There's something comforting about your relationships in Hades. Something familiar and soothing. Waves upon a shore, the tides rising and falling, predictable and inescapable. Each time you return home and talk to someone you know, you get the barest snippet, a glimpse of the person's thoughts or history. It's a brief moment that doesn't reveal to you much, nearly meaningless in isolation.
The key word is nearly. Your relationships are not built on key confrontations and grand confessions, but rather, it's in all the small moments, each a stroke of a hammer, building something enduring. This and this and this, so many moments crowding forward. Coming home and knowing your friends and family will be there, the quiet, repetitive pattern of it, for even if your words mean nothing at all, they still carry the weight of "I'm here, I see you, I have time for you, I care for you." Before you know it, the familiar weight of that presence, yours and theirs together, settles into a routine that becomes your home.
Even with your mother, you do not find her once and give an impassioned speech. You meet her over and over. Even with your father, you do not prove yourself in one final dramatic combat, nor convince him with a brilliant and perfect solution. You simply wear him down. Even with your friends and their broken relationships, the hardest hurdle isn't purchasing their freedom. It's waiting for them to work up the courage to try.
It's a beautifully subtle portrayal of relationships, romantic, fraternal, and familial: Your bonds aren't won, they are forged.
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