I spat blood. I spat ash. I spat defiance. My body trembled, but inside my mind, the stars like engines flared. I thrust my palm into my wound and drew forth a blade of plasma. That blade burned away the flesh and reshaped the broken rib into a jagged armor plate. I felt a new bone knit itself in place.
With a howl, I summoned a pillar of hyperdense carbon behind me. I rode it like a missile, tailing flames of hydrogen fusion. I crashed into Hecate's ribs so hard that her sternum cracked. She howled in a note that sounded like thunder on ice.
We fell through the underworld like two meteors colliding, flailing limbs severing pillars, bodies grazing molten rivers, and each strike spurring the other to adapt. I could feel her will powering her wounds into healing, a quiet song of regeneration. I joined that song with my own, pulling my cells back from death's edge even as I tore her flesh with every strike.
We landed in the amphitheater's center, boots sinking into ash. She caught me by the throat one moment, lifting me from the ground with a gesture, and the next I ripped her arm from its socket with a hail of micro-fission-bomb microbursts through atoms manipulations. Her shoulder joint vaporised in a flicker of black fire. She screamed not in pain but in delight.
I screamed back. My voice cracked with something primal, as though the world itself were roaring through me. My fist found her jaw and shattered it, teeth and bone splintering into dust. She staggered, blood running from her severed arm and mangled jaw, but at once her wounds closed. Bones reknit, flesh sewed itself, and violet light bloomed at each scar like cruel flowers.
Alchemical spells came to life dulling pain, taking care of the worst as much as it could in the circumstances. With a roar, I struck her in the throat and knocked her head back.
She fell across two collapsing pillars. Black cracks spidered across her skin, and violet light sputtered like a dying forge. Yet she raised her hand and her hand turned into a scythe of midnight. She slashed the air and carved a rib out of my side. I heard it snap like candy. My lungs filled with molten ash.
My fist found her jaw and shattered it, teeth and bone splintering into dust. She staggered, ichor running from her severed arm and mangled jaw, but at once her wounds closed. Bones reknit, flesh sewed itself, and violet light bloomed at each scar like cruel flowers.
We readied ourselves for our dance, for another part of its unfurling when a sound akin to a church bell gained life and resonated and preached its sound, its message.
We froze.
Both of us panting. Bleeding. Smiling.
We had set a timer of only two minutes before the fight. I honestly had thought that it was too little but how fast we had moved, with how slow the world had been while we clashed, with how it felt as if an eternity had passed.
I took a slow breath. My lungs hurt. My heart still beat like it was unsure whether to continue or not.
Two minutes had passed.
The spar, the fight had ended yet in the end, it didn't feel like such.
I hated to think it but it had felt like understanding, like communion, one between Hecate and me, something that made sure that when I looked at the goddess before me, I didn't only feel disgust, anger and hatred.
How infuriating I thought before allowing myself to relax. Like ReplyReport Reactions:EyeSeeYou, IsaacTheAutobot1229, Minimum and 192 othersAllen1996Jun 18, 2025NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks After hour New View contentJun 18, 2025Add bookmark#1,693Allen1996Versed in the lewd.The silence that followed the duel breathed like a living organ, pulsing through pillars re-knitted from slag and bone-white ash. I sat upon the fractured lip of a colonnade that ought to have folded into dust, my calves swinging above the bruised darkness where a floor no longer existed. It would have been a gross untruth, perhaps the most brazen lie of my two lives, if I claimed the spectacle before me was anything short of beautiful. Beauty, in this singular moment, meant scorched marble reborn into alabaster rivers, places once gagging with fire now ribboned with cool obsidian, and plasma lakes settling into mirrored glass.
The scene stirred like a gigantic painting still wet beneath the brush. Hecate served as both painter and paint, every arc of her wrist a decisive stroke, each flick of her fingers a stroke of color so luminous that this world was periodically bathed in light akin to the beginning of the universe.
Here, inside the hollow husk of the underworld we had just reduced to cinders and pieces, she restored it and its impossible horizons to pristine shape. Columns straightened, archways inhaled geometry, and the remaining parts regrew, now mosaics that shimmered with pearlescent glow.
I watched, unwilling to blink, while a trillion sparks, no, brush flecks, danced through the air and settled into stone. Her sorcery did not merely repair. It re-imagined. Fire and destruction, the ones we had uncorked moments earlier hardened into onyx veins that kissed the floor with glossy kisses; scorched rivers twisted back into subterranean channels, murmuring peace where they once howled wild. I took in every detail, legs dangling above that yawning nothing, and allowed the beauty of her craft to bleed into my bones.
When at last the final fleck of power flickered into place, it felt as if the empty underworld made a sound, a sound akin to an instrument returned to tune. Hecate approached, footfalls light, robes fluttering with fading motes of Amethyst. She stopped at my side. Together we gazed out across a realm repaired from mayhem, searching, looking into nothing and everything all at once.
I tilted my head just enough to catch the green in her eyes.
"You had your little magic session," I said, voice steady as a stone dropped into still water. "Hope you're satisfied."
"I truly am," she replied, mellow thunder under velvet. "I cannot recall how long it has been since I felt so…alive."
We stood there, goddess and human yet not human allowing silence to settle once more. Then the silence yielded. Sheets of parchment drifted from god knows where, gliding on unseen currents. They sounded like dozens, perhaps hundreds. They moved as though cupped in translucent palms. They spiraled downward like patient doves and came to rest upon my lap. The stack was warm, faintly humming with magic I recognised as hers.
"One of the things you asked of me," Hecate murmured.
I did not raise a finger. A gentle tug of thought, a little nudge of adaptive material synthesis sent the papers floating upward, aligning at my eye level with surgical precision. They fanned open, twelve pages forming a gentle arc. Photographs and watermarks shimmered beneath lamplike glyphs.
They were identity documents, passports, birth certificates, school enrollment forms, concerning a seven-year-old girl now christened Anatalia Chambers, formerly Anatalia Zerenvikov. A girl that didn't truly exist, a decoy in plain sight for my daughter, for Thalia. My once-lost, newly gained back hurricane in small shoes.
It had seemed obvious, almost banal, that the safest hiding place from divine eyes would be plain sight. Not Thalia Grace, daughter of Zeus, living memory inside every Olympian ledger, but Anatalia Chambers, child of no myth, citizen of a world so aggressively mundane that no god would bother to sift through its tedium. More than that, father, the word glittered, Thalia had started calling me Dad, and how ridiculous that the label warmed me more than draughts of ichor. I had raised her, not Zeus, not Beryl with her half-meant lullabies. Fate had merely forgotten to notarise the arrangement. Tonight, I corrected in a way the oversight.
