Her research especially her discoveries around the locations and magical properties of ancient metals—was instrumental in the rebellion's earliest victories. In particular, it was Hades who first theorized the rediscovery of Orichalcum, a mythic metal said to be favoured by the Titans. Through her guidance, the Olympians unearthed the metal, which was later forged into their divine weapons and Armor. The edge that metal gave them changed the tide of the war. 

Hades possesses a rare and powerful gift: the ability to sense and manipulate metal and stone alike. With a thought, she can draw raw ore from the earth or shift tectonic pressure into defensive walls and crushing force. Her bident a weapon forged from mythic Orichalcum serves not only as a focus for her abilities but as a symbolic tether to the deep places of the world. She is not a warrior by nature, but she can fight when she must. Still, Hades prefers diplomacy over destruction. 

Long before the death of Zeus and the chaos that followed, Hades had a fascination, bordering on obsession, with the legend of Pandemonium. Not the mythic hell the Church made it out to be, but the real city: the last bastion of the old world, buried and forgotten beneath layers of fear and centuries of silence. A place of exile, yes, but also of knowledge, lost gods, and secrets too dangerous to leave above ground. She and Persephone would stay up late reading through fragments of these legends together. They dreamed of finding it, rebuilding it not as a prison, but as a sanctuary. A home for those like them. They both understood the risks. If they went, it would likely be a one-way journey. But they agreed: they would go together.

After Zeus fell and Olympus collapsed for a time, the two of them disappeared into myth. But they were not lost. They uncovered Pandemonium's ruins and began to raise it anew. It became a haven for the Witchbreed, the forgotten, the broken. A city of ghosts and second chances. 

Hades has never once wavered in her decision. She was certain then and she remains certain now that this is where her future lies. But a fear gnaws at her, one she keeps buried: that Persephone might change her mind. That one day she will look around at the endless caverns and not see home, only darkness. And worse still, that she won’t tell Hades until it’s too late. She would give up her crown for Persephone without hesitation. But the fear of being left of being unloved, unnoticed, too much is something she carries like a stone in her chest.

Very few things matter more to Hades than her love for Persephone but memory comes close. She believes with fierce conviction that history matters. That stories must be remembered, even, especially, when they are painful. Her life's work has been to protect the truths others wanted erased. To her, the dead are not gone so long as someone remembers them. She often walks the halls of her archives late into the night, whispering forgotten names like prayers, reading old stories aloud to herself so they do not vanish. Pandemonium was not just built for the living. It was built for the lost. A city founded in defiance of being forgotten.

Even before setting foot in Pandemonium, Hades knew it would not be enough to find the lost city others had to know it existed. Not just those at her side, but the countless Witchbreed still scattered, still suffering, still hiding in the shadows of a world that feared them. She couldn’t leave them behind.

In the months before her departure, Hades secretly established a network of both written texts and oral traditions, designed not to name Pandemonium outright, but to hint, whisper, call. She knew well the risks of being too direct any message could be intercepted by the Church or its agents. So she wove stories instead. Parables. Songs. Myths of a "city beneath the world," of a queen with a crown of rust and a voice full of names. She left these stories in hidden caches, carved them into cave walls, passed them to traveling bards, and entrusted them to the memories of outcast storytellers.

In some places, it was nothing more than a bedtime tale for  children, In others, it became a coded prayer among the hunted: “When the world above forgets you, remember the world below.”

Paper could burn, but stories carried in the lungs of survivors might yet find their way into the ears of the desperate. And in time, the whisper network worked. Wanderers came. Lost ones followed the rumors. And though the path was long and uncertain, they found their way drawn to the underworld not by maps, but by stories. That was always Hades’ plan: not just to build a city, but to build a myth strong enough to guide others home.