The Olympians, still trembling beneath the shadow of the Primordials' presence, had only just begun to reclaim their poise when Astraea, voice steady but tinged with foreboding curiosity, stepped forward once more.
"Progenitors… if I may be so bold—what is the Pandora Fragment? The way you spoke of it… it sounds like something far more dangerous than anything Olympus has ever faced."
Her question fell into the hall like a blade suspended mid-fall—silent, gleaming, irreversible.
Chaos, who had been spinning lazily overhead, stilled mid-twirl. Their grin faded, not completely, but just enough to signal that the performance was over.
The stars in their hair slowed.
Death straightened, her breath no longer a sigh of endings but the stillness before execution.
Rebirth's arms lowered, crimson eyes darkening as memories far older than time flickered behind them.
Order slowly clasped her hands at her waist—no longer serene, but solemn.
Chaos floated gently to the center of the room, voice quiet now—too quiet. Not playful. Not this time.
"You wish to understand the Pandora Fragment?" they asked, not as a taunt, but as a warning. "Then listen well, echoes of Olympus. For this tale predates gods. Predates Titans. It predates even naming."
The air dimmed—not with magic, but with memory too vast for light to contain.
Above the Olympians, Chaos raised a hand. The ceiling faded. In its place bloomed a vast tapestry of existence itself: galaxies spiraling, dimensions folding and unfolding, light being born and dying all at once.
And behind it all… Presence.
Not shaped. Not seen. Only felt. Like the breath of the first question ever asked.
"Before we were," Chaos whispered, "there were the Powers-that-Be. Not gods. Not beings. Wills. Concepts that dreamed reality into existence without eyes, without hands, without ego. They were not made. They are."
Order stepped forward, lifting a single finger toward the starlit veil, and ten radiant points of light flared into being—each a heartbeat of unfathomable might.
"Abyss. Time. Nature. Life. Oblivion. Void. Aether. Fate. Genesis. Celestial," she recited, her voice like a bell forged from law and starlight.
Then, three more joined the constellation—larger, and no less luminous:
"Death. Chaos. Order."
"These are the firstborn concepts," Order continued. "We were made not by whim, but by necessity. We are the balance between the fundamental laws. The First Circle."
Rebirth took the thread next, his voice heavy with the burden of history.
"But the Powers-that-Be… sought something more. A crucible. A singularity of potential. So they forged a vessel from the very bones of the Primordials—Chaos, Order, Death, Rebirth… and from the ten that came before."
"They called her…" Death's voice barely brushed the air, "Pandora."
Chaos spoke again, softer now, as stars dimmed above them. "But not as a woman, not really. Not as a box like the mortals portrayed it to be in you myths. She was a containment, at that the mortal myth got right. She was a living lattice of all that could be—and all that should never be."
"Imagination unbound," Order said. "Creation without restraint. A mirror that did not reflect the world—but remade it entirely."
"She was born with every gift," Rebirth murmured. "Light and shadow. Dream and void. Joy and horror. She could speak a word—and make it law. She could feel… and that feeling could remake stars."
"But without purpose," said Death, "there is no shape. And so… she became wild. Not evil. Not good. Just… freedom. Absolute and untethered."
A silence fell so complete it seemed to crush the walls inward.
Chaos finally whispered, "The Powers-that-Be saw their mistake. She was too much. And so… they dismantled her."
"They did not kill her," said Order. "For she could not be killed. They broke her apart. Sealed fragments of her essence across all layers of reality—encoded in time, space, blood, memory."
Rebirth's jaw clenched. "Each shard hidden and scattered across dimensions strong enough to contain—but never awaken—them."
All eyes turned now.
To the place where Hespera had stood.
Astraea's voice broke the silence, trembling: "And she… has one of them?"
Death's eyes shimmered with ancient sorrow. "The last one. The Core Fragment. Hidden in a lineage twisted by fire, death, and chaos. Hespera was chosen by Chaos not to awaken it—but to contain it."
