MIn the vastness of the Underworld, deep within the Core Section where immortal souls shimmered like stars and divine law was etched into obsidian walls, the Hanging Fortress floated over the ever-turning city of Nox like a silent moon.
Below it, entire districts thrived—homes carved from crystal, gardens blooming with eternal night-flowers, and temples devoted to forgotten gods.
What once was a land of sorrow and judgment had now become a sovereign realm—organized, prospering, divine in both order and mystery.
It was a reflection of its master.
On the highest level of the fortress, through black-stone archways guarded by river-born spirits and divine specters, lay the Throne Hall of Hades.
And upon the throne, carved from midnight and adorned with underworld gold and sleeping gems, sat the god himself.
Hades, King of the Dead. Master of Souls. High Patron of the Chthonic Realm.
He sat not in shadow or silence, but in thought.
