The long trip through the frozen wastelands of Hel left many hours to burn from one day to the next. Over time Scott and Hades opened up a bit. Though the former had a spotty memory at best, he did recall enough about reality to be able to understand what Hades spoke of on occasion. Of course, their conversations were mostly small things. Personal things.

In some ways, the event turned into something of a bro road trip. Scott, in his current incarnation, had never had a brother. While parts of his mental landscape were crafted by a dragon god angel thing older than time itself, his mortal experiences outweighed those memories by a fair degree. However, those experiences had not prepared him for the strangeness of it all.

Hades pointed at a collection of frost covered rocks over to one side of the land. “Do you see it, brother?”

Scott looked to where the deity pointed then squinted a little. “How is that even possible!”

“It’s a hot spring. The minions of Hel are granted access to them, and they erupt where they choose. It’s a perk of dealing with this frozen wasteland,” said Hades.

The chariot drew to a halt and hovered in the sky. They were far enough from the hot spring that anyone who found themselves within its confines could not see them, but the chariot improved visibility for those within as a necessity of moving at such high speeds.

Scott leaned over the side of the chariot a bit and stared. “I think there are people down there. Hard to tell from this distance.”

“No doubt of that,” said Hades. “There would be no hot spring otherwise.”

“I wonder who they are?” asked Scott curiously. Anything outside of the omnipresent frozen landscape proved quite interesting.

“We could go see. It is not like we are natives to this realm,” suggested Hades.

Scott leaned back in and looked over to Hades. “Aren’t you in a hurry to return to Persephone?”

“Always,” replied the dour deity.

The possibility of a dip in a hot spring was far too tempting. Scott agreed that it would be good to visit with the locals. So, Hades drove the chariot down to a point nearby.

“Hold!” called an authoritative voice.

The new arrivals looked to the source of the outcry and saw that it was a large man with more chest hair than any two bears might have had. Curly and lush, those mighty chest hairs gleamed in the light of the hot springs luminescent plant life.

“Hello,” said Scott. “We were traveling and thought to see who it was here at the hot spring.”

The hairy man started to say something, only for another man’s voice to cut in, “Bjørn! Don’t be so rude to our guests.”

The new arrival proved to be a blond man with classic good looks. He was the sort of wavy-haired individual who would adorn a romance novel cover. He walked over to the bear-like man, unsurprisingly named Bjørn, and slipped his arm around the much larger man’s waist. “Clearly they wish to come inside and be made warm.”

Scott glanced over to Hades. The dour deity cast his gaze sideways toward Scott. They then both looked back at the two men in unison.

“Perhaps we have come at a bad time,” said Hades.

“It’s not really all that cold out here,” confided Scott.

“Oh?” asked the unnamed romance novel cover boy. “You don’t want to come inside?”

Bjørn began to run his fingers through his massive chest bush. “It’s warm… and hospitable.”

Hades waved them off and said, “We have come at a bad time. Our apologies.”

Scott and Hades rushed toward the chariot and flew away as quickly as possible. Back at the hot spring a feminine laugh pervaded the area as a woman of impeccable feminine architecture swayed out of the mists with two bottles of wine in hand. “Finally found the wine stash! Seemed like I never would.”

Several more ladies wearing little to no clothing appeared in a rush. “Hey, don’t claim all of the wine!”

The men looked to each other, and then grinned. Crises averted. Competition defeated.

As the group of nearly naked people wandered back toward the spring, one of the ladies asked about the two guys who had shown up. It was with great sadness that the men reported that those travelers could not stay. Yes, much sadness.

While the minions of Hel partied, and the dynamic duo fled the scene, a crow strangely unperturbed by the cold took flight behind them. Neither the dour deity, nor his mentally challenged older brother ever realized that it was there.

Down in the depths of a jet-black castle, a strangely beautiful woman gazed at a pillar of transparent crystal. Her clothing and hair were black on one side, and white on the other. Her name was Hel, and soon she would have visitors.

“I recognize that one easily enough,” she said in a dulcet manner while she pointed one sharp fingernail toward the fleeing image of Hades.

It was the passenger in Hades’ chariot that caught her attention, however. She could not see him clearly mostly of the time, but there was something familiar about him. Nostalgic.

Either way, Hel was annoyed. Fellow gods in her cohort or not, they did not so much as toss a headless chicken over her wall and send a by-your-leave to enter. What manner of mannerless dogs were they?

“You just merrily fly wherever you please? Is that it, Hades?” she asked rhetorically.

Hel did not enjoy having guests drop in unannounced. She was quite the busy lady. This was an affront to her dignity and personage that could not go uncontested.

She let out a loud cry. Dozens of crows flocked into her chamber. She bid them to bear her will into the frozen lands. Her visitors seemed bored, and even tried to stop for a moment at one of her employee hot springs. The least she could do is liven up their trek through the dead lands.