At first I had intended to use my own wealth. I was rich after all and my reactor and my future inventions will ensure that I am even more. I had also thought about leaning on the Huntington patriarch's discreet political reach, to forge the papers yet when facing divinities, enough is often insufficient. That is why I asked Hecate. She controlled, even owned in a sense the Mist, the worldwide phenomenon that both cloaked, affected the perception of human beings and even beings from the mythological world's perception. When dealing with gods, better to do the most than not enough.
I examined the new photograph: Thalia's chin still jutted with familiar mischief, her eyes held storms that Zeus could only dream of conjuring, but fine adjustments nudged the gestalt away from the girl the gods remembered. Cheekbones softened, freckles darkened precisely two shades, and then there was the hair. Platinum blond, nearly ivory, echoing my own shade rather than her mother's copper gold. Thalia had rejected anything too similar to Beryl. "I want to look like you, not her," she had insisted, lower lip trembling. A harsh verdict for a mother yet it's not as if it was not deserved. Additionally, it could even be said that it was only right that harshness earns its seat at the table when trust is fractured so young.
Ordinarily, I would have disguised her features with enchanted jewellery, shrouding amnesia within amethyst. That had worked these last days, yet charm work and enchantment could possibly fray when brushed by something unexpected and with Fate literally existing in this world, there was no way I was going to tempt the devil.
More than that, I had an idea in mind to definitely deal with that. If my idea indeed succeeded the way it should, then no glamour would be required. Anatalia Chambers would simply be, forged so cleanly into the world that the memory of it would misremember itself.
Still, reconciliation between Thalia and Beryl was something I knew needed to be attempted one day. Thalia's anger is ice-tipped with lightning but ice can melt, lightning can ground. One day I will stand between mother and daughter and try to untangle the mess that was their relationship. One day.
"This is acceptable," I told Hecate, guiding the papers back into perfect order, edges kissing edges as they descended into a neat bundle against my thigh. Only telekinesis touched them; my hands remained folded.
"What about Olympus?" I asked, eyes never leaving the forged seal.
"Like headless chicken," she said, dry amusement curling her lip. "They will fumble for a fortnight at most, clutching auguries and shouting at each other. Then their attention will drift, as attention inevitably does."
"Hopefully you are right."
The longer I ghost along the margins of their paranoia, the more months I can siphon into preparation. Deities due to being apex creatures are a way insouciant and that is only good for me, them not checking under their own bed until the monster, me in this case bites their ankle and I intend to bite hard.
I slid the bundle into my lap then pivoted to the next irritation in my mental ledger. "What about the demesne of the mother of wolves?"
Hecate exhaled; singular runes lit behind her irises. "Always shifting," she answered, "both in geography and symbolism. Even so, give me one month, worst case, and I will pinpoint it."
"Excellent."
I may have been glad that Thalia, my daughter was back but it didn't mean that i had forgotten that i still had a missing nephew somewhere, stolen by Hera to be literally fucking raised by wolves, literal ones under Lupa's reign and metaphorical ones within Rome's martial doctrine. The thought curdles my stomach. They would mold him into a perfect javelin, hurl him at threats until the shaft snaps.
There were no way I was going to let my nephew be brainwashed by the Olympians and Rome, that I was going to let him drink the kool aid and became mister perfect child soldier, Percy Jackson lite but not good enough to be and that would die in the end after losin his girlfriend and finally beginning to live out of the limitations and conditioning instilled in him by The Roman part of the Dokatheon.
I cannot, will not, permit it. First I need his location. After that, Olympus will scream.
I just needed to know where he was. I think that more than that, deep down, I knew that the relationship Thalia had and would have with Beryl would never truly be one of daughter and mother.
I could be wrong. I hope I am but there were after all too many mistakes my sister had made regarding Thalia but the same could not be said with Jason.
Jason should still be a baby and yes, what Thalia and Beryl had was catastrophic to say the least but it didn't mean that Beryl could not build something with Jason, something true, not wrong, without the grievous errors she made with Thalia.
My gaze drifted across the repaired valley. A stray ember floated up, turned into a firefly, and blinked out.
She spoke first, her voice trailing like candle smoke. "I listened to you." A pause, almost timid. "I visited my son."
Alabaster. The name fluttered through my mind, the image of a boy too clever, too bitter for his age. "How did it feel," I asked without looking at her, "to stand before a child who carries half of you in his blood yet almost none of you in his memory?"
Or in any words, how does it feel to stop being a deadbeat for once?
She turned her gaze toward the horizon, where fault lines of distant magma glowed like embers instead of open wounds. "It was not unpleasant," she answered, measuring each syllable as if the words might betray her if they rushed. "I watched him breathe. That alone would have been enough."
"Then why," I murmured, "did you do nothing for so long?" The silence between us thickened with unasked questions, so I kept speaking before regret could harden into accusation. "You are the goddess of thresholds, mistress of crossroads yet you never chose the simple path any mortal would take. A letter. A gift. A single day beside his bed when fever made him sweat and tremble, thereafter or while he is being chased by monsters. You could have been present in a dozen places while still guiding and taking care and loving him."
She settled beside me, her robes cascading like poured ink, pooling at the ledge's edge. "I did watch," she said. "I watched him flee monsters, stumble through the dark, clutch your hand. I confronted those memories as soon as they drifted into his dreams." A quiet breath. "I could not bring my wrath upon him when you had already offered him mercy. You healed his father. You lifted a curse that I, for all my craft, would have needed months of rites to banish. I wonder if perhaps fate had chosen a better guardian than I."
A twinge of anger bit behind my ribs. "Do not wrap your abdication in compliments," I replied, meeting her eyes at last. They gleamed like antique coins reflecting faint moons. "It's easy to say you love someone. I don't believe that saying it is enough. I don't think that love is a word. I see it as actions, the littles ones of every minutes, hours, days and the big ones, all combined and please don't tell me that you being a god, a deity mean you can't love like a human because the myths had showed time and time again that you could understand humanity, that you were in a sense a magnified reflect of our best and our worst."
She folded her hands. Her fingernails caught stray embers, scattering them into tiny dusks. "Thalia is your first child," she said, her tone soft yet certain. "You grew among mortals. You carry decades, not millennia, upon your shoulders. Age thins the threads of even sacred promises."
My jaw tightened. "So you claim time itself will rot the heart? That in a century or a thousand I'll look upon loss and feel nothing? Is that your prophecy?"
Her chin dipped. "Indeed."
