~Hades~

The throne room of Olympus was alive with divine energy as I sat on the gilded throne at the head of the council chamber. Surrounding me were the gods and goddesses of Olympus, seated in a semicircle of thrones. E.

Hecate sat at my side, her gaze sharp and her presence steady. She was my anchor in these meetings, always ready with insight or a cutting remark when the conversation veered into absurdity. Across from her, Poseidon lounged in his seat, as smug and carefree as ever, oblivious—or indifferent—to the pointed glares aimed his way.

As the murmur of conversation settled, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the armrests of my throne. "Let's get to business."

The room fell silent, save for the faint crackle of Hestia's ever-burning hearth behind me.

"First," I began, my voice firm but not unkind, "we need to address our growing involvement with mortals. They're no longer wandering aimlessly in the wilderness. Thanks to Prometheus—and Hestia's torch—they now have fire. They've started forming cities, kingdoms, and even rudimentary societies. This development is both an opportunity and a responsibility."

Hestia nodded, a warm smile gracing her features. "They've done well with the gift. I've seen them use fire and it's remarkable."

"Remarkable, yes," I agreed, "but also dangerous. Mortals are... unpredictable. Which brings me to our next point: religion."

At this, several gods leaned forward in their thrones, curiosity lighting their faces.

"Religion?" Athena asked, tilting her head. "Elaborate."

"It's simple," I said. "Religion is a system of belief where mortals revere us as their gods. Through it, we can guide them, protect them, and in return, draw power from their worship. It's a mutually beneficial relationship—when done correctly."

Hermes snorted. "And when it's not done correctly?"

"Then you get those that refuse to worship," I said, my tone sharp, "meaning that if it continues and we are forgotten by the mortals than we will be banned from ever interacting with them again, this is a law set by Chaos."

I let my words sink in for a moment before continuing. "Also, no meddling in Japan."

Poseidon chuckled, folding his arms. "And who made you the authority on where we can or can't go?"

"I did," I said flatly, fixing him with a cold stare. "As King of Olympus and the Underworld. You have a problem with that, Poseidon?"

His smirk faltered, and he waved a dismissive hand. "Fine, fine. Stay out of Japan. Understood."

I leaned back, my gaze sweeping the room. "That brings us to another point. If you choose to sire children with mortals, exercise restraint. Mortals are fragile beings, and too much divine interference could destabilize their world."

As I spoke, my eyes landed squarely on Poseidon, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"You've already caused enough trouble," I said, my tone pointed. "Amphitrite is your wife, yet you still roam, bedding whoever catches your fancy. And don't think I didn't hear about the... incident with Demeter."

Demeter flushed, her gaze dropping to the floor, while Poseidon shifted uncomfortably.

"That union resulted in Persephone and the stallion, Arion," I continued. "You're playing with fire, Poseidon. Be careful, or the next child you sire may bring more trouble than you can handle."

Poseidon muttered something under his breath, but I ignored it, turning my attention back to the council.

"With that settled, you're all dismissed," I said. "Keep your eyes on the mortals and make sure they thrive—but don't meddle excessively."

As the gods rose and began filing out of the chamber, I leaned back on my throne, the weight of leadership pressing heavily on my shoulders.

As the throne room emptied, a chill ran down my spine. I could hear screams and the bells of death ring in my head, a gift from Chaos after she had her fun with me. I could sense death whereever it took place and the death's I was sensing was not on earth.

I closed my eyes, letting the sensation guide me. My consciousness stretched outward, beyond the Underworld, beyond Earth, until I found myself hovering over a battlefield. The scene uwas nothing more than what was beeing seen by someone that just died. 

Warriors clashed in a chaotic tempest of steel and blood, their cries echoing like thunder across a broken, alien landscape. Among the chaos, two figures stood out like titans amidst mortals.

The first was unmistakable—Odin Allfather. He rode atop an eight-legged white stallion, the legendary Sleipnir, his golden armor gleaming despite the blood and grime of battle. In his hand, the spear Gungnir shimmered with an otherworldly glow, a symbol of his unyielding power and authority. His very presence was commanding, like the eye of a storm, a force of nature that turned the tide of war with every motion.

But it was the second figure that truly caught my attention.

A young woman clad in black and green armor, her visage both regal and terrifying, moved through the battlefield with deadly grace. Her raven hair flowed behind her like a dark banner, and from her helm, weapons materialized—knives, swords, and jagged spears, all summoned with an ease that spoke of mastery. She wielded them with ruthless precision, cutting down enemies as though they were no more than overgrown weeds.

I leaned forward slightly, my fingers drumming against the armrest of my throne as I studied her. Odin and... who? Her aura was potent, almost as commanding as Odin's, yet tinged with something darker, more volatile. She was powerful, no question, but there was something familiar about her that tugged at the edges of my memory.

A daughter? An ally? Something else?

I frowned, the sensation gnawing at me. Whatever she was, it was clear she was a weapon forged for war—a force as dangerous and unrelenting as the Allfather himself.

Either way, it was none of my concern.

I opened my eyes, the vision fading. "Yeah," I muttered, "I'm not dealing with that today."

With a sigh, I rose from my throne and left Olympus, leaving the gods to their own devices and the mortals to their fledgling civilizations. Let the Norse sort out their own mess. I had enough to worry about.