The blood-red wax seal cracked as Regulus unrolled the parchment. The ink shimmered unnaturally, as if freshly written despite its century of storage.
---
"When the thousandth year of gods' reign nears,
Babelonia's towers shall fall ere dawn rears.
Not by sword, nor flame, nor mortal hand,
But by the waking of what sleeps beneath the land."
The Eighth Vote Resolution:
"This Assembly, by majority accord,
Decrees thus for the preservation of our realm:
1. The prophecy shall be sealed until the Ninth Vote
2. The Oracular Engine's chamber shall be reinforced with divine seals
3. All excavation beneath the nation's foundations is henceforth forbidden
4. A total of four programs are to be initiated to research countermeasures. Details are recorded in SAVE"
---
Regulus' fingers trembled. The date struck him first—this prophecy could happen this very second. His eyes snapped up to Odin.
"You've known for a century," he breathed. "And your solution was... censorship?"
Odin's eye gleamed. "Not my decision. Mortals voted."
Fillian barked a laugh. "Don't play innocent. You manipulated that vote and every one before it." She gestured to the scroll. "Notice how the 'countermeasures' were handed to my Familia?"
Nyx's shadow lashed like a whip. "You mean Athena's been sitting on this for a century?"
"Research takes time," Fillian snapped. Then, softer: "We've made progress. The seals hold. Mostly."
A terrible silence fell. Somewhere beneath their feet, the earth thrummed like a sleeping beast's heartbeat.
Nyx's shadow lashed out violently. "You're lying. Gods can sense lies, you idiot."
Fillian sighed, rubbing her temples. "Fine. We know what will cause the disaster. And there's nothing we can do to stop it."
Regulus' grip tightened on the scroll. "So you're just giving up?!"
Fillian's gaze turned icy. "We've determined that Altena is not part of the prophecy. It's no longer our concern."
The ground beneath them gave a faint, ominous tremble. Dust sifted from the ceiling.
Odin swirled his wine, watching them all with that infuriating half-smile.
He swirled his wine, the liquid catching the torchlight like liquid ruby. "You know what the cause is, Regulus Nihil." His single eye gleamed with unnatural light. "Remember that dream you had when you neared Babelonia's borders?"
Regulus' breath caught—
The endless eye staring back from the darkness.
The world shattering around it.
—his voice came out strangled. "How did you even know about that?!"
The Allfather's smile widened. "Because," he said, as the ground beneath them gave a visceral lurch, "you're now written in the Engine's ninth prophecy."
The scroll burst into blue flames.
The scroll trembled in Regulus' hands as the ink seemed to rewrite itself before his eyes. The Ninth prophecy burned brighter than the rest:
"...the Outlander shall stand at the crossroads,
His borrowed knowledge both shield and spear,
For only one unbound by Fate's chains
May silence what wakes beneath."
Nyx's shadow went perfectly still.
The blue flames of the burning scroll cast eerie shadows across Odin's face as the last parchment curled to ash.
"This is just part of the prophecy," he said, brushing soot from his sleeve. "We'll discuss the full text at the Ninth Vote assembly."
"Absurd," Regulus spat, the dream-memory of that monstrous eye still burning behind his eyelids. "You drop this on us and now want to—"
Nyx's arms suddenly wrapped around his chest from behind, her chin hooking over his shoulder. The scent of jasmine and iron filled his senses as she nuzzled against his neck—a gesture far too intimate for the circumstances.
"Mm, what he means," Nyx purred, her shadow coiling possessively around them both, "is that Babelonia can crumble to dust for all we care." Her bluish-violet eyes locked onto Odin's. "My little moth belongs to me. Not your prophecies. Not your games."
Odin merely smiled, raising his wineglass in salute. "Then you'll have no objection when we—"
A deafening boom shook the manor. Somewhere below, stone shattered.
Nyx's grip tightened. "Time to go."
As she yanked Regulus backward into her arms, the last thing he saw was Fillian's horrified face—and Odin's eye gleaming with something like triumph.
As the two left, the ground trembled violently. A hairline crack split the marble floor beneath them, snaking toward Fillian's feet.
Odin sighed, swirling his wine. "Calm yourself, Fillian. The Beast isn't waking." His eye gleamed in the torchlight. "Merely shifting in its sleep."
