Outside of The Serpent's Vine, the deer stood patiently, its majestic presence a calming influence on the bustling streets. Rosalind emerged from the tavern with a bowl and a bottle of wine cradled in her arms. With practiced ease, she poured the wine into the bowl, the rich aroma filling the air around them.

The deer approached Rosalind, its eyes reflecting a sense of trust and familiarity. As it dipped its muzzle into the bowl, savoring the sweet nectar of the wine, Rosalind gently stroked its soft fur, her touch imbued with a sense of reverence.

"I hope you enjoy it," she murmured softly, a smile gracing her lips as she watched the deer drink. With a contented sigh, Rosalind turned back towards the tavern, ready to face the tasks that awaited her inside.

As she pushed open the door and stepped into the warm glow of the tavern, she was greeted by the familiar sight of her husband, who was busy rearranging the bottles on the shelves behind the counter.

Rosalind's brow furrowed as she approached him, her voice firm but tinged with exasperation. "What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes scanning the disarrayed shelves with dismay.

Her husband glanced up, a sheepish expression crossing his features. "I was just trying to organize things a bit," he replied.

Rosalind let out a frustrated sigh, her patience wearing thin. "It took me weeks to fix the mess you made while I was gone," she admonished, her voice tinged with irritation. "And I'm not going to have you mess it up now."

With a determined expression, she began to set the bottles back in their proper places as her husband remarked, "You are a hard woman to please." To which she retorted, "You are a lucky man to have me."

Just then, her husband gestured towards a table in the back where two women and a man sat. "I think your special guests are thirsty," he said casually.

Rosalind's heart skipped a beat, panic rising within her as she realized she had forgotten about her guests. Hastily, she began to prepare their drinks.

Curiosity piqued, her husband inquired, "You still haven’t told me who they are."

Rosalind shot him a warning look, her voice sharp as she replied, "That’s because it's none of your business."

As Rosalind finished preparing the drinks, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves before leaving the bar. As she made her way through the tavern, she passed by her daughter, Rose, who was performing "May the Temple Fall" for the patrons. Rosalind couldn't help but smile proudly at her daughter's talent, though her mind was preoccupied with the impending encounter at the table in the back.

Finally reaching the table, Rosalind approached with the tray of drinks held carefully in her hands. Her heart raced as she neared the guests, their identities a mystery to the rest of the tavern.

Setting the drinks down before them, Rosalind forced herself to maintain her composure despite the swirling emotions within her. "Here are your drinks, sirs and madams," she said. As the guests reached for their drinks, Rosalind stole a glance at each of them.

Ariadne, with her serene countenance and the faint aroma of grapes that seemed to emanate from her very being. Skadi, her connection to the natural world palpable in the air around her, despite the human guise she wore. And Artur, his eyes holding a spark of nobility that hinted at his divine lineage.

With a sense of awe and reverence washing over her, Rosalind bowed her head respectfully. "Forgive me, my lords and ladies, for taking so long with your drinks." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"There is no need for apologies, dear Rosalind," Ariadne said, "You have served us well, and for that, we are grateful."

As Rosalind breathed a sigh of relief, her attention was suddenly drawn to the tavern door swinging open with a forceful creak. In strode Igor, his presence commanding attention as he made his way to the table where the divine guests sat.

Without so much as a greeting, Igor plopped himself down at the table, his boisterous demeanor a stark contrast to his siblings. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he exclaimed, his voice booming across the room. "Looks like a fancy gathering, eh?"

Ariadne, Skadi, and Artur exchanged knowing looks, their expressions betraying a mixture of resignation and amusement at their brother's antics. They had grown accustomed to Igor's impulsive nature over the centuries, though they knew it often caused chaos wherever he went.

But before they could speak, Igor pounded his fist on the table and bellowed, "Barkeep! Bring me your finest ale!”

With a resigned sigh, Rosalind went back to the bar. She swiftly retrieved a mug of beer from behind the bar and made her way back to the table.

Setting the mug down before Igor, Rosalind offered him a tight-lipped smile, her voice strained as she addressed him. "Here's your beer, sir," she said, her tone laced with a hint of irritation.

Igor barely acknowledged her presence, taking a long swig from his mug. Rosalind suppressed a sigh of frustration and walked away.

As Igor emptied his mug, his gaze swept across the table, settling on his divine siblings. "Where are the younger ones?" he gruffly inquired, curiosity etched into his voice.

 "Antioch, Taliesin, and Soter are handling their own matters," Skadi clarified. "It's best not to involve them."

“Unless we want to make things worse.” Artur interjected.

Ariadne's usually serene expression shifted, a flash of irritation crossing her features at Artur's comment. "And yet, the Trinity of Antioch, Taliesin, and Soter remains intact," she retorted, her voice carrying a hint of reproach. "Unlike some others we know."

Her words hung in the air, the tension palpable as the siblings exchanged uneasy glances. For a moment they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, Rosalind watched from a distance, a silent observer to the divine encounter unfolding before her.

As the tension lingered at the table, Igor broke the silence, his gaze turning to Ariadne with a sense of urgency. "Have you made any progress with the portal to Erebus?" he inquired.

Ariadne's expression grew somber as she shook her head, her voice heavy with regret. "I'm afraid not," she admitted, "The realm seems to be shut off from us, its barriers impenetrable."

Igor leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the table as he spoke. "It's probably for the best," he remarked bluntly.

Skadi's eyes widened in shock at Igor's words. "But why?" she asked.

Igor's gaze hardened as he met Skadi's eyes, his expression grave. "Because if Valkas returns," he began, his voice low and steady, "we may have no choice but to kill him."

Ariadne's eyes widened in disbelief as she turned to face Igor, her expression one of incredulity mixed with anger. "Kill Valkas?" she exclaimed, her voice rising with indignation. "Surely you jest, brother!

