Chapter 10

The torches flickered. The air grew heavier. The shadows stretched unnaturally across the stone floor.

And then—

Darkness.

Not the absence of light. Not the kind that mortals feared when the sun dipped below the horizon. No—this was true darkness. A presence, vast and boundless, swallowing the very concept of illumination.

Then, from the abyss, a voice.

Soft. Silk woven at midnight.

"How amusing… I found war brewing, and yet no one invited me?"

Every breath in the hall ceased.

Because that voice belonged to only one being.

Nyx.

The Goddess of Night. The primordial force, older than Olympus itself. The mother of Sleep, Death, and Dreams. A being so ancient, so powerful, that even Zeus feared her.

Ares visibly stiffened.

The king’s face turned paler than a ghost.

The serpents froze mid-hiss. Even Nihaga, for the first time, showed something close to uncertainty.

And yet—

Medusa… smiled.

Nyx stepped forward, the darkness shifting around her like a living thing. Her eyes—two endless voids—swept across the room. Then, without hesitation, she walked past everyone and stopped before Medusa.

And then—

She embraced her.

The room nearly collapsed from sheer disbelief.

The mere mortal king was dying inside.

Three of the most powerful beings in existence stood in his hall. Any one of them could erase his kingdom with a flick of their hand.

And now, the Goddess of the Night and the Queen of the Cursed were exchanging what could only be described as a sisterly embrace.

But one question remained.

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Why was Nyx here?

And more importantly—

Who was the child standing beside her?

The silence stretched. Thick. Suffocating.

No one spoke.

No one breathed.

It wasn’t just stillness—it was the kind of quiet that crushed the air from your lungs, that made the very walls of the hall feel too close.

And then, he spoke.

"You're soft, Raezel."

The voice was smooth, cold—like the whisper of the void itself. It was not an insult, not an accusation.

It was a fact.

Raezel turned, meeting the abyssal gaze of the one who had arrived with Nyx—Reaga.

A creation of Nyx—willed into existence, not by fate, but by a goddess who had never known limits.

The hall turned, every gaze locking onto the figure standing beside Nyx.

His presence was nothing like Ares—who radiated untamed power—or Medusa, whose aura carried the weight of inevitable doom.

No.

This was something else entirely.

Darkness didn’t just cling to him.

It obeyed him.

The shadows at his feet coiled and twisted unnaturally. The torches flickered, though there was no wind.

Even the serpents—always hissing, always whispering—were silent.

Reaga’s smirk deepened, abyss-like eyes locking onto Raezel’s.

"If anyone dares to draw their sword against me—if my mother were Medusa—”

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening.

"That would be the last time they ever did."

The room stopped breathing.

And then—

"You know who we are, don’t you, brother?"

Brother.

The word struck the hall like a crack of thunder.

The son of Nyx.

The son of Medusa.

Two beings whose names made even Olympus shudder.

And yet, here they stood—in a mortal hall, speaking as equals.

Reaga glanced at Ares.

His smirk didn’t fade.

“This god with a fragile ego—” he motioned lazily toward Ares, whose jaw tightened “—and this mortal king? In front of us? They are the same. Mere things, waiting to be forgotten by time.”

The king nearly choked. He wanted to leave his own hall.

Ares?

His fingers twitched. His grip tightened around his sword—but for the first time, he hesitated.

It was instinct. A warrior’s reaction to being dismissed. A spark of battle stirred in his chest, demanding that he prove his worth, that he fight back.

But before he could even consider it—logic struck him like a blade.

Reaga was not someone he could fight.

Not here.

Not now.

And that realization weighed heavier than any wound.

Reaga’s gaze slid back to Raezel, eyes darker than the void itself.

“But what does interest me, brother, is this—”

He stepped closer, the shadows parting for him effortlessly.

“Why do you want to live here? Among mortals?”

It wasn’t a judgment.

It wasn't a mockery.

It was genuine curiosity.