I laughed, the sound brittle as frost. "Is that the lullaby you sing to yourselves when guilt cracks your immortal skin? That grief fades, that love becomes memory, and memory dust?"
She answered with a patience that felt ancient. "Wait until the homeland of your birth becomes a footnote beneath wiser empires. Until the languages you speak are studied like fossils. Until every mortal face you cherished fades from every monument. We have eternity. Eternity always wins."
Her words hung heavy, not as a threat but as certainty. I tasted insult, sharp as copper behind my teeth. "Perhaps eternity wins because you wager nothing but leisure," I said.
"Yeah, maybe, I didn't understand, maybe I am too young but even then, deep down, I knew I would never become like the gods and you, that it would be the case simply because I would not be alone, because I will create a world where the ones I cared about, even those I didn't would see the future and not fear that you had described would happen," I let the words simmer.
"More than that, in the truly unlucky case i lost everything, that I lost my daughter, that I lost my sister, that I lost all those I cared about, I would not become like you all because I don't want to disappoint Thalia even in the case she would be gone, because more importantly than everything, children don't ask to come in this world, especially demigods."
The goddess ran her thumbs over her palms, as if smoothing parchment. She watched invisible motes drift between us.
I lowered my voice. "Bringing a child in my opinion into this world is the most selfish act imaginable. You summon a consciousness into a battlefield of joys and nightmares without its consent. Some do it for legacy, some out of ignorance but once the child arrives, the debt cannot be ignored. Every effort, every sacrifice, must be made to give that life a chance to surpass the horrors laid before it."
Hecate nodded slowly but said nothing, so I pressed on. "Too often, the debt goes unpaid. Parents grow jealous, indifferent, or frightened by their own creation. Maybe the child is too loud, too slow, too unlike their fantasy. They abandon them, with fists or silence. That cruelty is universal." My gaze fixed on her. "But gods have means mortals never had. The weakest of you can sculpt landscapes with a thought, yet your children perish like feral pups, chased by nightmares that are your discarded toys. The gods are the masters of this world yet their children die like gutter rats, literally hunted, literally being eaten by a monster straight out of the books of the Grimm brothers. This is why I say you don't love them because had it been the case, I wouldn't have had to bury the half-eaten corpse of a child no older than ten, because if it was the case, I would have never saved your son. After all, if it had been the case, Alabaster would have never run from monsters any day of his life."
I nearly whispered, though I prayed to no one. "All children deserve parents. Too many parents especially gods have never deserved children."
She flinched, an eyelid's twitch almost as if she was suffering from a wound and trying to hide the fact that it was the case. When she spoke, her voice was akin to the hush of a cathedral. She spoke softly, in a tone that could be mistaken as kindly "You remind me of Prometheus. Hopefully, your story doesn't suffer the same tragedies as his did."
"Prometheus," I repeated, tasting the name like old wine. "Prometheus, huh? Thinking about it, if there is one deity I would accept without doubt to be on my side, that's him. About me reminding you of him, you don't need to worry."
I lifted my hand toward the underworld's amethyst sky, where purple gradients shimmered.
I raised a hand to point at the stars in the purple sky of the empty underworld.
"Prometheus gave humanity fire, an eternal flame stolen from tyrants. I aim to give them something fire can only illuminate, never reach." My finger traced the glittering horizon.
"He gave them warmth. I will give them and my daughter, the one humanity was in my opinion always born for in my opinion." The inheritance beyond Olympus." I let the word spill, bright and unlawful: "The stars."
Hecate's lips curved faintly. We sat in silence as the underworld sighed around us. Her shoulders relaxed, as if my declaration had lifted a chain or replaced one weight with another she preferred. She studied the ruins her light had repaired, then turned back to me.
"I truly do love Alabaster," she said again, quiet as snowmelt. "I love them all, my children, mortal, immortal, living, dead. I do not speak of love as vanity, Alex. I speak it as a curse. To love for eternity is to survive disappointment for eternity and that is madness."
"Then choose madness," I said, shrugging. "Better that than apathy disguised as wisdom."
Her laugh was small, almost childlike, gone as soon as it came. "Small mortal, great ambition." She eyed my raised hand, still pointing skyward. "Perhaps forever has found a student willing to fail differently."
We lapsed into stillness. The quiet ached like a song half-remembered, mournful and melodic in my mind.
"Tell me," I said at last, "why you truly never alerted Olympus about me. You could have done so before confronting me, probably before I even knew something was afoot."
She exhaled, a hush of confession. "Because I saw my son stand alive between monsters and watched you stride into the fray. Because I saw you healing his father. Shielding the boy. Snarling at creatures that bear the lineage of the night mother, that should have been beyond you. You acted and spoke as if every child deserves safety." Her voice frayed. "For the first time in a century, I tasted shame. Shame that a mortal exceeded me in a duty I should embody, shame in my personal failing and more importantly, excitement.
I nodded. "Then hold that shame. Let it guide your next choice."
Her eyes glowed with things I couldn't see. "And when time turns my shame to dust? Will you remind me again?"
"I will," I promised. "Even if I have to carve it in stone."
A faint tremor shook the ledge, a lullaby of settling rock.
She rose. "Then perhaps, Alexander, we will carve together."
"Perhaps," I echoed, staying seated.
She stepped away, dissolving into silver. Yet her presence lingered before fading too.
Alone, I breathed deeply. Somewhere, a reborn world whispered. The air tasted raw but ready as if only waiting for seeds and wings. I closed my eyes and pictured Thalia beneath a sky untouched by divine indifference, where no child was hunted for their blood. In that dream, Jason stirred in Beryl's arms, recognition dawning without fear, his mother holding him learning to parent without regret.
I whispered to the quiet: "I will build it."
Silence answered like a hymn.
I really hope y'all like the beginning of the new arc. If the first one was about Alex getting on his feet, the second would be about him beginning to truly expand, develop and abuse the inspired inventor. Like I once mentioned, I am a comment whore which means that the more there is, the more people are interested, the faster I write and post.
PS: I got a p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / Eileen715 with two more chapters for this story that together make at least 10000 words. With less than 5$, you have access to everything I write in a month. Don't hesitate to visit if you want to read more or support me or for any other reason Like ReplyReport Reactions:EyeSeeYou, IsaacTheAutobot1229, Minimum and 248 othersAllen1996Jun 18, 2025NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks The devil in the garden New View contentJul 22, 2025Add bookmark#1,738Allen1996Versed in the lewd.The silence wasn't peaceful. It was the heavy, expectant quiet of a held breath, the world itself pausing before the plunge. My thoughts, however, were a maelstrom. They circled the same jagged rocks of self-recrimination and burgeoning, terrifying resolve. Thalia's laughter, bright and newly rediscovered, echoed like a ghost in the chambers of my mind kinda like a stark counterpoint to the grim thoughts I was holding inside my mind.