Igor met Ariadne's gaze with a steely resolve, unmoved by her protests. "I jest not, sister," he replied, his voice firm and unwavering. "You know as well as I do the danger Valkas poses.

Skadi's absorbed Igor's words, her mind racing with the implications of his suggestion. "But to destroy one of our own..." she began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to comprehend the gravity of their situation.

Artur, who had remained silent until now, spoke up in support of Igor's proposal. "As much as it pains me to admit it, Igor is right," he interjected, his voice tinged with sorrow. "We cannot afford to underestimate Valkas's power, nor Hera’s for that matter. If either return, they could bring nothing but destruction in their wake."

Ariadne's eyes flashed with fury at Artur's agreement, her voice laced with betrayal as she turned to face him. "If I thought killing our kin was on the table. I would have invited Antioch!" she yelled, her voice trembling with emotion. "Have you forgotten the bond that united us as siblings?"

Artur's gaze faltered under Ariadne's accusing stare, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. "I have not forgotten," he replied softly, his voice tinged with regret. "But we cannot allow sentiment to cloud our judgment. The power in Erebus is dark and if Valka’s or Hera can learn how to channel it, then we must do what is necessary to protect our world."

As Rosalind observed from a distance, the tension at the table seemed to dissipate slowly as the siblings continued to talk. With each passing moment, she could sense the weight of their words pressing down upon them, burdening their already heavy hearts.

As the night wore on, one by one, the divine guests rose from their seats, bidding their farewells to each other and to Rosalind.

Finally, Ariadne remained, her gaze lingering on Rosalind with fondness. With a loving nod, she offered Rosalind a silent reassurance before rising from her seat and making her way towards the door.

As Ariadne disappeared into the darkness outside, Rosalind felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over her. Deep down inside, she knew that their paths would cross again. And that thought both elated and terrified her.

In the underworld of Erebus, the souls damned by Azrakul wandered aimlessly in their eternal prison, their spectral forms twisted and contorted by the weight of their sins. Eerie wisps of mist curled around them, obscuring their features and shrouding them in an ethereal veil of despair. Each soul bore the marks of their transgressions, their faces etched with expressions of agony and remorse, their voices lost in a chorus of lamentation that reverberated through the endless expanse of darkness.

The air itself seemed heavy with the burden of their suffering, suffused with a palpable sense of hopelessness. The underground cavern stretched as far as the eye could see, devoid of life or light.

From the depths of the underworld emerged Hera, her form a chilling amalgamation of her dual personas. On her right side, she bore the visage of the old, haggard witch, while on her left, she exuded the beauty of the dark queen. With each step she took, the ground trembled beneath her feet, and the damned souls recoiled in fear at the sight of her imposing presence. Whispers of dread rippled through their ranks as they knelt in submission, their eyes downcast in deference as she passed by them.

In the center of the cavern, amidst the swirling shadows and tormented souls, stood a broken throne, its ancient form a stark reminder of past glory now tarnished by the ravages of time. Despite its dilapidated state, there was an undeniable allure to the throne, an unspoken promise of power and dominion that called out to Hera with an irresistible pull.

Hera approached the broken throne, her gaze fixed upon it. With each step she took, the whispers of the damned souls grew louder, their voices swirling around her like a cacophony of despair and longing.

As she reached the base of the throne, Hera extended her hand, her fingers grazing the rough surface of the ancient stone. With a sense of grim satisfaction, Hera sat on the broken throne, her form bathed in the dim light of the cavern. Despite its fractured state, the throne seemed to mold itself to her presence, embracing her with an aura of sinister authority.

Hera surveyed the realm. The damned souls cowered before her, their eyes filled with fear and awe as they bowed in submission to their new queen.

A surge of dark energy began to course through her veins, resonating with the wicked force that permeated the underworld. In that moment, she felt a connection, an affirmation of her rightful place as ruler of this desolate realm.

Above ground, amidst the towering peaks and swirling mists of the volcanic landscape, the dragons had gathered around the smoldering crater of the great volcano. Their majestic forms cast long shadows against the fiery glow of molten lava that bubbled and churned within the depths below. Born of fire and fury, these ancient creatures had long been the guardians of Erebus, fiercely independent and beholden to none but themselves.

While all the other creatures of this land went to battle against Antioch and his siblings, the dragons did not. They were Azrakul's finest creation, imbued with power and wisdom beyond mortal comprehension, and they would never to answer the call of a mere warlock like Malakar.

As they scanned the volcanic landscape, their fiery eyes caught sight of a figure emerging from the depths of the crater. At first, they mistook it for a trick of the flames, a flickering shadow cast by the dancing firelight. But as the figure drew closer, they realized that it was no illusion.

It was Valkas, his form wreathed in swirling tendrils of dark magic. His eyes blazed with an otherworldly light, and his presence seemed to command the very elements themselves.

For a moment, there was a tense silence among the dragons as they beheld the enigmatic figure before them. They could sense a kinship between him and Azrakul.

As Valkas looked at gathered dragons, his gaze alighted upon their leader, a massive wyrm with scales as black as obsidian and eyes that gleamed with ancient wisdom. The wyrm regarded Valkas with caution, his thoughts veiled behind a mask of stoic indifference.

The dragons exchanged wary glances, their minds awash with conflicting emotions. They were creatures of instinct, guided by the primal forces of fire and fury that burned within their hearts. And yet, they could not deny the undeniable power that radiated from Valkas, nor the sense of purpose that stirred within their ancient souls.

With a silent nod from their leader, the dragons lowered their heads in a gesture of deference to Valkas. Though they remained wary of this enigmatic figure and the dark magic that surrounded him, they knew somehow their destiny was tied to him.