THEMYSCIRA – CAVERN
A rasping breath tore through the stillness.
Aretha's eyes—once lit with divine gold—snapped back to their usual, pupil-less white. Her body trembled, bathed in a sheen of sweat, and her limbs hung limp in the air as if suspended by invisible threads.
"What... have you done?" she whispered, her voice cracked and hoarse, barely above a whimper.
Atrius stood unmoved, his radiant eyes now dimmed, face inscrutable. He stared at her, calm but cold—like a blade still humming from the strike.
Then, with a subtle nod, he released her.
She descended slowly, as if gravity itself had to remember her, and collapsed into Agape's waiting arms. The Amazon caught her firmly, pulling her away from the looming Custodian. Hippolyta, ever the warrior-queen, stared in stunned silence—her cautious gaze locked on Atrius. Her brow tightened, lips parted slightly in disbelief.
Without a word, Atrius turned back toward his battered golden armor, brushing a hand along its scorched surface.
"Depart," he growled, the deep thunder of his voice echoing off the cavern walls. "You've lingered long enough."
There was no room for argument. As if granted a rare amnesty, the Amazons hurried away, Agape carrying Aretha with haste.
leaving Atrius in solitude
OLYMPUS – ATHENA'S SANCTUM
High above the world, atop the divine heights of Olympus, silence reigned in a vast and radiant library. Scroll-laden shelves towered toward a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations. The soft scent of parchment and laurel wafted gently through the air.
At the heart of this sanctuary, a map sprawled across a table—marked with divine borders and ley lines of forgotten realms.
A sudden gasp shattered the stillness.
Athena, seated moments ago in serene contemplation, bolted upright as if struck. She inhaled deeply—an involuntary reflex, even though her form did not require air. Her fingers clutched the edge of the table, knuckles pale against gold-veined marble.
The doors opened with a soft creak. Footsteps approached swiftly.
"Lady Athena? Are you well?" a priestess in flowing white robes stopped at the threshold, concern etched across her youthful face.
The goddess turned slowly, her gaze still distant.
"I'm fine, Letta. Return to your duties." Her voice was steady but clipped.
The priestess hesitated, bowed, and withdrew.
As the door closed with a soft thud, Athena sank back into her seat. Her composure crumbled. Her hair was tousled, her shoulders tense. A furrow marred her perfect brow, and her eyes—gods help her—held fear.
'What was that? What is he? What have I encountered…?'
Her thoughts spiraled inwards like a maelstrom. Atrius had severed her bond with Aretha—permanently. It wasn't brute psychic force; it was something older. Something purer. It wasn't just power—it was authority.
She had tried to reach into him—out of curiosity—and found herself met with steel will and looming erasure. He hadn't even known what she was... not really. His gaze had not been one of hatred. It had been… investigative.
He didn't see me. He saw something else. Someone else.
Yet even in her forced retreat, Athena had glimpsed fragments. Shadows within his memories. Shapes of knowledge unknown to Olympus.
With sudden urgency, she summoned a blank scroll and quill from the air. Her fingers moved swiftly—scribbling in divine shorthand, equations, names, links. Symbols no mortal could comprehend danced across the parchment.
Unnoticed, her lips moved—soft muttering in a tongue she had no knowledge of. Her eyes briefly flashed purple, pulsing once… and then faded.
Hours passed. Scroll after scroll covered the map beneath. Still, Athena wrote, her divine focus sharper than a blade drawn in war.
TERRA – SANCTUM IMPERIALIS
The Imperial Throne Room loomed vast, dark, and reverent. A silence more absolute than death blanketed the space.
Upon the Golden Throne, the Emperor of Mankind sat unmoved—his gaze lost in eternity.
And yet—he spoke.
"Your hypocrisy knows no bounds, Slaanesh." His voice rolled like thunder across a storm-wracked sea. "Why do you wear her face before me? I see through your charade."
Before Him stood a woman. She had climbed the very steps of His throne, daring to gaze into eyes that had witnessed the birth and decay of stars.
The Custodes stood still. None of them perceived her.
Slaanesh chuckled—soft, amused, and cruel.
"Like father, like spawn. How interesting..."
Her voice, though lilting and feminine, coiled like silk around a dagger. She stepped closer.
"I haven't time for games, Anathema. I only seek to know where my son is."
The Emperor's eyes narrowed. The faintest curl of disdain passed across His face.
"He is not your son. You know nothing of kinship. You have birthed no child—you have only consumed."
Slaanesh's illusion flickered, shattering like glass.
Her "true form" emerged in its vile glory: grey-blue flesh shimmered with unnatural light. Countless piercings adorned her face, ears, and bare, supple limbs. Horns curled from her skull like an obscene crown. Her lips parted in a grin, revealing razor fangs and a gold-pierced split tongue.
"You witnessed it yourself. Tell me—if he is not mine, how does he command a power only Ipossess?"
"Something he may have inherited... from one of your own pets," the Emperor said, voice low and dangerous.
Slaanesh stepped closer still, dragging a clawed finger across His armored chest.
"No... from me," she whispered.
"This is no mimicry. He was born of it."
The Emperor said nothing.
Even seated, He towered over her. His gaze remained steady, unreadable.
She smiled.
"Yes. I know his nature. What kind of mother would I be, if I didn't?" she cooed, mockery thick in her voice. "Unlike you, I actually pay attention."
Finally, the Emperor stirred—His expression shifting with the faintest tremor of something not seen in millennia.
"What are you talking about?" His voice was no longer command, but inquiry—tinged with a dark, rising dread.
Slaanesh leaned in, her grin widening.
"Ah, yes... Am!trak'e," she whispered, the name sliding from her lips like oil on steel.
The Emperor's eyes widened. Terror flashed behind His gaze.
"WHAT... did you do?" he whispered, this time not as a god, but as a father.
Emotion cracked through His voice