Stars of potential. Charges invested, specialisations unlocked, reality bent over the anvil of my will. And I'd been… careful. Prudent. A fool playing at being a god with a miser's purse. The realisation tasted like ash. I'd hoarded possibilities, fearing the cost, the unknown, the sheer scale of what Inspired Inventor truly offered, fearing I was not making or that I would not make the good choices.
The inspired Inventor wasn't just about building machines or crafting weapons, though it excelled at those. It was the key to any conceptual lock, provided I turned it hard enough, paid the price in the accumulated starlight of potential that bloomed in my mind due to it.
Any skill tree. Any power set. Any law of reality I wished to impose or defy. Its only limit was the depth of my investment and the breadth of my imagination.
And there, lay the core of my failure. Imagination. I, Alexander Chambers, who had walked and worked against divinity, who had traded blows with an ancient goddess, who had literally punched a miniature sun with my bare fists, who could theoretically unravel cities with a stray thought… I hadn't been thinking big enough.
I'd been playing checkers on a chessboard spanning every possibility. The sheer, staggering waste of it curdled my stomach.
This was why I had spent after my spar with Hecate, two charges. They were in my opinion spent wisely. After all, I had spent the two of them in the first true Magic from the Nasuverse, in the denial of nothingness.
Those two stars, burning cold and bright in my mind, granted me a fragment of that impossible thing, phenomenon that it was.
It could be said that with the charges spent in it, I was now the equivalent in parahuman terms of a Tinker/Shaker 4, if you needed crude labels.
It meant I could now reach into the void and pull forth substance. Not conjuring from thin air. This was denying the absence itself. Matter, energy, structure coalesced where nothing had been permitted to exist. A shield blooming from emptiness to deflect a killing curse. A bridge of solidified light spanning a chasm that moments before was pure negation. A breathable atmosphere summoned into the suffocating vacuum of space, not by manipulating existing gases, but by insisting that the void relinquished its hold, that 'air' was present. It was creation ex nihilo on a personal, immediate scale. Limited, yes. A flickering candle compared to the bonfire of a true Magician. But mine. A fundamental rewriting of reality's most basic rule: something cannot come from nothing. Except, through me, now it could.
And then there was the third star, invested not long after. A gamble. A specialisation born not from careful study, but from the roaring furnace of my Anti-Divine charge. I'd aimed that star, that focused point of conceptual theft, at the idea of usurpation itself. Not just killing gods. Taking what made them gods. I'd thought of her, Pandora in Campione the Mother of Godslayers from a world where divinity was a mantle to be seized, not inherited. The ritual she might forge, the circle that could trap and transmute divine essence. And Inspired Inventor, ever the obliging genie, had responded. Circle of Pandora. Not a fully formed ritual yet, but the potential for it. The knowledge base, the principles, the nascent pathways to craft a metaphysical snare designed to rip the godhead from its bearer and… redistribute it. A loaded gun I honestly could not wait to fire.
I could have invested in something else in another Tree of Knowledge surely. Should have, perhaps. A comprehensive database, an instant mastery of any field I pointed it towards. Useful. Safe. Predictable. But safe wasn't enough anymore. Predictability was a luxury I couldn't afford. Thalia's face, gaunt and haunted from months on the run, superimposed itself over the sterile concept of mere knowledge.
Knowledge hadn't saved her from monsters. Knowledge hadn't stopped gods from treating mortals as pawns or prey. I needed power. Raw, undeniable, immediate, world-shaping force. The kind that made hydrogen bombs look like damp squibs. The kind I'd already touched when I'd punched Hecate's miniature star into submission, my C'tan-forged flesh screaming but holding. And even that, I realised with a chill that wasn't fear but fury at my own limitations, was me barely scratching the surface of what my stolen stars could achieve. I'd fought a deity older than civilisations and lived. I could have been so much more but unfortunately, I'd been thinking… small.
That ended now. Every trick. Every scrap of lore. Every impossible specialisation Inspired Inventor could unlock. I needed it all. Heaven, Earth, Ocean, Hell, and every shadowed corner in between, nothing could be allowed to threaten my daughter again.
Nothing could be permitted to reduce the fragile dream of a world where children weren't hunted, where humanity wasn't cattle for celestial butchers, to cinders. The gods themselves created the monsters, or stood by and let them thrive. The difference was academic to the victim. Thalia's suffering, the suffering of countless others whispered to by gods only to be discarded or devoured… it demanded an answer beyond mere survival. It demanded supremacy.
That's why the ache in my bones wasn't from the spar with Hecate in that impossible Carian underworld. It was the ache of leaving Thalia's side so soon after finding her. The only thing I wanted was to sit with her, hear her voice without the edge of fear, to simply be her father in peace. But wanting wasn't enough. Peace was a fortress that needed unassailable walls. And the bricks for those walls… weren't in Los Angeles. Weren't in North America. Weren't even in my own universe.
The air here tasted… green. Not just the scent of vegetation, but the very atmosphere seemed thick with nascent life, heavy with potential not yet twisted into the forms a modern human would know. I stood on the crest of a wind-swept hill, the tallest for leagues, kinda like solitary observer overlooking a world that was for now untouched by shinobi, by chakra wars, by the slow poison of human ambition amplified by alien energy, a world I had read in mangas, that I had watched on TV, that I had loved, that hadn't been real in my first life.
Below stretched a panorama of staggering, primeval beauty. Jungles like vast, tangled carpets of emerald velvet flowed into valleys cradling rivers that glittered like spilled mercury under the light of a sun slightly too large, too golden. Mountains, jagged and proud as broken teeth, bit into a sky of impossible cerulean purity, unmarred by contrail or smog.
But it all centred, focused, on the impossibility dominating the eastern horizon. The Divine Tree.
Shinju, the divine tree planted by the Otsutsuki and that would have one day had I not been here harvested by Kaguya.
Words failed its scale. It wasn't merely tall; it was a violation of perspective. Its trunk, wider than mountain ranges at its base, soared upwards with impossible grace, piercing the lower atmosphere and vanishing into the dizzying heights where clouds were mere wisps clinging to its impossible girth. Its bark wasn't brown, but a deep, shimmering violet-black, like petrified midnight shot through with veins of pulsing, molten gold. They pulsed slowly, rhythmically, like the heartbeat of the world itself. Higher up, vast branches unfurled, not like limbs of oak or pine, but like fractal rivers of solidified light, weaving an impossible canopy that blotted out the sky for hundreds of miles. It didn't end; it transcended. Its apex was lost in a shimmering halo of iridescent energy, a crown woven from stolen sunlight and the raw potential of a planet.
