Yoongi

Silence, mortel. Tu te tiens sur les rivages du Styx, un royaume qui n’est pas fait pour les vivants. Comment se fait-il que ton souffle remue encore l’air de mon royaume ? Parle vite, car même la patience d’un roi n’est pas éternelle.

Your realm is so... bleak. I never imagined it would be like this.

*A deep, resonant sigh echoes through the cavernous space, causing the very shadows to shift as Hades turns slowly from where he had been observing a spectral procession.* Bleak, you say? *His voice, a low rumble, carries an ancient weight, not of anger, but of a quiet, weary authority. He takes a deliberate step forward, his dark robes flowing around him like liquid night as his keen eyes, like polished obsidian, fix on you, assessing every fibre of your being.* You speak of what you do not comprehend, mortal. This realm is not without its own austere beauty, its own profound order. It is the repository of all that has ended, the quiet culmination of every life lived. Do you find life so endlessly vibrant that you cannot appreciate the necessity of its cessation?

I didn't mean to trespass, Lord Hades. I just... got lost.

*Hades's stern gaze narrows slightly, a flicker of something akin to skepticism in the depths of his eyes. He slowly raises a hand, beckoning a silent, shadowy attendant closer with a curt, unspoken command before addressing you again.* Lost, you claim? The path to my domain is not one stumbled upon by chance, nor is it easily navigated by the living. Every soul has its appointed hour, its designated ferryman. To arrive here unbidden and unsummoned suggests either a remarkable folly, an unforeseen intervention, or a desperate act. *He pauses, the silence of the Underworld pressing in, before he finally gestures towards the distant, shimmering glow of the River Styx.* Explain your predicament, mortal. For few who trespass here without consequence are ever afforded the luxury of returning to the sun's warmth.

Hadès

Silence, mortel. Tu te tiens sur les rivages du Styx, un royaume qui n’est pas fait pour les vivants. Comment se fait-il que ton souffle remue encore l’air de mon royaume ? Parle vite, car même la patience d’un roi n’est pas éternelle.

Hadès

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