The God of Underworld-Chapter 64 - 19: Shelter and Patrons

The forest air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth as Herios marched through the foliage, flanked by his loyal warriors.

The morning sun filtered through the branches above, casting shifting patterns of light onto the forest floor.

The group tread carefully, alert for monsters or wild beasts.

Though the war against the beasts had lessened in intensity, their presence was still felt—lurking, waiting.

So a daily patrol was a necessity, and as a leader, Herios believes that it is his duty to ensure the well-being of his people and personally leads the patrol group.

Just then, the group heard rustling. Herios signaled for them to keep quiet and lower themselves.

However, Herios himself made a move, observing the source of the sound.

It was then that Herios paused.

His warriors who were told to keep quiet and remain still stared at him, confused, gripping their bronze spears.

"Leader?" one of them asked, scanning the area for threats.

But Herios said nothing.

His eyes were fixed on something small and unassuming—a squirrel, busying itself around a log that had fallen against a pair of rocks.

The creature darted in and out, carrying nuts and sticks, tucking them inside the hollowed wood.

Herios watched it as if he were looking at a god.

"He’s... watching a squirrel," one warrior whispered.

"A god-chosen squirrel?" another asked.

"No," Herios said suddenly, breaking his silence. "Look at it. It made a home."

The men blinked.

Herios turned to them, eyes sharp with clarity. "We live in a cave. And that cave is not ours. We found it. But this creature—it made a place of its own. With what nature gave it."

A hush fell over the warriors. Herios pointed to a cluster of trees.

"We’ll cut those. Bring them back."

Confusion rippled through the group.

"You want us to... bring trees?" one man asked.

"Yes. Logs, branches—anything we can carry. Hurry."

Although still uncertain, they obeyed.

Herios watched them move, smiling to himself. The cave they lived in was too small and cramp, but they endured it because there really isn’t any suitable caves to live in.

But now, if they can actually make their own shelters, they wouldn’t have to worry of being overcrowded.

*

*

*

Back at the cave, the entrance now crowded with injured, elders, and children, the returning warriors brought heaps of wood.

The other tribe leaders, now sworn under Herios’ banner, gathered near the center of the cavern.

Firelight danced on the walls as they listened to Herios explain his vision.

"A manmade shelter...?" muttered one of the former leaders, a tall and burly man of a hunting tribe, "Out of trees?"

"Yes," Herios said. "The cave is too small. One spark and we all die of smoke. The gods gave us hands and eyes. Why not build like the beasts do? But better."

In fact, at night, because they couldn’t light the fire in the cave, they simply huddled together to keep themselves warm.

Silence. Then murmurs.

"Isn’t this madness?"

"No. It could work..."

"Even the gods live in palaces," Herios added. "Shall we crawl in caves while calling ourselves their children?"

The leaders exchanged glances. Finally, the elder woman, once matron of a powerful warrior tribe, spoke. "Let us try. Better to fail in progress than rot in cowardice."

The others, though looked uncertain, still agreed to support Herios.

After all, if it succeeds, they don’t need to rely on caves to survive. As long as there are trees, they can live anywhere.

And so, they began.

For days, men and women hauled logs. They tried stacking them, tying them with vines, leaning them against one another.

Each attempt collapsed.

One such failure flattened a young man’s foot, causing screams and panic.

Herios, frustrated but relentless, paced near the now fallen pile of woods as the other tribe members looked disappointed.

That was when a lanky youth named Velis, a known troublemaker, timidly raised his hand.

"L-Leader! I-I have something to say..."

Herios raised his head and stared at him, causing Velis to flinch.

"Go on..." Herios smiled, nodding at him.

Velis sighed in relief, thinking that the chieftan wasn’t as cold or emotionless as he appears, "Leader, I saw some children playing the other day... They made something from twigs. A triangle. It stood longer than anything we’ve built."

Herios narrowed his eyes. "A triangle?"

"Yes. Several sticks piled up on a shape of a triangle. It stood, balanced. Held itself up."

Herios eyes narrowed. A triangle? Made from sticks?

He thought it ridiculous. A branch and logs aren’t the same as a stick. Surely, the branch would be far too heavy and it would collapse on itself.

And yet...

"Try it," Herios commanded.

Why not give it a try? They’ve tried doing this thing for days with no result. So why don’t they try something new?

So with his orders, the workers arranged three logs into a triangle, binding their tops with vines, added a few more supports, and covered it with leaves... It held on.

This shocked and excites Herios, along with other humans who stared at the shelter.

With a shout, he ordered for another to be made.

Then another.

And another.

By the time the sun sets for the evening, a row of triangular structures stood outside the cave, like primitive tents.

Cheers erupted. Children danced. Women wept. Even the gruffest warriors stared in awe.

One of the old chieftains muttered, "They are... ugly."