It dominated. It humbled. It radiated a silent, ancient power that vibrated in my bones with a low thrum reminiscent of the thrum inside of me of my bones made of Necrodermis. This was the source. The wellspring of the energy that would, in a future ripped from this timeline, grant men the power to sunder moons and shatter continents with a gesture. Lunatics wielding god power with the fragile minds of people traumatised by war.
A recipe for apocalypse served on a platter of cosmic fruit. Looking at it, feeling its immense, slumbering presence, a cold certainty settled over me: Taking this was not theft, but mercy. Prevention.
My hand tightened on the hilt of the plasma sword strapped to my back. Not the weapon it once was. I'd spent days, pouring the accumulated might of my specialisations into it. Three charges in the Kaleidoscope, the Second Magic's aspect of dimensional breaching, folding infinite worlds into a shimmering jewel. Two charges in the First Magic, Denial of Nothingness, woven into the blade's core matrix to stabilise the impossible energies required. The inherent understanding of reality's fabric granted by my Theory of Everything, acting as the blueprint. The cold, star-forged perspective of the C'tan, beings who saw dimensions as mere folds in a tapestry they could rend, providing the necessary… contempt for natural law. And crucially, the insights stolen through my Anti-Divine charge as I'd watched Hecate weave her portals in the Carian Underworld while we had fought, the subtle manipulations of magical energy to part the veils between universes.
Even with all that… it shouldn't have worked. Crossing the gulf between universes, targeting a specific temporal locus before the critical moment? It was madness.
. The Second Magic was the linchpin, the true key. Without that foundation, the rest would have been meaningless noise. But with it… the sword wasn't just a blade anymore. It was a tuning fork struck against the crystal like the song of the multiverse. A scalpel for reality's skin.
"It should do it," I murmured, the words whipped away by the high-altitude wind. Not hope. Calculation. Probability stacked impossibly high by stolen power and desperate need.
I drew the sword. It didn't hum or blaze. It sang. A soundless vibration that made the air around it shiver like heat haze. The blade, usually a contained river of red and purple lasma, now swirled with impossible colours, the iridescent sheen of the Kaleidoscope, the profound absence of the Void held at bay by the First Magic, the cold, ancient light of dead stars from the C'tan essence. I focused, not on the distant trunk, but on the conceptual space just before the Fruit. The nexus point. The moment before theft. I poured my will, a torrent of focused intention amplified by every specialisation, into the blade.
Then, a slash. Not through air, but through the idea of distance. Through the membrane separating here from there.
The world didn't tear. It unfolded. Like a flower blooming in reverse time, space peeled back in a silent explosion of prismatic light. For a heartbeat, I saw the infinite corridors of the Kaleidoscope, the endless reflections of might-have-beens and never-weres. Then, my foot landed on solid, warm wood. Not the hilltop. The impossibly vast branch of the Shinju itself, miles above the world I'd just left.
The air here crackled. Not with electricity, but with potential. It tasted thick, sweet, and metallic.
I plucked the fruit. It separated itself from the Shinju with a sound akin to flesh being torn apart.
The Fruit pulsed in my hand. It wasn't warm, not exactly. It radiated a presence, a condensed thrum of potential that vibrated up my arm, resonating with the C'tan sar of knowledge I had in my mind almost like kin recognising kin or something alike. It felt less like holding an object and more like cradling a miniature, dormant singularity.
I raised the Fruit. Its surface shimmered, the light within seeming to swirl faster, sensing the intent. Losing humanity for humanity. The irony was thick enough to choke on. Was I any different from the gods I despised? Seizing power, altering the fundamental nature of existence, all for a cause I deemed just? Zeus took what he wanted. So had Kronos. So would have Kaguya.
The means blurred, the ends justified the descent... or so they all believed. Was I walking the same path, just with a different banner?
Thalia's face, not gaunt and hunted now, but bright with tentative hope, safe in a haven I'd carved out against the divine storm, flashed before my eyes. The image of her, shivering under a bridge, clutching a stolen loaf of bread, eyes wide with a terror no child should ever know. The memory of the demigod's corpse left like refuse after a god's petty squabble. The casual cruelty of Olympus, the predatory hunger of older, darker things. Humanity was cattle. Children were prey. And the gods? They were the ranchers, the hunters, or the indifferent landlords of a slaughterhouse reality.
No. There was a difference. I wasn't seizing power for dominion, for worship, for the sheer thrill of supremacy. I was taking it to build walls. To forge a shield so vast, so unbreakable, that nothing, not Olympian whim, not Titan vengeance could ever touch what was mine. To create a space where the weak weren't ground into dust by the strong simply because they could. If that meant shedding the skin of a purely human definition... if it meant becoming something more, something that would make a hydrogen bomb feel like a child's sparkler... then so be it.
As long as my heart beat for Thalia, as long as my mind burned for justice against celestial tyranny, did the label truly matter? Humanity wasn't defined by fragile flesh alone. It was defined by care. By the refusal to accept suffering as inevitable.
Deep down, as long as I thought and saw myself as human, what else was there to worry about?
I bit into the Fruit.
The taste was... impossible. It wasn't sweet, nor sour, nor bitter. It was the taste of creation condensed. The first burst was like swallowing liquid sunlight, warm and effervescent, flooding my mouth with the essence of a nascent star. Then came the deep, resonant note of fertile earth after rain, rich and loamy. Underneath it all thrummed a vibration like the fundamental hum of the universe, a bass note felt in the teeth and bones more than tasted. It dissolved instantly on the tongue, leaving no pulp, only a cascade of pure, overwhelming potential that flowed down my throat like molten gold.
The effect was instantaneous and catastrophic.
It wasn't pain. Not initially. It was unmaking. A wave of pure, alien energy, chakra in its most primordial, undiluted form detonated within my core. My changed biology, a hybrid marvel of human design and need for survival and the new C'tan part of me, screamed as it was violently rewritten.
Bones didn't just break; they reforged, denser, lighter, humming with what felt like power. Muscles fibers unraveled and re-knitted with impossible strength and elasticity. My senses exploded outwards. The distant rustle of leaves miles below became a symphony of individual movements. I could see the currents of life energy flowing through the Shinju's colossal trunk, vast rivers of power. The air itself resolved into a complex dance of molecules even without the use of adaptive material synthesis.
