He hates crying, especially where anyone else can see. But in his mind's eye he can see the bodies piled high in that cavern and all the faces of those who trusted him, loved him, depended on him, twisted in betrayal. He can hear voices screaming for succor in fire, flood, and snow across centuries. Across eras. For a while, he thought he had escaped such dreams. After Hythlodaeus' death on Avalon, however, they had returned.

"She says I should have left you dead," he says hoarsely. "That this pain is my own doing. That if I had used my power to help instead of sow chaos--"

He breaks into tearful, unbalanced laughter and buries his face against Hythlodaeus' shoulder. "Does she think I didn't try?" he growls. "Watching their civilisations grow only to see them fall with the lightest of nudges. Incapable of learning, incapable of growing..."

...But Hythlodaeus has heard much of this before. Hades falls silent, tears welling thick and fast until his friend's shirt starts to soak through. Though he does not speak, the seething resentment he feels resonates loudly enough.