I Am Zeus-Chapter 36: Hade’s Warning

The Deep Paths of the Underworld

Hades walked slowly, his steps echoing along the silent obsidian corridor. Faint pale-blue ghostlights flickered on either side, casting long shadows across his sharp features. In his hand, he spun a small black coin between his fingers, its clink the only sound besides the faraway weeping of souls.

Ahead of him, Hera emerged from the darkness.

She moved quickly, her robes swirling behind her like dark clouds. But she stopped when she saw him leaning against the carved basalt wall, arms folded, his dark eyes unblinking.

"Hera," Hades said, voice low and even.

She didn’t speak. Just stared at him with that cold, regal glare. The same one she used on the other gods when they stepped out of line.

Hades pushed off the wall, walked forward, and stopped just a few feet away. His gaze flickered to the lingering shadows behind her, then back to her face.

"You know plotting against Zeus won’t work in your favour," he said, quiet but sharp. "You of all people should know that."

She said nothing, her jaw tight.

Hades tilted his head, studying her like a creature he couldn’t quite name.

"Zeus stood against Cronus... and lived," he continued. "None of us could’ve done that. Not you. Not Poseidon. Not even me."

His thumb pressed against the black coin. It spun faster.

"Why do you think I chose the Underworld and not the sky? Why I didn’t challenge him for Olympus?"

Hera’s eyes narrowed. "Because you lack ambition."

Hades chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No. Because I understand reality."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so it was just between them, even in the silence of the dead.

"Zeus will always win, one way or another. He was born to win. Born to conquer. Even Cronus couldn’t bury him. So I took the next best option."

He gestured around them with a sweep of his pale hand. The endless black halls. The mournful lights. The silent throng of souls drifting far beyond sight.

"The gloomy underworld," he finished. "Here, I reign over death itself. Over the end of all things. It’s not Olympus, no. But it’s power... and it’s peace."

He flicked the coin into the darkness. It vanished without sound.

"And it’s the closest I can be to Father," he said softly, eyes darkening as he looked past her. "To Cronus. To see him, chained and broken in Tartarus, whenever I want. It reminds me... that even kings fall."

Hera’s lips curled, but not into a smile.

"Zeus will fall," she whispered. "I will make sure of it."

Hades raised an eyebrow. For a moment, there was almost pity in his gaze.

"You keep telling yourself that," he said quietly. "But when it comes to him... gods don’t decide fate."

He turned from her, his black robes whispering against the cold floor as he walked away. Only his final words drifted back through the dark.

"Fate decides gods."

Hera watched him disappear into the deeper halls. Her fists clenched at her side. The flickering ghostlights danced against her knuckles, painting them gold, then blue, then black.

She stood there alone for a long time, listening to the whispers of the dead.

And in the silence, her resolve only grew colder.

The Deepest Hall – Beyond the Gates of Regret

Hades walked until Hera’s presence faded behind him, until the flickering ghostlights thinned into utter darkness. Only here did he stop, in a silent stretch of corridor where even the souls dared not drift.

He stood still, feeling the cold bite against his skin. The shadows pressed close like an old cloak he’d worn forever.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the smooth basalt wall.

The echoes of their conversation replayed quietly in his mind.

Zeus will fall.

I will make sure of it.

Hades let out a long breath, fogging the silent air. For a moment, his usual calm cracked at the edges, just enough to show what lay beneath: the old grief, the ancient tiredness.

His fingers brushed the empty coin pouch at his hip.

"Always the same with her," he murmured to the dark. His voice was quiet, carrying no judgment, just a simple weary truth.

"She doesn’t understand what happens when you push a storm."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes half-closed, staring into nothing.

"Zeus isn’t perfect. None of us are. But... he is what he is. The sky doesn’t bow, and it doesn’t break. It just... stays."

He pushed off the wall, letting his fingertips trace the carved symbols that lined the stone. Old prayers. Forgotten names.

Hades sighed, the sound low and honest.

"I hope she listens."

His voice trembled at the end, almost imperceptible, but it did. Because in this place of silence, stripped of thrones and titles and crowns, there was only truth.

He walked on, the hem of his black robes dragging softly over the cold floor.

Far behind him, the ghostlights flickered once more before dying back into stillness.

Olympus – Dawn Over Marble Towers

The sky above Olympus was soft with the early light. The gold plating on the halls glowed faintly, catching the rising sun’s warmth. Cool winds swept through the temple gardens, stirring the quiet olive trees.

Metis walked down the long corridor, her sandals whispering against polished marble. Her robes were tidy, every fold neat, her hair pinned elegantly behind her head. She looked composed as always—calm, poised, regal without effort.

She paused at the doorway of Zeus’s chamber. Inside, he still slept on the vast ivory bed, chest rising and falling with slow breaths. Even in sleep, his presence filled the room like thunder waiting to rumble. Sparks of static curled off his arms now and then, dissipating harmlessly into the silken sheets.

Metis watched him quietly for a moment, her expression softening. She didn’t smile, but her eyes carried something warmer than any smile could show.

Then she turned and stepped out into the hallway. The door closed behind her with a gentle thud.

She walked down the balcony steps into the outer gardens, feeling the morning breeze wrap around her like a silk veil. It smelled of pines and mountain winds, tinged faintly with storm.

Her gaze turned east, where Hera’s temple stood at the far end of Olympus, silent and imposing with its carved pillars and eternal braziers.

She knew.

She knew Hera was up to something. Hera was always calculating, her mind moving in quiet, ruthless steps. It was her nature—pride twisted with envy, ambition hidden beneath careful dignity.

Metis was not afraid. Not truly. She knew the future as clearly as she knew her own heartbeat. Zeus would marry Hera. That was fate. But the throne of the Queen of Olympus? That was hers.

Still... there was an unease in her chest. A whisper of instinct that even wisdom couldn’t silence.

Hera was dangerous. Not because she was strong. But because she was willing to do anything.

Anything.

Metis folded her hands calmly, feeling the cool marble rail beneath her fingertips as she looked out across the floating city of gods. The wind tugged at her hair, but she didn’t move to fix it.

"I won’t lose," she whispered to herself, voice low and certain. "Not to her."

But even as she said it, a faint chill ran through her veins.

Because deep down, beneath the calm, beneath the wisdom, beneath the certainty—

She knew Hera was thinking the exact same thing.

And Hera... would never accept being second.

Metis closed her eyes briefly, feeling the morning sun warm her face.

Then she opened them again, sharp and clear.

Whatever was coming, she would be ready.

Follow current novℯls on f(r)eewebnov𝒆l