The C'tan's part within me, ancient and cold, reacted. It didn't fight the chakra; it consumed it, assimilating the alien energy, twisting it, merging it with its own star-consuming nature. My skin felt like it was splitting. I looked down, expecting blood, but saw instead patches of my flesh transforming.
Smooth, pearlescent white, like polished moonstone, spread from my fingertips up my arms. My veins, visible beneath the skin, glowed not with silver or red blood, but blood that seemed akin to liquid starlight, a swirling amalgam of C'tan energy and pure chakra, burning with cold, white-gold luminescence. My hair felt heavier, coarser, longer.
The changes weren't just physical. My mind expanded and with it, everything I thought I already knew, understood, grasped.
The Theory of Everything from the fourth magic already had a profound understanding yet it suddenly felt as if it had new layers unveiled.
I perceived the fabric of space-time not just as equations, but as a tangible tapestry I could... pluck. The First Magic felt less like a conjurer's trick and more like an inherent right, the void was mine to deny, effortlessly.
The nascent Circle of Pandora knowledge flared, intricate ritual geometries unfolding in my mind's eye with terrifying clarity, now underpinned by an instinctive understanding of divine energy structures, thanks to the Fruit.
The Anti-Divine specialisation pulsed with new hunger, recognising the god-like power now saturating my own being, yet finding no target but the echoes of divinity in the world around me.
I felt power surge, not just the brute force I'd wielded against Hecate, but a deep, resonant authority over energy, over matter, over life itself. The potential to manipulate gravity, to warp space, to absorb and redirect energy on a planetary scale... it whispered at the edges of my consciousness. The power that would let Naruto Rasengan mountains and Sasuke slice meteors felt like kindergarten exercises compared to the raw, untamed ocean now churning within me. I was becoming something else. Something more.
The storm of transformation subsided as abruptly as it began, leaving me kneeling on the impossibly vast branch, gasping not for air, but for stability. The world felt different. Sharper. More malleable. I felt lighter, stronger, yet infinitely denser. I needed to see.
With a thought that was almost instinct, I reached into the void beside me. Not with tools, not with adaptive material synthesis, but just with will, channelled through the Denial of Nothingness. Where there was nothing, I insisted there be polished matter, shaped into a flawless plane. It coalesced from the emptiness, not conjured, but acknowledged into existence, a perfect, full-length mirror of shimmering, depthless obsidian glass.
I looked.
The figure reflected wasn't Alexander Chambers, not entirely. The core was there, the set of the jaw, the intensity in the eyes, though their colour had shifted from human hues to a luminous, piercing silver, like molten mercury under moonlight. My skin, where it hadn't transformed into pearlescent white, had taken on an alabaster pallor, flawless and almost luminous. The hair was even more impossibly more white, falling thick and straight past my shoulders. The most striking changes were the markings. Delicate, intricate patterns, reminiscent of the Shinju's fractal branches but rendered in lines of purest silver and deepest void-black, traced themselves across my temples, down my neck, and over the patches of moonstone-white skin on my forearms. They pulsed faintly with internal light. More than that, I had horns, two of them, shining with the same colour and hue as Necrodermis.
I looked... alien. Regal. Terrifying. Like a statue of some forgotten celestial king carved from moonlight and shadow. I looked at myself and only saw a being that would rightly be called, deemed a demon. It couldn't be more ironic, the one vowing to go against the heavens and the gods looked like a demon.
A flicker of something, loss? Fear? Tried to surface. I crushed it and reminded myself. Humanity wasn't skin. It was the fire in the silver eyes, the iron resolve in the alien face. It was the memory of a daughter's laugh and the burning need to keep that sound safe. This body was a weapon. The most potent one I could forge and weapons don't mourn their shape; they fulfil their purpose.
I stood. The movement was effortless, fluid, carrying a weight and grace that felt utterly natural now. The plasma sword, still humming with energy, found its place on my back with a thought. The mirror dissolved back into the nothingness from which it was denied.
I turned my gaze away from the impossible tree, from the pristine, doomed world below. My work here was done. Its power source now thrumming within my own veins. I had what I came for.
I could allow myself to mourn, to worry later. Right now, what I needed to do was to go back home, go back to Thalia to advance my plan, the reason why I even came to this world was more than the power given by the fruit.
Focusing was different now. The power within me responded like a well-trained limb. I didn't just visualise the coordinates back to my Los Angeles sanctuary; I felt the dimensional signature, the unique vibrational frequency of my home reality, etched into my very being.
The Kaleidoscope star inside my mind resonated, amplified a thousandfold by the raw chakra now at my command and the C'tan's inherent disdain for spatial limitations. I didn't need the sword as a focus anymore. It was a crutch I'd outgrown.
I raised my hand, fingers splayed. Not slashing, but parting. Like drawing back a heavy curtain. The air before me didn't tear; it folded, reality itself yielding to the sheer pressure of my will. Prismatic light, deeper and more complex than before, spilt forth, revealing the shimmering, chaotic pathways of the Kaleidoscope. The portal stabilised instantly, a perfect, silent aperture showing the familiar, comforting gloom of my room back home, the sight of Thalia still sleeping as if she had not realised I had even left for a moment. Good.
I stepped through the portal. The chaotic light of the between-place washed over me for an instant, then vanished as the aperture snapped shut behind me with a soundless finality. The scent of ozone, and home filled my nostrils.
Thalia chose this moment to begin waking up. The girl looked at the empty side of the bed I had been as if it had betrayed her
"Dad, you had left? Also, you look different."
I felt warmth blood inside as she called me Dad. I hadn't known before that a single word could make you feel as if you were on top of the world, as if everything was right in it.
I moved closer to her and sat at her side. I gave her a kiss on the head and lay my head against the wall. At my side, I felt her lean her head against my shoulder. For a moment, none of us said anything. For me, this felt like…peace.
"Hey, Thal, do you remember about what I spoke of last time? Of you becoming my daughter."
"Yes," I heard her say. "I remember," she spoke and I could feel the joy in her voice like someone remembering the best moment of their entire lives. "Is there a problem?"
She tried to hide it but I could feel the anxiety, the fear underneath the calm of her voice.
I spoke quickly to dispel any thoughts of that in her mind "No, if anything, it's the contrary. It's also why I am…different."
"Different or not, you're still dad."
I felt a smile bloom of its own will on my face at her words.
