The Underworld was never supposed to have a wellness centre.

Hades, Lord of the Dead, had ruled his grim, shadowed domain for millennia without ever needing a single self-help book, scented candle, or meditation bowl. But after one too many centuries of Persephone urging him to “find a creative outlet” for his growing frustrations most of which, to be fair, stemmed from his family, he finally gave in. He did the unthinkable.

Hades became a licensed therapist.

The waiting room of the Underworld Wellness Centre was an exercise in bleak minimalism. The furniture, salvaged from various fallen civilizations, carried an air of tragic history. Charon, the  receptionist, sat at the front desk flipping through a newspaper, mostly ignoring his duties. The only signs of life were Persephone’s potted plants. Without her constant care, they drooped in silent protest against being forced to survive in the kingdom of the dead. The very air in the Underworld seemed to reject life, standing in stark contrast to the teeming vitality of the living realm.

In hindsight Hades should have warned his radiant wife to bring plants sourced from the Asphodel Meadows or the Elysian Plains; they might have fared better in this little pocket of space that connected the many domains of the Underworld. But then again, Perse had been determined to see plants from the living world thrive here and there was no changing her mind once she’d made it up.

And Hades? Hades sat in his office, staring at his appointment book with the weary resignation of a man who had seen his doom foretold in prophecy. He almost wished he’d chosen a different creative outlet.

The door swung open before he could even sigh.

In strode the King of the Gods himself.

Zeus moved with the confidence of a man who had never once faced the consequences of his actions. Hades still held on to hope that such a day would come eventually, and he planned to watch from the front row, bowl of popcorn in hand.

Draped in a flowing chiton embroidered with gold, his white hair flowing down his back like a lion’s mane, and biceps gleaming as if he’d oiled them specifically for this visit, Zeus flopped into the chair across from Hades’ desk like he was claiming the throne of therapy.

“Hades! Brother! Long time, no see,” Zeus boomed, flashing his signature grin, which was all teeth and smarmy arrogance.

Hades cringed and massaged his temples. He could already tell he’d need a strong dose of headache medication by the end of this session.

Zeus’ voice resonated with the force of thunder cracking across the sky. Oddly enough, most gods with lightning-related powers seemed to lack any understanding of the concept of an inside voice. Their personalities always seemed too huge to contain, and their presence impossible to ignore.

“Listen, I don’t need therapy, obviously, but Hera said I should come, so here I am!” Zeus declared, spreading his arms wide and raising his voice like Hera might be listening in from Mount Olympus.

Knowing his sister-in-law and her wily ways, Hades wouldn’t be surprised if she was somehow eavesdropping on the session.

He rubbed his temples again. “I see. And what exactly does Hera think you need therapy for?”

Zeus shrugged. “Something about my ‘inability to commit’ and ‘reckless behaviour’, I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening. She tends to talk a lot, but says a whole lot of nothing,” he scoffed.

Hades stared at him. Then, slowly and deliberately, he reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a massive leather-bound notebook, and flipped it open.

“Let’s start with your history,” he said, tapping his pen against the page. “How many affairs have you had?”

Zeus winced. “Oof. Uh, you mean recently?”

Hades didn’t blink. “No. I mean in all of recorded history.”

Zeus rubbed his chin, pretending to think. “Ballpark? Let’s go with... a lot,” he said, smirking like the cat that got the cream.

Hades calmly wrote in neat script: Pathological womanizer. Completely unrepentant.

Zeus leaned back and draped an arm over the chair. “Look, you and I both know I’m irresistible. It’s a godly curse, really.” He sighed theatrically. “Women just fall for me.”

Hades scribbled: Ego the size of Olympus.

He tapped his pen against the notebook again. “And you think this serial cheating and believing that every woman wants you is normal, healthy behaviour?”

“Brother, I’m sensing some judgment,” Zeus said, narrowing his eyes.

Hades clicked his pen once. “Fascinating. Tell me, do you always feel attacked when confronted with the truth of your own actions?”

Zeus scowled. “I didn’t come here to be insulted. And FYI, it’s not just the women who fall for me,” he added with a cocky smirk.

“No, you came here because Hera forced you to,” Hades said smoothly. “Because your infidelity is hurting her, and ruining your marriage. But if you’re unwilling to engage in honest self-reflection, perhaps I should just write her a note confirming you are, in fact, unfixable.”

Zeus blinked, eyes gleaming with interest. “Wait, is that an option?”

Hades pinched the bridge of his nose. “Zeus!”

“Fine, fine,” Zeus huffed, crossing his arms. “Maybe I do have a tiny problem with fidelity.”

Hades arched an eyebrow. “A tiny problem?”

“Minuscule. Practically microscopic.”

Hades added: Delusional to the growing list.

Zeus watched him write with a frown. “Hey!”

Hades ignored him. “Tell me, how does it make you feel when Hera tries to hold you accountable?”

Zeus frowned. “Annoyed.” 

Hades tapped his pen against the desk. “And why do you think that is?”

Zeus drummed his fingers on the armrest, genuinely trying to think. “I guess... I don’t like feeling tied down.”

“Ah,” Hades murmured, his pen gliding across the page.

Classic avoidance of responsibility. Severe authority issues, despite literally being the highest authority.

“Alright, now I feel like you’re enjoying this far too much. I only said one thing, where are you getting all of that from?” Zeus grumbled, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, tremendously.” Hades remarked dryly and snapped the notebook shut. “But as your therapist, I’ll offer you actual advice: perhaps try respecting your wife and not acting like a lightning-charged bull in perpetual heat.”

“I think you mean rut. Females go into heat, males enter a rut,” Zeus smugly corrected. 

Hades threw him a dark glare. “Did you hear a word of what I said?”

Zeus frowned. “I dunno, man; that sounds hard. I mean, I’m King of the Gods, for Fates’ sake! Expecting me to stay with one woman who doesn’t even like me all that much for all eternity? That’s a lot, don’t you think? I don’t know how you do it, brother. Doesn’t it get stale, tasting the same—”

Hades cut him off, snapping his notebook shut with deliberate force. “We’re done here.”

Zeus’ eyes sparked a brilliant shade of blue found nowhere outside Olympus, and he grinned. “Great! Hera will be thrilled to hear I’ve completed therapy.” He stood and reached across the desk, squeezing Hades’ shoulder. “You’re doing good work here, brother. Really helping people. I already feel unburdened.”

Hades watched him saunter out, then slowly, painfully pressed his forehead against the desk.

Charon poked his head in. “Next client?”

Hades didn’t lift his head. “Is it Hera?”

“Yep,” Charon replied with a pained grimace.

Hades exhaled. “Fine. Send her in... Wait! Give me two minutes to collect my thoughts first.”

Charon nodded and shuffled away, and Hades braced himself for round two of this divine marital disaster.