Another deafening boom shook the manor. Plaster rained from the ceiling as Fillian took cover.
Somewhere in the depths below, something vast and ancient turned over in its slumber.
-----
The world dissolved into shadows as Nyx yanked Regulus into her embrace. For one weightless moment, there was only the scent of jasmine and the press of her body against his—then his boots slammed onto solid ground as he wrenched himself free.
"We can't just run away," Regulus snapped, staggering back. The afterimage of that pulsing crack in the marble floor still burned behind his eyes.
Nyx rolled her shoulders, her shadow stretching lazily across the unfamiliar stone walls of what appeared to be a cellar. "Sure we can!" She grinned, wild and unrepentant. "We're doing it right now!"
Regulus's hands clenched. "What about Hebe Familia? Or Fillian?"
The grin didn't waver. "Hebe's maids can handle themselves. And Fillian?" Nyx's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "She made her choice when she tied herself to Athena."
A distant boom shook dust from the ceiling. The ground beneath them gave a slow, visceral heave—like the sigh of some great beast.
Nyx's fingers twitched toward her dagger. "Tick-tock, little moth. That thing under the city? It smelled you."
Regulus swallowed hard. "How big is this thing?!"
Nyx tilted her head, considering. "Enough to blot out the sun. At least." She said it so casually, as if discussing the weather.
"We still can't leave like this," Regulus said, his voice low but firm. "It's no different from abandoning your friends."
Nyx's bluish-violet eyes flashed in the dim cellar light. "Didn't you want power, wealth, and women?" she hissed. "I don't recall you ever talking about heroics."
"This isn't about heroism!" Regulus snapped, stepping closer. "Nyx, I know how you feel. But we can't just run away. Not like this. Not now."
Nyx gritted her teeth, shadows coiling violently around her. "Do you not realize what this beast is?" she spat. "It's the One-Eyed Black Dragon! You will die—end of story!"
Regulus looked at her, his expression surprisingly calm. "I suspected as much. But right now, Nyx, the dragon won't wake for another eighty years."
The words hung in the air between them. Nyx's furious expression faltered, just for a moment.
The air hung thick between them, dust motes swirling in the dim torchlight. Nyx's shadow lashed against the stone walls like a caged beast, her eyes burning into Regulus.
"Will you survive?" The question came out raw, stripped of all mockery.
Regulus met her gaze without flinching. The memory of that monstrous eye from his dreams surfaced - the same eye now sleeping beneath Babelonia. The same eye that would open in eighty years.
"I will."
Two words. No bravado. No hesitation. Just absolute certainty.
Nyx's breath hitched. The shadows stilled. Somewhere above them, the distant sounds of battle still raged - Hebe's maids holding the line, Fillian fighting her own war. The ground gave another ominous shudder.
For the first time since they'd met, Nyx looked uncertain. Her fingers twitched toward him, then curled into fists. "You'd better," she whispered, the threat in her voice undercut by something dangerously close to fear.
The torchlight flickered. Somewhere in the darkness below, the dragon turned in its sleep.
The air crackled with power as Regulus raised his voice in chant. Nyx's shadows recoiled from the shimmering light that enveloped him, her eyes widening as the words took form:
*"O Heavens, witness my great undertaking—"*
The torchlight bent toward him.
*"—As stars above, so ink now waking—"*
Nyx's breath caught as a spectral quill appeared between his fingers, its tip dripping liquid starlight.
When the final syllable fell, the world held its breath. A leather-bound tome materialized in Regulus' left hand, its pages fluttering open to a blank sheet. Without hesitation, he pressed quill to parchment and wrote:
"The great dragon shall return to deep slumber at the first rays of dawn."
The ink burned gold before sealing into the page. Somewhere deep below, the earth gave a shuddering sigh—like a beast settling before a hearth.
Nyx stared at him, her usual smirk nowhere to be found. "You... rewrote its fate?"
Regulus snapped the book shut, his hands steady despite the sweat on his brow. "No." He met her gaze. "The dragon would return to sleep with or without me. I just accelerated the process."
Above them, the sounds of battle faded. Dawn's first light filtered through the cellar grate.
And beneath their feet, the One-Eyed Black Dragon dreamed of stars.