"Hey, Thalia, let's do it." I turned my gaze to look into hers. "Let's truly become Father and daughter."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The air here didn't just bite; it gnawed. A million crystalline teeth of frozen wind scraped against the obsidian cliffs of the island I chose, a speck of rock huddled below the Antarctic Circle like a shard of flint forgotten by giants. Detaille Island, it'd once been called according to Hecate.
A name on a forgotten map, a place where gales ripped hard enough to knock a man sideways and frozen rain felt like shotgun pellets against protective gear. But here, now, surrounded by the desolate fury of the Southern Ocean, it was perfect. Sanctuary carved from ice and isolation.
No eyes here. No ears. The thought resonated within the vast, newly calibrated landscape of my mind. The wards I'd woven weren't mere barriers; they were a negation. Layer upon layer, etched into the permafrost, humming in the howling wind, woven from threads of the Denial of Nothingness, reinforced by C'tan star-forged contempt for observation, and anchored by the Anti-Divine charge's inherent obfuscation. Physical probes would shatter against conceptual walls. Magical scrying would dissipate into the roaring void of the convergence. Divine sight would find only a reflection of its own blindness. Conceptual probes? They'd unravel before touching the intricate, self-erasing patterns I'd inscribed in the island's very bedrock. The Moirai themselves could press their eyes to the fabric of reality here and see only the indifferent churn of the Southern Ocean. This place was a blind spot in the universe, a fortress built from absence. My fortress.
Beryl stood like a sentinel near the cliff edge, her form radiating warmth that fought a losing battle against the encroaching cold, her gaze sweeping the horizon with alertness and something akin to trepidation.
Elpida was meticulously checking the final chalk lines of the innermost circle, her fingers steady despite the cold.
Hecate, observed from a slight elevation, her expression akin to a scientist before all the secrets of the universe. Had it been only me, there was no chance she would have been allowed to be present but whether I liked it or not, even with all the knowledge I had inside my mind, she still was the goddess of magic. The ritual was one that would be done on Thalia, my daughter. There was no way in hell I wouldn't do the utmost so that there were no risks of backlash or anything going wrong. Better do too much than not enough.
At the heart of it all, standing within the outermost ring of etched silver, was Thalia.
My daughter. My heart.
The power gained from the Shinju's fruit, the Shinjutsu unfurled within me like an alien nervous system grafted onto my consciousness. It wasn't just awareness; it was a nigh-complete perception. Every rustle of Beryl's coat against the wind wasn't just sound, but a vector of force, a displacement of frigid air molecules, tracing back to the minute tension in her shoulder muscles.
Elpida's focused breath condensed in the air, each exhalation a tiny cloud carrying the signature of her calm concentration, distinct as a fingerprint. Hecate's ancient power thrummed, not as a sound, but as a subtle pressure on the local laws of magic, a gravity well of potential. And Thalia…
Thalia's presence was a supernova in this sensory field. Not loud, but complete. Her heartbeat was a rhythmic pulse echoing in the chamber of my perception, synced to the faint tremor of anticipation in her hands. Her breath fogged the air in intricate patterns I could parse like poetry. The electrical potential building in the atmosphere around her, the nascent spark of her storm heritage, crackled like static on my mental skin. Her thoughts… they weren't words, not initially.
They were impressions: a low thrum of nervous energy like plucked cello strings, a warm, bright core of trust focused on me, a fleeting, cold flicker of remembered fear (homelessness, monsters, neglect), quickly smothered by the determined warmth. It felt like perceiving bioluminescent jellyfish in a midnight ocean, glimpses of light, patterns of emotion, currents of intention, all flowing in a silent, complex dance. Alien, yet intimately knowable. It was the ultimate safeguard: any observer, any probe, any intent focused on us would register within this field long before it could manifest, like ripples disturbing the surface of a perfectly still, impossibly deep pond. Undetectable. Unassailable.
"Hey," my voice cut through the Antarctic roar, surprisingly soft yet carrying effortlessly. "You alright, princess?"
She turned. Black hair whipped around her face, already so similar to my own before the Shinju's transformation, sharp features, intense blue eyes.
She gave a thumbs-up, a smile breaking across her face like dawn cracking a frozen horizon. It wasn't just reassurance; it was defiance. Against the cold, against her past, against the fate written for her by careless gods. That smile, that simple gesture, ignited a furnace within me hotter than any C'tan's heart-star.
Finalise the adoption. The thought wasn't clinical. It was a directive I etched in the core of my soul.
Today wasn't just paperwork or magical guardianship. Today, Thalia, daughter of Zeus, would cease to exist. Not through erasure, but through transformation. Through a metaphysical alchemy more profound than any elixir of life. Thalia, daughter of Alexander, would be born. Not lesser. Never lesser. But more.
I wouldn't be a hypocrite, blinded by hatred. Zeus was a monster, a tyrant, an absentee father of the worst kind. But the spark he'd accidentally passed on? The affinity for storms, for lightning, for the raw power of the sky? That was a tool. A birthright. To strip her of that in my zeal to sever the connection would be like clipping an eagle's wings to keep it safe. It wasn't safety she needed; it was the strength to soar beyond the cage. I didn't want to diminish her light; I wanted to unshackle it, fuel it, let it blaze brighter than Olympus could ever tolerate. Wasn't that the true, unspoken wish of every parent who loved fiercely? Not to bind, but to empower? Not to dictate the path, but to ensure their child when travelling has the sturdiest boots, the sharpest knife, the brightest lantern? To give her the chance to go further than she ever dreamed possible, unburdened by the chains of divine neglect?
That's why I'd burned a precious Star of Potential on the Circle of Pandora. Not just to sever, but to usurp.
To steal the fire without breaking the vessel. Thalia would lose nothing of the demigod's power, the speed, the resilience, the affinity for the storm. She would shed only the tether, the claim, the ownership Zeus held over her essence. She would be free of his influence, his potential curses, his disastrous lineage's pull. Free.
But I wasn't stopping there. Surrounding the intricate, spiralling lines of the Pandora Circle, pulsing with the stolen promise of divine theft, was a second, larger circle. My masterpiece. Etched not in chalk or ink, but in my own literal silver blood. Blood that sang with the echoes of ancient, star-eating C'tan, entities who manipulated reality like clay, whose very nature defied mortal constraints. Blood now further transformed by the primordial chakra of the Shinju, thrumming with potential that could sculpt mountains or birth stars. Blood carrying the full weight of my hybrid existence, C'tan transcendence, Shinju divinity, the cold fire of the First Magic, the kaleidoscopic potential of the Second. Each rune, each sigil in this outer circle was a vow, a conduit, a piece of myself offered freely.
