From the ancient Council of the Hundred...
Only twenty-four remained.
Survivors of the Divine War.
Sovereigns who had witnessed the birth and the fall of civilizations.
Beings before whom empires had bowed...
...and eras had come to an end.
The Dome of Pantheora remained immersed in a silence older than civilizations themselves.
Within it, twenty-four thrones rose in three concentric circles, separated by steps of black stone that converged toward a single point: the center of the assembly.
Nineteen of those thrones were already occupied.
No face could be seen.
The figures rested shrouded beneath a veil of divinity, as though reality itself refused to grant mortals the right to behold them.
They were not shadows.
Nor light.
They were existences.
Presences so ancient that the space around them bent in silence.
No aura was released.
Even so...
The air became heavier with every breath drawn.
The Templar Knights stationed along the walls remained motionless, unable to raise their eyes for more than an instant.
It was not reverence.
It was instinct.
The human mind had simply never been made to behold gods.
At the center of the chamber, a single figure remained visible.
A man of serene beauty, almost unreal.
His skin bore the pallor of marble covered by the first snowfall.
Long silver hair flowed to his waist like strands of ice illuminated by moonlight.
His completely white eyes resembled an eternal blizzard.
There was no warmth.
There was no compassion.
Only a profound silence, capable of piercing the soul of anyone who dared meet his gaze.
His face, with flawless features and an unchanging expression, held the serenity of one who had never known fear.
He wore long ceremonial robes of white and silver, adorned with discreet ancient symbols embroidered in pale gold—marks of an authority bestowed by the gods themselves.
His voice echoed through the chamber.
Calm.
Cold.
Effortless.
"Your Excellencies..."
A brief pause.
"I am Moroz."
"The Demigod."
"And the guardian of this assembly."
His gaze passed over every presence.
"Today, under the witness of Pantheora..."
"The Council of the Immortals convenes once more."
Moroz slightly raised his eyes.
"Let the sovereigns in attendance be recorded."
A brief pause.
"Of the ancient Hundred..."
"Nineteen already occupy their seats."
"We remain awaiting the others."
Silence once again took hold of Pantheora.
Moroz spoke again.
"As long as this session remains open..."
"I ask Your Excellencies to moderate the use of your gifts."
His gaze turned toward the Templar Knights.
"The mortals present here have been permitted only to witness this assembly."
"Not to perish before it."
"Let the Pact be honored until this session comes to an end."
A low laugh echoed among the thrones.
"Mortals..."
The voice carried absolute disdain.
"I still wonder why we insist on allowing their presence."
Another god answered before Moroz could speak.
"Because someone must record history."
A brief pause.
"Even if they never understand it."
The silence lasted only an instant.
A quiet laugh spread through the hall.
"The Fifth Throne remains empty."
A brief pause.
"Centuries have passed..."
"And some deities still mistake authority for privilege."
A new voice cut through the hall.
Cold.
Sharp.
"You remain just as insolent as you've always been..."
"Dog."
The air around one of the thrones began to ripple.
"To speak of the Fifth Throne requires an authority that never belonged to you."
"Know your place, Anubis."
Anubis let out a brief chuckle.
"Know my place?"
His voice was serene.
Almost amused.
"Curious..."
"I expected to hear those words from someone worthy of the Fifth Throne."
A brief pause.
"Not from the Twenty-Second."
The silence became heavy.
"The Hindu gods remain the same."
"They mistake reverence for authority..."
"And pride for power."
A new voice echoed through the hall.
Serene.
Absolute.
"Enough, Anubis."
The murmuring ceased.
"Your tongue remains as sharp as it was during the Divine War."
"But do not mistake patience for weakness."
A brief laugh echoed through the hall.
"As expected..."
"Vishnu."
His tone carried an irony almost imperceptible.
"Always ready to raise your voice whenever one of your own is provoked."
"An admirable quality for a sovereign."
Silence lingered for a moment.
"Even if, at times..."
"You protect prides that should learn to stand on their own."
The reply came without haste.
Serene.
Unshakable.
"There is one difference between us, Anubis."
"I protect those who walk beside me."
A brief pause.
"You provoke others only to prove a superiority..."
"That those who are truly superior never need to demonstrate."
The hall remained still.
"Keep mistaking insolence for courage."
"And one day you will discover that not every war grants a second chance."
Anubis let out a brief laugh that echoed through the chamber.
"You remain exactly the same..."
"Always believing that warnings can change the nature of a god."
