The stars trembled above a quiet realm, their shimmer flickering like candlelight caught in a storm. Across the midnight sky, a single comet carved a jagged line—blazing gold wrapped in divine fire. To mortals, it was an omen. To gods, it was a warning.
In the ruins of a forgotten temple atop Mount Velara, the child was born.
Hope's first cry didn't echo like a newborn's wail. It rippled. Across planes. Across realms. Across the fragile seams of reality that even gods dared not touch.
The priestesses, those who had followed Theonix into exile, knelt in silence. Not from awe. Not from joy.
From fear.
Theonix stood barefoot in the shallow pool of the temple sanctum, cradling his daughter. His once-pristine armor was scorched, the golden trim blackened. Blood slicked the side of his neck. His left arm hung limp. And still, he smiled.
"Her name," he said, voice raw, "is Hope."
One of the priestesses trembled. "My lord… this child… she doesn't just carry divinity—she is divinity."
Theonix didn't answer. He looked down at the girl swaddled in cloth embroidered with solar threads. Her eyes—barely open—flickered with something no mortal nor god had ever seen.
The priestess fell backward. "I felt it. She just unraveled time—for a moment. I wasn't here, then I was. She rewrote my heartbeat."
A hum filled the temple. Not from the child. Not from the wind.
From the heavens.
Theonix looked up, dread stealing the strength from his legs.
"They've seen her," he whispered. "They know she's been born."
Above the mountain, the clouds spiraled unnaturally. A shape formed from starlight and shadow, wings spread across the sky like jagged cracks in a mirror. A celestial being. A Herald of the Upper Pantheon.
"I don't have time," Theonix said. He pressed a trembling kiss to Hope's forehead. "I thought we'd have more time."
He turned to the shadows where a figure waited.
"You know what to do," he said.
The woman stepped forward. Mia. Tall, silent, wrapped in ash-colored armor etched with memory runes. Her face was cold, carved with old grief and discipline. Her left eye was scarred shut; her right burned with focus.
"You're asking me to protect something that gods will destroy worlds for."
"I'm asking you to protect my daughter," Theonix growled. "If I show my face again, they'll kill her to break me. But you… no one remembers you anymore."
Mia's lip twitched, almost a smile. "Blessing or curse, depending on the day."
He placed the child into her arms. Hope cooed softly.
"She'll be hunted from every side. Even the good gods won't risk her living."
"Who will help us?" Mia asked.
Theonix hesitated. "My brother."
"The boy? Sarive? He was twelve when you vanished."
"He's not a boy anymore," Theonix said. "Mia… train him. Raise him for war. He's stronger than me."
Lightning cracked the sky. The comet shuddered. The temple trembled.
"They're breaching the barrier," Mia said.
Theonix backed toward the altar. "Buy her time. Hide her in the Ruins of Hollow Light. Don't let anyone know her name. Not until she's ready. Not until they come for her."
"And if she breaks before then?"
Theonix's face darkened. "Then we all break with her."
Elsewhere — Earthrealm, City of New Olympus
Sarive punched through the simulation dummy, splintering its armored chestplate with a single blow. Silver energy radiated from his skin, like moonlight wrapped in muscle. He breathed hard, sweat dripping from his brow.
"Again," he muttered.
The simulation reset.
Again.
He slammed through the next construct, then two more. Lightning sparked around his knuckles. His feet cracked the reinforced ground with every step.
Watching him from above the arena, a woman with glowing blue eyes crossed her arms. Diana.
"Faster than yesterday," she said.
Sarive looked up, chest heaving. "Still not enough."
She descended with a grace that mocked gravity. "You're eighteen and outpacing demigods. That's enough."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Because he was more. My brother? Theonix? He could hold back storms with a whisper. He could level mountains with a sigh. I need to be more."
Diana's expression softened, but only slightly. "He also ran."
Sarive's jaw tightened. "He didn't run. He disappeared."
The room fell silent for a moment. Then Diana said, "Come with me."
He followed her through corridors of light and myth-metal. Into a vault locked by celestial keys. Inside rested a bodysuit—black and white with gold lining, trimmed with divine armor. On its chest: a panther's face, stylized in black and gold. On the shoulder: a golden skull.
Sarive stepped forward.
"Whose is it?" he asked.
Diana looked at him. "Yours."
Back in the Mountains
Mia held Hope close as the world tore open above her. Light fell like knives. The Herald descended, a being with no face—only a swirling halo of void and judgment.
Mia drew her blade. A whisper of light flickered across it. Her fingers tightened around the hilt.
Hope stirred in her arms, eyes glowing.
The sky paused.
And in that moment—before gods, before war, before legend—Mia whispered to the child:
"You don't know what you are yet. But when the time comes… the world will remember your name."
And she vanished into the snow.