The God of Underworld-Chapter 65 - 19: Earth and Underworld

Time passed, silent and relentless. In the realm of the dead, where decades felt like mere echoes of breath, Hades maintained his peaceful life.

Within his private sanctum at the heart of his hanging fortress, Hades stood alone, bathed in the pale glow of an ancient scrying mirror.

A projection shimmered in the void before him, revealing the world above.

There, the sun cast its golden crown over a land that once knew only wilderness, blood, and fire.

But now... now it bore the mark of civilization.

The humams had changed.

Hades watched as Herios, older now but still proud and firm, oversaw the planting of grain fields beyond the city wall.

The humans had discovered the art of agriculture, no longer did they wander as starving prey.

They had tamed the land, feeding themselves not from the hunt, but from the soil itself.

It had begun with trial and error, but Helios, ever the patient leader, observed and learned.

He led his people in planting seeds, irrigating land, and storing grain for the winter moons.

Beyond the fields, fishermen dragged net after net from the river, smiling with the satisfaction of success.

Herds of goats and sheep grazed in the meadows, guided by children with sticks and songs.

A city had risen from dust and bones. Brick by brick, stone by stone, Herios and his people had laid the foundation of the first true human civilization.

The caves were long abandoned, now only whispered about in stories told beside fire.

Their new homes were sturdy structures of clay bricks hardened by the sun.

Streets crisscrossed in rudimentary patterns.

Wells had been dug.

A gathering hall now stood at the center, where Herios met with his council, formed from the former tribal leaders who had long since cast aside their rivalries.

And above all of this towered the walls, massive by human standards. Four watchtowers crowned the corners of the square city, each manned day and night.

Monsters still roamed the wilds, but the city, the polis, had stood unbroken for over a generation.

Hades watched it all.

A slow smile crept across his face.

"A city..." he murmured. "The first... and certainly not the last."

He placed a hand upon the projection, fingers brushing the shimmering image of Herios instructing young boys how to fortify the western wall.

"You’ve done well, mortal. You carry the flame Prometheus gave and turned it into a beacon."

The vision shimmered and faded, returning the chamber to darkness.

With a faint sigh, Hades turned back to his obsidian desk, stacked with records of souls, disputes among the spirits, and new laws being drafted to organize the ever-growing afterlife.

He picked up a scroll, eyes scanning through the report brought in by a divine spirit, an incident near the border of Lethe where a forgotten soul had gone mad and nearly disrupted a ferry line.

But his mind still lingered above, in the mortal world.

He had seen countless races rise and fall, beasts, titans, even divine spirits who tried to claim land as their own.

But humans... humans were something different. Fragile, short-lived, impulsive, and yet driven by something no other being possessed in the same measure.

Hope.

Not the divine kind, not the blind worship of fate, but the kind forged in mud and blood. The hope that even in a hostile, god-haunted world, they could survive... and thrive.

A soft knock echoed against the stone door.

It creaked open, revealing Hypnos leaning on the door frame, half-asleep.

"My loed," the god of slumber mumbled. "Preparations for your trip is ready."

Hades nodded, rolling the scroll in his hand. "I’ll be there shortly."

As Hypnos disappeared into mist, Hades cast one last glance at the now dark mirror.

The age of gods still reigned... but the age of men had begun.

And deep in his chest, buried beneath years of judgment, rule, and darkness, Hades felt something stir.

A quiet, unfamiliar pride.

But for now, he will observe his realm under a disguise.

*

*

*

High above the mortal realm, far from the sins of men and the pride of gods, Gaia sat atop the great mountain whose name was lost to time.

The Eternal Earth Mother, older than Titans and gods alike, stirred in silence as her eyes peered through the veils of distance and cloud.

Her gaze was fixed on Mount Olympus.

Once a sacred peak, now a throne of vanity and excess. The Olympians, once her grandchildren born of divine promise, had become decadent rulers of a realm they barely understood.

They drank ambrosia till their minds grew dull and turned their divine halls into dens of pleasure and arrogance.

The earth beneath Olympus cried. The rivers refused to sing. And the sacred air that once swirled with awe now carried only the stench of sin.

Gaia’s lips curled into a rare frown.

They were worse than the Titans.

The Titans, though prideful and cruel in the end, still followed the natural order. But the Olympians had no respect for balance or burden.

They crpwned themselves kings and queens of the world, yet knew nothing of the soil they ruled.

"No more," Gaia whispered, her voice echoing through caverns and cliffsides, sending tremors across the roots of the world.

She considered punishment.

Not with storms or fire, not with curses or decay. No, she wanted something... greater. A reckoning. A new race that would not only survive but humble the gods.

A being strong enough to remind the Olympians of their place in the cosmic order.

Her instincts urged her to birth such a child on her own, as she once birthed the cyclops, the titans, and the hundred ones.

But she hesitated. If she birthed this being alone, its power would be vast, but limited.

It would lack balance. It would burn too bright and die too quickly.

This time, she needed a counterpart. A force that could temper her chaos with structure, that could balance her primordial nature with reason, strength, and sovereignty.

She searched her ancient memory, pondering all who might serve.

Tartarus? No. Too silent. Too proud. Too impure.

Hydros? A fool, more beast than god, always ruled by impulse.

None of the Primordials were worthy.

As she pondered for a more suitable partner, she remembered one.

A quiet man who rules the land in the deepest part of the earth.

The Underworld.

Where the dead walked with purpose, and shadows bowed to order. A place not of chaos, but of calm inevitability. And its king, a god who never sought glory, yet ruled with unmatched power and respect.

Hades.

Not just a god. The strongest god. The only Olympian who did not defile the world.

The only one who respected his domain and kept balance within it.

He did not meddle in mortal affairs.

He did not violate sacred grounds.

He did not seek love, power, or worship.

But Gaia knew... he was the key.

She sat up slowly, the mountain quaking beneath her as ancient vines uncoiled around her body.

"If he joins me," she whispered, "then this new being will be like no other."

Not Titan. Not god. Not mortal.

But a reckoning.

A divine judgment born from the Earth and the Grave.

A child to make Olympus tremble.

With the wind shifting and the stars dimming, Gaia vanished into the earth, seeking a path down into the shadows of the Underworld.

She would speak to Hades.

And offer him the most dangerous proposal in the history of the cosmos.