Whispers spread through the hall.
The tension continued to rise.
Then...
The colossal doors of Pantheora began to move.
The roar of the hinges echoed throughout the chamber.
Before the doors had even fully opened...
The nineteen presences rose in perfect unison.
The argument ceased.
The provocations vanished.
The doors finished opening.
Four presences crossed the threshold.
Not even the veil of divinity could conceal the difference between them and the others.
Though still hidden...
It was impossible to mistake them.
The Four Supremes did not merely occupy the highest thrones.
They were existences before whom even the gods acknowledged their own inferiority.
The first advanced shrouded in countless ancient runes.
They appeared and vanished around his existence like stars in a forgotten constellation.
In his hand...
Only one form remained perfectly clear.
Gungnir.
The spear that never missed its target.
At his side walked another presence.
Lightning coiled around his silhouette, yet no thunder could be heard.
The storm seemed to exist only to accompany him.
The other two Supremes advanced in absolute silence.
None of them possessed a face that could be beheld.
Only presences.
Ancient.
Absolute.
With every step...
The Dome of Pantheora itself seemed to grow smaller.
The Templar Knights felt the crushing weight of those existences pass through their bodies.
Not one dared raise his head.
Not one dared utter a single word.
Silence became the only possible form of reverence.
Without a single word being spoken...
The Supremes took their thrones.
Only then...
Did the other deities sit once more.
For a brief moment...
Not a single voice echoed through the chamber.
Then...
The presence shrouded in runes broke the silence.
"The Fifth Throne..."
Before the sentence could be completed...
The colossal doors of Pantheora opened once again.
A single sound was enough to draw the attention of the entire assembly toward the entrance.
The Fifth Throne had arrived.
Its long black cloak glided across the floor like a living shadow, silent and unceasing.
A veil completely concealed its face, making it impossible to distinguish any feature beneath the light of the dome.
With every step...
The temperature within the chamber fell.
It was not ordinary magic.
It was not divinity.
It was something older.
Something that even the gods recognized.
"Arriving after the Four Supremes..."
"Should we interpret this as a delay..."
Anubis' voice emerged serene.
"Or as a challenge to the order of Pantheora?"
Silence.
The Fifth Throne did not answer.
It simply took its seat.
As though the entire assembly were irrelevant.
Whispers spread through the chamber.
Some existences made the space around them waver.
Others remained absolutely still.
Then...
A single voice shattered the tension.
There was no anger.
Only authority.
"ENOUGH!"
The word echoed throughout Pantheora.
The presences settled once more.
The voice continued.
"Pantheora was not raised to feed disputes among sovereigns."
A brief pause.
"We are those upon whom the order of the world rests."
Silence returned.
Then...
The presence shrouded in ancient runes rose.
Gungnir remained motionless at his side.
His voice carried through the chamber like an echo from a forgotten age.
"I did not summon this assembly to discuss hierarchies."
A brief pause.
"I summoned you because destiny has changed."
Pantheora fell silent.
"What was revealed to me..."
"Should never exist."
Not a single presence interrupted.
"I saw a void."
"An abyss that knows neither life..."
"Nor death."
The very atmosphere seemed to grow heavier.
"I saw countless existences being consumed."
"Empires disappearing."
"Civilizations reduced to nothing."
A brief pause.
"I saw gods falling."
The silence became absolute.
"I saw empty thrones."
"I saw the Supremes themselves succumb."
No voice answered at once.
Then...
Vishnu's voice broke the silence.
Serene.
Unchanging.
"Fear has never sustained the universe."
A brief pause.
"Only wisdom."
The voice shrouded in runes remained unshaken.
"I bring you no fear."
"I bring you a warning."
With every word...
The tension grew.
"War draws near."
A brief pause.
"And when it arrives..."
Silence once more took hold of Pantheora.
"There will be no choice between fighting..."
"Or remaining neutral."
Another pause.
"Only one decision will remain."
"To exist."
"Or to perish."
No voice dared answer.
Even the most arrogant presences remained motionless.
Then...
The voice that had earlier imposed silence echoed once more.
"Answer."
A brief pause.
"Will we remain divided?"
The silence endured.
"Or will we face together that which approaches..."
Another pause.
"As gods."
No answer came.
Only the ancient creaking of the thrones.
And above the Dome of Pantheora...
Invisible to mortal eyes...
Destiny once again wrote its first line.
Author's Note:
Chapters 3 to 90 will also be revised in the future following the same process.