"Why would I be angry?" Prometheus asked, genuinely confused at the question. Considering his memories stopped just before he travelled to Xerora to investigate the strange phenomena, he could only make one conclusion: he died there. Which meant... oh.

He did have a fight with Hades before he left. A petty, stupid fight where Hades had told him not to go because it sounded dangerous, and Prometheus's pride had been wounded at the implication of being incompetent enough to be hurt by some roaming band of mundane monsters. They squabbled and... Hades must've been stewing in guilt all this time, knowing him. How he must've felt, realising Prometheus died in Xerora, thinking how he should've tried harder to stop him. He would've shouldered the blame for it all, the idiot.

Oh, that silly man.

Prometheus crooned quietly when Hades leant against his head, adjusting his wing so it tucked over Hades as comfortably as possible, splaying the large, clawed hand of his wing against the ground to angle it properly.

"You were right, y'know," Prometheus admitted, deciding he can swallow his pride this once, since they both stupidly suffered from it long enough, "I shouldn't have gone to Xerora. It was stupid of me and... I don't quite remember what happened there, but I think I must've died, righy? I get an awful, cold feeling trying to remember..."