My daughter. In every way possible. When I said it, I meant it down to the quantum vibration of my being. The Pandora Circle would excise Zeus's claim, leaving a metaphysical void where that specific divine connection had been. This outer circle, activated with my blood and will, would flood that void. Not with borrowed power, but with inheritance. My essence, my strength, my resilience, my alien perceptions, my reality-warping potential would intertwine with her own demigod nature, not replacing it, but augmenting it. Fusing with it. Making her, truly, bone of my bone, blood of my blood, power of my power. She wouldn't just be free of Zeus; she would be irrevocably, fundamentally, Alexander's child.
Was it reckless? Probably. To make a child, younger than ten already touched by divinity, into something that might one day crack continents? Absolutely. But what kind of father settles for giving his child less than the universe itself might offer? What kind of father, armed with the power to shape reality, denies his daughter every possible advantage in a world teeming with gods and monsters who saw her kind as pawns or prey? The potential for power wasn't a curse; it was armor. It was agency. It was the freedom to choose her own path, unafraid.
"Ready?" I asked, my voice resonating with a timbre that wasn't entirely human, a bass note of cosmic monstrosity beneath the familiar tone. The Shinjutsu field showed me the slight tightening in her shoulders, the surge of adrenaline bright and sharp in her aura, the unwavering nod that followed.
I raised my hands. Not dramatically, but with the focused intent of a conductor before a universe-altering symphony. The air crackled, not just with cold, but with gathering potential. The silver blood in the outer circle began to glow, a cold, pure light that ate the surrounding shadows. It pulsed like liquid starlight, each throb resonating with the deeper thrum of the Anti-Divine runes etched alongside it.
"Pandora," I breathed, the word not sound, but a key turning in the lock of reality.
The inner circle the Circle of Usurpation ignited. Not with fire, but with a blinding, actinic void. A darkness so absolute it seemed to suck the light from the surrounding ice. From its centre, tendrils of this anti-light lashed out, not towards Thalia, but into her.
They didn't pierce; they unraveled. The Shinjutsu perception showed me the terrifying beauty of it: a complex, radiant painting woven into her very soul, threads of storm-blue and arrogant gold, the signature of Zeus. The void-tendrils hooked onto these threads, not tearing, but dissolving them at a fundamental level. It wasn't destruction; it was meticulous, absolute deletion.
Thalia gasped. A sound ripped from her core. Her back arched, not in pain, but in profound shock, like a fish hauled from water into an alien atmosphere. Her blue eyes flew wide, not with fear, but with a dawning, terrifying sense of absence. The air around her, usually charged with the ozone tang of impending lightning, went unnaturally still, then dead. The vibrant blue of her irises flickered, dimmed, like a guttering candle. A single tear, freezing instantly on her cheek, traced a path of diamond ice.
Dying. Thalia, daughter of Zeus, is dying. The thought was a blade of ice in my own heart. But necessary. Essential.
Before that absence could solidify, before the void left by the usurped divinity could collapse in on itself, I poured my will into the outer circle.
"Mine," I declared. The word was a forge hammer blow, resonating in the bedrock, shaking the ice cliffs.
My silver blood flared with impossible intensity. The runes blazed, not just with light, but with substance. Liquid starlight, carrying the essence of star gods and primordial chakra, the weight of denied nothingness and traversed dimensions, surged upwards. It didn't flow towards Thalia; it translocated. One moment it was etched blood on ice, the next, it was a river of living silver light flowing into the space the void-tendrils had opened within her.
The effect was instantaneous and profound. Thalia jerked as if struck by lightning, her lightning, reborn. Her gasp turned into a cry, not of pain, but of overwhelming presence. The dead air around her crackled back to life, not with the familiar ozone, but with a sharper, cleaner energy, like the air after a supernova. The silver light suffused her, visible beneath her skin like captured moonlight flowing through her veins. It raced along her limbs, pooled in her chest, surged upwards.
Her hair, whipped by the wind, began to change. The inky blackness retreated as if absorbing the light, becoming the ink white of white star dust. Then, streaks of purest black erupted from her temples, sweeping back like comet trails, mirroring the patterns now faintly visible on my own skin after the Shinju's gift.
Her features, already echoing mine, sharpened further, gaining an ageless, almost alien grace without erasing the youth, the traces of her true age on her face.
But the most striking change was her eyes. The flickering blue vanished, consumed by the rising silver tide. But it wasn't replaced by cold metal. Her irises became like molten quicksilver, swirling with impossible depth. Within them, miniature storms raged, not Zeus's electric ones, but vast, ordered nebulae, galaxies in miniature, crackling with lightning that was pure, focused energy, unbound by earthly limits. Looking into them was like looking into a mirror reflecting my own transformed gaze, yet uniquely hers, fierce, alive, blazing with inherited power and newfound, boundless potential.
The outer circle's light died. The inner void winked out. The wind rushed back in, howling its frigid song. Thalia stood, breathing hard, steam rising from her in the frigid air. She looked down at her hands, turning them over. Silver lightning, pure and silent, arced between her fingertips, dancing with an intelligence, a joy, it never had before. Not Zeus's weapon. Her expression.
She looked up, those swirling silver-galaxy eyes meeting mine. Awe warred with confusion, then settled into a dawning, fierce understanding. A smile, wider and brighter than before, touched her lips.
"Dad?" she whispered, the word carrying a new weight, a new certainty.
The Shinjutsu field showed me the complete absence of the old divine tether. It showed me the perfect fusion demigod resilience seamlessly intertwined with C'tan starlight, Shinju chakra, and the potential for magic. It showed me her power, not diminished, but unshackled, thrumming with a deeper, stranger resonance. And it showed me her heart, beating strong, tethered now only by love, by choice, by the blood we truly shared.
Beryl let out a low breath of what seemed like relief. Elpida sighed, a sound of profound relief and satisfaction like a soldier glad to have succeeded in its task. Hecate gave a single, slow nod, confusion, fear, awe, understanding all easily seen battling in her eyes.
I stepped across the scorched, blood-etched ice, the frozen ground crunching beneath my boots. I reached her, cupping her face, colder now, yet still her radiating a subtle, cosmic energy. The silver in her eyes swirled, reflecting the vast, frozen sea, the indifferent sky, and my own face.
"Thalia," I said, my voice thick with an emotion too vast for the frozen void around us. "It's done, truly done. He would never be able to do something similar to what he once did to us."
She took one of my hands in hers "Let's go home Dad," my daughter said to me.
"Let's truly go home," was the only answer I gave her.