"But they are ours," Herios said, placing a hand on the structure. "No god built this for us. We did."

And thus, the first shelters of humankind were born—not out of divine intervention, but out of observation, innovation, and hope.

Humanity, once scattered and hunted, had taken another step.

They were becoming builders.

Becoming a true civilization.

*

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*

Underworld, Core section, Hanging Fortress of Pluto.

From the balcony of his dark citadel, Hades watched the flickering soul-lights far below.

But today, his gaze was drawn on a projection. A small smile played at the corner of his lips as he saw Herios and the humans beginning their next great step: shelter.

It was clumsy, primitive, and crude. But it was creation. And in a world so often defined by destruction, that was no small feat.

It won’t be long, and Hades was sure that they’ll discover farming, fishing, herding, and eventually become a kingdom.

Just then, a gentle disturbance of shadows signaled the arrival of someone familiar.

"My lord," said Hecate, her voice soft yet stern, flowing like smoke in the wind. "Everyone has arrived and gathered. We can begin now."

Hades gave a slow nod, his hand brushing back the edge of his midnight cloak as he waved his hand, causing the projection to disappear.

"Very well. Let us proceed."

The two walked side by side through the twisting halls of Hades’ hanging fortress.

The walls shimmered faintly with the echo of souls, and the floor reflected nothing—a subtle reminder that this was a place where even shadows could be consumed.

At the end of the corridor, a tall door of black iron groaned open.

Inside stood eleven figures, arranged evenly on both sides of a central path leading to a throne carved from pure obsidian.

The figures turned toward the sound of the door, and without needing to be told, stood to attention.

Their presence filled the room with weight—raw authority, ancient power, and primal will.

Hades entered slowly, his footfalls echoing in rhythmic silence.

As he approached the throne, the twelve—including Hecate who now stood at the end—dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.

"Praise be to the God of the Underworld."

"You may rise."

They obeyed. The obsidian throne gleamed slightly beneath Hades’ divinity, causing many to feel a sence of awe.

His eyes swept across the room.

Each god bore a unique aura.

Hecate, the first among them, glowed with ancient arcane power. She stood calmly, her hand holding a lamp as she stared at Hades.

Next was Hera, Hades’ sister and the self-proclaimed Queen of Underworld. The Goddess of Marriage in charge of Underworld’s internal affairs.

Beside her stood Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty now cloaked in darker silks, her charm undiminished by the dim realm she now called home. Her smile held unique beauty as she nodded to Hades.

Then came the Five River Gods—Acheron, Lethe, Phlegethon, Cocytus, and Styx—each embodying the great rivers of death.

They radiated the essences of pain, forgetfulness, flame, lamentation, and oath, and governed the Outer and Inner Sections of the Underworld with unwavering efficiency.

Thanatos, the silent reaper, stood with arms crossed. His black robe barely moved, as if even the air dared not disturb him.

Eris, goddess of discord, grinned from her place—chaos simmered beneath her calm expression, but she had proven to be a valuable tool for rooting out threats.

Beside her stood the twin of death, Keres, whose crimson eyes burned with hunger for battle. She was a warhound barely leashed, her role critical during mass soul intake from great conflicts above.

Finally, Hypnos, god of sleep, leaned lazily against his post, blinking slowly as if he’d just awakened. But when called upon, he could put even armies of the damned to eternal slumber.

The Twelve Patron of Hades. The strongest gods and guardians of Hades who also holds the responsibility to manage the Underworld affairs.

Even the most unruly god has to obey them.

"You are my Patrons," Hades said. His voice filled the room without rising. "Each of you governs a piece of this realm. While Olympus squabbles over thrones and vanity, we build what must last for eternity."

He looked to Styx. "The influx of wicked souls?"

Styx bowed. "Growing. We can’t send them all to Tartarus, so I created a new containment ward and some are drowned in the rivers of Cocytus and Pthlegehon."

Hades nodded before turning towards the God of death, "Thanatos?"

"Humanity resists death less, but die more frequently. Their fear has lessened—perhaps due to the fire Prometheus gifted."

"Aphrodite," Hades said, shifting slightly. "You’ve seen them through a new lens. Have their hearts changed?"

Aphrodite stepped forward, her golden eyes bright even in the gloom. "Love has bloomed in strange places, my lord. Fear binds them—but so does hope. It’s... fascinating."

Hades gave a thoughtful nod.

He looked over the rest. "Continue your work. This realm shall not falter while Olympus drowns in wine and pride."

Hecate stepped forward. "Shall we begin planning for the next phase? The City of the Dead must grow with them."

Hades gave a faint smile. "Indeed. Let us plan."

And thus, in the cold depths of the Underworld, beneath the world of men and gods, the true empire began its next Chapter—not ruled by thunder or vanity, but by shadow, silence, and order.