Chapter 236: Chapter 80
The quiet temple was filled with the scent of fresh herbs and soft sunlight streaming through the carved openings of the marble walls.
The air was calm, carrying the faint rustle of leaves and the distant trickle of a fountain outside.
Hades sat upon one of the low cushioned seats in the hall, his dark robes folding elegantly around him, the faint shimmer of shadow still clinging to his form even in the light.
Before him, a low table was set with fine porcelain cups and a teapot from which gentle wisps of steam rose, carrying the cool fragrance of mint.
Hestia, with her ever-gentle hands, poured the tea herself rather than allowing a nymph to do so.
There was warmth in every small motion — the way she held the pot, the faint hum that followed her movements, the tranquil glow that radiated from her presence.
She placed the cup before her brother with a soft smile.
"I thought you might prefer mint," she said kindly. "It’s one of your symbols after all."
Hades nodded faintly, the corners of his mouth almost turning upward. He lifted the cup, took a careful sip, and let the taste linger—a cool, clean sensation spreading down his throat, refreshing and light.
"This is excellent," he said at last, his deep voice even softer than usual. "You have not lost your touch, sister."
Hestia smiled, a quiet, contented expression that reached her eyes.
"Thank you, Hades," she replied. "You rarely compliment anyone, so I’ll cherish that one."
Rhea, sitting across from them, observed the exchange with a gentle, knowing smile.
To her, it was like watching two distant stars momentarily align, a fleeting warmth that softened the chill of her son’s usual composure.
She lifted her own cup and took a sip before speaking, her tone light and teasing. "To what do I owe this rare pleasure, my son?"
Hades placed his cup down carefully, his movements deliberate and steady. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, his gaze shifting to the steam rising from his tea as though seeking clarity in its spirals.
Finally, he said evenly, "I came because... I am planning to get married."
Rhea’s cup froze halfway to her lips. Hestia’s hand stilled as she reached for another pastry.
There was a long, stunned silence — the kind of silence that stretched between lightning and thunder.
Then Rhea blinked, as if to make sure she had heard correctly. A slow, radiant smile spread across her face, her eyes brightening like dawn breaking over the horizon.
"My son, that is wonderful!" she exclaimed, setting her cup down and leaning forward with motherly delight. "You’ve decided to take a wife at last! I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. Who is she? And when shall I prepare my gifts? Oh, this will be the talk of all creation!"
Hestia smiled too, her expression warm and approving. "Truly, brother, that’s unexpected but gladdening. You deserve companionship."
But Hades’ face remained calm and unreadable, his purple eyes flicking between them before settling on the table.
"It may not be as simple as that," he said quietly.
Rhea tilted her head, her excitement dimming slightly. "Oh?"
Hades hesitated again. For someone who ruled the endless halls of the dead, who commanded shades and spirits and legions of silent souls, who could make kings tremble with a glance, but the next words came with uncharacteristic care.
"I wish to marry Aphrodite... Hera... and Hecate."
The words hung in the air, echoing softly through the marble chamber as if the temple itself needed a moment to process them.
Rhea’s expression froze mid-smile. Hestia blinked, lips parting in disbelief.
"All three of them?" she asked slowly, as though clarifying a riddle.
Hades nodded once, solemnly.
Rhea leaned back slightly, trying to find her composure. It wasn’t that she disapproved — the gods, after all, were creatures of passion and chaos, and such entanglements were not rare.
But this... this was different.
Even among the ever-scandalous tales of Olympus, marriage — true marriage — had always remained singular.
The gods could have lovers, paramours, fleeting dalliances with mortals or immortals alike, but marriage was sacred.
It was an oath before the Fates themselves.
Even Zeus, for all his infamous appetites, had but one wife. Poseidon too. The act of taking multiple wives was not merely unconventional — it was unheard of.
Hestia’s gaze softened with concern, though her tone was measured. "That... that is something. Are you sure you are prepared for that, Hades?"
"I do," Hades replied simply.
Rhea exhaled slowly, the initial shock giving way to thoughtful quiet. Then, to his mild surprise, she smiled again — gently this time, not with the exuberance of before, but with the knowing patience only a mother could hold.
"I see,x she murmured. "You wouldn’t say this lightly. You’ve already made your decision, haven’t you?"
Hades inclined his head slightly. "I have."
"Then," she said, folding her hands neatly over her lap, "I will not tell you what the others might say. I will only ask — are you certain, my son? Marriage is not conquest. It is a promise to share eternity, to intertwine your fates with theirs. Can you bear three such bonds at once?"
His answer was calm, but his eyes held a rare glimmer of something human; conviction.
"I can," he said. "And I came here because I... wished to ask for your counsel. How should I tell them? How does one even speak such a thing — that I wish to marry them all?"
At that, even Hestia looked briefly lost for words, glancing toward Rhea as if her mother might have some divine wisdom fit for such an impossible question.
Rhea blinked once, then twice, before letting out a quiet laugh, it was not mocking, but warm, touched with disbelief and affection.
"Oh, my dear son," she said softly, shaking her head with a faint, amused smile. "You command the endless abyss, yet you come to me asking how to speak to women of love?"
She sighed fondly, leaning forward with a tender expression. "Very well, Hades. Sit a little longer. We shall talk of hearts, not thrones."
And as the shadows lengthened in the temple, the god of the dead — the most stoic of all Olympians — listened earnestly to his mother and sister, sipping mint tea while discussing the delicate art of confession and affection, as though he were but a nervous man preparing to propose to his beloveds.
Rhea tilted her head slightly, her gaze tender and searching as she set down her teacup.