"But she did awaken it," Order said flatly.
"And if it completes within her while she is still tethered to this world," Rebirth warned—
Chaos finished the thought, their voice now laced with awe and excitement. (Typical chaos. Not a care in the world😮💨🙂↔️)
"She will become Pandora Unbound. Not goddess. Not Primordial. But a living breach. A wound in reality. A walking singularity of choice, madness, and raw genesis."
The stars above flickered.
The Olympians paled.
Ares muttered hoarsely, "So what does that mean—for us? For this world?"
Death did not blink. "It means she will not only destroy Olympus. She will unmake it. Forget it. Erase its possibility from the past."
Order looked beyond them, to the fading vision of the Powers-that-Be. "And they will not stop her."
"They never do," Rebirth said softly. "They only start over."
A hush fell.
Chaos, still half-shadow and half-starlight, gave a slow, tragic smile.
"So we're here. Not to fight her. Not to chain her. But to witness and perhaps give her a means to control it in small amounts. We wish to see if she will transcend the chain… or pull the world into the fire with her." They did not mention that she will most likely leave before anything could actually happen. But seeing these cute kids look so worried, we'll, they couldn't help but tease them a little.
'Heehee~ I really chose the best Blessed!'
~☆~
Far away, in the emerald hush of the Familiar Forest, Hespera strolled with all the nonchalance of someone not carrying a reality-destabilizing fragment in her soul. Her bare feet padded over moss that glowed faintly under her touch, each step leaving behind gentle pulses of flame-shaped blossoms that quickly faded—like shy dreams.
She whistled a tune.
It wasn't ancient. Wasn't divine. Just something catchy she'd heard once from one of her daughters humming while cleaning blood from her glaive. A song with no name, no weight. And that was why she liked it.
It reminded her that not everything had to be prophecy.
Somewhere overhead, a hawk made of light blinked once, then vanished in a flurry of golden feathers.
Hespera inhaled deeply, then paused. Her smile curved into something thoughtful. Curious.
"…Interesting."
She felt it. Faint, like a breath against her neck—but unmistakably ancient.
The magical essence of Virdis Myrr was nearby, yes. It hummed like a heartbeat made of sap and sorrow.
But layered just beyond it… was something older. Something that smelled of salt, storm, and birthing seas.
Her eyes twinkled.
"Tiamat~," she sang softly, almost sweetly. "Weren't you napping in this forest for the last few centuries?"
She tilted her head, the emberlight in her eyes catching the canopy above.
"Hehe~ I should go say hi."
And with a snap of her fingers, a shimmering veil peeled away—revealing the long-forgotten shrine of the Dragon Matron herself.
Pillars wrapped in scale-touched ivy.
Pools of silver-blue water that whispered in a tongue no longer spoken by stars.
And resting at the center, coiled atop a dais of crystalline roots, lay the sleeping form of Tiamat—her breath calm, her six wings tucked, her tail lazily flicking in rhythm with the dreams of an apocalypse long averted.
Hespera stepped forward, voice light and teasing. "Yoo-hoo~ Wake up, old girl. I brought wine~."
Behind her, the Pandora Fragment pulsed once in her chest.
Faint. But deeper than bone.
And somewhere beyond the world's edge, reality shifted slightly on its axis.
Tiamat did not stir at first.
The Ancient Dragon of the Deep, Mother of Leviathans, remained curled in her cathedral of roots and forgotten lullabies. Her scales shimmered in iridescent blues and storm-lit violets, each one a mirror to a different era of ruin. Her body spanned the entire glade, coiled like the ouroboros of myth, as if swallowing the past to keep the present breathing.
Hespera approached without fear.
Without reverence.
But not without respect.
She walked the stone spiral leading to the dais, each step echoing with the subtle hum of reality... adjusting. Moss bloomed beneath her bare feet. Petals opened in her wake—each flower glowing with a faint magenta flare.
