The gardens of the Underworld were calm, lit by the gentle glow of spirit-lanterns swaying from silver branches.
Hades lay stretched out on a thick blanket, hands folded behind his head, eyes half-closed.
Beside him, a much smaller figure was perfectly mirroring his pose — little Nekyria, her tiny hands on the back of her head, eyes squeezed shut in exaggerated imitation.
Every so often, she'd peek to see if her father was still doing it right, then quickly shut her eyes again.
Nearby, Aphrodite sat cross-legged with a wooden board in her lap, slicing fruits and vegetables with practiced grace.
The sweet scent of pomegranate mingled with the earthy aroma of freshly cut olives.
Hera was crouched over a simmering pot, occasionally stirring with a long-handled ladle, the rich, savory steam curling into the air.
Hecate stood beside them, arms crossed, wearing a look halfway between a pout and indifference.
"I can help, you know," she said.
