The God of Underworld - Chapter 211
211: Chapter 55 211: Chapter 55 The gates of Aphrodite’s temple opened before him, golden light spilling outward like a tide that met the cold shadow of his presence.
Hades stepped inside, his tall frame wrapped in his dark cloak, his expression as still as ever, yet his eyes quietly scanned the scene before him.
Candles lined the walls, their flames flickering in soft rhythm with the delicate notes of music played by divine spirits hidden in alcoves.
The tables were draped in silks of pale rose and ivory, laden with dishes arranged to perfection.
The air smelled faintly of nectar and fruits, warm and sweet, so different from the dry stillness of the Underworld.
And at the center of it all stood Aphrodite.
She turned as he entered, her golden hair catching the candlelight, her lips curved in that radiant smile that seemed to mock his composure and undo him all at once.
She spread her arms slightly, as though to welcome him, her voice warm and teasing.
“Hades, you’ve finally arrived.” Hades kept his stride steady, his face calm, his words flat.
“Well, you invited me.
It would be impolite to arrive late.” Aphrodite giggled softly, tilting her head.
“Impolite?
Please.
You make it sound like a council meeting.
Do you truly see this as duty?” His eyes flickered, just for a moment, before returning to their usual calm indifference.
“No.
I see it as basic courtesy.” She approached him, her steps light, her presence pressing against his cold aura as though she intended to melt it.
“Basic courtesy?
Then tell me why,” she whispered as she reached his side, “your cloak is straighter than usual, your hair is combed with more care, and I smell no ink or dust clinging to you tonight.
Tell me, Hades, is that also just courtesy?” His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and for a long moment he said nothing, his gaze fixed on a candle burning at the edge of the table.
Finally, he murmured, “I dislike sloppiness.
Both private or public.” Aphrodite laughed softly, the sound like bells, bright and sweet.
“Tsundere,” she said, the foreign word slipping from her lips like a private joke.
Hades frowned faintly.
“What nonsense are you speaking?” “Nothing, just a word I learned from Nyx.
She said that it came from the Shinto Gods.” she answered with a sly smile, looping her arm around his as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Come, sit.
I prepared this for you.” She led him toward the table, her touch light yet deliberate, and though Hades could have pulled away, he did not.
He sat down across from her, his posture upright, composed, his expression betraying nothing.
Yet when his eyes swept over the carefully arranged dishes, the soft glow of candles, and the way she leaned forward with sparkling eyes, he felt something he could not name tightening in his chest.
She poured wine into his cup, her movements graceful, and said, “What do you think?
I made sure everything tonight is absolutely perfect.
Does this make your heart flutter even if just a little bit?” He lifted the cup, staring into its contents for a long while before speaking.
“You expect much from a man who knows nothing of what you seek.” “And yet you came,” she answered simply, smiling as though she had already won.
“If you truly belived that, you wouldn’t have accepted me.” For a moment, silence hung between them, filled only by the soft music and the flickering of candles.
Hades sipped the wine, his face unreadable, but in his mind a quiet thought surfaced.
Perhaps he do not understand love.
But if this feeling, this restlessness, is because of her, then maybe… understanding is not required.
The two ate their dinner quietly, though nothing in the room could truly be called “quiet.” The divine spirits played soft notes in the background, the candles burned in gentle rhythm, the fragrance of roasted meats, fruits, and nectar filled the air, yet at the head of the table sat Hades, straight-backed, his hand hovering over the utensils as if he had forgotten what to do with them.
Aphrodite, of course, noticed.
She watched him with those playful, knowing eyes, her chin resting in her hand.
“You look as though you’ve walked into a battlefield instead of a dinner table,” she said lightly.
“Should I have told the spirits to bring you armor instead of wine?” Hades’ gaze shifted to her, steady but awkward.
“I am… unused to such settings.” He finally picked up the fork, staring at it for a moment before cutting into the roasted meat with deliberate precision.
“Meals, for me, are sustenance.
Nothing more.” Aphrodite laughed softly, her voice carrying warmth.
“For you, perhaps.
For me, meals are moments.
To share, to remember, to… create memories.” She leaned closer, her golden hair falling like silk against her shoulder.
“Tonight, this moment, is not about food.
It is about us.
Two souls, one showing love, the other trying to understand it.” Hades’ fork paused in midair.
His expression didn’t change, but his silence said enough.
After a long pause, he muttered, “I’m trying.
But I… really do not understand.” Aphrodite smiled patiently, as if expecting exactly that answer.
“Of course you don’t.
Love, romance, companionship-these are not things you measure in ledgers or file in scrolls.
You cannot manage them like your subjects or record them like contracts.
You feel them.” He shifted slightly, uncomfortably, before lowering the fork back to his plate.
His deep voice was calm but hesitant.
“Feelings are… unreliable.
They change.
They deceive.” “Yet here you are,” Aphrodite said sweetly, tilting her head.
“Sitting across from me, when you could have ignored my invitation.
You even fixed your hair, made yourself look presentable, even trying to understand my feelings.
Tell me, Hades, was that duty… or feelings?” His lips pressed together.
His mind turned to his mirror earlier that night, to the way he adjusted his cloak more than once, to the strange tightness in his chest when he sensed her presence approaching the fortress.
He forced his eyes downward, murmuring, “I… do not know.” Aphrodite reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his hand resting near the cup.
“You don’t need to know.
Not yet.
It is enough that you are here.” Hades looked at her hand touching his.
For a long moment, he said nothing, and she feared he might pull away.
Instead, he allowed it, though his face remained impassive.
She grinned softly.
“You act so cold, yet you don’t push me away.
That’s what makes you so charming, you know.” “Charming?” he repeated with slight bewilderment, as though the word itself was foreign to him.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes gleaming.
“You brood, you frown, you scold, yet when you soften even a little, it feels like the world shifts.
That’s why you confuse me, Hades.
And why I can’t let you go.” Hades’ throat tightened, though he kept his expression steady.
His voice came low, almost reluctant.
“You could have anyone you wish.
You are the goddess of love.
Yet you waste your time with me, a man who does not… who cannot… return what you expect.” Her laughter rang again, but softer this time, tinged with affection.
“Do you really think so little of me?
A goddess of love does not choose lightly.
I do not want ‘anyone.’ I want you.
Even if you stumble.
Even if you don’t know how to smile.
Even if you sit there with that stiff face pretending you are not moved.” Hades stared at her, his obsidian eyes flickering with something unreadable.
He opened his mouth as though to answer, then closed it again, looking almost… lost.
Aphrodite leaned back with a playful sigh.
“You’re terrible at this, you know.
You really don’t know how to act, do you?” “…No,” Hades admitted finally, his voice low, quiet, almost self-conscious.
“I do not.” Her smile softened, less teasing now, more tender.
“Then let me teach you.
Slowly.
One dinner at a time.
One moment at a time.” The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.
It wasn’t awkward.
It was simply the two of them, sitting across from each other, the weight of his awkwardness met by her warmth, the goddess of love trying to reach the one god who had never understood it.