Lightning split the heavens.Upon the peak of Olympus, where the air was thick with divine power, a great circle of golden energy had been etched into the marble floor of the throne room. An Olympian Summoning.
Zeus stood at the center, his hand raised, power crackling around him. Poseidon stood at his side, silent, watching. The other gods formed a ring around the ritual, their gazes sharp, their voices hushed.
Hades had never been summoned before.
And there was no certainty that it would work.
"By the power of Olympus," Zeus intoned, his voice carrying across the mountains, "we call upon Hades, Lord of the Underworld, son of Cronus, brother of kings. Come forth, or stand accused of defiance against your kin."
The golden circle pulsed. The air tightened as power flowed through the heavens. The will of Olympus demanded Hades' presence.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Ares' hand twitched toward his blade. Athena's brow furrowed. Zeus' eyes narrowed. No god could resist an Olympian Summoning.
Unless…
The golden circle shattered.
A wave of pure darkness erupted from the broken ritual, swallowing the throne room in an instant. The warmth of Olympus vanished, replaced by something colder, heavier—inevitable.
The torches flickered. The very sky outside dimmed.
Then, from the shadows, he appeared.
Hades stepped forward, his black robes trailing behind him like the tide of an eternal night. His presence did not shake the ground like Zeus' storms or churn the waves like Poseidon's fury.
It was quieter. More absolute.
A power that did not announce itself—because it did not need to.
Zeus frowned. "You refuse to be summoned?"
Hades met his gaze, unblinking. "You do not summon me, brother." His voice was deep, smooth, and sharp as a blade. "You request an audience."
The room fell into a tense silence.
The gods had summoned a king.
And a king had answered on his own terms.