It is the Twenty-Second of December, the start of the Winter Solstice. Demios walks the halls of the underworld. The reflections of the blue fire appear almost magical against the ebony black walls supposedly made from the souls of the thousand demons that once tried to overthrow the Lord of the Underworld. His fingers run along the surface of the arm support of the throne of the dark lord, casually drumming a rhythm of a song he only knew in his mind. His eyes glimmered with pride as he looked upon the throne made out of the spines of humans. Once a loyal servant of the Dark lord, Demios had tried to defy him, and in this attempt, he was successful. Alas, when his eyes were set upon the beautiful queen, she had decided to perish, sending her son, the heir to the throne, to a place he couldn't track.
Demios' lips curved into a distasteful smile. He remembered his vow - he would never ascend the throne until he had slain the cursed one. The light that lit up the eyes of Demios was of hatred, this time and held a thirst for blood for the lost child of Hades.
It is the Twenty-second of December, the start of the Winter Solstice. Adonis sits idly at his working table, contemplating trimming the edges of his recently wrapped bouquet. Despite the chilly weather outside, he seems content in his loneliness. There seems to be something about winter that resonates with him and makes him feel like he belongs right where his life has planted him, and this season seems to be the only one to stop him from wondering about his parents and their reason for his abandonment.
It is the Twenty-Second of December, the start of the Winter Solstice. Nothing will be as it was. The power of Olympus lies in the hands of a mere mortal whose only talent seems to be growing flowers and plants of all kinds but unbeknownst to this old prophecy, Adonis begins trimming the bouquet.