, Lethe" she asked curiously.

"Every day," Lethe replied, her voice layered with old beg for forgetfulness. Others fear it. But all who pass here, eventually drink."

"That’s terrifying." Aphrodite said.

"Yes, but necessary," Hades replied, to join her. "Mortals can’t enter their next life carrying the weight of the last. Even pain must fade."

Aphrodite glanced at him. "And what about us gods? Do we forget?"

"No," Hades said with a faint smile.bWe remember too much."

Minthe and Demeter had gone into a quiet debate about underworld soil composition, while Styx calmly judged them both, sipping from her flask of water sourced directly from her river.

Hecate was etching something into her plate with her fork—likely a sigil or a spell out of boredom.

Lethe, meanwhile, stared into her own reflection on the river.

"Even I," she whispered, "wish I could forget... sometimes."

Hades heard her, but he said nothing.

A silence settled over the group—not heavy, but thoughtful.

It didn’t last long.

"Alright," Aphrodite broke it with her usual tact. "If anyone here still remembers how to dance, I propose we do it. Right now. I refuse to let a picnic in the Underworld end without at least one waltz."

"I don’t dance," Styx said immediately.

"I do," said Lethe, surprising them all.

Aphrodite grinned. "Then we’ll start with the River herself."

And so they danced, beside the waters of forgetting. Gods and goddesses, old and eternal, who had seen the rise and fall of ages—finding, if only for a fleeting moment, peace.

Even in the Underworld.

Even surrounded by the dead.

They laughed. They danced.

At this moment, they simply enjoyed themselves.

*

*

*

High above the clouds, where lightning danced and winds howled in reverence, the golden halls of Olympus glimmered beneath the divine sun.

At the center of it all, on a dais carved from celestial marble and veined with pure stormlight, Zeus sat tall upon his throne—lightning crown aglow, eyes thunderous with pride.

Before him, a semicircle of kneeling gods awaited his proclamation.

Trumpets of wind and eagle cries echoed through the great hall as the King of the Gods rose, arms wide, voice rolling like distant thunder.

"Let the heavens bear witness,x he declared, "for today, the Council of Twelve shall be complete. Olympus shall shine in divine order once more!"

The kneeling gods raised their heads slightly as Zeus began his decree, golden light flaring from his hands.

"To my children, Apollo and Artemis—born of fair Leto, loyal and mighty—you shall take your place among the Twelve. Apollo, Lord of Light, and Artemis, Huntress of the Moon. Let your thrones rise beside mine."

Two new thrones emerged with a rumble, forged from white gold and carved moonstone, radiant in their symmetry.

Next, Zeus turned toward the armored figures beside them.

"Athena, child of wisdom, born from Metis—though she emerged from her mother’s mind, she is of Olympus blood. And Ares, bold and wrathful, forged in war. Let both stand as gods of strategy and strength. The realm shall need both mind and muscle."

Another pair of thrones rose, one of cold iron laced with rubies, the other of pristine marble etched with ancient scripts.

"Dionysus," Zeus said with a smirk, raising a goblet of wine, ’you, child of revelry, of madness and joy—you make Olympus louder, stranger... but never dull. Your gifts bring laughter and release. And your wine is divine. Take your throne."

A chair of polished grapevine wood burst forth, trailing ivy and laughter as Dionysus grinned ear to ear.

"Astrea," Zeus continued, "daughter of Astraeus, who stood beside me when titans raged—I honor your father’s loyalty through you. Goddess of justice, you shall carry the weight of balance among us."

Her throne appeared next, formed of starlight and scales, silent and serene.

"Hephaestus," he said next, glancing toward the limping god of fire and forge. "Born of Metis, shaped by will alone. The one who crafts our arms, our halls, our legends. Olympus needs your hands."

Hephaestus bowed deeply, and a mighty throne of molten bronze and cooled iron erupted in a cloud of sparks.

And then, with dramatic pause, Zeus turned to the side.

"And of course—your King, your Stormbringer. Myself."

Thunder crackled overhead.

"Beside me, my loyal brother, Poseidon, Lord of the Sea. My sister, Hestia, heart of Olympus. My queen, Metis, source of wisdom and mother of divine minds."

With those final names, the thrones of seafoam coral, eternal flame, and crystalline thought completed the circle. Twelve thrones. Twelve gods.

"The Olympian Council is now complete!"Zeus bellowed.

A surge of divine power pulsed through the hall. Olympus trembled with affirmation.

But just as the applause rose, a minor god stepped forward nervously.

"Lord Zeus, what of Lady Hera? And Lady Demeter?"

The skies darkened for a moment. Zeus scowled, waving a dismissive hand.

"They’ve failed to attend even a single meeting. What use are gods who do not act? Let them wander. Olympus has no room for the idle."

The assembly was quiet for a moment.

Then Zeus raised his arms again.

"Let us celebrate the Twelve. Let their names echo through the mortal realms. Let Olympus thrive, united under the might of its gods!"