She stopped at the edge of the water.
"Tiamat," she called again, softer now. "Time to rise, ancient tide. I need a favor. And I may have brought your favorite vintage."
She held up a bottle—black glass, sealed in emberwax, labeled only with a sigil older than wine itself. It flickered. Tiamat's Seal.
There was a pause.
A beat.
Then the ground rumbled.
The pools began to churn.
Mist coiled up like breath from the void. The roots writhed slowly as if remembering pain, or preparing for war.
A single slit-pupil eye the size of a moon cracked open.
It turned toward Hespera.
"Little Mayhem," Tiamat's voice rolled out, not spoken but tasted—like blood, salt, and deepwater sorrow. It made the trees sway and the stars above blink once in instinctive awe. "You walk with something inside you that does not belong."
Hespera smiled. "Well, I always was a little bad at returning borrowed things."
Tiamat uncoiled slightly, lifting her massive head. Her mane of kelp and lightning trailed behind her like a curtain of storms. Her jaw parted, exposing teeth that had ended pantheons.
"You carry the final Fragment."
"Guilty," Hespera sang, giving a two-finger salute. "And yes, it's humming. Don't worry, I've only had two apocalyptic dreams and a few flare-ups. Nothing... world-ending. Yet."
Tiamat exhaled. The air became heavy, thick with oceans. Birds dropped from nearby trees into sudden slumber. Even the sun seemed to tilt.
"Do you understand what you are becoming?"
Hespera's eyes glinted—not with pride, not quite. But with awareness.
"Pandora Unbound," she whispered. "I have been seeing fragments of memories every now and then. It's weird."
She tilted her head skyward. "They're waiting. Even now. Chaos is probably giggling into a teacup somewhere."
Tiamat growled. Not in threat—but in a sound like tectonic recognition.
"The Primordials cannot guide you. Not fully. They can only witness." She leaned forward, shadows dancing over Hespera's frame. "You, child of fire, chaos, and death, must choose whether to become a song of rebirth… or a scream that ends the cycle."
"I know."
"And you came here… for a drop of resin?"
"Not just any resin," Hespera corrected. "Virdis Myrr. To heal Yggdrasil. Albion is still down there, gnawing rot with every breath. And I won't let him die for me."
Tiamat went still. Her enormous eye narrowed.
"…You are willing to bind the Fragment's hunger—to pause your own awakening—for the sake of a tree?"
"No," Hespera replied.
"I'm doing it for myself... and there are a few people in this world that I am kind of fond of. Killing them would be pretty annoying. I may be a psychpath but I can still grow some attachments."
Silence.
Then—
Tiamat's mouth curled slightly, a sharp-toothed smile blooming like a slow tsunami.
"Then take it, Daughter of Ends. And may your tether hold—for now."
With a wave of her massive claw, the roots at the center of the dais peeled open.
A single drop of glowing green resin hovered there, suspended in a cradle of singing bark and violet vines. It pulsed once. Twice.
Hespera reached out.
The moment her fingers touched it—
The Pandora Fragment inside her flared.
She gasped.
Her breath caught in her chest as visions slammed through her mind—
—worlds unraveling
—stars reversed
—gods kneeling in oceans of ash
—herself, eyes black and wild, laughing with a mouth full of universes—
Her knees buckled.
Tiamat watched in silence, a solemn sentinel.
Then Hespera straightened.
The resin dimmed in her palm, accepting her flame.
Her eyes flickered—one moment magenta, the next… gold.
She breathed out. "...Still me."
Barely.
And somewhere far away—
In New Olympus,
Chaos smiled wide.
"She touched the core. And she didn't shatter. Ooooh, she's close now~."
Order frowned.
Death turned to Rebirth. "If she keeps this up…"
He nodded.
"She'll rewrite everything. Her Nihility racial skill is going through an evolution form."
And the stars began to tilt.