Under the name 'Orphos', Hades began his journey across the earth.
He was no longer a wretch imprisoned in the dark belly, nor a fugitive rushing to escape. He was recognized and protected by the Earth Mother Gaia, a legitimate god responsible for the growth and circulation of plants.
This layer of identity was like the sturdiest armor, temporarily shielding him from any prying eyes that might wander from Mount Olympus.
His figure appeared in vast forests, endless meadows, and deep valleys. Wherever he passed, green vines would suddenly twine themselves into welcoming arches, and silent seeds would burst through the soil and bloom into flowers of unprecedented beauty.
He guided the growth of plants, revitalized barren lands, and brought new greenery back to withered trees. The divine aspect of [Flourishing] was like a gentle brush in his hand, adorning vast expanses with vibrant colors.
The nymphs and lesser nature spirits were drawn to this newborn, gentle yet powerful god of plants. They followed him with admiration, learning from the more orderly and efficient rhythm of growth he brought.
Orphos (Hades) did not reject these followers. He needed these eyes and ears. He needed to solidify the existence of the 'plant god' within the world's rules of that age.
He knew that Zeus would be born sooner or later. He knew that the war to overthrow Cronus would come. He could not place all his hopes on a younger brother he had never met.
He had to have his own power—both on the stage and behind the scenes.
Yet beneath this vibrant facade lurked the cold and restrained core of Hades.
Every time he manifested the power of [Flourishing] to birth plants, accelerating their growth, blooming, and fruiting, he would always quietly activate the power of [Decay]. Those petals that wilted after their splendor, the ripe and fallen fruits, and the naturally withered branches and leaves—under his silent guidance, their decomposition was hastened, transforming them into the most primordial nutrients, sinking heavily back into the earth.
This process was not destruction, but a silent and efficient 'feedback'. He could clearly feel that the earth beneath his feet became more 'fertile' and 'pleased' due to the constant return of high-quality nutrients.
This pleasure was directly connected to the mother goddess dwelling deep within the ley lines—Gaia.
He was fulfilling the duties of the 'plant god', but in truth, he was managing a vast, circulating industry.
Plant growth drew upon the earth's energy; plant decay returned it twofold. He, Hades, was the crucial pivot in this cycle, an important ally who could help Gaia recover her power, not merely a sheltered refugee.
Sometimes, strange ideas would occur to Hades.
The decay of plants was the disintegration of material form, but also the release and reorganization of energy and nutrients. This resonated perfectly with the concept of 'transformation' inherent in the 'treasures' buried deep underground, formed over long geological changes, within his [Subterranean Wealth] sacred office.
Wealth does not appear from nowhere; it can come from river sediments, from the accumulation of biological remains, from the crystallization of ley line power... In essence, they are all products of some kind of 'transformation'.
An idea formed in his mind: could he combine the power of [Decay] with [Subterranean Wealth]?
He chose a barren rocky slope, nearly devoid of plants, to experiment. First, he channeled a faint amount of plant divinity to birth a patch of lichen and moss with an extremely short life span. Then, instead of waiting for them to wither naturally as usual, he directly applied the power of [Decay].
The lichen and moss decomposed and dissolved at a visible speed, but they did not completely turn into nothing and return to the earth.
Under Hades' conscious guidance, the power of [Decay] focused on removing the impurities within, extracting the purest 'essence' that carried a hint of the earth.
At the same time, he mobilized the [Subterranean Wealth] divinity to summon extremely fine metallic particles hidden deep beneath the ground.
Under the delicate action of the two powers, the extracted 'essence' combined with the rising metallic particles and condensed into a few small, yet glimmering, metallic grains within the rock crevices—this was extremely low-quality iron ore.
Success!
Though the product was insignificant, it signified a new path: by guiding and controlling the connection between [Decay] and [Subterranean Wealth], he could accelerate the underground process of generating certain substances, and even... 'create' wealth!
This was not creation from nothing, but a significant acceleration of the natural cycle, compressing veins that might take tens of millions of years to form into a very short span of time.
Of course, this required a great deal of divine power and was currently extremely inefficient.
But it was a beginning. An excellent way to combine the disguise of the 'plant god' with his core power, and secretly accumulate true strength.
Hades (Orphos) gazed at the inconspicuous grains of iron ore in his palm, a deep light flickering in his eyes.
During the years as 'Orphos', Hades was not always alone. He followed the cycle of plant decay and flourishing, his traces everywhere on the earth.
In a forest clearing, he saw two young gods.
One, clad in a robe as dark as night, with a handsome face but a composure and detachment beyond his years, held a huge scythe over three meters long—this was Thanatos, the embodiment of Death.
The other was dressed in a soft, grey-blue robe, with gentle silver hair, drooping eyelids, and a drowsy, comfortable aura about his entire being. He even leaned against a boulder, as if he might fall asleep at any moment—this was Hypnos, the god of Sleep.
They were twin brothers, sons of Nyx (goddess of Night) and Erebus (god of Darkness). Though their divine power was currently weak, they were descendants of the primordial gods, to whom even the king-god Cronus had to show some deference.
At this moment, Thanatos was silently watching a flame of life on the earth that was about to be extinguished—it was an aged elk. Its breath was faint, its eyes gradually glazing over.
In Thanatos's eyes, there was no cruelty, only the calm of one fulfilling his duty.
This was not the first time Hades had encountered them. In the years since becoming 'Orphos' and walking the earth, he and the twin gods symbolizing end and rest had met several times at various thresholds of life.
As their encounters grew more frequent, a subtle, familiar, and unspoken understanding gradually formed between them.
"Orphos." Thanatos spoke first, his voice calm and even, like a deep, still pool.
He did not turn around, his eyes still fixed on the dying elk, but he had clearly sensed Hades' approach. The great scythe was light in his hands, symbolizing the inevitable end.
Hypnos, leaning against the stone, stirred slightly. His silver lashes fluttered, and his hazy, sleepy eyes half-opened, revealing an ambiguous, friendly smile, which counted as a greeting. His very existence was like a warm fog that could easily soothe a troubled mind.
Hades—Orphos—approached them, his gaze falling upon the elk.
As his field of decay gradually expanded to include the decay of animals, he could sense the rapid ebbing of life force from this aging body, and also the earth's faint call for the nutrients soon to return.
"It is time," Orphos said softly, his voice containing no sorrow, only an acknowledgment of the natural law.
He reached out, and his fingertips shimmered with a verdant light, gently brushing across the withered yellow grass around the elk. A few tender green buds quietly emerged, a touch of life force, as if to adorn a little comfort before the impending death.
Thanatos nodded slightly, which counted as an acknowledgment of his action. "The end of life is also the beginning of your domain, Orphos." He spoke a few more words, a rare occurrence for him.
For Thanatos, who was in charge of death, the 'decay' manifested by Orphos was the next logical link in his chain of duties.
"Yes... decaying, then sleeping, and merging with the earth... It's a very peaceful process." Hypnos's soft voice drifted over—he had shifted to a more comfortable position against the rock, as if he found the scene before him very conducive to sleep.
Orphos watched as Thanatos raised the great scythe. He did not strike, but in a solemn gesture, gently touched the elk's forehead with the tip of the scythe.
No pain, no struggle. The weak flame of life was like a candle snuffed by the wind, gently wavering and then fully extinguished.
From the elk's body arose a vague, translucent phantom of a soul. It looked around blankly, and finally, guided by Thanatos's silent direction, slowly sank into the earth—toward the entrance of Hades, which had no explicit master, yet where the instincts of the departed led them to their temporary resting place.