𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖇𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝖕𝖑𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗
the massive robe ales wore felt far too big on him now. when he was young, ales would often envy his father for being able to wear such a regal, defined piece of clothing. the top halves of two hydra skulls hung at both shoulders, weighing heavily on ales's shoulders. under that, he wore a black robe that reached down to his ankles, quietly over looking the view of the throne room infront of him.
it had been 3 months. 3 months since the great release of atlas. it was atlas, because the collateral damage from his giganto strength was the one thing that ales would have never forgotten. his father, hung up like a toy with his stomach impaled on the chains that once held the sky bearer. the image did haunt him, it truly did: his father's empty eyes, the stench of old blood in the area, the way the robe has stuck to his body due to being so soaked with blood- he remembered it all, on the busiest days and the coldest nights in the bed.
inheriting the room was the worst part. ales didnt go in. the moment he entered and admitted it was his room now, it would be like saying that his godly father was really gone. dead. he knew his father was the lord of the dead, so why did he have to become one of the dead himself? ales would never know. a massive sword rested at ales's hip, starting off somewhat thin and then growing wider after the halfway point in the blade. it was made of black, cold iron, one of the metal of the underworld, and the exact same metals that had been melted down from hade's great two pronged trident, the same weapon that had once commanded entire legions of the dead to attack. ales himself looked rather weary: his eyes had dark purple circles under them, and the muscles in his arms seemed deflated. he seemed like he was bordering on death itself- but being the god of the dead would do that, wouldnt it? he wasnt entirely sure how it happened, with only glimpses of it in his memory. he put on a black crown, and suddenly his powers expanded to mimic that of one of the great three olympian gods, and the son to the lord of time itself. he possessed as much command and respect as zeus- was that not perhaps a little odd?
the stone hall that his father would always be in felt so grand and nerve racking to enter before. ales still remembered the moment that he had taken charge of his destiny, and finally cut free of his father's influence to live a somewhat normal life outside of a living mythos, if only partially. what he would have ever given to be having the same problems now, to be suffering the same issue of his father worrying far too much to let him live all by his lonesome in the mortal world, where monsters and fragments of great beings loved to peruse and walk among the mortal worshippers. the hall felt so...empty and soulless now.
his relationship with his father had always been strained and strange, especially in his early years. the death of his mother had made hades over protective and foolish, cooping ales up like pane of glass that would shatter at a wrong blow in the wind. he made ales strong. he taught ales how to hide himself in the darkness, how to control the bones of his enemies and force them to slow down. how to cut not only flesh, but the very souls of his foes. despite ruining his childhood however, ales still knew well how much hades loved...no, had loved him for it. he had both loved and hated his father. it was strange, how after his father's death only did he get the epiphanies, these great equilibrium thoughts.
"my lord, the olympian council requests your word for a great meeting. will you accept?" thanatos rose from the ground, bones at first but quickly forming flesh into someone that looked human, but still the effects of his godly domain had effects on his appearance.
"tell them I'm not in a talking mood." ales responded shortly, not even turning to look what had been halfway to a friend in the eyes. his gaze was fixated on the mirror to the side.