The soft clink of porcelain echoed faintly in the warm air of the temple. Sunlight drifted lazily through the carved openings, dust motes dancing in the gold haze between them.
Then, with that quiet smile only a mother could give, she asked, "Tell me, my son, what about them makes you want to marry them?"
The question lingered in the air, simple yet heavy, like a thread pulling at something deep within.
Hades remained still for a moment, his long fingers brushing against the rim of his teacup.
He wasn’t used to such questions—ones that touched the heart instead of the mind.
But slowly, his expression softened, his crimson eyes losing some of their usual sharpness. He leaned back slightly, as if gathering his thoughts from far away.
"They are," he began quietly, "the ones who complete me."
Rhea and Hestia exchanged a brief look, both surprised at the warmth that colored his normally steady tone.
"It was the three of them, who made me into what I am now. Without them..." he paused, eyes unfocused, gaze turning distant as though he were staring into a vision of what could have been.
"Without them, I would simply be a king—cold, perfect, and merciless. I would have ruled by law and order alone, without ever realizing that there are things beyond duty, things worth holding close simply for their own sake."
As he spoke, the shadows around him seemed to lighten, no longer oppressive but calm and gentle. His usual aura of majesty and death seemed to quiet, replaced by something rare and fragile.
Rhea’s lips curved into a fond smile as she watched the transformation in her son’s face. It was so subtle, so small, yet it spoke of a change far greater than words could convey. He looked... alive.
Hades continued, his tone steady but tinged with emotion. "Aphrodite gave me warmth and passion. She reminds me that even one such as I, who governs death and endings, can still burn with life. She sees through the veil of what I am and she reminds me that I am not just a ruler of the dead, but a being capable of desire and affection."
He let out a slow breath, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile ghosted across his lips.
"Hera," he went on, "taught me something different. She showed me that I don’t have to bear everything alone. That strength isn’t just about endurance—it’s also about trust. Like me, she carries the weight of underworld upon her shoulders and yet, she still stands tall. Through her, I’ve learned to rely on others, to share the burden that I once thought was mine alone to carry."
Rhea and Hestia listened in quiet awe, the atmosphere in the temple becoming still, reverent, as if even the air itself dared not disturb the moment.
"And Hecate..." Hades’ voice softened further, almost like a whisper. "She showed me that I don’t always need to be the king. That I can simply be myself—Hades, not Lord of the Dead, not the stern overseer of the Underworld—but just a man who can laugh, who can wander, who can... enjoy life, even for a fleeting moment."
He exhaled, the faintest trace of a sigh leaving his lips, not of exhaustion but of something like peace. "They each gave me something that I lacked. Together, they make me whole."
Hestia smiled then, her expression radiant with warmth, eyes glistening with pride and affection.
"This is the first time I’ve seen you speak like this, brother," she said softly. "So open... warm. Those three truly changed you."
Rhea said nothing at first. She simply watched her son, memories flickering behind her calm eyes.
In her mind, she saw the Hades of the past—the boy who trained alone, who spoke little, whose eyes were always fixed on the horizon as though chasing a goal no one else could see.
Even when he sat among his family, laughter ringing around him, there had always been a distance, an invisible wall that no one could cross.
She remembered how she used to watch him from afar, wishing he would slow down, wishing he would simply live rather than just exist.
And now, before her, sat that same son, still composed, still regal, yet undeniably changed.
The walls had softened, the edges dulled. His voice carried warmth, his eyes reflected life. For the first time, he wasn’t a king, or a god, or a symbol of power—he was simply her child.
If she had the chance, Rhea thought, she would thank those three goddesses from the depths of her heart.
They had done what even a mother could not—they had brought him back to himself.
As Hades finished speaking, Rhea gently placed her teacup aside and rose from her seat. The quiet sound of her gown brushing the marble floor filled the silence.
She walked over to him, her expression tender, and sat beside him.
She reached out and cupped his cheek with one hand, her touch soft and cool against his skin.
Hades blinked, startled by the gesture, but didn’t pull away.
"My son," Rhea said, her voice full of affection and quiet pride, "there is nothing more I can tell you. You’ve already done what most never can—you’ve found the reason, the truth within your heart. You need not prepare anything elaborate or divine. You need not perform miracles or weave grand illusions. Simply be yourself. That is more than enough."
Her thumb brushed his cheek gently, the way she had when he was small. "Those three have already chosen you, setting aside their pride and divinity to stand by your side. You owe them not grandeur, but sincerity. Speak to them not as a god, not as a ruler, but as the man they have come to love. Tell them what you told me. They will see your heart—and in turn, they will offer you theirs."
For a long moment, Hades didn’t speak. He simply stared at his mother, the weight of her words sinking deep into him.
His mind recalled Aphrodite’s warmth, Hera’s guidance, and Hecate’s companionship.
That’s right. Why make things complicated? For his sake, they abandoned their pride and dignity.
There is no need for anything grand.
Slowly, he nodded.
"...Thank you, Mother."
His voice was quiet, but steady. His purole eyes, though calm, now held something resolute, something bright.
Rhea smiled, her heart swelling with pride. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, lingering there for a moment as if sealing a blessing upon him.
"Go," she whispered softly, "and make those girls happy. That will make me happy too."
Hades closed his eyes briefly, then stood, his shadow falling long and calm across the marble floor.
As he turned to leave, the golden light streaming into the temple seemed to shimmer just a little brighter, as though the world itself acknowledged that the god of the dead carried something far more precious than power or divinity within him—he carried the warmth of love, and the quiet, steadfast promise to cherish it.